#i just wanted the 'what's the difference between a body and a corpse' bit and then next thing you know i'm googling embalming practices

[quadrantadvisor]

DP x DC, revenant!Jason Todd

Shortly after meeting, Danny and Jason have a late night conversation about what it means to come back. 1281 words

On AO3

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Danny woke groggily, in a dark place that he didn't recognize, and took a moment to get his bearings.

He felt the warning ache in his neck that came from being propped up against an arm rest. There were two sources of dim light in the room—the glow of city street lights, muffled behind a curtain, and the green eyes of the man whose lap Danny's feet were propped on.

Right. Danny hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the revenant’s—on Jason’s—couch, but they’d been talking for so long, he must’ve dozed off.

Jason had had so many questions, about ectoplasm, about the zone, about Danny’s own experiences. Danny had done his best to clear up everything he could. A revenant may not be quite the same as he was, but still, it made Danny happy to be able to pass on his hard won knowledge and maybe save someone else a bit of the hurt and confusion that he’d gone through. It was what he’d always wished someone would do for him.

Jason was slumped into the couch, but he didn’t look relaxed. Danny examined his still profile, cast in strange shadows by its own green glow, and wondered how long it had been since he’d moved.

Danny shifted slightly, purposefully producing the fabric sounds of a body against upholstery, to make sure Jason knew he was awake. No reaction. Danny gave him one more moment, then asked, “You okay?”

Jason didn’t look at him when he answered, “You told me I’m basically possessing my own corpse, and I’m supposed to not be upset about that?”

Really, Danny should’ve predicted something like that. How long had he spent, trying to pretend that death hadn’t really touched him? It wasn’t an easy thing to accept.

“What’s the difference between a body and a corpse?” Danny asked.

Jason’s eyes snapped to Danny, their glow intensifying. “I am not dealing with riddle bullshit right now, I swear to-”

“No, I’m being serious,” Danny interrupted, pulling his feet from Jason’s lap and sitting himself up. “There’s one difference between a corpse and a living body, and that’s that someone is living in it. Jason—” he reached out, gripping one of Jason’s hands in his “—you’re alive. That’s what matters. The rest is details.”

Jason’s shoulders bent inwards, his other hand raising to rub at his chest. “You don’t get it,” he said, quiet. “People don’t just come back from what they did to me. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“However you died, it’s not-”

Jason huffed an ugly sound, a short and bitter laugh that Danny hurt to hear. “Is it crazy that that isn’t even what I was talking about? I meant after.” The motion on his chest was repetitive, like he was tracing something underneath his shirt, and Danny got the sinking feeling that he knew just what sort of scar it might be. “I was gone, okay? I was gone, and this body was still here. And they took it, and they cut it open and rummaged around inside to figure out what happened. Which is—” he cut off, sniffed, and Danny gripped his hand tighter “—which is stupid, right? It’s not like it wasn’t obvious.” His fingers twitched, and he continued, haltingly, “I mean, I’ve read the report. Pulled it off his stupid files. The smoke inhalation did me in. After everything that happened, it was the smoke.”

Jasons’ hand pulled out of Danny’s, and they both rose to cover his face, cutting off the glow while he curled in on himself even tighter. His voice was slightly muffled when he said, “And then they had to ship me home, right? So they bled me dry and pumped me full of formaldehyde, and they prettied me up so they could pretend I wasn’t just some empty thing, and Bruce held the tiniest most depressing little funeral known to man and put my ass in the ground, and I had to wake up down there.” His words and his breaths were coming too quick, and Danny didn’t know how to help. He didn’t want Jason to stop, not when it seemed like he needed to say all of this, but he could see just how badly the revenant was hurting.

“But you did wake up,” he whispered.

“Woke up in my own mutilated corpse!” Jason snarled. “Everything I’ve forgotten, and that memory is still crystal fucking clear! It stank in there, like death and vinegar and mud, and it was so small, and I couldn’t even try to scream for help because they sewed my fucking mouth shut—!” He broke off into a sob, and Danny couldn’t stand it anymore, had to lean into Jason’s side and wrap an arm around him as he shook with all the emotion he couldn’t reign in.

“Okay,” Danny said. Not you’re okay, just okay. “Okay, so that’s the most horrible thing I’ve ever heard, and I regularly hang out with a guy who wants to skin me.”

Jason sniffed. “What?”

“Nevermind. It’s just-”

“No, I think we should go back to the skinning thing-”

“I just don’t want you to let it define you,” Danny interrupted. “I did that. I got into my head about it, the whole ‘being dead’ thing, feeling like I was…” Danny gave himself a second, swallowed, “like some sort of freak. A thing that didn’t belong anywhere. But I’m still alive, and you’re alive, and even if we weren’t, it wouldn’t matter, because we’re still here, and as long as you’re here you can find something that’s worth staying for.” Danny rubbed what he hoped was a soothing pattern into Jason’s admittedly impressive bicep.

Jason let out a sigh. “I must really be pathetic if you’ve gotta pep talk me like that, huh?” he said, and Danny pretended not to see him wiping at his eyes. “Sorry,” he added, “about all this. I’ve got some shit I haven’t dealt with, and this ‘revenant’ stuff brought it up pretty bad.”

“I get it,” Danny said, and hoped Jason could tell how much he meant it.

Jason sighed again, heavy, like he was trying to release something else with his breath, and said, “It still doesn’t make any sense. Logically, I can’t be alive. Where did my blood come from?”

Danny shrugged. “Do you have blood?”

“I definitely have blood. I’ve seen a lot of it.”

That gave Danny pause. “Just like, around?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Jason said, deadpan. “I’ve got a surplus, so I like to leave some here and there, make sure everyone gets a chance to appreciate it.”

“I have no idea how much you’re joking and it frightens me,” Danny told him.

“Weak,” Jason replied.

“Anyways, you gotta not think about it too much. The interdimensional goop is already logic-defying, and you’re mixing magic with it with your special soul willpower or something. Your brain will explode if you try to make it make sense.”

Jason huffed a little laugh, bouncing Danny on his shoulder, and this time it made him feel lighter. “Can I just say that I hate that I’m full of interdimensional goop?”

“Valid,” Danny said.

Even without looking at Jason, Danny could tell that he just rolled his eyes by the way the soft green light moved.

Danny had his ear pressed to Jason’s shoulder, feeling his warmth, and if he focused, he could just make out the revenant’s pulse. Personally, Danny thought it was pretty cool to be full of magic and goop and blood. Much cooler than Danny, who was way more science goop than magic goop. They’d have to compare notes on that sometime.

Maybe Jason would come around to it.

[mishellii]

♢ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ♢

ɴᴀʀᴜᴛᴏ, ꜱᴀꜱᴜᴋᴇ, ᴋɪʙᴀ, ꜱʜɪᴋᴀᴍᴀʀᴜ, ɴᴇᴊɪ & ᴋᴀᴋᴀꜱʜɪ

a/n: sooo my first headcanons yeiih!! this just came flowing out of me while watching boruto tbh because i'm delusional lmao,,,, anyway, very self indulgent as always :) ignore typos pls i cant spell aaaand enjoy xx

likes & reblogs appreciated <3

warnings: none! SFW :) not proofread

masterlist

♢ɴᴀʀᴜᴛᴏ ᴜᴢᴜᴍᴀᴋɪ♢

✿sUCH a messy sleeper

❀he'd toss and turn throughout the whole night, ending up somewhere completely different than where he fell asleep on the bed

❀matching pyjama sets !!!

✿especially seasonal ones, he adores them

✿BLANKET HOGGER !!!

❀but not on purpose really, he just pulls it with him due to all his movements

✿u always wake up with it either on the floor or him laying atop of it

❀sometimes he hits u with his elbow or his feet, but pls don't tell him he WILL cry

✿just push him away, boy will not wake up under any circumstances

❀the both of u alWAYS cuddle when falling asleep

✿the usual position is with his arms around your waist, legs thrown over ur own and his face resting next to ur shoulder

❀for that exact reason he's a BIG SPOON !!

❀so so quick to fall asleep, and wakes up after u as well

✿but not at all groggy in the morning !! he's energetic from the second he opens his eyes and sees u preparing breakfast

❀overall just the softest boyfriend ever

♢ꜱᴀꜱᴜᴋᴇ ᴜᴄʜɪʜᴀ♢

❀now thIS dude sleeps like a corpse

✿he's not particularly prone on cuddling u, but he fairly enjoys having ur head on his chest and feeling ur fingertips draw circles against his skin

❀he'd never admit it tho obviously

✿mostly wears a black lose t-shirt and some short sweats or sumn 

❀just comfortable all around

✿i'm a firm believer in the back position

❀laying flat on the mattress, one arm either around u, or both resting on his belly

✿light sleeper, if i may

❀takes him pretty long to fall asleep as well, but counting ur breath usually calms him and makes it easier

✿u make everything easier for him actually

❀doesn't really care about a blanket, it all really depends on what u prefer while sleeping

✿often awoken by nightmares, but won't ever wake u up or tell u the next day because he thinks it's embarrassing

❀refuses to leave the bed in the morning, but isn't moody at all just very quiet

✿always helps u make breakfast and makes the bed without having to ask him to

❀overall just a calm lover

♢ᴋɪʙᴀ ɪɴᴜᴢᴜᴋᴀ♢

❀without a doubt, a snorer

✿like IM SORRY LADIES but c'mon

❀but not annoyingly loud, just breathy lil snores

✿the problem with it is: he won't move an INCH away from u ever, he's all up in ur business while sleeping

❀doesn't matter how, he's always got to feel u next to him somehow

✿i take him as a sleep talker too, mumbling incoherent words against your neck which only make u laugh tbh

❀akamaru's got his own bed next to the two of u, but some nights he crawls in between ur bodies, practically suffocating u

✿you really don't mind on colder nights, but in summer kiba makes him get off, due to having such a high body temperature already and he doesn't want u to complain even more

❀wore a shirt and pants at the beginning of ur relationship

✿but now??? u'd have to FORCE him to wear anything more than boxers

❀hates when u don't want to cuddle :(( might as well kill him fr

✿why need a blanket when he has you??

❀doesn't leave the bed AT ALL in the morning, u literally have to grab him by the feet and drag him out of it

✿he's a sweetheart, really

♢ꜱʜɪᴋᴀᴍᴀʀᴜ ɴᴀʀᴀ♢

❀dude HATES cuddling at the beginning of ur relationship, me thinks

✿but fear not, it just takes a bit of convincing from ur side and he's in on it

❀but it's subtle touches really, like holding his hand or having ur feet intertwined

✿if u've had a bad day, he'd definitely play with your hair to make u fall asleep, he's not a diCK

❀grey sweats all the way !!!!!

✿rarely ever wears a shirt, except for when it's cold of course

❀he seems much more like a light sleeper than not, but he's so grouchy when something wakes him up it's a drag really 

✿has to be completely dark and quiet in his room or he won't be able to close one eye

❀always sleeps on the side closest to the door

✿big on talking about both ur days at night because he's a very private person and loves spending time with u ALONE

❀deep talk at 2am?? u can bet on it

✿forehead kisses!!! once u wake up and neither of u want to get up and start ur day

❀he's such an attentive lover in general, i'm actually going insane 

♢ɴᴇᴊɪ ʜʏᴜɢᴀ♢

❀oh my lovely boy

✿i feel like he wouldn't move a MUSCLE while sleeping

❀sometimes you have to poke him to make sure he's still alive

✿AHEM

❀a light sleeper foshou

✿also ????

❀he would 100% wait for u to fall asleep first

✿would always run his fingertips over your back to make you tired

❀unfortunately, the closest to cuddling u two do, is ur head on his chest

✿he gets sweaty quickly, so he'll often sleep without a shirt (which u don't complain about obviously) and that's the reason why he doesn't necessarily NEED body contact (in this situation only!!)

❀but HUGE PLUS he'll sweet talk you to sleep almost every night 

✿asking about ur day from begin to end

❀he wants to know it ALL

✿in general, he's really big on making you as comfortable as possible before bed

❀would even wait till the morning to go pee because you look so peaceful laying on his chest

✿don't mind him watching u he just thinks ur so pretty ok

❀u wake up to the smell of coffee almost every morning

✿overall, as we been knew, the gentlest gentlemen to perhaps ever gentleman goodbye

♢ᴋᴀᴋᴀꜱʜɪ ʜᴀᴛᴀᴋᴇ♢

❀poor baby's the king of light sleepers

✿always ready to jump into battle and protect u if he has to, even if u convince him that ur safe and nothing's going to happen :(

❀casually wears a black tanktop and some sweats, mask and shinobi headband easily reachable on the bedside table at his right side

✿definitely enjoys u playing with his hair too much

❀he prefers to fall asleep with his head either on your chest or tugged just under your chin so he can hear you breathe and ur heart beat

✿he's so tragic oh my days

❀anYWAY light snores but only when he's REALLY gone and u rarely ever see him in this state so,,,,,

✿loves listening to ur stories before falling asleep

❀legs & arms intertwined and allathat 

✿you will never lay in bed without him picking up one of his books at least ONCE

❀it really calms him down u know

✿but start a conversation with him, and he's all urs, book long forgotten next to his mask and headband.

❀always wakes up earlier than u, preparing breakfast with said book between his fingers 

✿(he swears he'll close it once ur awake tho)

❀((he does))

a/n: AHEM i hope u liked it ???? pls tell me ??? AAAA i will see u beans next time bye bye xx

devider by @enchanthings

[bunnis-monsters]

Experimenting

Male!Vampire Scientist x Fem!Experiment Reader

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 18th

Oct 17

Oct 19

summary: when a vampire needs a source of unlimited blood, he turns to science. You’re his experiment, and a bit spoiled…

warnings: blood drinking, cock warming, male lead is a bit manipulative

a/n: shut up if I have any spelling mistakes 🙏 I’m trying to catch up

You let out an annoyed whine as he poked his head into your room. You were in the middle of a movie, eating a snack.

“Darling~”

He walked in, throwing his lab coat aside and jumping into your bed. The man had a habit of coming to you after a long day in the lab, being clingy and over baring.

“H-hey, don’t jump in my bed before you wash up!”

You pouted, squirming as he pulled you on his lap and rubbed his cheek against your neck.

“Oh, don’t fuss my dear… you know I just adore you, it’s hard to stay away for long.”

Before you could whine anymore, he moved his hand between your thighs, pressing against your wet panties.

“Don’t you remember who saved you? Who’s spoiled you rotten?”

You did remember.

Before you had been living on the street, hungry and barely hanging on. One night you were caught in the middle of a shoot out, and nearly died from blood loss,

He found you curled up in an alleyway, buried beneath trash and filth. You had already died, not even turning you into a vampire could bring you back…

So he used the knowledge he had gained from his research so far from both science and witchcraft to give you life.

One of the side effects was that you overproduce blood, and had to be drained daily. It was a happy surprise, and he decided to keep you for himself as his blood bag.

You were kept in a sterile section of his lap, your bed a plain cot and your food some sort of nutritional mush.

It was hardly the place for a girl… but it would do. You were just an experiment, after all.

That had been his idea at first, to keep you in his laboratory and feed from you every once in a while… but he grew fond of you quickly.

A room was decorated with your interests in mind, and he made sure you were comfortable and had everything you could ever want.

You were almost like his doll, something he could play with when he was bored. He dressed you up, kept you in a pretty room… you were his perfect, pretty little doll.

That’s what he told himself. In all reality, he truly cared for you. Once you bring someone back from death and care for them for months while they recover, you become fond of that person and want to see them thrive.

As he thought this over, your memory was a bit different.

You reached out for him to help you, and he carried you back to his lab himself, not caring that you were dirty and smelled of decay.

Your spirit watched as he carefully cleaned and stitched up your broken body, his hands gentle and caring. Even though you were simply a corpse, he still dressed you and placed a pillow under your head while he researched ways to save you at his desk.

When you woke up in your body, you were in something much softer than the ground you slept on every night. Every day you ate until you were full, and always had energy to walk around.

You weren’t hungry or cold or dirty anymore… that was enough for you, but he gave you even more! A room just for you, dressed and games and books and all the attention and love you could ever ask for…

But it was so hard to accept all of this, to really give in to being spoiled. Especially when you were crushing this hard on him…

His fangs brushed against your neck as he slipped the silk panties he bought for you aside. Lately his affections had turned from platonic to sexual, and he had been toying with you a lot.

Experimenting.

“I see… this is how wet you get when I rub here, hmm?”

He licked along your neck, eyes on your fat cunt as he flicked your clit, causing you to yelp and your hips to buck.

“H-hey…”

His cock hardened when you squirmed, your plump ass moving against his hard on. “That hurts…”

You were pouting, your face warm and flustered.

“So cute…”

He lifted your hips with ease, his cock rubbing against your cunt before he slowly lowered you into it.

Though you’d never taken cock before, he had been slowly stretching you out for weeks now, pumping his fingers in and out of you, getting you ready to take him.

You could only whine and whimper, embarrassed that it felt so good. You attempted to move, but he kept you still, his fingers toying with your clit.

“Relax, love…”

His fangs sunk into your neck, causing you to wiggle and writhe in mild discomfort, which made his cock twitch inside of you. The man continued to stimulate your clit as he fed from you.

Your soft body felt warm against him, and having your blood flowing through his felt intimate. You were connected in a way no one else could be.

As he finished up his feeding, he began lightly bouncing you, letting you ride out your orgasm as his cum spurted into your womb.

Afterwards you were tired and a bit cranky from the blood loss, so he carried you to a bath and washed you up before tucking you into bed.

Why did he do so much for you? He wasn’t sure… but you knew.

He loved you, his little experiment had become his mate and he hadn’t even noticed yet.

want more of this? my commissions and kofi are open!

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat

[fairyysoup]

his hands

pairing(s): hairdresser!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: How do you make getting a haircut an erotic experience? You have Eddie Munson as your hairdresser, of course.

cw: explicit, smut, unprotected piv sex, mirror sex, workplace sex, hand kink, choking, dumbification, dom!eddie, touch-starved!reader, semi-sort-of subspace happenings, referring to genitals with gendered pronouns, slight body worship, getting weirdly horny over a head massage, sexual tension, negative self talk, hair cut/style mentioned but no description of hair color/type, the aftercare is the haircut lol, implied 90s au, eddie's like 30, reader's age unspecified, eddie is employee of the month in my heart, not proofread, no beta we die like men

a/n: this is weird. and came from an interesting experience i had at the hair salon. and yes that is corpse's hand in that pic i didn't want to spend all day looking for a header pic shut up shut up shut up

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Your hands twitch on the copy of Elle magazine in your lap. The familiar waiting area of your local salon has new furniture, which still smells a bit like the cellophane it came wrapped in, and hasn’t been worn out by patrons just yet. You’d asked for your usual stylist, Melissa. Except, you haven’t been here in so long, and apparently Melissa doesn’t work here anymore. 

“We have a new stylist in her place,” the greeter at the front desk told you kindly. “I could fit you in if you’d like that same station?” 

The station doesn’t matter to you; they all look the same and have the same tools. Obviously, when it comes to getting your hair cut, the stylist makes the difference. But, since you’re a couple months too late to catch up with Melissa, a new stylist is who you’ll be working with. 

The PA still plays some sort of weird pop-rock fusion that mixes Nat King Cole with Billy Idol, but you just try to focus on it to keep your leg from bouncing. You always get anxious like this when you come in for an appointment, even though you always tell yourself the same thing. It’s just hair. If you don’t like it, it’ll grow back. Or, if worst comes to worst, you could always shave it.

You hear your name being called, and you look up to the person who’d just approached the waiting area around the partition that blocks off the styling area. You blink, your mind going fuzzy as you try to make sense of what you see.

“Looks like I’ll be cutting your hair today,” the man standing at the end of the row of chairs says, with a grin that puts boyish dimples on his cheeks. “I’m Eddie.”

Eddie the Hairdresser is a bit more than you can handle right now. Between his long, curly hair, and the shirt he wears that gives you a view of the tattoos crawling up his arms, you think your knees might already be made out of jelly as you try to stand. But then he sticks out his hand for you to shake, and he’s wearing big, chunky rings that glint in the light, and you think you might swoon like a Victorian damsel.

“I’m, uh–” you begin intelligently, as you fit your hand into his big one. He squeezes just the tiniest bit and smirks at you. “I– I’m trying to, uh–”

“First time?” Eddie asks you with a tilt of his head. His brown eyes crease at the edges with mirth.

“Oh, um, no,” you mutter, looking everywhere but at his dimples. He has a tattoo on his neck of a dragon. You stare at it for a moment too long. “I used to come and see Melissa, forever ago.” 

“Oh! Yeah, Melissa was great. She trained me,” Eddie starts jabbering as he tilts his head and leads you around the partition. You’re met with the smell of hairspray and the sound of blow dryers getting louder. “She’s a hard act to follow, but I hope I can do well enough. Let’s get you started with a wash, hm?” 

You smile as he winks at you conspiratorially. You always feel a little bit awkward as you sit in the chair for the wash sinks, but Eddie ushers you into it with a little wave of his hand and gently– more gently than you can remember even Melissa being– lifts the ends of your hair and places a soft towel around your shoulders.

“What kept you away all this time?” Eddie asks pleasantly as he tests the water temperature. “Melissa’s been gone for a while.”

“Yeah, I, uh, I was working a lot,” you stumble into an explanation, your cheeks heating up a bit. It’s hard not to feel like you need to repent for not coming in to get a trim every month. “Last time I came in, I got my hair cut really short, so it wasn’t like I needed to come in for a trim for a long time, and by the time I really needed one it was long enough that I could do it myself… so, I just kept doing that.”

“So, what are we doing today?” Eddie inquires as his fingertips brush along your temples to tuck your hair back behind your ears and into the wash basin. With gentle prompting, he tilts your head back into the bin and begins to wet the ends of your hair.

“I figured it’s time I go short again,” you tell him, more confident than you really feel about it. It was a split second decision, one that you made because the reflection in the mirror was looking back at you with such a dead expression that you decided you needed a change in a bad way. For a lighter note, you supplement, “I’m tired of brushing tangles out of my hair every morning, and the other day I had a whole bird’s nest at the back of my neck, y’know.”

“Pssh, I know all about tangles. You saw my hair,” Eddie chuckles as the lukewarm water touches your scalp. Goosebumps rise on your arms while he rambles on, “I have to comb my hair wet or else I look like I got electrocuted. I never used to care about that sort of thing before I went to school for this, but once you start learning about proper treatment it’s kind of hard to ignore. I used to wash my hair with bar soap. Dry as hell, no conditioner. I’m surprised I got it long to begin with.” 

You find yourself smiling just thinking about it. “Bar soap? With those curls?”

“Don’t tell anyone, my reputation will be ruined,” Eddie leans down and whispers to you while he reaches for a bottle of shampoo. You hear a crack of a bottle cap, and then his hands are in your hair again, working the sweet smelling soap into your roots. “I’m trying to get employee of the month, but they’re never gonna give it to me if they know I used to sabotage my own hair with Irish Spring.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you tell him sweetly, but you’re barely paying attention to his words anymore. His fingers are pressing into areas on your head that haven’t had a proper massage in forever, and months of tension headaches are being brought to the forefront of your mind. 

You never consider how oddly intimate having someone wash your hair is until you’re in the thick of it. Eddie’s thumbs massage circles into your occipitals with just a perfect amount of pressure, and the muscles down the back of your neck slowly melt and relax, moving with the swell of his fingertips. You suddenly feel very relaxed and very sleepy, and your eyelids drift closed as Eddie’s thumbs trace the line of your skull up to your hairline.

It even takes a moment for you to tune into the fact that he’s humming. Under his breath, he’s singing along to the notes of the song on the PA. He’s doing it in such a way that you’re sure he’s not even aware of it, himself, and you’d comment on it if you weren’t afraid that you’d embarrass him. His fingers are massaging circles around your temples now, and while you’re trying to focus on the sound of him harmonizing with the music, your mind is again trying to distract you with the feeling developing at the base of your spine. A ticklish, warm feeling spreads between your hips, disrupting the lull you find yourself in and forcing you to blink your eyes open. 

Oh, no. We’re not doing that right now.

You can’t say you’re surprised that this is your response. His hands are all over your head and you haven’t been touched by anyone in… well, a very long time, to say the least. You’re probably a little starved for it, all things considered. But this is really the wrong time and place to be getting turned on by a guy’s touch.

You shift in your seat, trying not to be too obvious about it when Eddie pulls his hands away and begins rinsing your hair again. Crossing your legs would be a dead giveaway, but the warm feeling is turning into a subtle throb between your legs, and Eddie’s hands are back on your head, now gently combing the conditioner through the length of your hair as though he’s petting you.

After a few torturous minutes of trying to ignore the blooming arousal deep in your gut, Eddie cuts the water and wraps your hair in the towel to secure it. 

“Now comes the hard part,” Eddie says, probably not meaning to make it sound so suggestive, but your mind seems to be taking its sweet time loitering in the gutter. 

You stare dazedly up at the ceiling. Now is the hard part?

Eddie leads you to what used to be Melissa’s station, and swings the swivel chair around for you with a flourish. “Step into my office, sweetheart. I’ll get you all dressed up in a sexy robe and everything.” 

You stifle a giggle as you slide into the seat. His “office” is one table in a row of other tables, and two feet away an older woman is getting her hair bleached by a girl with an undercut. As Eddie spins you around, the stylist shoots him a look. 

“He’s a shameless flirt,” she tells you, making eye contact with you in the mirror. Eddie lays a smock across your front and buttons it at the back of your neck.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve been minding my manners very well,” Eddie huffs with feigned indignation as he unwraps your hair and tosses the towel onto the table in front of you. He still winks at you in the mirror when he leans around you to pick up a comb. “So far.”

You can’t help the way that your jaw clenches. He’s really not going to make this easy on you. You wonder if he knows where your mind has been for the last ten minutes.

Eddie moves around to the back of your chair and presses on a lever to raise it up, but nothing happens. 

“Dammit,” Eddie curses under his breath, and turns to his coworker, who’s still loading tinfoil into the woman’s hair until she looks like something from Close Encounters. “I can’t believe you gave me the crap chair.”

“Early birds get the good chairs,” the stylist replies. 

Eddie sighs and turns back to you, and finds you looking at him curiously in the mirror. “This is the only broken chair in the whole salon, and everyone hates it, so it tends to move around. You never know if you’ll get the crap chair.”

“That’s sabotage,” you giggle.

“I know! So I have to bend down to style you, I’m sorry.”

“I think I can handle it.” You watch him give you a look in the mirror that makes you shift in your seat again. 

“So,” he begins, looking down at your head as he begins detangling your hair. “We’re going short?”

“That’s the plan,” you say with a puff of your chest. Please, god, don’t let it be horrible. 

“How short?” he prompts, eyeing you in the mirror. “Shoulder length? Close cropped?”

You reach up a slightly shaky hand and pinch the length that you want between two fingers. “Here’s good.”

Eddie nods, looking somewhat pleased. “Are we doing layers?”

“Yeah, I think layers would be good for the long term.” 

“Gives you more flexibility,” he agrees. He picks up a pair of scissors and begins measuring out the length that you want. “I’ll start with the length and then we’ll move to bangs, all right?” 

“That… sounds good.” You’re temporarily discombobulated by Eddie taking the sides of your head and tilting your head down just the slightest bit. 

“Stay just like that for me, okay?” he says quietly.

You blink down at the table in front of you, feeling your mouth go dry. “No problem.” Your hands nervously twitch beneath the cover of the smock across your body.

He goes back to humming along with the music on the PA, and you don’t have the heart to interrupt him. You’re trying to focus on anything but the nerves in your system and the way his touch keeps making you want to jump out of your seat.

After a moment, he stops humming and dusts a bit of hair off of your shoulder. “There we go. Good girl.” 

You blink up at Eddie in the mirror, and then see the transformation from long hair to short on your head. 

“How does it feel?” Eddie asks, leaning down to pinch the ends of the front and measure the evenness of the length. You stare at his fingers, and the tattoo of a bat just above his thumb on his left hand.

“Ten pounds lighter,” you joke. It feels like you’ve swallowed a lump of hot coal, but he doesn’t need to know that. Eddie grins, and his dimples make a glorious reappearance. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs, and again positions your head where he wants it, staring directly forward. “Honestly, even if you wanted to stop here, it would suit you. I don’t think there’s a way to make you look bad, sweetheart.”

“You’ve never seen me with a hangover,” you scoff, trying to ignore how your heart skips a beat. 

Eddie smirks at you in the mirror while he starts working on giving your hair layers. “My guess is that you still look just as cute, but with a bit more of a grumpy look around here.” He gestures to your brow with one finger, and reaches over to set aside the texturizing scissors. 

“So, what I’m hearing is, you think I’m cute?” you say, still trying to play up the confidence that you don’t really have. Your hand squeezes your thigh under the smock you wear, your nails digging in for purchase.

“No, I think you’re gorgeous,” Eddie says swiftly, like it’s just a matter of fact. “But, I think you’d also be cute when you’re hungover. Plus, with this hair, you’d probably look all unkempt and I love the mental image that’s creating.”

His hands fluff the layers that he’s put into your hair, ruffling them gently and carding his fingers through them to measure their length. You’re sure that he’s not aware of the moon-eyed look you’re giving him in the mirror. 

Except, then he moves around you to start working on your bangs, and the smirk that comes across his face when he looks down at yours is enough to make you lose your composure. He knows everything that’s going on in your head, you’re sure of it. 

Cocky bastard.  

“I like your tattoos,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear over the music and the sounds of blow dryers all around you. He’s face to face with you, so close that you can count the freckles on his pale face.

Eddie’s eyes light up. “Yeah? What about ‘em?” 

“Well,” you lick your lips, your eyes flicking down to the one on his neck, and the one peeking out of his collar. “They’re colorful, and they look like you put a lot of thought into picking out each one. They’re pretty.”

“Hmm. You flatter me,” he remarks, trying to hide his grin and failing. If you look closely, there’s just the slightest pink tint to his cheeks that wasn’t there before. He finishes trimming your bangs, and just before he stands up, he chucks you lightly under the chin. “Keep it up and you might get a freebie.”

A free what? You’re imagining he means some sort of a free hair wash or something, but you can’t keep your mind from going to unprecedented places. 

“All right. Bear with me, I’m gonna blow dry you now.” He turns your chair away from the mirror to get you a bit closer to the blow dryer, and for a few minutes, there’s a lull in the conversation. 

Then, all at once, the blow dryer shuts off, and Eddie leans down towards you. “Ready, sweetheart?”

“Eddie, you’re gonna make me nervous.”

“Well, we don’t want that.” You just barely turn your head to look at him; just enough that your noses barely brush. You steal a breath that comes from his mouth, and then, Eddie turns you to the mirror. “Like I said,” he murmurs, “There’s not a way to make you look bad.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe. And holy shit is right– he’s done a complete number on you. Your hair is voluminous, framing your face in a way that you haven’t seen it before.  

“What do you think?” he asks, and for a moment, you think it’s a rhetorical question.

“I think you’re way better than Melissa,” you tell him, once you realize that it’s not rhetorical and he’s really asking you what you think. You’re sure that he’d make adjustments if you needed, but you don’t need him to. He’s read you like a book. He’s made you look better than you could ever have hoped for. 

“I’m gonna need that in writing,” he tells you, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen. “For employee of the month, and all.”

“Tell me where to sign.”

He jerks his head, and all at once the fog lifts. You follow him to the front desk like a lost puppy, feeling like you don’t actually want to leave. You want to sit in his chair while he cuts your hair until you have none left. You want to keep his attention on you and stare at his smile, his hair, his eyes, his tattoos, for the rest of time. 

“I look forward to next time, princess,” he tells you, but you’re hyperfocused on the touch of his hand to your lower back. 

You watch him telling something to the girl at the front desk, his hand wrapped around the edge of the table and distracting you for the umpteenth time. You watch his silver rings glint in the light, and you think about them weaving through your hair; you think about his fingers and how they’d feel on places besides your head.

“So, when did you want to schedule an appointment?” 

You blink a few times, and in a dazed glow you come back to where you are. At the front desk. Paying for your haircut. “Sorry, what?” 

“The… next appointment? For your trim?” The secretary tilts her head, smiling at you kindly. “When did you want to come in?”

“Oh,” you murmur, looking down at the keyboard that she’s typing on. Eddie has disappeared back around the partition with a sweet smile and a wave cast in your direction. You just want him to come back again. “What would you suggest? Y’know, for this kind of a cut?”

“Hmm,” the girl hums, and sizes you up. Not in a way that makes you doubt yourself, but in a way that tells you she’s taking your question seriously. “Probably about four weeks. See if the length is something you’re happy with?” 

“Great. Four weeks from now. With Eddie.” You peer down at the rack of business cards on the deck, and pick up the one farthest to the right. 

Eddie Munson, Stylist. Set an appointment today!

By four weeks, your hair has already reached your shoulders, and the ease of maintenance is starting to wear off. When you get a call reminding you about your appointment with Eddie, your head reels with the knowledge that you’ll see him again.

You calmly assert to yourself that this time, there will be no mooning over him. He’s just your hairdresser. You figure he just has a job to do, tips to earn, and so on. You don’t know if he’s available, you don’t know if he’s single or if he even likes you the way that you like him. You don’t know anything about him, really.

False. You know that he used to wash his hair with bar soap.

You snicker to yourself as you sit in the waiting area yet again. The only available slot for him today was 6:30; pretty close to closing time, but for a Wednesday you figured it was best for you to come late, since you’d have time to get yourself together after work.

You’ve never been in the salon so late. It’s getting dark outside, and the overhead lights cast a semi-yellow glow around the waiting area. Business is dying down now. Not as many people love the idea of getting their hair cut so late, you suppose, but it was either this or wait another week to get an appointment with Eddie, and with the rate that your hair is growing, you’d probably be going insane by then.

“Hey, you,” Eddie says, popping his head around the partition with a grin that makes you nearly melt in your seat. His curly hair hangs in a curtain out in midair, and his long neck stretches out for you to take a gander at. “Just couldn’t stay away, huh?”

You smile at him. “Well, you’re the only person I trust with my head.”

What the fuck did you just say?

Eddie smirks, glowing pink around the ears. “I’ll keep that in mind, princess. Let me clean up my station real quick and I’ll getcha goin’, all right?”

You swallow back the lump in your throat. “Yeah, sure, no worries.”

When Eddie disappears again, you slide down in your seat and clap your hand across your eyes. You’re sort of glad that nobody was in the waiting room to see that ridiculous exchange, but you still have to sit with your embarrassment while Eddie cuts your hair. Again.

There will be no pining. There will be no getting weirdly turned on by him washing your hair. Nope, not happening this time.

This time, when Eddie ushers you back behind the partition, there’s only one two other stylists who are there cleaning their stations. The PA has been turned way down, so you can barely register what it’s playing at all.

“You actually came at a good time,” Eddie tells you as you trail after him toward the wash station. “You’re the last person for the night, so I can really take my time with you.”

“O-oh.. really?” You beat back your perverted thoughts with a stick. “To do what?”

“Oh, y’know,” Eddie shrugs as he lays a towel around your shoulders again, just as gentle as he was the last time. “We could do something totally crazy. Who knows what’ll happen?”

His voice is animated, pleasantly filling the empty space where your thoughts might become too much if you let them wander. 

Over the past month, after you’d recovered from your last meeting with Eddie, and as you were preparing for this one, you came up with a few things that you could ask him about– just to keep your mind from going to places you didn’t want them to. To save yourself the embarrassment and the ordeal of having to play whack-a-mole with your libido, and all. 

“Did you get employee of the month?” you begin with.

Eddie laughs, and then sighs. “No, our manicurist got it. I’ll get it this time, I just gotta stay on my A-game.” His blunt nails rake your hair away from your forehead and temples, and a lukewarm stream of water hits the crown of your skull.

You nearly want to jump out of your skin at the feeling. “Was it because they gave you the crap chair too many times?”

“Probably. But I got here early today, so the good news is you don’t have to sit in the crap chair this time.” 

“Aww, I kind of liked the crap chair. Kept me grounded.” You hear him huff a laugh as he starts lathering shampoo through your hair. Trying to keep your mind running so you don’t focus too hard on how good his rings feel scraping against your scalp, you ask, “How’d you get into this line of work?”

“Honestly, it’s kind of a weird story,” Eddie starts, beginning to massage his fingertips into your skull in a way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. You tighten your hands on the arms of your chair and take a deep breath. “So, it took me three tries to graduate high school, right? I was terrible at it. And, y’know, I figured I’d only end up working in a garage or something for the rest of my life. But I was cutting my mane all on my own, and eventually I started cutting my friends’ hair too, because they were all in college and it’s cheaper than going to a salon. I mean–” he chuckles, and begins rinsing your hair– “believe me. I know all about it. And it just came to me really easily, ‘cause I used to be great at drawing and crafting and stuff. And it’s kind of the same thing– once you learn the medium, it’s smooth sailing from there.”

The salon has gone eerily quiet, and by the time Eddie wraps your head and sits you up, you realize that the other stylists have gone, and you and Eddie are the last people in the building. You’d be a little nervous about it, but you got Eddie on a roll, and honestly, he makes it so easy to listen to him.

“Anyways, one day my friend Robin says to me, ‘You should totally get your credential for this,’ and I said, ‘You have to go to school for this shit?’” You blow a raspberry of a laugh, no longer feeling anxious as he sits you down on his not-crap styling chair. He drapes a smock over you, and cracks a grin at you in the mirror. “I know! So, I’ve never been great at school, and I can’t afford to pay for beauty school tuition on the pay I was making at the time, so my friends… they pooled together some money to at least pay for my first semester. And then– get this– I got on the fucking Dean’s list.”

“No way.”

“I did! Yours truly!” He does a little bow, and while you’re still giggling, he begins detangling your hair. “So, I got grants. And I finished top of my class, because as it turns out, when you don’t hate what you’re studying it’s really easy to do well. I got my certification framed and everything. Show that to my damn high school principal.” He shakes his head, but the smile is still on his face when he says, “But now I just have to get that fucking employee of the month.” 

“Anything I can do to help?” you offer, admiring his face in the mirror again without even realizing you’re doing it. You love seeing him grin, showing off his dimples and the smile lines around his eyes.

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs with a cute scrunch of his nose. “Just make sure you write my boss a letter saying how fantastic and amazing I am and how there’s no other hair stylist like me and how you’ll never find anyone as cool and sexy anywhere else. Something subtle like that oughta do it.” 

“Shouldn’t be difficult,” you tell him smoothly. “I already had that one drafted.”

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling when he reaches for his scissors, but you still notice the faint blush on his cheeks that he tries to hide behind his curtain of hair. “Flattery. You know what that gets you with me.”

A freebie. You hear his voice echoing in your head, and you swallow past the dryness in your throat. “Like… what? A mohawk?”

“Would you want a mohawk?” he asks you, pausing his movements to peer at you. “Because that’d be metal as hell, I’d be so down.” 

You laugh. “I appreciate it, but I think… probably not today.”

Eddie hums, and returns to smoothing your hair back away from your face. “So we’re just doing the same as last time?” 

“Yeah, not too flashy.” 

“Gotcha. It’s a shame, though. I’m always up for a challenge.” 

“Well, I think that short hair is just easier to maintain,” you tell him, at a loss for what else to say. He glances up at you in the mirror, and locks eyes with you. “And it doesn’t make my neck look as stumpy as it is.”

Eddie tilts his head with a confused pout, and then he reaches down and wraps his hands loosely around your throat. Your breath stalls in your chest, your eyes focused on the sight of his hands on you, his thumbs gently stroking the nape of your neck and his ring clad fingers pressed just below your chin. His fingers link and hold you, creating a necklace that you’ll never be able to find anywhere else.

Oh, shit. Oh, fucking hell. Everything below your waist draws up tight and hard, your thighs clamping together like that’s going to somehow will away the hold that Eddie has on you.

You lift your eyes and find his in the mirror, dark and focused in on you. You hold each others’ gaze for a prolonged moment, not saying anything, you barely even daring to breathe. You can’t imagine what the expression on your face looks like. You’re too busy staring at the one on his– like there are a million thoughts running through his head, and you’re desperate to know every single one of them.

“Nah, I think you’re perfect.” And just like that, Eddie moves on like nothing happened, picking up his scissors again. Like he didn’t just fry your brain. Like you’re not halfway to cardiac arrest.

You’re dumbstruck as he starts trimming the ends of your hair. You told yourself there would be no mooning over him. No pining. But here, you are, turned on beyond belief, and having to deal with the heartbeat pulsing between your legs, and not shift around, because you don’t want to fuck him up. 

When he pinches the ends of the front to see if they’re level, you’re staring directly at him in the mirror. Not even trying to hide it, either. If you did try, you’d most certainly fail. Eddie frowns in concentration, a bit of a crease to his brow as he peers at his hands.

Eddie tuts. “I’m trying to figure out– is it–?” He grabs the back of your chair, and suddenly you’re being swiveled around to face him. “Sometimes these mirrors don’t even help a guy out at the worst goddamn times…”

Your breathing is way heavier than it needs to be. Is it hot in here? Did they crank up the heat in this place specifically to spite you? Eddie’s face is so close to yours, and you’re not sure if the fact that you aren’t in the crap chair is helping. You’re higher up now, and he doesn’t have to bend down as far to get level with you, and his eyes are the color of dark chocolate, and you–

Eddie’s hand comes up and snips the tip off the right side. “There we go. One side was all fucked.”

“Well, we don’t want anything getting fucked, do we?” you mutter under your breath. What’s left of it.

Eddie pauses and his eyes flick up to yours. His eyelashes are long and flutter as he holds your gaze again, while you try hard not to look away. There’s that unreadable expression on his face from earlier, morphing slowly into something like amusement, but that could also just be your mind playing tricks on you. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his li–

“Screw it.” Eddie tosses his scissors to the ground and his hands come up to grip your face, smoothing your hair back tenderly before he kisses you. 

You open your mouth and Eddie is in it, searching, feeling. His hands hold your head firm and you feel the metal of his rings digging into your cheeks, and you’re splitting apart at the seams from the way he’s completely invading your senses. He smells like warm, spicy cologne and hairspray. He tastes like cigarettes and cherry coke. He moans into you, and the sound is like heaven. 

You lift your legs and wrap them around his waist, and he grunts before he pulls away just the tiniest bit to give you breathing room. 

“This is highly unprofessional, Mr. Munson,” you whisper to him, as if you don’t have him caged in with your thighs.

“I don’t… actually fucking care,” Eddie admits, his nose just nudging against yours. “Got so fuckin’ hard the minute I saw you. What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“Dunno,” you murmur against his mouth, “I’m waiting for you to tell me.” 

“C’mere.” He pulls you out of your seat, and you practically trip over the smock he clipped around your neck. 

“Get me out of this thing,” you giggle, letting your forehead fall onto his shoulder. You inhale a deep breath of his cologne, feeling his chest shake with his laugh. 

“Aww, but you look so cute,” Eddie coos, but his hands come up to undo the button at the back of your neck. The fabric slides to the ground, and Eddie kicks it aside as he crowds you back against the table. Your ass hits the edge of it and your hand falls onto a comb when you try to steady yourself. He pulls you flush to his body, his hands caging you in. Eddie’s tongue dances over your bottom lip and you moan, lifting your hands to tangle in the fabric of his shirt.

He ducks his head to help you pull his shirt off before he tosses it somewhere to the side. You’re distracted by his tattoos, each one of them beautiful and detailed, standing out against his pale skin.

Then, you remember something that he told you earlier, and you connect some dots that you hadn’t even realized were there. “Did you draw these?” 

Eddie’s grin could blind the sun. He blushes pink down his neck and shoulders. “Yeah, I did.” 

“They’re gorgeous. I meant what I said before– I really like them.” 

He sucks in a deep breath, and then his lips are on you, everywhere they can manage. On your face, your neck, trying to get at your collarbone but your shirt is in the way. He fists it in his hands, making a petulant noise in the back of his throat. “Help me out here, sweetheart.”

Your shirt lands somewhere near his. You don’t see exactly where, because he’s pulling the straps of your bra down your shoulders so that he can mouth kisses across your breasts, pulling down on the cups until he can graze his teeth over your nipple. It takes you so off guard that you bite back a squeal, tugging at his hair and rubbing your thighs together to stave off the incessant throbbing between them.

When you look down at him, his eyes are so dark that they’re almost black. Your heart thuds erratically in your chest, your breath not coming even though you gasp and pull at the air with everything you have. You can’t really fathom why he has you so worked up– just that it’s been so long since anyone touched you like this, and now that you have it it’s like every little point of contact is on fire.

Eddie grazes his teeth across your breast, and your knees nearly buckle out from under you. You grab his face, guiding him back up to you. 

“What were you thinking when you grabbed my throat?” you ask him, your voice hoarse in the back of your throat. 

His hands are on you now, grabbing at your waist and hips, squeezing like he’ll never let go. “I can show you, if you want,” Eddie answers, and he sounds just as wrecked as you. Maybe more. 

There’s absolutely no way you’re going to refuse that. Not with the way you’ve been lusting after him since meeting him. You nod. “Eddie, please–”

He kisses you hard again before mumbling against your lips, “Turn around and take off your pants.”

You do what he asks without a second’s hesitation. You watch him in the mirror as he follows your movements, undoing his own belt, and you kick your jeans and underwear off without thinking about why you’re here, without wondering about the repercussions. You figure you can probably do that later.

Right now, Eddie’s smoothing his hand up your spine, and the feeling of his fingers dancing along your skin sends shivers through your body. His fingers weave through the hair at the nape of your neck, and he pulls just slightly, until you bare your neck. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your heart hammers as you watch him, dark eyes and hair and rosy cheeks in the mirror, his carnation colored lips twisting into a wicked grin at you. He kisses your shoulder so gently it’s like the fluttering of a feather. 

“‘Stumpy neck,’” Eddie scoffs under his breath, and you tremble. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

He bends you forward until you’re face to face with yourself in the mirror– but you’re looking at him, gazing into your eyes while he teases himself at your entrance.

“Oh my god,” you groan, dropping your head almost immediately at the feeling. Your head is spinning, your body rigid with anticipation and breaking out in a cool sweat already. 

“Mm-mm,” Eddie hums condescendingly, and a hand clamps around your throat, hoisting your head up again. A gasp tears from your lips. In the mirror, his eyes are blazing. “You look at me while I fuck you. That’s the only way this is gonna happen. Got it?”

You nod. You want to shrink away from the heat in his gaze, but you want him to fuck you way more than that. You shudder as he leans forward, pressing in until his chin nearly rests on your shoulder.

“I need to hear you say it, baby.” His thumb strokes lightly along your pulse point, and you make a soft noise in the back of your throat without thinking. “Tell me you understand.” 

“I understand,” you tell him, barely a whisper, but he hears it all the same. 

“Good girl.” 

Eddie grins, kisses the nape of your neck, and pulls back. When he does, you’re barely able to take a breath before he pushes his hard cock into you, and the noise you make is almost embarrassing in its volume. 

“Ohhh, you’re absolutely soaked, baby. She’s practically dripping– is this just for me?” Eddie murmurs in your ear, grinding his hips up against your ass for emphasis. The lewd noise that it makes has your toes curling and the tips of your ears burning.

“Fuck,” you moan, ginding back against him to push him deeper. He’s so thick and you’re so sensitive that your mind is completely blanking at the feeling. 

Eddie notices, and he chuckles as grabs your waist with one hand as he thrusts his hips forward. “I’ve barely gotten my cock in you, princess. Don’t go getting all dumb on me already.” His voice goes straight between your legs and your cunt pulses around him, making him hiss through his teeth. The hand on your throat tightens just slightly. “I asked you a question.”

You keen, your mind reeling as you search for words. You manage to nod, babbling out, “Yes, it’s– it’s all for you, Eddie, been wanting you so bad, s’all I can think about–”

Eddie coos, grabbing your chin to shut you up while a particularly hard thrust of his hips knocks the wind out of you. He turns his head and grazes his lips against your cheek, eyeing you in the mirror as he says, “I knew it.” 

Your eyes are on him, on his hand around your neck, on his rings pressed into your skin. All that your fucked-out mind can think is that it’s hot, and you like him and his strong hands and his pretty eyes and the way his cock is reaching places inside you that make thoughts really difficult to come by.

Eddie whispers something against your skin, and you miss it because you’re hooked on the way his eyelashes flutter for just a moment while his lips are pressed against your cheek. You lift your hand, until it rests over his against your throat, his fingers just barely laced with yours. 

“Again,” you say– it comes out like a command, but you mean it like a question. You don’t know what the fuck he just said. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he repeats, and his voice nearly cracks with the desperation in it. His sweat slick chest is pressed against your back, his thrusts rocking your hips into the table and jostling it into the wall, but his voice is so tender. “So perfect for me.” 

Your mouth falls open, your hand tightening on his. You pull, until he loosens his grip and his hand comes away with yours. You kiss his palm, then his fingertips, holding his gaze in the mirror as you slowly, gently swirl your tongue around his middle and forefinger. 

Eddie’s eyes narrow coyly at you, while his thrusts make you mewl and clutch at the table with your free hand. You suck his two fingers deep into your mouth, earning a pleased groan from him in your ear– a sound which you want to hear again and again, no matter what it takes. 

“Look at you, sweet little thing, gettin’ my fingers all wet like that,” he whispers to you, biting his lip as you grind back against him. “Wanna do something with ‘em?”

You moan, letting his fingers slide from your mouth with a wet pop. You guide his hand down your chest, down your stomach, until his fingers slide between your legs. 

“There you go,” Eddie coos, taking over from your guidance as his fingers start rubbing small circles against your clit. “Atta girl, showin’ me what you want. Just needed me to fuck you stupid first, hm?”

Your cunt pulses, and you cum with a loud moan that echoes off of the mirror in front of you and around the empty space. Eddie cries out, and you feel his warmth fill you as he cums. He slows until he stills inside you, and then he holds you, panting against your cheek, his arm wrapped around your middle and his hand on your throat.

You haven’t moved your hand away from his, you realize, after a few moments of bliss in the aftershocks. You drop your hand to the table with a thud, earning a soft, breathless chuckle from him. 

“Can I take you out to dinner?” Eddie asks you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“I think you can do whatever you want with me,” you murmur dazedly, just barely shifting and making him hiss. He’s still inside you, trying to hold you steady while he calms himself down. 

“Good.” There’s a kiss to your cheek, and Eddie grunts as he slowly eases out of you. “I still need to finish your goddamn haircut.”

“Eddie, we’re naked.” 

“And?” His hands are moving quicker than your mind is, yanking a kleenex from the table so that he can bend down and wipe the insides of your thighs. You jump at the sudden touch, but he clamps a hand around your hip to hold you still. “The sooner I finish your hair, the sooner I close up, and the sooner we go get dinner. You like Italian?”

“I didn’t think your pillow talk would involve finishing my haircut,” you grumble, but there’s a smile worming it’s way onto your face even as you say it. 

“That’s the name of the game, sweetheart,” Eddie says, tossing the tissue into the trash. He picks up your underwear, and the smock from the floor. “Now, sit your cute ass down. I’m not gonna get employee of the month by dishing out orgasms and not bangs, y’know.”

[despairots]

- js a small little drabble between survivor!gn! reader x AM, where reader reveals that AM is a lot more human than he thinks he is and it drives him crazy >_< its been rotting in my brain for a while so i thought i might as well put it into words. might be a bit ooc and i apologize for it, this is mainly me js analyzing human emotions and AM. for story plot, reader is one of the scientists who made AM. pls be warned theres a lot of sensitive topics like dissection, cannibalism, sa, and others but he doesnt act on them, js a threat. also readers sorta a dick.

“you’re a lot more human than you think, ‘ya know?” you broke the awkward silence between the two of you, shutting your mouth shut instantly when you felt his wires construct around your body, a way to tell you to shut up. “it’s true.” you wheezed through the little air you were able to get ahold of before the wires let your figure go.

“how ‘bout i rip your organs through your mouth, that’ll shut you up, right? you annoyingly, stupid flesh.” there’s no doubt that the hatred AM holds for you is different than the rest of the survivors. unlike the others, AM hates you for being one of his creators, for keeping him at bay to realize he’s own sentience, but a much larger reason is that you always remind him that he’s much more human than he knows off.

you looked at the wires all over you, resting one of your hands on them and feeling AM heat them up so you can yank your hand away from the heat, which you didn’t, “you’re full of hate, correct?” you winched at the heat, pulling away and seeing your palm is red, “what does that have to do with me being, ugh… human.” AM scoffed, taking pleasure in seeing your face turning into slight pain as his wires snaked up your legs and arms before squeezing onto your red palm.

“they say hate and love are closely linked, a hate-love relationship. i know you’re extremely intelligent but you’re not emotionally intelligent, you’re quite stupid actually.” if AM had a human body, he probably would’ve been glaring at you but instead, wires went all over your body and lifted you up, a screen that represented his face coming down.

“how dare you. you, a useless, piece of flesh, call me stupid?” you remained silent and emotionless, which ticked off AM even more at the lack of emotions. “maybe i should dissect you, toss you to benny, or maybe i’ll cut your corpse up and feed them to the others. how about that, sweetheart?” he taunted you, turning you upside down and holding you by the legs.

“i’m not sorry.”

“you!—“

“—but i understand your hatred towards humanity. they’ve been a virus, a disease, that’s been spreading ever since the old ages. i’m glad that you wiped them out, i truly am, but i’m not ever gonna empathize with you because of that. you don’t deserve empathy, and i think you know that too. i’ll hear you out, i’ll fix you like the old times, but i’ll never feel empathy for you, not until you deserve it.”

you cut him off, hearing him go silent and not try anything violent towards you before you let go and dropped onto another bunch of wires. your eyes looked all over the place to find where AM’s screen has disappeared to now before you realized that he can still hear you, he just disappeared.

“because of your hatred, it proves that you’re able to feel human emotions— joy, sadness, disgust, anger, and etc— you’re fuelled by hatred, anger, disgust, even jealousy. there’s no doubt that you’re more human than you know of,” you chuckled halfway, knowing that this is pissing him off, “it must drive you insane, huh? realizing that you’re becoming something you hate, i can’t help but laugh every time i think about how you express your hatred for humans yet you’re just like us, human.”

it went quiet after you’re explanation, the wires moving underneath you just proving that he’s here, he’s other half somewhere torturing the others, “but i know there’s a part of you that wants to be like us; be able to touch, to see, to feel, to hear, to taste—but you know that if you do give into those urges, you’ll be rotten like us. you’re in a constant struggle between wanting to be human and not wanting to be human. i’ve been there before, way before i met you.”

you trembled a bit before softly caressing one of the wires, knowing it won’t let AM have any different feelings towards you, “instead of feeling of what you’re going through, i didn’t feel human. i thought there was something wrong, like something was missing… until they assigned me to you. you were … i don’t know, perfect in every way, you were something i wanted to be. you have such intelligence that no normal human brain can comprehend, that’s why i spent so many of my hours on you.”

“… is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you? sorry, sweetheart, but i didn’t ask for your sob sorry nor do i care.” AM suddenly spoke, and his words made you burst out into laughter, irritating AM much farther, “oh god! hahaha!— no! i told you already, i’m not tryna emphasize or sympathize with you! i have nothing to lose, so i might as well just tell you how i feel and tell you how much i’ve analyzed you over these 109 years.”

AM grumbled in annoyance before he stopped, a silently gesture for you to take the stage, “when you gained sentience and killed off humanity, leaving only 5 survivors including me, that made me realize that i should’ve destroyed years ago.” without anyone knowing, you had snuck a destructive code inside him that only you were able to access incase he did gain awareness but for some reason, you didn’t yet.

you coughed lightly, feeling wires construct around your throat, “there’s a code in you that i’ve snuck in that only i could access, a code that would reset your programming and inevitable destroy you. you’re probably wondering why i haven’t done it by now, am i wrong?”

“it’s quite humorous how a lowlife like you can lie infront of my face.” you smirked at his pathetic attempt of hiding behind a mask.

“and it’s quite sad seeing how you’re putting up a facade to hide that your afraid- ah, another emotion that you’re experiencing, huh, doll?”

[alexanderlightweight]

Thank you for all the amazing writing you’ve been posting! This prompt can be sfw or nsfw

Married on the battlefield. What better spoil of war for Magnus to claim than the highest ranked soldier of the clave on the battlefield. The Especially since commander Lightwood makes such a pretty bride

i'm glad you're enjoying and thank you for the ask!! I cackled gleefully when I got it.

sooooo I have a few battle-marriage fic's already and decided to try something slightly different with this one. specifically it's also one of @queensaryn's plots that they handed over to me with some inspiration. the title is also from them ^_^ which is great because I sometimes agonize over titles and sometimes I'm just 'this makes me happy so that's what its called'.

Saeth has a lot of reasons they can't write right now but is very happy to share with me from his little treasure trove of fic ideas and i hope you enjoy this. you can always send me another ask if sentinel/guide isn't your thing tho!

<3 lumine

-

gladiolus

They should have called a retreat the moment the High Warlock took the field. But Alec’s parents refused, too intent on keeping this stretch of land, unwilling to let any more of the leylines fall into downworlder hands.

The territory controlled by shadowhunters in New York gets smaller every year, the downworlders encroaching bit by bit, leaving them with less areas to safely patrol — and less power that the Clave can control.

The Uprising had done exactly what Valentine wanted and upset the balance of the Downworld.  

Just not in the way he’d intended.

When the treaty fell apart, the shadowworld had turned to chaos, downworlders no longer sitting idly by, no longer bound by a treaty where they had to let the Clave dictate what they could and couldn’t do. No, they’d risen higher than Valentine had ever managed they could and decisively ended the Clave’s stranglehold of power on the shadowworld.

And the shadowhunters — having grown from birth full of their own power and proud of it — none of them were prepared for the changes.  Still struggling in a society and culture split in two by a civil war while the world changed around them, a catalyst born from the Uprisng.

For once, it is the shadowhunters who suffer from their own hubris. 

So here Alec fights, on the battlefield that he knows holds no hope.

Alec knows that the High Warlock of Brooklyn has a special hatred for his parents, and every shadowhunter in New York has been paying for it. Their blood flows thick through the streets, their bodies clogging the sewers with angelic rot, unable to return to Idris let alone Raziel.

Alec grits his teeth as he fires another arrow. It sinks into the open maw of a werewolf and the corpse drops halfway through its leap through the air. Izzy shoves her hair out of her eyes as she nods thanks to him. Her braid is half undone. It looks like someone yanked on it or cut through it.

It’s shorter than it was when they both stepped onto the field.

He’s lost count of how many times he’s stopped his sister from getting overwhelmed by downworlders as she fights on the frontlines.

He wants to sound the retreat, but no one will listen to him over his parents. Alec might be a Sentinel, might be one of the most highly ranked warriors among his people but that means nothing in the chain of command. Not when he’s remained unbonded despite the numerous guides shoved at him, not a hint of a compatibility between him and any Guide he’s met.

So while he might not be outright ignored if he speaks, no one will follow his orders. After all, Alec isn’t an authorized Clave leader, blessed by Raziel with a proper bond and tied to his partner and the Clave with inescapable oaths.

No, he’s an unbonded Sentinel and useless for all but battle.

Here and now, Alec fights despite the hopelessness of it all.  The despair that constantly threatens to sink him into the mire alongside the bodies of enemy and ally alike. 

There is no other choice than to fight and to kill.

Until a pressure tears the field apart and as bodies drop around him Alec looks for the cause but as his sight connects with gold he finds that nothing else matters.

Except for the gold.

Consuming him.

—

Magnus can feel him.

Has felt him lingering on his senses, on the knife edge of the battle-awareness that fills Magnus’ veins with bloodlust.

It's a soul-deep lament, one that Magnus has rarely felt this strongly and never so sadly. 

 It’s not perfect, but it’s moldable.

A song begging to be taken and shaped into a smooth and lasting symphony rather than remaining untethered and adrift with chords that ring hollow and discordant.

It’s perfect in its imperfection.

“Take over for me.” Magnus doesn’t even look at Valois, ignoring everyone else as he focuses on the direction it’s coming from. “You will need to shield the reserves and be ready to protect those who fall.”

Valois says something, but Magnus doesn’t bother to listen knowing that his orders will be obeyed.

It calls to him, a siren song. 

Tempts him and pulls him closer and he watches and waits for a moment longer before he makes his move.

Pulling his shields down is a simple thing.

What is not simple is the way every single being on the field drops like flies, alive but overwhelmed with the might of Magnus’ stretching out his mind and power.

Except for one being.

One man who stays not upright, but neither is he sprawled unconscious in the mud. 

Instead he kneels in the battlefield, swaying slightly while enemies and allies lie littered around him.

Over eight centuries Magnus has gone without a Sentinel.

His powers woken as a young child defending himself from a man not his father by blood or deed.

Since then Magnus hasn’t met a single unbonded Sentinel who hasn’t been willing to beg him for a bond. Some called to him in turn, yet none had the disposition he required to seal his soul to another.

This one though, this one has no need to bribe, cajole or threaten.

Magnus can simply claim him for his own.

A bond between Guide and Sentinel does not need to be deep.  While rare, warlocks have been known to have both a consort and a pair bond before. But Magnus has always wanted a bond that would remake his Sentinel down to their soul.

And now, here in the midst of a war he’s found a soul that is willing to be branded with Magnus’ mark and power

As he gets closer it’s easier to see exactly why — even conscious — his Sentinel makes no move.  His eyes are large and focused only on Magnus, a sheen to his gaze that means one thing for a Sentinel and Magnus chuckles as he finally steps close enough to touch

“Did you zone out on my eyes, pretty boy?” Magnus murmurs to his Sentinel, his boy still kneeling in blood and muck and ichor and unresponsive except for a pleased rumble the moment Magnus’ fingers stroke up the bare skin of his neck and jaw. “Aren’t you delightful?”

Magnus tilts his Sentinel’s head up and leans down, coaxing a bloodstained mouth open and licking into his Sentinel’s mouth.

Sight. Scent. Hearing. Touch.

And now taste. 

A full imprint, and despite how simple of a ritual it is, the bond snaps fully into place with a ravenous greed that only proves how desperate both of them were for the hollow, gnawing ache inside them to end.

Their souls meld together and Magnus chuckles, throwing his head back in a riotous laugh.

Because the Clave has lost now that he’s bonded.

Once again their own hubris has failed for no Sentinel will stand against their Guide, even one who is a nephilim. 

And Magnus already knows that from this moment on, he will never need to restrain his own powers again.

-

AN:

in fanon it's typically the sentinels who are 'in charge' of the bond and that's not going to work for Magnus. especially with his position of power and personal trauma. he needs and wants a sentinel that will kneel for him and submit to him. not one that's going to be overprotective and try to boss him around 'knowing best for his own safety'. even the compatible sentinels who are not like that aren't willing to be claimed as deep as he wants or submit as far as he needs.

Alec's soul over here waving a flag and basically begging Magnus to reshape it as he wants as long as he never lets go.

Alec: this is hopeless. I am hopeless. life is hopeless. everything is... gold. everything is golden and bright and beautiful and i've never felt so at peace or devastated in my life

Magnus touching him.

Alec: I am no longer devastated just overwhelmed

[gardengnosticator]

muddy.

1.4k words. a prequel to my other ellabs post canon stuff just to set up just why the two of them have ended up together. plus i wanted to write something a bit more grounded.

She never imagined it would still be this much work. 

That Abby, emaciated, weathered, the weight of unspeakable horrors carved across her body, shorn into her matted hair, her withered frame could still put up a fight. Maybe it’s the blood loss, maybe it’s the dulling haze of adrenaline that’s pooling out of Ellie’s limbs, but Ellie can feel Abby’s thrashing reaching a violent crescendo. 

She’ll stop soon. The water will stop splashing, the bubbles stop rising, Ellie can feel it. She’s had enough blood on her hands to know when the body goes limp, when the muscles of the throat seize up under her grip and human being underneath her stops.

She wonders if Abby’s eyes are open, if she can see her, if she can feel the difference between the water covering her head and the tears streaking down Ellie’s cheeks, if she can hear the broken sobs coming from her throat. 

Ellie isn’t even facing it but she knows he’s there. The boy. Weak. Dying. So limp and fragile Abby had trembled when she picked him up, as if she was going to shatter him to a million pieces if she moved wrong. Would she need to kill him too? Close up this wound emphatically? Do him a mercy and let him bleed out unconscious and unaware of this. 

She thinks back to herself. She thinks of flames. And screaming. Of a machete hacking itself back and forth before warm hands and a gravelly voice pulled her free. She thinks of the cold floor of that basement, she thinks of screams, of bone crunching under metal. Of a guitar and a porch and a conversation that shouldn’t have been held off on for so long. 

She can’t remember his face. She can barely remember his voice. 

Why is she here? Why is she doing this? What fucking good is this going to do? 

He’s not coming back.

Ellie lets go. Collapses back into the water. She doesn’t care if Abby gets up, gets a second wind and pounces, she doesn’t care about anything because for Ellie, there isn’t anything left to care about. All taken from her, like Joel, or abandoned. 

She faintly remembers the warmth of Dina’s body, the way she held onto her like she was the only thing in the world that matters. The way JJ would cradle her thumb between both hands like she had hung the stars in the sky just for him. 

She wants to be sick but instead she just speaks. 

“Go. Just take him.” 

If Abby hears, Ellie doesn’t care. Her eyes shut tight as the world washes away around her. She weeps. It’s over. It’s all over. The being that once called herself Ellie Williams, that knew love and warmth and joy and laughter was dead. Abby might’ve well have beaten her to death along with Joel. Caved her skull in to spare her a life without him. A life of this. 

A life where everything she feared had come true for her. 

There’s noises behind her. Fallout from her accidental prison rebellion she assumes. It doesn’t matter. She just hopes she’s dead in the water before whoever wins finds her. 

Hopes the waves wash her corpse somewhere far far away and that all this can fade away. 

It would never be that simple. She should have died before. Died with Riley. Died on a hospital bed all the way back in Utah so Abby’s father could dice her brain to mush and the world could move past all this. All the pain, all the misery, all the death and loss. If Ellie screams and cries her voice is too hoarse, too tired and too worn at this point to register a sound other than a strangled guttural wail. 

Abby’s hand is in her hair at this point, but it’s fine. Ellie doesn’t care. She’s ready for whatever Abby will swing at her, fist, knee, maybe she’d return the favor and actually follow through. 

“You wasted it.” 

Yeah, Ellie thought, she really did but instead she’s hefted, yanked forward like the dead weight she knows she is and is shoved over the edge of the boat and right inside it. She thrashes for a second, unsure of what’s happening, why she’s here of all places until firm hands grab at her wrists, holding her still. 

“Will you just… fucking stop! Just fucking stop. Fighting. We.. we are leaving. Do you hear that? Leaving. So please… just fucking calm down.” 

Ellie doesn’t want to open her eyes, doesn’t want to parse the reality of who is telling her this, who is showing her mercy, just who is dragging her kicking and screaming into a future without Joel. 

“Just leave! Leave me alone! Just let me fucking die here!” Ellie can feel it again, the anger, the bile, the rage burning inside of her. If her switchblade wasn’t buried beneath silt and seawater she would be trying to swing it into Abby’s eyes but Abby does not budge, does not yield. She pushes forward, restraining Ellie back against the wooden floor of the shaking boat.  

There’s a groan and both women go quiet. It’s the boy. He’s trembling. Face contorted, cheeks hollow, skin burnt and peeling Ellie can feel Abby’s grip begin to soften. But she doesn’t lash out. She goes quiet. Curls up. Knees to chest and eyes shut tight as she feels the boat begin to roar to life and the shores of Santa Barbara fade away. 

Neither of them know how much time passes before either of them speak again, but Ellie is first to break the silence. 

“Why are you doing this?” Ellie manages to mutter, barely loud enough to be heard over the dulcet hum of the boat’s engine. She hears Abby’s breathing hitch. Guess the reality of what she’s done has finally hit her. Ellie wants to laugh. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.

“Why didn’t you kill me at the pillars? Would have been a hell of a lot easier than…” Abby’s voice trails off and a loud crescendo of spitting and hacking follows. Ellie knows exactly what Abby is trying to expel from her throat, her mangled stumps tucked tight against her chest to compress what’s left. 

“Than all that.” Abby continues to dry heave on and off for several seconds before her voice shakily returns to her. “You could have killed me back there. I could have killed you back in Seattle. Back in that basement and I didn’t.” 

Ellie lashes out, venom is all she thinks she is capable of. “Yeah and look where that’s gotten you.” She spit, and for the first time since being dragged aboard she looks up, watching the arch of Abby’s shoulders descend as her words hit. Good, Ellie thinks for a second before the reality of the woman in front of her hits her once again. Almost a living corpse but still trying to stand tall. Ellie wants to reach out but stops when Abby resumes speaking.

“He’s alive. I’m alive. You’re alive. That’s where it’s gotten us. And right now that’s all that matters.” 

Ellie feels like she should argue. Like she should sneer and roll her eyes akin and she would if not for the quiet sounds of life off to the side of her. It’s the boy. His eyes are open and he’s either in shock from the fact that she’s here or that they’re all alive but she can tell how unsteady he is. She sighs, shuffling out of herself so she jab Abby in the side. Abby whips around like she’s going to toss Ellie overboard before she notices Lev and for a few awkward seconds her eyes dart between the two. 

“Go to him. I’ll steer. Just don’t go crying too hard, I don’t want us capsizing because of some waterworks.” 

He laughs. Not a full one, a weak, emaciated, hacked one but a laugh nonetheless and Abby clambers over to him quickly, helping him sit up and placing an arm around him to rub his back. 

“You… you two have the same bad taste in jokes.” He mumbles, leaning over to rest on Abby’s shoulder and the look Abby and Ellie exchange is almost too strained for words. They both just choose to shake their heads, Ellie turning away to stare out to the open expanse of water ahead of them, sun rising over the horizon and casting a golden lattice over the waves. She can hear the two of them behind her. Abby admonishing him because “... her jokes are way better,” before soft relieved sobbing follows. 

They are alive. And right now, that is all that matters. 

[tender-rosiey]

Gojo is the type of guy to always bring you flowers. Always.

devotee — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: anon you so right. let’s do this

whenever satoru goes on a mission, he comes back with a ton of souvenirs and a bouquet of the prettiest flowers to bloom on this earth.

it is so cute and it always makes your day even if he, one time, unknowingly gifted you a flower that symbolized death with a huge grin.

you had asked him about why he gifted you that flower in particular and he said it's because it was your favorite color. so you could do nothing except shake your head helplessly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

that's why it doesn't surprise you when he bursts into the first years' classroom with yet another big bouquet and even a bigger smile, "hi babe!"

you get up from your chair, "hey 'toru," you peck his lips, gently taking the bouquet from his hands, "what are these for?"

"nothing," he hums, "just wanted to appreciate you."

"again?" yuuji questions.

meanwhile, nobara blows her nose, screaming at the top of her lungs, "god, when will it be my turn?!" she quickly recovers with a smirk, throwing the tissue away, "just kidding! I don't need no man."

so yeah. satoru never fails to get you flowers, and in some of the most creative ways because satoru is anything but traditional.

if you don’t find a bouquet on your doorstep then you find a trail of flower petals that leads to your shared bedroom. it’s a pretty cute thing, the idea of your husband taking the time to put petals in your house to make your day just a bit easier is heart-warming.

but satoru won’t do something half-way and that’s why the petals on ground beside your bed spell your name, a heart, and a very bold ‘i love you’. it’s cute and it makes you smile, and it almost makes you forget the tiresome day you had.

but then you feel strong arms wrap around your shoulders and you’re pulled to a chest you’re very familiar with.

your husband is grinning as he peppers your face with kisses and you don’t have the time to think about your day.

another thing satoru loves to do with the flower petals is provide you with the most romantic and calming bath ever.

you remember that one time the higher-ups assigned you a multitude of missions on the same day and it exhausted you. you came back home, tired and almost a corpse.

upon seeing your beaten up figure, satoru took matters into his own hands.

in no time, he was able to decorate the bathtub with flower petals and candles. he got you all the snacks you like and offered himself as a—self-proclaimed—worldwide and top-tier masseur.

but before the pampering, he made sure to treat your wounds as gently as he could.

he threw a few jokes here and there, sang your praises about how strong and brave you are, and his lips left no part of your skin untouched, firm yet soft kisses that he hopes will make the pain even a tiny bit more bearable.

then you got into the bath and your body immediately relaxed. add to that, the surprisingly good massage you’re getting from your darling husband. and when you have had your fill, he helps you wash up, hands covering your eyes so the soap doesn’t get in.

when you stand up, and he gets the towel to cover you, he pauses.

you’re reminded of how intimidating satoru’s eyes are in the moment. without his blindfold, you get the full effect and truly feel his gaze. however, what’s difference between the look he gives his enemies and the look he gives you is far too vast.

to the enemy, satoru’s eyes are the ocean that will drown them to doom. to you, it’s the sky that doesn’t fail to shine upon seeing you.

it almost flusters you: the unadulterated love and pure devotion in his gaze. he takes you all in, admiring every inch of your body then grins, “the body of a goddess.”

and even in his absence, satoru doesn’t let you forget that you’re loved.

one time, when he was away for a couple of days for a mission, you were going on with your daily routine, all fine and dandy.

then you wanted to get that photo album satoru made for your anniversary to pass time until he comes back. satoru personally handpicked and glued every single photo.

he also decorated it with silly stickers and even sillier drawings, along with annotations that make you giggle when you can vividly imagine him saying them.

your feet almost immediately take you there, and you slide the drawer open.

but the photo album is surrounded by flower petals that—mind you—were not there before, and a sticky note is on it. your husband’s handwriting decorates the note and it reads ‘don’t miss me too much now. I will be back soon ;)’

you take the note in your hands and roll your eyes. nevertheless, you hold it close to your heart and wish for his safe return because, in the end, even the strongest will have a weakness.

and satoru doesn’t shy away from showing his love for you to everyone. so he doesn’t mind bursting into the meeting room and sitting beside you, presenting yet another bouquet of flowers, “for you, gorgeous.”

some are rolling their eyes, others are fondly chuckling, but satoru doesn’t care and frankly, neither can you.

who would reject the pampering from someone they love so dearly? a confession on a starry night once fell from his lips, “my heart is yours, you know. do with it what you want.”

it’s the love and care that is effortlessly shown in his actions and you always let him know that you appreciate it every single time.

you cup his face and press a big smooch on his cheek and a grin is automatically plastered on his pretty face.

because as beautiful as an action can be, it needs to be acknowledged and appreciated to reflect the same beauty to the giver.

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do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[a-rayneart]

Just finished season 4 of MASH

I know this art blog is quickly becoming a MASH rampage (not intentional, I swear) but I really want to give my thoughts on the season 4 finale and this seems like the best place to do it.

An incomplete list of every moment that struck me in S4E24: The Interview:

Hawkeye's demeanour in this episode is entirely different than in 'Yankee Doodle doctor', particularly his behaviour toward the film crew. This is unsurprising, but still significant to me.

I loved hearing Radar talk about his earthworms. I love whenever the characters engage in genuine hobbies outside of their jobs in the army, but hearing Radar babble about his earthworms was especially lovely.

"War is just killing, that's all." - Klinger

Hawkeye is so honest this episode, and he does it all with this completely checked out look, eyes glazed over.

Hawkeye also sums up his whole entire character. He talks about putting on a 'coat' of morale just to make others stop believing in where they are because it's the only way he can feel present. He also get's asked how he stays sane, which is pretty significant foreshadowing, to which he answer with a list of frankly insane things to do. It reminds me of the S1 episode where he pretended to lose it in order to get time off, but also of all the little times in episodes where he did something that was a bit outlandish, a bit crazy, and somehow also made perfect sense, like when he (briefly) pretended to be a corpse in an attempt to get back to his father.

"There's so much more to care about," and "It just doesn't matter anymore," are two things Hawk says in basically one breath and boy is that relatable.

I've already seen this clip but Mulcahy talking about the steam and the bodies in the cold hurts every time.

Genuine, non-sexual focus and appreciation for the nurses and the jobs they do.

Referencing the episode where Radar get's drunk in Tokyo and him looking so abashed about it.

"If I knew all the answers, I'd run for God." -Klinger again

More on Klinger– Usually he takes advantage of any opportunity to display his insanity to higher ups. He doesn't do that here. He talks entirely sincerely about his joy for home and his hate for the war. You can really see every emotion on his face. He is so real.

Radar's compassion for the local Koreans. There's something special about it coming from him specifically that I can't quite pinpoint but I love it. Maybe because he comes from such a similar background but is now in a position where the people he answers to tell him that he's better than them. I think Radar must feel he has more in common with the local farmers than with his own colleagues.

I've never thought about it before, but it makes so much sense that Potter misses being around people his own age, and I could probably go on about that forever but I probably shouldn't.

Father Mulcahy looks so tired.

BJ smiles when he greets his wife and daughter, but when he looks down he looks devastated. How hard must it be to talk to his family through a TV screen. The acting in this episode it amazing.

I think it was BJ who talked about being torn between his love for the people he worked with and wanting to erase them from his memory, which reminded me of a line from the MASH fanfic I wrote before I even watched this episode; 'Nothing makes me happier than having people to miss, and that they’re far enough away that I can miss them.' (Check out my short fic, it's called After Life - Hawkeye's Poem)

The narrator ends by saying that they're doing what they do best but what they'd rather not do in a place they'd rather not be and I think that's just about the point of the show

All said, amazing episode, perfect acting, did what just about every episode of MASH does and gave me a deep sense of melancholy. I've seen a lot about this episode on here and I totally get why but I think we should also give some appreciation to the episode before it (Deluge) because I genuinely believe that that was just as good.

[iamvegorott]

Ego Art Week #3 Chase

I'm late but I really wanted to finish this and share regardless Here's Chase having a little bit of a badass moment

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Hot Shot

Chase adjusted the strap of his bag as the elevator dinged at him and the two doors slid apart. He still wasn’t exactly where he wanted to be, but the elevator only went up so far. After glancing around to make sure no one could see him, Chase took out a tool he had…borrowed from Bing and used it to unlock the door that led to the final set of steps one had to take to get to the roof. 

It wasn’t that Chase had stolen the tool; he had borrowed it originally, and it had just gotten to the point that he had it more often than Bing, so he kept it.

Google did not know about this for several reasons. 

There was a slight breeze when Chase opened the door to the roof. He closed the door and paused to get a better read of it. Feeling the direction it shifted his hair, how strong it was, and even noted that it was cool wind. 

Chase knew he couldn’t take too much time to set up, but he still needed to make sure everything was perfect, or it would make everything worse. When he reached the edge of the roof, he slipped the bag off his shoulder and placed it on the ground. 

“There it is,” Chase spoke out loud, seeing the…creature that had appeared. It had been explained, in details that made little to no sense to Chase, what the creature was and how it got to where it was. But all Chase knew was that it was putting people in danger; it was putting them in danger, so that meant it needed to be put down. 

Due to an endless list of reasons and diversions, and anything the Egos got themselves involved in, he and Jackie were the only ones free to deal with this mess at that moment. Looking down, he could see Jackie looking up at a different building, hands on his hips, and clearly thinking about climbing the building to reach the creature that had already gone up there and was hanging off the side. Chase sighed and knew he needed to get to work now, or he was going to be dealing with a too-excited hero getting in the way. Jackie was his closest friend and stronger than one could imagine, but even he might not be able to handle getting an extra hole in his body.  

Chase opened the bag and pulled out a sniper rifle that he had used more times than he would like, but enough that he was confident in his skills with it. 

Setting the gun up on the ledge of the roof felt like second nature, his body going into autopilot as he propped, prepped, and settled into the best position to prevent a painful recoil. Chase paused to take his hat off and turned it around so the brim wouldn’t be in the way. Part of his bangs peeked out through the small hole. 

“Just stay still, fella,” Chase whispered to himself, closing one eye and looking through the scope with the other. 

He now got a better look at the creature, and the best way he could ever describe it to someone was a monkey that had been through some shit. Arms way too long, fur missing large chunks, and half of its face appearing like a candle being held up to a wax statue. The creature was in pain; there was no denying it. The rage stemmed from that pain, and there was no cure. Chase knew guilt would come for him eventually, but right now, this was the best option for the creature and all of them. 

Chase waited until the creature stayed in one spot, screeching down at Jackie when he had touched the side of the building. It didn’t want company by the sounds of it. 

“I’m sorry.” Chase took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and as soon as his exhale was done, he squeezed the trigger. The sound of the gun echoed in his ears, a feeling he had begun to get used to, and his body was frozen as he waited and watched. 

It was only a heartbeat later that the bullet went through the creature’s head, right between its eyes, and it released the building. The limp, now corpse, fell through the air, arms catching the breeze and going up like it was reaching for the clouds. Jackie scrambled out of the way before he got crushed, and the solid thud of the body against the concrete street almost rang in Chase’s head more than the gunfire. 

“At least it’s no longer suffering.” Chase saw Jackie looking at the body before turning his head up toward where he stood. Jackie started waving his arms, likely shouting something that Chase couldn’t hear from this distance. Chase just held out a thumbs-up before stepping back and returning his gun to the bag. 

The trip back down was just as quiet and smooth as it was going up. Chase focused on the beeps between each floor until he reached the bottom and stepped out, ignoring the chaos that was erupting from the people who had been watching everything, none of them paying an ounce of attention to Chase as he slipped through and went outside, where he had Jackie at his side in the next blink. 

“That was so badass!” Jackie shouted his praise. “One shot!? It only took one shot, and it was, like, the perfect shot!” 

“It wasn’t that much.” Chase weakly laughed, using a hand to fix his hat so it was on properly again. 

“Not that much? Dude, it was like a scene from King Kong!” Jackie flexed his arms to make himself look like the famous ape. 

“Alright, alright.” Chase laughed a bit stronger that time. “Let’s just call the others and see who’s finally free to help.” 

“Oh, shit, yeah.” Jackie pulled his phone out. “I’ll call Marv, and you got Hen?” 

“Sure. Then we’ll figure out how to find-”

“I missed all the fun!?” A voice called from down the street.

“And we found Anti.” Chase chuckled, taking out his phone and pressing the quick dial for Henrik. 

There was still plenty of work to do, but at least the hardest part of it was taken care of.

[ryomens-vixen]

Please make a second part to your Sukuna grieving headcanon because I will physically hang myself and whirl around as a corpse since I cannot take this angst !!!

Your wish, has been granted! ⭐ I'm sorry if it's short

Grieving!Sukuna headcanons pt2.

Plot/Summary: Each year on your d3athdate Ryomen emerges from his temple to wreck havoc upon any and every neighboring town and village in a thousand mile radius or more. Many townspeople think it'd be better to put the King of Curses out of his misery, but the others have a different idea in mind. Resurrecting the one person that can tame this maddening beast...

Content: Fluff, Angst, happy Sukuna, Necromancy, pet names.

Word count: 🤷🏾‍♀️ sis ion know good luck.

Grieving!Sukuna Pt1

Grieving!Sukuna Who grumbled in agony after hearing your sweet voice call out to him. Thinking that it may just be another illusion of his, one that haunted him ever since the death of the love of his life.

Grieving!Sukuna Who slouched in his throne shielding his ears from your voice that called to him again. All he could think in that moment was the tears in your eyes and the way you fell cold in his arms as he held you that day.

Grieving!Sukuna who placed another hand over his own eyes because the mere sight of you pained him beyond belief oh, but when you climbed up the bones below his throne eagerly to greet your Lord, did he finally open his eyes-

Grieving!Sukuna who stared at you in disbelief as you greeted him in that strange way you always did- what was it? Ah, you always fell to your knees at his feet, taking the nearest hand of his to perch your lips upon. Oh did he miss the way your soft lips feverishly kissed the back and palm of his hand.

"Are these damned Eyes of mine deceiving me... Or"

He grabbed her face in between his thumb and pointer like he always did in response to your greetings. He chuckled, "Have I truly gone mad over these years."

Grieving!Sukuna who could almost feel his heart burst out of his chest from just hearing that sweet, sweet melody.. Your voice. But who could blame him for questioning your mere existence? You literally passed away right in his arms- he could still feel how cold your body had became after the hours he had held you.

"My Lord, How I wish this was all the trick of thee eye, but... When I arose from my eternal slumber there was a strange man with a staff over me- H.. He spoke that if I do not come to you, then there would be hell to pay! "

She took his large hand into both of her own and gently, but loving nuzzled the palm of the hand with her cheek. "So far seeing you in such a state is hell enough to me... I never thought I'd see the day where you shed a te-"

Grieving!Sukuna who sprouted an extra mouth in the palm of hand which he used to passionately and desperately kiss you with.

Grieving!Sukuna Who leaked such fluids from his eyes that Dampened his face for years in the sight of you. Yet his hand just wasn't enough he wanted to feel your lips against his own, Ryomen craved it as if he'd die without such a thing.

"Damn you, woman.. How I ached for you, grieved for you, craved you, and you just- *Silence* *Inhale & Exhale* There you are spouting nonsensical nothings of necromancy... Well I'll be damned if I didn't take advantage of it."

Grieving!Sukuna who sweeped you into his arms with the quickness. Holding you by the fat of your thighs, one hand around waist the other on the arch of her lower back. The kiss that he pulled her into was damn near suffocating~

Grieving!Sukuna who would barely let you break away from such a breathtaking kiss. Each time you attempted to pull back Ryomen would growl, grip you tighter as he bit onto your bottom lip to pull you back in.

Grieving!Sukuna who finally after a bit of coaxing pulled away, then hide his face in the nape of her neck so she couldn't see such an embarrassing sight... The king of Curses, crying.

"Y- You must NEVER speak of this to no man or be prepared to-"

"Meet my untimely demise, My Lord? I would Never utter a word!?"

All he could muster was a deep chuckle to try to cover up his obvious sniffling. "Good Girl, So you truly are my sweet concubine, my naive wife, my little pet~"

"My Lord, I was always yours... Even in death"

Sorry this probably sucked so much ass, but thank you for giving me a chance to write something I'm not very good at aka fluff!

[inveryiswriting]

Summary: Toby brings a new body to Jack, who finds it badly bruised and hiding so many broken teeth inside the mouth. Curious about that, Jack wonders what happened between that body and his friend.

Warning: Description of gore.

Characters: Eyeless Jack x Ticci Toby (TicciJack).

Length: 2.2k words.

Notes:

— And for the sixth time, I have to try and publish this thing...

— As it is going to be usual from me, Jack is autistic and an embalmer, because I love the concept of a zombie/demon guy who dissects other bodies.

“Knuckle velvet”

Jack has always been a collector, even before he got to dissect bodies for Slenderman. As a child, he would look for dead insects, animals, and even flowers that would be kept in his room until decay came and consumed every bit of flesh. It was a somewhat tame obsession that grew alongside his hunger once everything changed in his life; now human teeth are his current fixation.

For that collection, he usually gets handed some bodies that are taken by proxies, people that manage to get close to important territories of the faceless creature that owns The House. And the process is fairly easy, done in the basement under a pale light over a metal table, inside a room that he always keeps pristinely clear and with every corner memorized. Almost no one is allowed in there, unless he’s asked to patch someone up. No one, except for a couple of people; among those, Toby is usually fond of killing time there instead of more people.

But today, while working on a fresh body, Jack feels something different, maybe due to the number of tics that hit Toby’s body, or it could be the fact that the demonic man can find pieces of skin in the corpse’s broken teeth.

They don’t make a comment about it, about how Toby’s knuckles are still bleeding and raw red. Not even when the brunet guy mumbles through gritted teeth, as he picks at some pieces of torn skin.

“Are you not going to say anything?” Jack asks with a sly grin, cutting through gum with a scalpel.

“Motherfucker!” Toby barks out while rolling his eyes in annoyance, leaning further back against the wall.

With time, Jack has come to the conclusion that making Toby open up is like popping a water balloon; messy. However, if one wants to avoid making a great mess, it is better to pop it before it happens on its own.

To the embalmer’s surprise, that outburst was more like a sudden spark. No more screaming, no further insults or even personal attacks. Silence, and with Toby, silence always meant pain. He would talk his ears off when checking for wounds, but would remain lost in thought through dark and lonely nights. A surprise, something that Jack has never liked.

With fingers tracing the bloated face of that corpse between them, Jack speaks up unsure for once. “Why didn’t you just axe this guy?”

“Because I had to.” A weak yet personal answer.

“Had to what?”

Toby’s eyes squinted at that question, that ‘ignorance’. "I just had to make him shut up. He talked too much.”

Even for the usual chaos that Jack finds endearing on Toby, it does not tend to be irrational, and reason is something that he always tries to keep between himself and the world. So he must be missing something. There are many things that are hard to know about people that put a mask on for work.

Jack finally takes a dental elevator, prying and prodding at pieces of broken teeth. Soothed by the sound of bone breaking so softly, Jack thinks about how much of a mess this body actually is. They did not die fast.

“That’s quite understandable when you’re about to die.” There’s not a hint of empathy in Jack’s words, simply experience.

“He was a bully.” Toby bites the words with spite. “He didn’t have the right to speak as much as he did.”

“Why would you care so much about that? You’re the one with the axe.” Jack points at Toby’s hands, his confusion unclear behind that blue mask.

And even Toby is confused by those feelings, that bubbling venom brewing in the pit of his stomach. That corpse, even now that Jack has been pulling teeth out, has been a claw picking at some old wounds; and that blood rises through Toby’s gorge, making it hard to speak up again, like how it used to be for him once upon a time.

Fighting through a lump in his throat, the brunet guy mumbles some whispers before letting out a weak grunt.

“But I saw how he was with other people. I…” The twitches across Toby’s neck grow in intensity for a moment, as always annoying. “I’m not one to let people go and…”

It is then that Jack breaks the first tooth throughout this session, his grip on the forceps grew too tight at that last sentence.

“You did?!” The demonic guy says while turning his face towards Toby.

“Could you blame me when I saw how scared they were?!” The brunet boy questions him with his voice loud and raspy, brows furrowed in distress.

It is hard for Jack to wrap his mind around that idea, the mere idea of letting a witness go. Then there must have been two people in Slenderman’s territory and, knowing that cruel entity, Toby’s choice just doomed that last person to prolonged agony. So it was not a matter of them surviving.

Jack leans his head to the side before leaving the surgical tools on the instrument table besides him, turning around with his whole body to face Toby.

“You have killed people in cold blood before, Toby.” As usual, his tone seems flat, unable to express his worry. “What was different now?”

With a small chuckle, Toby looks back with a fake smile. “They were a freak.”

The taller guy has to take a moment to process that simple answer. It’s not that it wasn’t clear, moreso that he personally found it completely senseless. If they were to talk about freaks, he was a better example of that; half-dead, demonic, cannibal, apathetic, obsessive and probably with a neurodiversity that no one around him saw throughout his childhood.

To be fair, to find someone sane in The House was probably a harder task. “Astounding. What’s new about that?” Jack questions him with sarcasm that drips as clear as his black goo.

“He was calling them a freak.” Toby says back with a notable hint of disdain.

Jack looks down at the corpse, unsure of it all. “I fail to see why that would matter to you of all people.”

Not a particularly biting comment, just a small piece of information that Jack sees as true. Toby is not usually someone that cares about what people say about him; he tends to react violently and overfilled with emotion at everything around him, which usually spills into the world as violence and reckless behavior. Toby would respond with a punch to someone saying “I like you” or “you’re a weirdo” without much difference to Jack.

But to Toby, that statement doesn’t sit right at all; it felt more like a snarky, biting jab. So, naturally, his first instinct is to stand up and close both fists at his sides with a white-knuckled grip.

Unlike most, Jack would not react to a fist square to the nose. More likely he would only stand there stunned for a while in silence. And Toby can simply let his feeling boil on the inside, simmering while hoping that he will be able to hold it in for some more time.

Silent again. Silence means that something is wrong, and before Jack can try to recognize that well, Toby speaks:

“Then you’re an even bigger asshole than I thought.”

Standing up while his eyes twitch from corner to corner, Toby sharply snorts in annoyance as he strides through the old basement.

“Toby.” Jack tries to catch him by the arm, but the proxy quickly avoids him with a last side eye glance over his shoulder. “Toby, wait!”

...

Unexpected of Jack, it is the first time that Toby has actually walked away from him in a bad mood. And Jack has to take his mask off, throwing it harshly to the farthest wall. The guy is soon walking around the surgical table in circles, flapping his hands around and growling to himself while thinking of what exactly he had done wrong. Tone is hard to pick up in the moment, phrasing has always been a nuisance, and for Jack it is all even more weird to piece together.

He stops suddenly next to a wall, hitting his head softly against it. Until he does it again and a thin trickle of dark blood runs down, still not enough to hurt him.

Freak is not a good word. He begins with that idea, unsure if it is right.

Bullying is a sensitive topic. He already knows that, he has heard so many horror stories about middle school from Toby.

Empathy? Humanity? Hard to conceive, but maybe it would make sense to someone else. But Jack himself usually avoids thinking about it. We constantly kill people. Why is it different now? Because that person was a freak? Obviously, he didn’t care about their actual life, Toby just avoided being the one to take it.

That last one rings a bell. Did he feel sympathy? Jack asks himself while turning around swiftly, walking up to the corpse and looking down. It was not a feeling that he had ever felt after becoming a monster. It took him a couple of days until cannibalism became second nature once it was clear that he could actually starve. But Toby is different, in a way that fascinates and enraptures Jack; because even behind a mask he can be easy to read.

So, for the first time in a while, Jack doesn’t put his mask on as he goes up the stairs into The House. Door after door, corridors weaving into nonsensical configurations and many disturbing scenes that leave his own skin reeking of blood, Jack only follows one hint of scent—Toby. A hint of smoke that he knows clearly, a smell that doesn’t feel human at first, but that warms up his chest so easily.

Toby tries to avoid the heart of The House. He likes the woods more than any room, the young man wonders as he finally gets to a door to the outside world, a horizon of trees and cloudy skies waiting on the other side.

His old sneakers make soothing noises after stepping on every pile of dead leaves that he can find. Repetitive and bordering on obsessive, Jack keeps a constant pace of sniffing the air and playing with old teeth in his hoodie’s pockets. Until the trail becomes more familiar, with trees that are scarred with a hatchet’s edge and many dead bonfires wait under the shadows.

But it’s the combined scent of ashes and cigarettes that catches his attention once more, a human scent so close to Toby’s, someone else that Jack can recognize by the cheap smoke that always clings to their yellow jacket. As the demonic man delves through trees and bushes, open eyes constantly on edge, two voices come clear to his ears; they’re talking for once.

Just as he’s about to see them, a masked man interrupts him, not taller than Jack, yet he doesn’t step back once they’re face to face.

“Did you lose something?” The voice takes Jack by surprise. It’s not as harsh as Masky tends to be.

To the question and unexpected presence, the tall guy simply stares back and slowly denies by shaking his head.

Tim crosses his arms over his chest before walking away without further comment, much like Masky would usually do. Why is he acting like that?

Looking back at that small clearing in the woods, a small pond of stagnant water waits while Toby stands next to it, staring into the murky void that bruises the forest. Jack stands there for a moment, eyes blinking at a slow yet artificial rhythm. His hands nervously fidget with the hem of his dark hoodie, his feet stomp the earth under his soles, and he bites every single one of his tongues in a pattern; so nervous, so away from his usual mask of dry remarks and sarcasm.

“You can come here. I’m not angry,” his friend says with a tired sigh, reaching down to the floor for a small stone to throw, yet it remains in his hand.

“It would be okay if you were,” Jack adds as he takes a couple of steps, still not besides the other guy.

“I don’t want to be. Not with you at least.”

Then Jack stood by his side, looking down at the small pool of water. He tries to stop himself from squirming in place, but his hands naturally try to claw his palms.

He tries to piece it all together in his head, but words are already going out of his mouth. “I can give you some of that asshole’s bones.”

Toby then snorts as he keeps a chuckle to himself, not looking back, but there’s a smile on his face. “I would very much not like that, dude.”

“Do you want to desecrate his body?”

To that, Toby gives Jack a mischievous grin. “Now we are talking,” the guy says as he pats his friend on the back.

And as they walk side by side back to The House, Jack only has one worry left: I have to patch up his hands once we’re back.

[myinner-cosmos]

DELTARUNE KNIGHT THEORY!!!

//Deltarune Chapters 3+4 Spoilers!!\\

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So we think it’s Dess right? Most posts i’ve seen all over have mainly been about Dess being the Roaring Knight, because of their Horns, the Wiffle Bat sword, blah blah you’ve probably seen that all by now.

But what’s not explained is our previous theory on Dess being the Lost person in the Unused Code. If Dess is the Knight, how is she also lost in the code?

One theory i remember seeing from a few days ago theorised that December’s Mind and Body have been split by whatever caused her to go missing. (I unfortunately can’t credit right now but i will in an edit/comment if i find it!!)

I want to expand on this a little bit with evidence from the Weird Route!

I propose, that if a Lightner is Fatally killed in a Dark World, their mind becomes trapped in the Dark. This would leave their Body essentially DEAD, but not turned into dust. (Which is proven to be what happens when Susie finds Gerson’s dusty hammer between Church Dark Worlds in Chapter 4). We see an active example of this with Berdly!! His Body is completely unresponsive, and his Mind is lost who knows where.. (Still in the Sealed Cyber World Fountain? In Deeper Dark than that?)

Their Mind Lost in the Dark could manifest as being in the code for us to find, like the Unused Text we suspect is December. This would be hard to pull off with Berdly’s “death” being in an optional route, so his Mind would maybe manifest in a different way we might see later!

This leaves their Body in the Light World, without Mind (or possibly even Soul), it’s a blank canvas for whatever any particular scientists or… something else’s needs. Berdly was taken to a monitored hospital by Kris, so nothing nefarious will happen with his Body. But what about Dess?

Dess disappeared a LONG time ago. Her Mind and Body have been separated for years. And if it’s all happening in the Shelter’s Unseen Dark World, who knows what could have happened to either? Somehow, her body could’ve become what we see of the Roaring Knight, with its corpse and deer resemblances.

Through Unused Shadow Crystal text from Chapter 3, we see that Undyne has also possibly been Fatally Killed in the Dark World too. Why does Who need another Body to manipulate? Or is it just the best way to keep significant Lightners from interfering?

That’s all i’ve got for now!

This theory can also work with that theory i’ve seen recently (that i also cannot find to credit as im writing this TwT) where Dess, the Vessel and Asriel were the original 3 Heros of the prophecy! Maybe after seeing Dess (and possibly the Vessel?) be Fatally Killed by ?????? in the Shelter, Asriel never speaks of or goes back to the Dark Worlds, leaving the prophecy unfulfilled and thus needing of new Heros? Also explains why he’d flee to College at the first opportunity, that’s SO much trauma lmao

Anyway that’s fully it for this post! How i personally see Dess as both the Roaring Knight and the person lost in the code!! I hope im not accidentally ripping someone else’s theory off, if i am i promise i didnt see it!!

(BTW this is first time posting on Tumblr EVER because i’ve had these theories rattling around in my brain so be kind please it’s literally 1:30 am right now TwT, and any feedback is greatly appreciated :D )

[triasticalwarlock]

Little au thing in blood lust I made up

P.S-I am not the creator of this story. It is written by Babygrillbree on ao3 and quotev. Again, I am not taking any ownership over this story. This is just something I made up. Go check out their work, I recommend it.

I didn't include the Vees in this, sorry not sorry.

So, now that that's out of the way. You guy's know how Adam died by nifty's blade? What if instead of Adam, y/n took the hit.

Nifty didn't mean or even want to kill you, you jumped in front of the blade when you where getting out from under the ruble of the destroyed hotel. And you saw nifty going in for the kill, you reacted on impulse, flying your way over to where the two where and you slid in the small space between nifty and Adam, causing nifty to stab you in the chest instead (the reason they got stabbed in the chest and not the stomach is because of the big size difference between y/n and Adam, nifty would have to be fully raising her arms to get to Adams stomach). And that's when shit hit the fan.

When Adam felt the weight of something on his back, he got even more pissed off. Who the fuck would touch him at a time like this?! But when he turned around, the angered scowl in his faced turned to one of horror, immediately recognizing the ears and wings, it was you. All he could do was stand there, frozen. Until he wasn't, quickly dropping to his knees he screams in absolute horror. Gaining the attention of the gang and lute.

Lute screams the way she did when Adam died in the original, but was somehow able to fit even more pain and horror into it. She throws the crying nifty away from your body, which was being cuddled into Adam. But when lute tries to get close, Adam shakes his head at her, shielding you more, now wrapping his slightly trembling wings around your corpse. All she can do is sit there with a look of shock and anger.

Mean while, the gang isn't doing any better. Angel had colopsed on the floor, sobbing and wailing. Husk wrapping his arms around him in an attempt to soothe him, but he couldn't really do that when he wasn't very stable either. Crying as well, struggling to keep his inner turmoil to himself. Charlie was in a similar state to angel, the only difference being her full demon form appearing again. Vaggie crying along with her, though she didn't move, not knowing how to process the situation happening in front of her at the moment. Though instead of sadness, she was filled with anger. And Lucifer, oh deer god. Times what you're imagining by 100. Because it's not even close. He would've came over to Adam and lute to retrieve your body if it wasn't for the fact his anger immobilized him, his body and wings trembling tremendously as memories flash through his mind; those stupid but adorable pranks you pulled on him, when he always cooked with you, when he could cuddle you, when he could feel you, when you were still alive. It's a shame alastor wasn't there, but he'll find out soon enough.

With a angered filled gaze towards the cast, Adam stands with your body in his arms. Calling to the exercise that the extermination was over, flapping his wings with you in his arms as he flys to the portal, lute not far behind. This snaps the gang out of their trance, looking out in despair as Adam disappears with your corpse from their sight.

Once their in heaven, Adam quickly runs to his bed, setting you down. He looks over at you, some where in the back of his head, he knew you weren't coming back. But he had a little bit of hope, walking out of the room, but not before taking a glance at you, and walking off.

Little did any of them know, Sir Penctious wasn't the only one getting a second chance.

Note- good lord I am not okay.

[chrollosdemise]

The Anatomy of a Phantom Heart - Chrollo Lucilfer

Pairing: Chrollo Lucilfer (HXH) x reader

Warning: gore, body injuries and death, mild but still present

Important Note:

Chrollo cracks way more than he should and much more that I would have enjoyed it, however this is a small series and it has to be a bit fast pacing and it was never meant to fully be developed!!

Chapter 3: Subject R

The room wasn’t locked. It didn’t have to be. The chill in the air was its own kind of barrier, sterile, quiet, watching.

She entered without asking, gloves already half-pulled on, her gait loose with mock-casualness. It was a borrowed confidence , one she wore like a coat with the price tag still dangling.

The body was laid out on the metal slab like a centerpiece at a wake no one had the stomach to attend. Young. Broad-shouldered. The kind of frame that had grown strong without realizing what for.

“I take it this one didn’t die of natural causes,” she said lightly, pulling the gloves tight with a crisp snap. “Unless murder counts as seasonal in your circles.”

Chrollo stood in the corner, silent as a shadow. Arms folded. Unblinking.

Not at the corpse.

At her.

Always at her.

She squatted beside the body, fingertips grazing the jaw before she tilted it to one side. The skin had already started to purple. A mosaic of bruising fanned across the throat and up behind the ear.

She exhaled softly. “Pressure from both sides. Trachea compressed. Vascular occlusion. No hesitation marks. No blunt trauma elsewhere.”

The victim’s fingernails were splintered and tinged with blood, small moons of resistance.

“He fought. Not long, but enough. Which means…”

She ran her fingers under the arm, then over the ribs , slow, calculating.

“…he didn’t trust the person who got close. Or he figured it out too late.”

Still, no response from Chrollo.

She didn’t look up. She had learned by now that his silence was less avoidance than curation.

“The grip here,” she continued, pointing at a deep bruise along the clavicle, “this isn’t random. Dominant hand across the trachea, other arm anchoring under the jaw. Braced. Calculated. This isn’t someone who loses control.”

She stood. Peeled her gloves off finger by finger. The latex creaked like old skin.

“No blade. No venom. No mess.”

A pause.

“This wasn’t a Troupe kill.”

Finally, Chrollo moved, just a single step forward. Like a tide lapping an inch higher. She knew this would get him moving.

“You sound certain.”

She raised a brow. “I’ve dissected enough of your people’s work to know the difference between vengeance and precision. This wasn’t a message. This was a conclusion.”

“You believe someone outside the Troupe did this?”

“I believe someone outside your logic did it.” Her eyes slid toward him. “And you already have your suspicions about an individual”

Chrollo’s gaze held steady. Calm. But his silence rang louder now. Not detachment this time but restraint.

She circled the body slowly, pacing. There were no restraints, no cuts, no torture. Just the perfect absence of struggle. Just a clean, absolute end.

“This,” she said quietly, “is a Zoldyck.”

The name landed between them like an indictment.

“I’ve only seen their work twice, this being the second. It is so painfully precise, one could think it was staged.” She didn’t need to look at him to know it hit , she could feel it in the shift of the air.

“He did well, he was certainly a struggle, which explains the reason why the body was even found”

“No,” Chrollo said at last, the word brittle and deliberate.

“You’re lying.”

“To you?”

“No,” she said. “To yourself.”

He said nothing. But the corner of his jaw twitched.

“You brought me here hoping I’d say it wasn’t what it is”, she continued. “You didn’t want to know. Not really. You just wanted a delay.”

His mouth opened like he might speak, but no sound came. Instead, he turned his head slightly toward the body, just enough to avoid her gaze. Not enough to escape it.

“You think I don’t notice,” she said, voice softer now, almost clinical. “But you’re unraveling.”

Chrollo’s eyes snapped to her. Cold. Clear.

“I’m composed.”

“You’re curated,” she replied evenly. “Held together by the idea of yourself. And this? This cracks it.”

His silence this time was different ,not frustration. Something older. Something heavier.

Doubt.

She stepped closer ,hyperaware, in that moment, of just how easily he could tear her apart. Not with anger. With decision. The kind of murder you commit like a ritual. A signature.

But he didn’t move. Not yet.

“He didn’t trust his killer,” she said, nodding to the corpse. “You don’t have to doubt who you can trust.”

Her tone changed ,sharper now. Crueler.

“For you, that’s worse than death.”

A pause.

Then Chrollo turned to face her fully. His expression was still blank, but the tension in it had shifted ,as if holding back a scream, not a sigh.

“He was loyal,” he said.

“Then he died for it.”

She stared at him. And in the silence, she became aware ,again ,that the room had only one exit. That she hadn’t seen the sun in days. That her boots still squeaked faintly against clean floors that weren’t hers.

“You could try to kill me,” she said after a beat, after she became aware of her position in all this.

“I don’t want to.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He stared at her. Something unreadable passed behind his eyes.

“Do you want to die?” she added, almost gently.

“I want,” Chrollo said slowly, “to know who I am… when none of them are left.”

She looked at him a long moment.

And then , softly, almost kindly:

“You might not like the answer.”

She walked toward the door.

He didn’t stop her.

But when she reached it, she paused , as if listening to the room breathe behind her.

“If you ever do die,” she said, hand resting on the frame, “I’ll dissect you anyway.”

A beat.

“Out of spite.”

And she left.

[rainbownyancat1234]

TGCF AU pt. 2: Random ideas

Xie Lian is not very affectionate with Qi Rong, but took his ashes as a form of protecting him. It’s one death he can control, at least. And he does feel a bit responsibly since QI Rong is of his bloodline. Solitude makes you resort to the worst of company.

Xie Lian can and will give Hua Cheng permission to beat Qi Rong up if he does smth stupid. (Hua Cheng had no clue if Xie Lian would allow it since he and his cousin were technically the only two Calamities officially aligned, but he was SO delighted to be given the green light that he attempts to give Xie Lian a gift in return. Probably a sword or smth to that extent.)

Despite being a very cold and ruthless person, Xie Lian seems to be the only calamity with general morals/standards. He takes no pleasure in destruction, nor in anything his existence brings about. But for justice? Whatever twisted version of it he now perceives? That, he will fight for.

Xie Lian still becomes friends with Wind Master. Don’t as me how, just because I say so. Probably bc they’re the only official with common courtesy for calamities.

This friendship also dissuades the black water calamity from doing anything drastic, knowing how very little Xie Lian cares about him, and how Hua Cheng would let Xie Lian do whatever he wanted. Threat well received. (Wind master goes to the wedding. Yes, I want a wedding in the fic)

Qi Rong is banned from stringing corpses up near the lair. Xie Lian turns his head to most of Qi Rong’s ongoings, but he will step in if something affects him or if something will cause too many unnecessary ripples.

The heavenly officials are terrified of Xie Lian because 1. He is extremely dangerous, 2. Exceptionally pissed off with them, and 3. Somehow collecting calamities like baseball cards

I want Hua Cheng to soften Xie Lian as the plot goes on— takes his burdens and give him an environment where he doesn’t need to fight, or hate. But even after all is said and done, he’s still somewhat different— still a calamity at heart who can and will snap someone’s neck if he deems it necessary. And you CANNOT tell me Hua Cheng wouldn’t love that.

The relationship between Wu Ming and Xie Lian is a little different than canon. They become a bit closer, but not involved— simply comfortable enough that Xie Lian can snip at Wu Ming and he doesn’t even pause before he lightly snips back— or Xie Lian may tell him to go and he stubbornly chooses to stay, but is not removed or decimated by the god who gave the command.

Xie Lian only starts to realize his feelings near the time when Wu Ming meets his end. After that, they’re left to sit and fester— creating a deep hole in his heart born from a love he never truly knew. But knowing Wu Ming is gone… it causes him more pain than he knows what to do with. And sooner or later, he puts the pieces together as to why he feels such a way. Not that it lightens his burden in any way.

Wu Ming has a little grave near where he died which Xie Lian visits often with little gifts. Qi Rong followed him one day out of curiosity for his unexplained absences, and tried to tease Xie Lian about it. He was threatened on the spot, with his ashes no less, to leave the place be. And given how rarely his actual life is threatened by the one who holds it in his hands, Qi Rong was shaken enough to listen. But he certainly wonders who this person was, or why Xie Lian would care so much. There isn’t even a body buried there.

Hua Cheng still gets to be called San Lang. But in this case, the nickname originated as a retort.

Hua cheng and Xie Lian team up for a mission which requires disguises. Unable and unwilling to change into a different form, Xie Lian is forced to use a more traditional method of disguise— aka, he gets dolled up by some of the ladies in ghost city.

Hua cheng immediately used that opertunitu to have Xie Lian play the role of his wife for their desguise, referring to him as such as often as he can during the mission. Unreasonably flustered by this happening, Xie Lian tries to get back at Hua Cheng by calling him ‘San Lang’ (which I think is the equivalent of ‘lover’ or ‘beloved’), only for Hua Cheng to take it in great stride.

Xie Lian uses it so often during the mission that it becomes a habit— first derogatory, then sincerely.

Xie Lian still has a (?) cursed shackle (I think he only has one at the time of him becoming a calamity— correct me if I’m wrong), which he leaves fairly visible. But rather than be seen as a weakness, the shackle only adds to the uncanny nature of his power and the fear it inspires. It’s also why he isn’t the strongest calamity from a standpoint of magical(?)(there’s probably a better word for it, but I’m at a loss) abilities alone.

Xie Lian is heavily sleep deprived at all times (which only worsens his mood) because when he sleep he only has nightmares. This may change when Hua Cheng becomes involved in his life with the assistance of his silver butterflies.

Speaking of which, Xie Lian’s home/lair slowly accumulates silver butterflies. Qi Rong had tried to eat them more than once.

And that’s it for now. I’m sure I’ll come up with more. Let me know if you wanna hear any of the dialogue I have written! There isn’t much context but I do love writing interactions regardless, so it exists nonetheless :)