#jammed itself in the process

[artsy-hobbitses]

The ADHD Demon was in full force tonight, except I forgot the amount of time making pineapple jam tarts take, so it’s 8am now and the only reason I have no regrets is because it’s my day off 😂

I was told by my colleague (who took four pieces at once from the first small batch I brought to the office) that this is actually a dying breed of Raya cookie (something similar is often seen during Chinese New Year but in a different style with a crumblier dough) so I told him I was happy to keep it alive since it’s actually my favorite Raya cookie from childhood (and these were the gold standard/limited edition cookies due to how time-consuming they are).

[eldritch-flame]

Guess who officially listened to EPIC now :3

[chiliyue-archived]

Boom

↬ Things you unknowingly do that make his heart skip a beat.

Gender Neutral Reader

Characters; Riddle Rosehearts, Ace Trappola, Jade Leech, Jamil Viper, Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge

Riddle Rosehearts

Lip stick smudges - It was just an innocent kiss really but you decided to kiss him right after experimenting with makeup you found. And oh- it left a mark where you kissed him. To be quite frank, Riddle hadn't noticed it until someone pointed it out to him- to which he proceeded to barade you about public appearances and reputations and blah blah blah. He's a blushing mess at the embarrassment, but he can't help stare at it when in front of a mirror, his features betray him.

Telling him 'I love you' before bed. Love was still and will continue to be a mysterious feeling to the redhead. Being told I love you from someone he values(which in itself is astonishing for him to fathom) makes his emotions go haywire. Most of his nights are filled with his phone to his cheek, ears straining to catch any sound from you. Your voice easily lulled him to sleep regardless of what he was doing. And just as his heavy eyelids close to allow somber rest to flood his consciousness, his ears catches those lost few words that always made his heart swell. 'Good night, I love you'

Feeding him strawberry tarts and cherry pies. He would argue with a very prominent blush on his face that he can feed himself. Though despite what he says, he can't seem to deny you whenever you teasingly probe the silver fork towards his lips with the powered tart glistening in strawberry jam. 'Riddle you got crumbs on your cheeks' you would say with a playful smile. The pad of your thumb brushed over the spot, a focused expression growing on your face. And oh, he's gotten even redder. You imagine this won't be the last this happens.

Ace Trappola

Jumping into this arms. How it first occurred that's up to you to decide. The moment he sees you sprinting towards him, your voice beaming; 'here I come!' It coaxes a grin on his face without fail, his hands letting go of everything he's holding(even if its coffee). In many instances, the both of you topple over but that cheerful grin on your faces remains ever permanent as he presses kisses to your cheeks, nose and lips. Being able to be playful with someone he loves dearly is enough to make his heart swell.

The small little compliments. Although Ace builds himself to be tough in the face of any situation, sometimes those efforts can be overlooked. Telling him simple things such as, 'you look really good today' or 'your abilities are getting better' can go a long way for him. And his prior experiences with romances left him in a rather terrible relationship in middle school. He wants to do and be better, so tell him that he is. It will make him feel so much better about himself and fall more in love with you in the process <33

Squeezing his hand. It's a simple gesture compared to the other ways he conveys his love to you. But in public, he understands that such pda would be better reserved behind closed doors. Don't get me wrong, he isn't afraid to kiss you even if Deuce was 2 ft away. With your fingers interlaced with his, he feels within your presence at all times. Knowing your there beside him is a greater feeling than he may admit outloud. And when you squeeze his hand, whether fortuitous or not, it brings him that unsaid reassurance and drops of small tender feelings; a silent 'I love you' 😙

Jade Leech

Matching mushroom things. I believe this is quite self-explanatory. It combines two things that a bring a small grin to his face with little fail. His partner showing mutual interest into his fixations, which others may view as gross, brings a rather odd assortment of new emotions. His head would tilt to the side, brows raising as you held the two charms between your fingers. 'We can now match,' you would say, your voice betraying your shyness. It was such a small thing really, but he holds onto the charm and all other silly little items you bought him close to his chest. As peculiar it may seem to others, it means a thousand words to him.

Preparing him a cup of coffee every morning or when he's working. Jade has always had a role similar to a butler, not that he complains though. However, with having a large responsibility in managing the Monstro Lounge, he grows familar with tending to others needs and wants. And he can do so for many hours without break lest Azul wants the whole business to end in chaos. So when you start going out of your way to wake up early to pour him a cup of coffee, he was perplexed at frist. It was a minor gesture but it saved him additional time. Usually he was the one making you drinks and preparing to make sure your morning went smoothly as possible, so reciprocating it is something he greatly appreciates.

Sticky notes with cute messages. When you started placing the small sticky notes about his room and the lounge, it greatly amused Jade. On the small colorful papers you would write him little sediments and expressions of your affection for him. You even scribed some small reminders for him(though he hardly forgets) of important things he had to do and such, in which he is grateful for the added effort. Will never say it outloud unless you ask him specifically, but he stores all those little messages within a small box hidden within his room, returning to it from time to time. One time Floyd caught him reading those rather silly notes and noticed the ever small smile on his brothers lips

Jamil Viper

Having extra hair ties for him. Jamils hair is l o n g to say the least. And among the most busy of days, he can forget to properly tend it as he always does. Holding onto that extra hair tie does a lot for something that may be simple to another's eye. Putting in that additional care in order to lessen the hassle makes him blush and go all red. Even better if you help tie his hair, he melts within your touch when you gently card your fingers through his scalp. you might even be able to get away with some interesting hairstyles.

Reminding him to rest. He is so use to waking early and sleeping late in order to fulfill all of Kalims little needs. To say the least, he can be ran haggard and still have a magnitude of things needed to be done. This was the lifestyle he had became accustomed to unfortunately. So when you gently pried him away the kitchen and took him to get some quality rest, he was quite surprised. His face would flush when you press your lips aginst his forehead, like a parent to their child, bidding them a goodnights rest. His role of servant was deeply burned in his brain despite what his own ambitions had told him. Simply reinforcing those healthy habits, Jamil can feel more at ease. 'How did I get so lucky...' He would question during such moments as his languish body takes some rest.

Brushing his hair out of his eyes/face. With wild and long hair comes with many strands falling from his ponytail and coats over his eyes. To Jamil, this was minor inconvenience in which he has learned to deal with. He nearly jumped back when he first felt the pads of your fingers gently pry those loose strands from his eyes- his eye widen when you tuck it behind his ear. And oh dear- he's turning red now and his cheeks are growing unbearably hot. 'Are you sick?' 'No-' 'let me check your forehead' ' (●´□`)'. He comes to the realization that he is rather a bit touched starved, before his brain could even acknowledge it, he would be leaning into palm of your hand.

Malleus Draconia

Paper lunch bags. He feels so utterly spoiled when you make him lunch. Gobbles that up like it's his day alive and thanks you profusely afterwards. It could be something burnt, badly cooked or somewhat equivalent to Lilias cookings; he's so grateful. Shows said gratitude in the form of many kisses to your cheeks and lips. In his mind, Malleus is the one who's supposed to be spoiling you, you shouldn't be lifting a finger! But your deviation to him makes a lovely tingle in his hearts which ripples throughout his body. Bonus points if you leave cute little notes; like Jade, he'll store them somewhere safe- perhaps being even a little more protective of your small gifts.

Giving him kisses. He had always been the one giving you affection- both physical and verbal. But being the one kissed, he becomes absolutely smitten. Now Malleus is someone would much rather shower his partner in bits of romance and love at any moment. But being on recieving end leaves his heart bursting with a warm sensation, rare stutters falling from his lips as he ask for another and another. Adores when you shyly ask, 'May I kiss you?' Doesn't care if it leaves a bruise, he just want to be kissed by you and learn how wonderful love can be.

Nicknames. He's been alone for most of his time with the exception with the Diasomnia crew. He's been surrounded by couples, which he has observed from afar ways endearment is exchanged. Nicknames are perplexing to him, what makes an alternate versions of your name so appealing? He wouldn't really know until the first time you called by a nickname. It would catch him off guard but the effect would be long-term; a small smile, augmenting that tingling within his chest, and the want to adorn you in various terms of affection in return.

Lilia Vanrouge

Learning his native language. I would assume his culture would be greatly embedded with him considering he had fought in wars, been honored prestige titles and the held the responsibleility raising the heir. His mother language is by no means a simple thing to learn, just as any other dialect, it contains many rules which can easily frighten anyone whom are attempting to learn. And although you be messing up with pronunciations, and perhaps even called him a crow without much awareness, he appreciates the fact that you're attempting. Gives you many pointers and for each phrase said correctly comes with a reward of snuggles. Becomes a very proud bf when you're able to reply back to him in his language

Your teaseful remarks. Calling him old. Many students look at the bat fae with a perplexed gaze, underneath which holds judgment towards his many- er enthusiastic approaches you can say. He was known for sending chills out the backs of unsuspecting ongoers- being well regarded as an enigma. Though many of his playful gestures are scoffed at and ignored, you on the other hand play along with his silly quips and feign innocence as he teasingly messes with you. Only for you to pull a trick of your own that makes his cheeks warm up, he finds you truly amusing! May even refer to you as his partner in crime, or 'double trouble duo' either way, he loves to reciprocate those silly moments with you which you can both laugh about later.

Wearing his clothes. Lilia finds you truley adorable in all the outfits you pick out. Even a rather insipid uniform lacking much color seems entirely different on your form. And he finds you silly as you adorn his dorm unifrom, covered with unmatching fabrics and ends. He can't stop the chuckles that leave him when he notes the sheer size difference between you and his rather large coat framing your body. He notes the way the belts curved around your waist and looped down against your hip and how his gloves hugged your hands just right- and now he can't bring himself to drag his eyes away. He swears it looks cuter on you than it does him, may even pout and sulk in a teasing way that you outshine him. But he can't help but stare at you with a lovestruck gaze.

[aliesbienish]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could please write a Paul x reader where the reader is super pregnant and is hungry all the time and eats the most random stuff and the pack teases her about it until Paul puts his foot down and tells them to back off

Thank you! I’m really enjoying the study of wolves🤍

Hi lovely anon, thank you for this sweet request - I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do x

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Recipe for Pack

There was no doubt who this baby belonged to, even in the womb. Since a few months into your pregnancy you’d been insatiably hungry, snacking continuously. Paul had always been the same, of course his excuse was his shifting. Unfairly that meant he got super hearing and strength while you needed to pee constantly and had nausea that rudely didn’t limit itself to the morning. So constant eating wasn’t an issue, it was the cravings that were becoming a hassle.

Paul, being a secret softie, had tried to cater to your every whim. Whether it was chocolate covered zucchini’s or melted cheese topped ice cream, he kept the judgement to a minimum. However these odd cravings did often lead to late night trips to the nearest 24 hour store located in Forks, a forty minute round trip. One particularly bad evening had him chauffeuring you 70 miles at 3am to Port Angeles, purely for a a chocolate milkshake and fries that got dipped into it. It was a miracle the machine wasn't broken.

But while Paul was nothing but accomodating, it couldn't always be said for the rest of his pack mates. Eating a hot dog with raspberry jam caused Jared to make vomiting noises. Adding leftover mash potato to a smore prompted Quil to question whether you needed a visit to a psychologist. Even sweetheart Seth made a quip that your cravings seemed like ingredients to a witches potion. Which was probably fair, as you munched on a buttered bread covered with rosemary.

But one comment, made sitting around Emily and Sam's dinning table took it too far.

Sitting with what to you seemed like a delightful combination of peanut butter and hot sauce bagels topped with orange slices, it was enough to elicit a groan.

"This seems to be getting way beyond normal now. I'm beginning to wonder if you are actually having these cravings or if you just like to make everyone else uncomfortable!" Jacob declared jokingly, but with your out of control emotions it was enough to stop you mid bite and feel shame.

"Right? I think next she'll just eat straight from the trash, it's not like she is far off!" Laughed Quil, causing laughter around the table.

Your eyes watered as you choked out "I'm sorry,"

"No, don't you dare apologise." Paul stated, gently placing his hands on your shoulders. "It's these morons who have no right to be teasing you." Turning to address the pack he gave them a hard stare. "You are all being absolute dicks. She's trying to survive extreme changes to her body, something we should be particularly understanding about, but instead your being rude and judgemental. If you all don't get your shit together and start being supportive then I will absolutely see if beating some sense into you in wolf form will help the process,"

The next evening you were all once again sitting around the dining table. The pack, showing their support, were all eating your newest and rather tame craving - chocolate covered bacon.

Sam got everyones attention and raised his fork in a toast "To our newest pack member,". The rest of the pack raised their own cutlery and echoed the sentiment.

This time the tears in your eyes were from happiness.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[anantaru]

DAY 3 — BIMBOFICATION

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

kink. bimbofication — the process of transforming into an airheaded slut, perfectly happy to be used and degraded

𖧡 — including — ayato, childe

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, bimbofication, degrading, rough & messy, slight possessive reader but only a little + they're possessive of you too lmao, name calling (fucktoy, bitch in heat, cocksleeve), petnames (angel, baby), both parties are consenting

𖧡 — AYATO

"angel.. my precious angel."

ayato slips a finger inside you, the dark outline of his silhouette mountainous on top of you, holding you captive, and he doesn't do anything besides gnashing on your jawline, until listlessly working his way down to your neck, taking your breath away when he glides the digit in and out effortlessly, then adding the second, gently working himself on your hole, imprinting his touch and trails on your walls, watching eagerly how you're engulfing him in with your cunt.

without any resistance making itself visible from your side, you appear to be enjoying this, a little too much— at the same time, you're such an adorable, precious toy to him, always clinging yourself around his arm whenever he was in near sight of you, your smirking lips puckered up into a dirty smile with a glossy film of sparkly lipgloss sleeving the flesh, day-dreaming about having the yashiro commissioner's heavy, piercing cock jamming your insides.

in any case, with how quick things were proceeding now, you love how the heel of his palm repeatedly humps your clit, the blows of it stinging at the puffy flesh before you arch your back into his hand, giggling within a clouded sigh, you're so excited to have his attention, grinning from ear to ear.

the drive ayato had on you, controlling, delightful trembles inching over the length of your spine when he calls you his precious, perfect fucktoy— the only one, you made sure of that.

when he tells you how utterly proud he was of you taking him so very well, especially when he can witness your eyes rolling back at the second of your cunt becoming so warm and constricting, it brings you to tears when listening to such loving words, being praised in such, "unique" way, where one might say it's not praise in any way, but for you, it's nothing but the most sugary, most tasteful expressing of approval to you.

it's easy once you gave yourself over to him, meaning his status and his power and made yourself his property, to that of someone being responsible to satiate the mans needs, conquer the aching pain in his groin whenever he was too busy or clocked up to do so himself. and the pleasure he made you experience, fuck, it reached the pit of a forming bubble, when he reaches into your walls with his slender fingers, your cunt clamping at the contract with the whistling in your head placing black dots on your vision.

yes, certainly— you realize then, you wanted to be treated like that.

forgetting about what others may whisper and gossip behind your back, why would you care, they might be just jealous for all you know— and for whatever reason ayato keeps you close to him, if there was a somewhat, deeper, connection or emotion he began to develop for you— baring in mind that he was the exact opposite of an outgoing player that pursued any women, only having you to touch and trace, fuck and kiss, it could possibly happen that somewhere in between his puzzling, swishing lines of thinking, kamisato ayato can work up the courage to feel something serious in regards to you, something contrasting to viewing you as this convenient toy, his darling cocksleeve, always there for his immediate use.

𖧡 — CHILDE

childe shushes your helpless mewls softly when he laps his tongue around the warm insides of your mouth, his cock taking advantage of your soft, weeping pussy, and how you're proudly presenting it all to him— just for him, you're his, in all respects, and he has trained you well, looking at how your toes curl when you greet him with a hazy, beclouded grin as you vibrate at his shaft moving along your soaked walls before pressing his tip against your g-spot.

"ohh- my, baby." childe groans, lecherous eyes gazing at your erotic body, "you're so good to me, when you let me fuck you like a bitch in heat." and he dominantly holds you up by your trembling knees, parting your pussy to accommodate the thudding stir of his length splitting you without a single care in this world, and every time he pulls himself balls deep into your hole, you gush and slick him up, making a mess of his girth and upper thighs, whimpering all wetly and perceiving how your cheeks are not only stained by your tears, but also flustered by his unique, scandalous choice of words.

but you wanted it that way, truly, being a harbingers personal belong, his little plaything you may say, as he liked to address you as well, it was intoxicating to be as slutty as possible to get his attention.

you can't help yourself but giggle out bubbly whenever he buys you something special too, an expensive gift— handled with delicate, tactful care, opening the package to find a silken lingerie-set that childe had personally picked out for you, barely awaiting the day where he can rip it off your perfect body, assuring you he'll purchase a new one in no time.

how come, you aren't even more riled up by now? your pretty pussy was so reactive to his length, easily affected by the largeness of his girth parting you for good, you're wet all day from the constant day dreams, drooling about childe's cock all day long, or about his hands grabbing and massaging your soft skin, how you knew how much he liked whenever you presented your exposed tits to him, vigorously massaging the nipples before pressing them against his chest.

"you feel good, hm?" ajax whispers into your ear, on the teetering edge of filling your womb with his seed, rolling his strong hips in and out of you before curving one palm around your cheek to force you to meet his gaze— yet your eyes were barely open, but that smile, it made him both shiver and admire your beauty, an expression so radiant on your lips that it startled even a harbinger.

"fuck, you're a mess." he licks his lips, and you foggily nod your head when he voices it out loud, helplessly hiccuping his name whilst grabbing on his chest to make him cling onto you and never let you go, well, not until he made you cum— your pussy being pillowed over by his cock bulging into you, indulging in the sensation of your soft, doused cunt slapping back against his groin, all wanting and desperate.

in spite of appearance, childe was aware that you were precisely into this manner of being treating, but in a sense, so was he, deep down believing that he’d never feel any satisfaction that could even scratch on the one you placed on him.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[lsdoiphin]

Foods of Vestur

@broncoburro and @chocodile provoked me into doing some illustrated worldbuilding for Forever Gold ( @forevergoldgame ), an endeavor I was happy to undertake. Unbeknownst to me, it would take the better part of a week to draw.

In the process, I conjured about an essay's worth of fantasy food worldbuilding, but I'm going to try and keep things digestible (pardon my pun). Lore under the cut:

The Middle Kingdom

The Middle Kingdom has ample land, and its soil, landscapes, and temperate climate are amenable to growing a variety of crops and raising large quantities of livestock. The Midland palate prefers fresh ingredients with minimal seasoning; if a dish requires a strong taste, a cook is more likely to reach for a sharp cheese than they are to open their spice drawer. Detractors of Middle Kingdom cuisine describe it as bland, but its flavor relies on the quality of its components more than anything.

KEY CROPS: wheat, potatoes, carrots, green beans, apples, pears, and grapes KEY LIVESTOCK: Midland goats, fowl, and hogs

ROAST FOWL: Cheap and easy to raise, fowl is eaten all over Vestur and by all classes. Roasted whole birds are common throughout, but the Middle Kingdom's approach to preparation is notable for their squeamish insistence on removing the head and neck before roasting, even among poorer families. Fowl is usually roasted on a bed of root vegetables and shallots and served alongside gravy and green beans.

GOAT RIBEYE: Vestur does not have cattle – instead it has a widely diversified array of goats, the most prominent being the Middle Kingdom's own Midland goat. The Midland goat is a huge caprid that fills the same niche as cattle, supplying Vestur with meat and dairy products. Chevon from the Midland goat is tender with a texture much like beef, though it retains a gamier, “goat-ier” taste. It is largely eaten by the wealthy, though the tougher and cheaper cuts can be found in the kitchens of the working class. Either way, it is almost always served with gravy. (You may be sensing a pattern already here. Midlanders love their gravy.)

FETTUCCINE WITH CHEESE: Noodles were brought to the Middle Kingdom through trade with the South and gained popularity as a novel alternative to bread. The pasta of Midland Vestur is largely eaten with butter or cream sauce; tomato or pesto sauces are seldom seen.

CHARCUTERIE WITH WINE: Charcuterie is eaten for the joy of flavors rather than to satiate hunger, and therefore it is mainly eaten by the upper class. It is commonly eaten alongside grape wine, a prestigious alcohol uniquely produced by the Middle Kingdom. The flavor of grape wine is said to be more agreeable than the other wines in Vestur, though Southern pineapple wine has its share of defenders.

BREAD WITH JAM AND PRESERVES, TEA SANDWICHES, & ROSETTE CAKE: Breads and pastries are big in the Middle Kingdom. The Middle Kingdom considers itself the world leader in the art of baking. Compared to its neighbors, the baked goods they make are soft, light, and airy and they are proud of it. Cakes in particular are a point of ego and a minor source of mania among nobility; it is a well-established cultural joke that a Middle Kingdom noble cannot suffer his neighbor serving a bigger, taller cake. The cakes at Middle Kingdom parties can reach nauseatingly wasteful and absurdist heights, and there is no sign of this trend relenting any time soon.

CHOWDER, FARMER'S POT PIE, GRIDDLECAKES, EGGS, CURED MEATS: If you have the means to eat at all in the Middle Kingdom, you are probably eating well. Due to the Midland's agricultural strength, even peasant dishes are dense and filling. Eggs and cured meats are abundant, cheaper, and more shelf stable than fresh cuts and provide reprieve from the unending wheat and dairy in the Midland diet.

STEWED APPLES AND PEARS, JAM AND PRESERVES: The Midland grows a number of different fruits, with apples and pears being the most plentiful. In a good year, there will be more fruit than anyone knows what to do with, and so jams and preserves are widely available. Stewed fruit has also gained popularity, especially since trade with the Southern Kingdom ensures a stable supply of sugar and cinnamon.

NORTHERN KINGDOM - SETTLED

The Northern Kingdom is a harsh and unforgiving land. Historically, its peoples lived a nomadic life, but since the unification of the Tri-Kingdom more and more of the Northern population have opted to live a settled life. The “settled North” leads a hard life trying to make agriculture work on the tundra, but it is possible with the help of green meur. The Northern palate leans heavily on preserved and fermented foods as well as the heat from the native tundra peppers. Outsiders often have a hard time stomaching the salt, tang, and spice of Northern cuisine and it is widely considered “scary.”

KEY CROPS: potatoes, beets, carrots, tundra pepper KEY LIVESTOCK: wooly goats, hares*

GOAT POT ROAST: Life up north is hard work and there is much to be done in a day. Thus, slow cooked one-pot meals that simmer throughout the day are quite common.

VENISON WITH PICKLES: Game meat appears in Northern dishes about as much as farmed meat – or sometimes even more, depending on the location. Even “classier” Northern dishes will sometimes choose game meat over domesticated, as is the case with the beloved venison with pickles. Cuts of brined venison are spread over a bed of butter-fried potato slices and potent, spicy pickled peppers and onions. The potatoes are meant to cut some of the saltiness of the dish, but... most foreigners just say it tastes like salt, vinegar, and burning.

MINER STEW: While outsiders often have a hard time distinguishing miner stew from the multitude of beet-tinged stews and pot roasts, the taste difference is unmistakable. Miner's stew is a poverty meal consisting of pickles and salt pork and whatever else is might be edible and available. The end result is a sad bowl of scraps that tastes like salt and reeks of vinegar. The popular myth is that the dish got its name because the Northern poor began putting actual rocks in it to fill out the meal, which... probably never happened, but facts aren't going to stop people from repeating punchy myths.

RYE TOAST WITH ONION JAM: Rye is hardier than wheat, and so rye bread is the most common variety in the North. Compared to Midland bread, Northern bread is dense and gritty. It is less likely to be enjoyed on its own than Midland bread, both because of its composition and because there's less to put on it. Unless you've the money to import fruit spreads from further south, you're stuck with Northern jams such as onion or pepper jam. Both have their appreciators, but bear little resemblance to the fruit and berry preserves available elsewhere in Vestur.

HARE DAIRY: Eating hare meat is prohibited in polite society due to its association with the haretouched and heretical nomadic folk religions, but hare dairy is fair game. Hare cheese ranges from black to plum in color, is strangely odorless, and has a pungent flavor akin to a strong blue cheese. It is the least contentious of hare milk products. Hare milk, on the other hand, is mildly toxic. If one is not acclimated to hare milk, drinking it will likely make them “milk sick” and induce vomiting. It is rarely drunk raw, and is instead fermented into an alcoholic drink similar to kumis.

MAPLE HARES AND NOMAD CANDY: Maple syrup is essentially the only local sweetener available in the North, and so it is the primary flavor of every Northern dessert. Simple maple candies are the most common type of sweet, though candied tundra peppers – known as “nomad candy” – is quite popular as well. (Despite its name, nomad candy is an invention of the settled North and was never made by nomads.)

TUNSUKH: Tunsukh is one of the few traditions from the nomadic era still widely (and openly) practiced among Northern nobility. It is a ceremonial dinner meant as a test of strength and endurance between political leaders: a brutally spiced multi-course meal, with each course being more painful than the last. Whoever finishes the dinner with a stoic, tear-streaked face triumphs; anyone who cries out in pain or reaches for a glass of milk admits defeat. “Dessert” consists of a bowl of plain, boiled potatoes. After the onslaught of tunsukh, it is sweeter than any cake.

NORTHERN KINGDOM – NOMADIC NORTH

Although the Old Ways are in decline, the nomadic clans still live in the far North beyond any land worth settling. They travel on hareback across the frozen wasteland seeking “meur fonts” - paradoxical bursts of meur that erupt from the ice and provide momentary reprieve from the harsh environment. The taste of nomad food is not well documented.

KEY CROPS: N/A KEY LIVESTOCK: hares

PEMMICAN: Nomadic life offers few guarantees. With its caloric density and functionally indefinite “shelf life,” pemmican is about as close as one can get.

SEAL, MOOSE: Meat comprises the vast majority of the nomadic diet and is eaten a variety of ways. Depending on the clan, season, and availability of meur fonts, meat may be cooked, smoked, turned to jerky, or eaten raw. Moose and seal are the most common sources of meat, but each comes with its own challenges. Moose are massive, violent creatures and dangerous to take down even with the aid of hares; seals are slippery to hunt and only live along the coasts.

WANDER FOOD, WANDER STEW: When a green meur font appears, a lush jungle springs forth around it. The heat from red meur fonts may melt ice and create opportunities for fishing where there weren't before. Any food obtained from a font is known as “wander food.” Wander food is both familiar and alien; the nomads have lived by fonts long enough to know what is edible and what is not, but they may not know the common names or preparation methods for the food they find. Fish is simple enough to cook, but produce is less predictable. Meur fonts are temporary, and it's not guaranteed that you'll ever find the same produce twice - there is little room to experiment and learn. As a result, a lot of wander food is simply thrown into a pot and boiled into “wander stew,” an indescribable dish which is different each time.

CENVAVESH: When a haretouched person dies, their hare is gripped with the insatiable compulsion to eat its former companion... therefore, it is only proper to return the favor. Barring injury or illness, a bonded hare will almost always outlive its bonded human, and so the death of one's hare is considered a great tragedy among nomads. The haretouched – and anyone they may invite to join them – sits beside the head of their hare as they consume as much of its rib and organ meat as they can. Meanwhile, the rest of the clan processes the remainder of the hare's carcass so that none of it goes to waste. It is a somber affair that is treated with the same gravity as the passing of a human. Cenvavesh is outlawed as a pagan practice in the settled North.

HARE WINE: While fermented hare's milk is already alcoholic, further fermentation turns it into a vivid hallucinogen. This “hare wine” is used in a number of nomad rituals, most notably during coming of age ceremonies. Allegedly, it bestows its drinker with a hare's intuition and keen sense of direction... of course, truth is difficult to distinguish from fiction when it comes to the Old Ways.

SOUTHERN KINGDOM

The Southern Kingdom is mainly comprised of coast, wetland, and ever-shrinking jungle. While the land is mostly unfit for large-scale agriculture, seafood is plentiful and the hot climate is perfect for exorbitant niche crops. What they can't grow, they obtain easily through trade. Southerners have a reputation for eating anything, as well as stealing dishes from other cultures and “ruining” them with their own interpretations. KEY CROPS: plantains, sweet potato, pineapple, mango, guava, sugarcane KEY LIVESTOCK: fowl, marsh hogs, seals

GLAZED EEL WITH FRIED PLANTAINS: A very common configuration for Southern food is a glazed meat paired with a fried vegetable. It almost doesn't matter which meat and which vegetable it is – they love their fried food and they love their sweet and salty sauces in the South. Eel is a culturally beloved meat, much to the shock and confusion of visiting Midlanders.

NARWHAL STEW: Narwhal stew is the South's “anything goes” stew. It does not actually contain narwhal meat, as they are extinct (though the upper class may include dolphin meat as a protein) – instead, the name comes from its traditional status as a “forever soup,” as narwhals are associated with the passage of time in Southern culture. Even in the present day, Southern monasteries tend massive, ever-boiling pots of perpetual stew in order to feed the monks and sybils who live there. Narwhal stew has a clear kelp-based broth and usually contains shellfish. Beyond that, its ingredients are extremely varied. Noodles are a popular but recent addition.

FORAGE: The dish known as “forage” is likewise not foraged, or at least, it hasn't been forage-based in a good hundred years at least. Forage is a lot like poke; it's a little bit of everything thrown into a bowl. Common ingredients include fish (raw or cooked), seaweed, fried noodles, marinated egg, and small quantities of fruit.

HOT POT: Hot pot is extremely popular, across class barriers, in both the South proper and its enclave territories. This is due to its extreme flexibility - if it can be cooked in a vat of boiling broth, it will be. Crustaceans and shellfish are common choices for hot pot in the proper South, along with squid, octopus, mushrooms, and greens.

FLATBREAD: The Southern Kingdom doesn't do much baking. The vast majority of breads are fried, unleavened flatbreads, which are usually eaten alongside soups or as wraps. Wraps come in both savory and sweet varieties; savory wraps are usually stuffed with shredded pork and greens while sweet wraps – which are much more expensive – are filled with fruit and seal cheese.

GRILLED SKEWERS, ROAST SWEET POTATO: While a novel concept for Midlanders and Northerners, street food has long been a part of Southern Kingdom culture. You would be hard pressed to find a Southern market that didn't have at least three vendors pushing grilled or fried something or other. Skewers are the most common and come in countless configurations, but roast sweet potatoes are a close second.

CUT FRUIT AND SEAL CHEESE: Fresh fruit is popular in the South, both local and imported. While delicious on its own, Southerners famously pair it with seal cheese. Which leads me to an important topic of discussion I don't have room for anywhere else...

THE SOUTH AND CHEESE: Since the South doesn't have much in the way of dairy farming, cheese is somewhat rare in their cuisine – but it is present. And important. Cheese is the domain of the Church. Common goat dairy imported from the Middle Kingdom is turned to cheese by monks in Southern monasteries and sold to the Southern public, yes, but as you have noticed there is another cheese prominent in the Southern Kingdom diet: seal cheese. Seal cheese is unlike anything else that has ever been called cheese; the closest it can be compared to is mascarpone. It is is a soft, creamy cheese with a mild flavor and an indulgent fat content. It is used almost exclusively as a dessert, though it is only ever mildly sweetened if at all. It is extremely costly and held in high regard; the most religious Southerners regard it as holy. Dairy seals are a very rare animal and raised exclusively in a small number of Cetolist-Cerostian monasteries, where they are tended and milked by the monks. Due to their status as a holy animal, eating seal meat is forbidden. Eating their cheese and rendering their tallow into soap is fine though.

(HEARTLAND SOUTH) SOUTH-STYLE GOAT: The Heartland South is a Southern enclave territory in the Middle Kingdom. Visiting Midland dignitaries oft wrongly assume that because the Heartland South is in Middle Kingdom territory, Heartland Southerners eat the same food they do exactly as they do. They are horrified to find that familiar sounding dishes like “goat with potatoes” are completely and utterly unrecognizable, drenched in unfamiliar sauces and spices and served alongside fruit they've never eaten. Meanwhile, Heartland Southerners firmly believe that they have fixed the Middle Kingdom's boring food.

(BOREAL SOUTH) “TUNSUKH”: If Midlanders are afraid of Heartland Southern food, Northerners are absolutely furious about cuisine from the Boreal South - the most legendarily offensive being the Boreal South's idea of “tunsukh.” Southerners are no stranger to spice, so when Southern traders began interacting with the North, they liked tunsukh! It's just... they thought it needed a little Southern help to become a real meal, you know? A side of seal cheese soothed the burn and made the meal enjoyable. And because the meal was enjoyable, the portion sizes increased. And plain boiled potatoes? Well, those are a little too plain – creamy mashed sweet potato feels like more of a dessert, doesn't it? ...For some reason, Northerners didn't agree, but that's okay. The Boreal South knows they're just embarrassed they didn't think of pairing seal cheese with tunsukh sooner.

ARMY RATIONS

The food eaten by the King's Army is about what you would expect for late 1700s military; salt pork or salt chevon, hard tack, and coffee. The biggest divergence they have is also one of Vestur's biggest points of pride: they have the means to supply their troops with frivolous luxuries like small tins of candied fruit from the Midland. A love of candied fruit is essentially a Vesturian military proto-meme; proof that they serve the greatest Tri-Kingdom on the planet. Don't get between a military man and his candied fruit unless you want a fight.

[boohorns1136439]

Learning to belong ~ poly!MHA x fem!Reader (02)

Already? I know, right. I don’t know what’s happening to me right now, but let’s hope it lasts. I never knew it would be so fun to write, clearly not the same high as reading a great book or fic, but pretty close. This is slightly longer than the first chapter.

01 <- 02 -> 03

Masterlist

Taglist

Warning: cursing, nsfw (but like you should expect it), a little smutty but nothing too explicit

tags: aged-up characters ; Pack! Izuku Midoriya X Bakugo Katsuki X Shoto Todoroki X Kirishima Eijirou ; Omega!Izuku Midoriya ; Omega!Bakugo Katsuki ; Omega!Shoto Todoroki ; Omega!Kirishima Eijirou ; technically Beta!Reader ; afab!Reader ; modern Au ; post-UA ; Reader has a quirk ; non hero!Reader ; eventually smut ; bisexual!Reader

A chilling sweetness was the first thing your nose picked up. The longer the scent wrapped itself around you, the more you recognized the undeniably sweet, tangy, and fresh aroma of ripe berries. The crispness of the scent left you wondering if the berries were slightly frozen, adding a refreshing and pleasant coldness. You couldn’t quite tell which berries they were—blueberries, raspberries, maybe even strawberries? It didn’t matter, because the blended scent left you craving a taste. You could almost picture a glass bowl full of ripe berries, your hand reaching in to devour the sweet treat.

Your body didn’t quite know how to handle it, instinctively tensing against the overwhelming sensation. You felt an involuntary shiver run down your spine as the sweetness invaded your senses, leaving you both mesmerized and disoriented. It consumed you, making your pulse quicken as your senses struggled to process it. Your head felt light, almost dizzy, like the ground beneath you had shifted. Just when you thought you might find yours footing, the coldness of the berries began to melt away, and the scent transformed—richer, warmer, sweeter. Honey.

You could smell honey now, hot and thick, being poured over the berries. The heat of the honey mixed with the berries was almost too much. Your pulse escalated, racing out of control, and every breath you took only pulled more of the intoxicating scent into your lungs. It flooded your mind, clouding your thoughts. The hot honey turned the berries into a syrupy, luscious jam, and you could practically taste it, the sweetness lingering on your lips. Your entire body tingled, unable to escape the pull of the scent.

The culprit behind the scent was obviously Todoroki. In the back of your mind, you could hear a little voice—your inner doctor—saying he was showing signs of entering his heat. But it was still confusing because you had never smelled anyone’s scent, heat or no heat, this strongly before. It had never affected you this much. Usually, you could only pick up faint hints of sweetness or sourness from others, but this... this was different. You had never been able to distinguish someone’s scent this clearly before, but with Todoroki, you could name it exactly—frosted berries and honey. Not only that, but the way your whole body tingled just from smelling it was entirely new. It was overwhelming, all-consuming. And from the way Todoroki was looking at you, eyes dark with a knowing smile, and how his scent spiked in response, you knew he noticed how deeply his scent affected you too.

"Alpha... you’ll take care of me, won’t you?" His voice had dropped lower, breathless, tinged with desperation but still confident, as if he was sure you would give him everything he wanted. As if the two of you weren’t practically strangers, as if the sterile hospital room around you didn’t exist, as if everything he was thinking about wasn’t entirely inappropriate. Embarrassingly, it wasn’t just him. You were really really trying to not focus on how your thoughts were heading down the same dangerous path.

“Todoroki, it seems you’ve entered your heat. Don’t worry, we’ll prescribe you some medication to help manage it until you can be released home.” You tried to force professionalism back into your voice, but the way his eyes, once filled with raw desire, narrowed at you with disapproval made your heart stutter. His eyebrows furrowed, and his lips parted in something close to frustration.

“I don’t want medicine, Alpha. I want you,” he rasped, his voice breaking slightly. His hand shot out, more desperate now, as if he couldn’t bear the distance between you. Before you could react, he grabbed your hand, and you were too startled—too affected by the intensity of his words—to pull away. With a shaky breath, he pressed your hand against his cheek, closing his eyes and sighing deeply, almost in relief.

He didn’t stop there. He nuzzled your hand, the gesture so gentle, like he was seeking comfort and your touch was the only thing that could soothe him in that moment. It was adorable in a strange, needy way—like a cat demanding affection. But there was an underlying desperation in the way he leaned into you, and the way he pressed into your palm made you feel how badly he needed it. The innocence of the gesture was overshadowed by the unmistakable tension in the air. He was scenting you, while the overwhelming sweetness of his scent was making you clenched your thighs tightly together as a wave of heat washed over you.

Todoroki hadn’t forgotten his own wanted. His lips pressed eagerly against the palm of your hand, each kiss slower, more intense than the last. Instinctively, you tried to pull away, a small yelp escaping your lips, but his grip tightened. His eyes opened, locking onto yours, annoyed with your actions.

His grip on your wrist was bruising, a stark contrast to the frantic, needy kisses he pressed against your hand. His body trembled, grinding desperately —Oh God— against the blanket resting on his laps, frantically looking for any relief. Kissing your hands weren’t enough to calm him. He guided your hand to his neck, forcing your fingers to press against his scent gland, but that didn’t satisfy him either. His breath hitched as he moved your hand lower, dragging its down his chest. When your finger brushed over his nipple, a high, strained moan slipped from his lips. His hips jerked upward, aching for friction, anything to break the suffocating need building within him. His body was on the edge, desperate for release, and craving more.

You felt feverish, trapped by his grip. The warmth of his skin seeped through his shirt, so hot it was burning you in the most delicious way. When your eyes met his, the smile he gave you was ravaging, and you felt yourself leaning closer into his warmth. He seemed to have the same idea, trying to close the distance between you. Your lips are now within reach for his—lips that had been tempting him for what felt like an eternity.

His hands eagerly moved yours, guiding them to the place he needed you the most while his legs was spreading in impatience. His mind was too clouded with desire to even consider removing his clothes, despite how uncomfortable they felt against his skin. As your faces drew closer, he whispered a soft "alpha," and breathed a warm laugh brushing against your lips as his eyes fluttered shut, ready to claim yours.

You felt it before you saw it. The loud crash of the door slamming open, hands seizing your collar and yanking you off the ground with brutal force. Your head slammed into the wall, a vicious crack of pain exploding through your skull. Even through the blinding haze of disorientation and the tears stinging your eyes, one thing stood out—red. Red eyes, blazing with fury and barely-contained rage.

"What the fuck are you doing to him?"

Alright, this one’s finally done! Did you like it? I hesitated for a while about ending the chapter with “You felt it before you saw it.” Like, setting up people to expect smut in the next chapter, then plot twist: “I lied, put your clothes back on, someone’s trying to beat your ass.”

But I feel like, since I’m still at the beginning of my fic, I shouldn’t do that. I need to make y’all want to come back, so I figured not revealing who the angry person was at the end would be better (especially since I haven’t even started working on the next chapter yet).

Have you noticed? I always try to end the chapter with a little cliffhanger, so y’all get curious about what might happen next. Also, I was considering changing the reader to gn!reader so it would be more inclusive but I wasn’t sure about it.

For those who asked me to tag them, tell me if this works. I have never created a tag list before so I am not sure.

This is a long ass note, way too long. None is reading all of that 😭

As always, I am open to criticism.

Big thank you to @cafekitsune who made the beautiful dividers

01 <- 02 -> 03

Taglist

[readychilledwine]

Okay I have like a slightly out of pocket request/idea that I don’t think I’ve seen before and if this is not your cup of tea you can straight up IGNORE but it’s taken over my brain 😂 let’s pretend in this story that eris and mor are mates but it’s a rejected situation bc obvs mor isn’t into males. And helion and the lady of autumn are also mates. This is post Hybern, maybe during or after ACOSF. Beron (I know ew right but stay with me now) ends up finding HIS mate. And she’s like the sweetest thing ever and she’s terrified of him. (Beron is infatuated with her because of whatever power she may have but he’s still an asshole don’t get me wrong this is not a beron redemption request) It becomes public knowledge that beron found his mate and he plans on marrying her. eris REFUSES to let another female be subjected to what his mother went through so this is what spurs the whole murder beron and become high lord plot. I have no thoughts on what happens between but eris succeeds and becomes high lord in the end, but falls in love with beron’s mate during the process and it’s mutual love and it’s angst with a happy ending. Usually fated mates is my jam but I just needed every mating bond to go wrong in this one LOL. Except for Helion and LoA of course 🫡

A Game of Fate

Eris Week - Day 7 - Free Day

Summary - After the bond between Beron Vanserra and Eris's hidden lover makes itself known, the cycle of tyranny in Autumn is put to the test

Warnings - assassination, poison, Beron, mentions of abuse, food and sleep deprivation, beron x reader mating bond.

A/n - I've been holding on to this, and I am so sorry 😭. I played with it a little bit, but I this ultimately was the version I am happiest with! Happy last day of @erisweekofficial . It feels like I'm like leaving a long-distance friend after too short of a visit.

🍂Eris Week Masterlist🍂Eris Masterlist🍂Master Masterlist🍂

The Cauldron was wrong. Eris understood Azriel's claim in every sense now. The Cauldron had to be wrong.

There was no other explanation for why his father was currently signing papers to end his marriage because you were his mate. Sweet, kind, soft spoken you. You dreamed of far-off places, peace. You once told Eris you liked to imagine what the stars whispered to each other late at night.

You were a dreamer, and you were his. Eris had hidden you in plain sight since you became his peace. You were there for him after Mor rejected the bond. You were there for him after every beating, and you loved him through everything.

And now your father had to go and ruin it. You were 505 years old, and he finally felt the need to present you as a lady to the court to be married off however Beron saw fit.

If it was a massive payout your father wanted, he had it. Everyone knew what had happened the second the High Lord of Autumn laid eyes on you. The reactions ranged from jealousy to sympathy to shock. And now, two months later, the reaction was silence.

Without even speaking, you had changed the course of Autumn's history. You had ruined Helion, Rhys, and Eris's plans. You had freed his mother at the cost of yourself and your safety. Your words behind those closed doors would haunt Eris until he died, "I will marry you only if Lady Autumn is freed and allowed to leave to wherever she sees fit, safely and with your blessing."

Eris sighed as the other two High Lords, the inner circle, and his brothers all sat in Helion's war room. Eris's boots banged with each anxious and angry step, "Any ideas," he asked. "I would have to outright declare a blood duel now, which requires gaining the support of the rest of the courts beforehand, and we do not have time for that."

"We can not declare war," Rhysand contemplated. "No other court had claim to the girl, and you have no known claim to her."

"Even if he did, Autumn court law says the mating bond trumps it," Eris's mother, Anala, said. "Especially when it is between two members of the Autumn Court. Our laws allow males to claim their mates without her accepting the bond."

"Well if that isn't misogynistic-"

"Let me know when you actually ban wing clipping, and you can bash my court's laws," Anala spat at Rhysand. "You know, as well as I do change doesn't come overnight with a dictator."

Rhysand blinked at the former Lady of Autumn before glancing at Helion. You entered the room at that moment. The air seemed to tense as you did, but Eris rushed to you, holding your elbows. "Are you alright?"

Beron has been trying to manipulate you for weeks. He played games with your mind no long talks with Eris could prepare you for. Beron was a monster, and this was only your second week continuously being with him.

Helion stared to his love, his long lost mate, and stood, "Give me a week with your mother, and I will do it." The silence was screaming as the former Lady of Autumn shook her head. "There are no other answers, my love." Helion knew the look in Eris's eyes, the ache, the desperation, and the struggle.

He knew immediately what you were to Eris and what you could be to Autumn. Helion, much like Eris, knew he could not let you fall victim next, but you had no intentions to. He had watched his mate suffer for far too long, and the rumors of Beron's so-called adoration for the female in front of him did not mask the concern the Lord of Day felt.

You and Eris held eye contact. The room noticed the wordless communication. It was a bond that could only have been built through love, trust, and years of understanding. "I can not risk you like that."

"I would be careful," your reply was so soft but filled with confidence. "He won't even know if we use small amounts."

Eris couldn't help but hold your arms a little tighter, "I will not risk you." His eyes were pleading for you to reconsider to think this through.

"Would anyone mind including the rest of us in this... touching conversation?" Rhysand picked a piece of lint off his jacket before crossing his arms.

You spoke before Eris could, "There is a plant that grows in a certain place. It is highly poisonous and undetectable. The symptoms are no worse than an allergy. It can cause death within 2 weeks."

You watched as Anala shook her head at Helion, "I know of no such poison."

"That's because I made and grow it," Eris flinched at your admission and the questions it would bring.

Helion started to laugh, "You made it?"

Eris glared at the Day Lord, "y/n has a certain.. gift.. from the Mother."

"I can combine poisons," you rolled your eyes at Eris playfully. "Create new ones with no antidote or cures." Rhys and Helion turned to each other, clearly not assumed by the new information. "I only used it once. And they deserved it."

Anala's whiskey eyes went wide, "The human smuggler. You killed him?"

"Eris did. I just provided the supplies."

Rhysand pinched the bridge of his nose. "Eris, why was this information not provided to any of us earlier? Do you understand how useful she is?" You shook your head toward the red-haired male. He seemed to calm down instantly at the sight of you. "Ah, I see. She's your lover. Not just your friend."

His mother seemed stunned at this information, "But Morrigan?"

You flinched at the mention of her name. "Has the same taste as I do, mother," Eris was only looking at you. "And I do not support this idea," his grip on your arms grew tighter. "He is not a common idiot."

"Nor am I," you declared. "I would be smart. I'll be close enough to him to make sure he gets it every day. Even after just a week-"

Rhysand finished, "He'd be weak enough to call an emergency meeting or for one of us to declare the blood duel."

You nodded at the Lord of Night, not even stopping to admire his dark beauty with the grace of Autumn and Mother Nature stood before you in Eris's eyes. There was no world where you planned to be without him, no world where you could see yourself in arms besides his.

But for a week you would not have a choice. For a week, you would play the part you were expected to, and it began before you even had breakfast the next day. You were woken up by two handmaiden ripping you from your bed in the former Lady of Autumn's private chambers and throwing your half awake and now naked self into a bath.

Every inch of you was scrubbed almost raw before your hair was washed and scented to Beron's preference of roses. You were dried and dressed in almost no time, the heavy traditional gown feeling like shackles on your figure.

No cotton dresses if this failed.

No more nights in Eris's sweaters and nothing else.

Once your hair and makeup we're finished, you were not taken to breakfast. You were taken to lessons. Beron had assumed you knew nothing of formality, nothing of etiquette. You had not been presented to his courts, so what other assumption could he have made as you were retaught the differences in dinning utensils.

You would not see food until that even came, and then the mood quickly fizzled away as the table for two was filled. The only sound in the room was meat being cut, your breathing. You knew not to speak before the High Lord addressed you. You knew he was testing you with silence.

You did not see Eris in this male. There was no sign of the life that burned in Eris's eyes. No freckle of Beron's seemed to mimic the night sky the way Eris's did. There was nothing special to you about Beron Vanserra. Not even the bond was strong enough to make you want him.

"How were your lessons," his voice was falsely sweet. "I assume based on your manners they went well."

"They were lovely, High Lord," you responded. "A good refresher for everything my mother had already taught me."

Beron glanced at you, "Are you inferring you did not appreciate me setting you up with the finest tutor in my court?"

Eris would be whispering to you to tread carefully. Beron's very body language told you this was beginning to enter dangerous territory. "No, my lord," you said softly, "But I would hate for you to waste time and resources on me when I am sure there are better things to put them towards."

Beron leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips as he cocked his head, "You know how to play. I'm going to thoroughly enjoy breaking you, mate."

And you thoroughly enjoyed watching him drink the whiskey laced with 3 drops of poison.

The next day was different. Beron himself was dragging you places without food right away this morning. He was showing you off to different advisors all day, bragging about your beauty, your ability to manipulate flowering and fruiting plants into harvests sooner.

You had used your magic so much to show off for him that you could hardly stand as he affectionately held your chair out for dinner. "You did wonderfully today," he began eating after forcing you to say a prayer to the Mother.

He didn't get to hear the silent plea you sent her. The silent begging for mercy.

You sid get to hear him start coughing as he drank his tainted whiskey that night, though.

Eris was worried for you the third day. You had been sent to bed late, awoken early. Once again, not allowed food. He had stayed by your and Beron's side in meeting that day.

His amber eyes never left your form. He was openly staring at the way you couldn't help but lean on Beron in your exhausted state.

And when Beron stole you for dinner, Eris made sure to add extra poison to his drink, watching as you played the part of the perfect mate, rushing to help him as he began to cough up blood.

Illness among the fae was rare, but when it struck, it was deadly. By the end of day 4, the Forest House was a much quieter place. Beron was bed bound due to Eris's choice to expose him to the poison morning, noon, and night.

You had warned him that this poison was aggressive in large doses. He had also tested it on more brutal lesser fae tracking to attack innocent children to see that. It was brutal, focusing on getting into the smallest cells of blood before shutting down major organs quickly and painfully. You were sat beside his father, crying, playing the part, and Eris beside you, a distraught son.

Day 5 Eris slipped the poison in a high dose into Beron's pain medication before finding you. He had cornered you into a hall closet. You had been forced from bed far too early again, forced to skip meals again.

Eris knew this tactic. Had Beron been healthy, he would continue this until your brain associated Beron's presence with food. It was a way to make you comply, to rely on him.

Eris put an end to it right that moment. He ordered you to be given food, then rest. His father refused the tea Eris offered him that night. Took weak to even open his eyes.

You had underestimated yourself and your powers, or perhaps the smug male above you had more to with it than he let on, bit day 7, Beron was unresponsive. Eris held you down on the bed you two had shared so many times before, kissing your neck and whispering words of how he'd move the very foundations of this world for you when the knock came on his door.

He quickly hid you, allowing a healer to enter. Eris faked his reaction perfectly. He fell to his knees with a strangled cry, hand on his heart as the healer moved to comfort the young heir.

Beron was unresponsive.

And by night fall, Eris truly fell over. His very blood felt as if liquid fire had been poured into him. His hearth grew brighter, hotter.

It wasn't until your heart-wrenching scream came that Eris knew without doubt what had happened. No one had prepared for the outcome of you losing your mate. No one had even questioned what it would do.

They had been so focused on saving you that they had forgotten the most important part of the bond, Beron was the other half of your soul. Grief. Guilt. Joy. Anger. You had never felt like this. You had never imagined a world where you could feel so deeply it ached and made you sick.

You pushed healers away as you held Beron's hand. You pushed Eris away as he came to kneal beside you. You didn't want to feel this, yet you did. You did as he forced you up and out of the room. You did as Beron's body was burned before his ashes were given to the trees. You did as you watched Eris take his place.

The grief only stopped when Eris concerned you that night, his hands on your hips, and he led you to another room where a separate celebration took place. Anala stood in Day Court attire, laughing as Helion dipped her, laughing as Lucien smiled at her from across the room, Elain safely tucked to his side.

Eris's middle brother stood dancing with his male lover, the two of them just swaying. Mor was there with Emerie, lips by her ear gossiping. "I ache too at times," Eris looked at her, a longing in his eyes as he did. "I wonder if I made the right choice to let her go on my loneliest nights. Then I see you."

Eris kissed your knuckles, "I see you, and I regret nothing. Not even what I did in secret."

You looked at him then, "Eris?"

"I stole the black poison. The one you never tested. Every time he and I ate together, I slipped him that one as well."

Your face fell, "You-"

"Weren't going to risk it. Not with the female I am in love with being involved," Eris drank his wine slowly as he studied your reaction.

"So no big fight needed?"

"Oh, trust me, I wanted that," he clarified. "I didn't realize it would work as quickly as it did. I wasn't sure what you had been crafting. He died before I could challenge him, but before he could break you."

The two of you continued watching Helion and Anala, continued watching Lucien and Elain, his brother, Mor.

The grief did linger, but as you took his hand, it faded more. "Let's go dance, High Lady," he whispered into your ear.

And with each spin, every dip, the raise in laughter, the ache continued to fade.

General Taglist:

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

[aventurineswife]

Mini troublemakers!

Summary: When each Stellaron Hunter encounters a robot reader with the unique ability to create adorable, miniature replicas of themselves, their reactions reveal hidden facets of their personalities.

Tags: Kafka x Reader, Firefly x Reader, Silver Wolf x Reader, Blade x Reader, Robot!Reader, Platonic Relationships, Mini Robots, Friendship, Slice of Life, Fluff and Light Humor, Bittersweet Moments.

A/N: 🥺💖THIS IS SO CUTE!!

Tag (as I can't answer your request so I have to resort on tagging you instead): @lavenderlovekakavasha

Kafka

Kafka observed with an intrigued smile as you, the robot, tinkered with a miniature version of yourself. A tiny, whirring replica with shiny eyes turned and beamed up at her. "A little army of yourself, hmm?" she mused, her smooth voice drifting in a teasing tone.

She leaned closer, letting her wine-colored hair spill over one shoulder as she observed the smaller bot. “Adorable. A bit of charm and smarts combined, just like the real thing.” She tapped the mini bot’s head lightly, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "It suits you, actually. I might have to commission a tiny assistant from you myself. Maybe with one of my coats.”

The little bot chirped in response, and Kafka’s laughter was low and warm. "Let’s see what you can do with it,” she said, her gaze focused, “and if you’re up for a little fun.”

Firefly

Firefly watched with quiet admiration as your small robot creation moved around. She crouched down, reaching out a cautious hand to the curious, cute little bot, which hummed softly as it approached her. “These… you created them yourself?” she asked, her tone holding a mix of wonder and reserve.

When you confirmed, she gave a small, almost hidden smile. “They’re… fragile, but strong. Like something meant to last in its own way.” The bot blinked at her, and Firefly’s eyes softened. “Reminds me of the Iron Cavalries back in Glamoth. Only… friendlier.” she added, stroking one of the bot’s tiny antennae.

She looked up at you thoughtfully. “Do they ever get scared?” she asked, a hint of something deeper in her tone. “Out there on their own?”

You reassured her, showing how they could always find their way back to you with a signal, and Firefly’s smile grew just a little. “Then they’re lucky.”

Silver Wolf

"Okay, this is genius!" Silver Wolf leaned in, peering closely at your little bot. It made a light, buzzing sound, like a computer processing, and Silver Wolf’s eyes lit up with excitement. “So, they can copy themselves, hack simple systems, and even do cute dances. You realize how much we could exploit this?”

She nudged the bot playfully, letting out a snicker as it wobbled and then righted itself. “With a few tweaks, I bet I could turn these guys into the ultimate diversion—just imagine the look on Screwllum’s face when these little cuties start hacking his defenses.”

The little bot tried imitating her gesture, lifting a stubby little arm in a “cheer” motion, and she laughed. “Yup, they’re my kind of bots! We could be an unstoppable team. You up for a little programming jam session?”

Blade

Blade stood in silence, his eyes fixed on the small robot rolling around in front of him. You watched as he knelt down, expression unreadable, while the little bot wheeled over and stopped at his foot. It beeped softly, looking up at him with a wide, innocent lens.

He seemed almost hesitant, looking from the small bot to you. “It’s… small,” he finally said, as though the idea itself was strange. The bot moved closer, and Blade didn’t flinch, even as it nuzzled against his hand like a pet.

“Strange to see something so… unburdened by fate,” he muttered under his breath. There was an intensity in his eyes as he reached out to gently touch the bot’s head. “If only everything could be so simple.”

The little bot let out a chirp, and you told him it was their way of saying they liked him. He let out a rare, low chuckle. “Then I suppose it’s good it doesn’t know who I am. Still, I… appreciate it.”

He glanced up at you, something softer in his gaze. “Keep them close. They’re safer that way.”

This is very lazily written, sorry y'all. I'm not feeling well today.

[herenya-writes]

To Kneel at Your Feet

So, uh, I tried my hand at a little Dreamling fic when a particular image wouldn't get out of my head.

~1850 words, Rated T (violence, non-graphic injuries, a bit of foul langauge), pre-relationship Dreamling set a few months after Dream escapes the fishbowl but before he's told Hob who he is

When a shadow fell over him, Hob figured he was fucked. Well, even more fucked than he already had been.

The day had started pretty normal. Term was over for the summer, and he had finally finished the last of the marking the night before, so he had let himself laze in the sunny patches of his bed until almost noon when the grumbling of his stomach drove him to the kitchen for food. The rest of the day had been syrupy slow, with a light frisson of anticipation running through. He was meeting his Stranger tomorrow morning for brunch, their first pre-evening meeting and the fifth one they had had since his Stranger had returned. So it was with a spring in his step that he had gone through the rest of the day, chatting with Mrs. Giles up the road about whether he could buy a few cases of her jam to serve at the Inn, taking a stroll around the park, mixing up a batch of scones. When Sasha called in sick, he had gladly picked up their shift bar-tending at the Inn, and even that had been lovely. A faster pace than the rest of his day, sure, but the night had been full of familiar faces and easy laughter.

He had been closing up the Inn and wiping down the last of the tables when the bell above the door rang. He didn’t get out so much as a word before the bullets were flying.

He managed to dodge them for a good while, but even his immortal body got tired of crouching and diving eventually. Plus, there were three of them, all armed, and only one of him. He had a bat and an array of knives behind the bar and an assortment of weapons in his flat above, but he didn’t see how he could get to either of those places unscathed. He’d survive, of course, but that could cause even more problems depending on how smart these thugs were.

His next dodge had been a bit too slow, and as he slid behind the sturdy oak of one of the booths a bullet buried itself in his shoulder. He snarled at the pain and pressed a hand to the wound on instinct. His immortality meant he’d survive no matter how many times these assholes shot him, but it didn’t stop him from feeling the bite of metal burrowing into his flesh.

It was as he was leaning against the wood, listening for footsteps and considering his options that a shape blocked the light above him. He swore and held up an arm to guard his face on instinct, but when he looked up it wasn’t one of the thugs he saw.

In the muted light of the Inn, his Stranger stood, clothed as always in his black coat, jeans, and boots, a minuscule frown pulling at his lips.

Without thinking, Hob grabbed the hem of his Stranger’s coat and yanked him down. His Stranger went, and a millisecond later bullets soared through the air where he had been standing.

“Sorry, friend. You chose a dangerous time to stop by,” he gasped. He had grabbed his Stranger with his left arm, and the bullet wound in his shoulder was protesting loudly.

His friend’s face took on a pinched expression, brows furrowing in a way that would have been adorable in another situation.

“You are injured,” he observed, his voice deep and rumbling like distant thunder. Hob could listen to that voice all day, and despite the circumstances he could feel his heartbeat slowing at just those three words. “You are not healing as you should.”

Hob blinked and looked down. Damn, his Stranger was right. One of the side effects of his immortality was that any injuries he sustained healed rapidly. Serious stuff like disembowelment still took a long (and excruciatingly painful) time to heal, but the process happened much faster for him than a normal human. He had been stabbed in a knife fight once in his second century of living and by the time the other fellow had hit the floor the only evidence of the wound had been the blood on his skin and the tear in his shirt. A bullet hole should have shown evidence of closing by now, but it was still gaping open and bleeding freely.

“At least I won’t have to cut the bullet out later,” he joked, but the tremble in his voice ruined his attempted levity.

“There are very few weapons in this world or another that could harm you so,” his Stranger declared, and something like lightning flashed in his eyes. His expression turned stone cold, and in a fluid movement he rose to his feet and turned toward the gunmen. Hob scrambled up after him, biting back curses, but he stopped short when he realized there weren’t any bullets flying through the air.

In the space of a blink, all the shadows in the room seemed to lengthen and gather around his Stranger, and Hob swore he saw recognition begin to dawn on the face of the lead thug as his Stranger stepped forward and extended one pale arm.

“Servants of the Morningstar, by what edict do you walk the Earth and seek the life of one to whom Death has denied her gift?” His Stranger’s voice buzzed with barely-restrained power, and something deep in Hob’s human brain told him to run and hide. He stayed where he was, though, and so did the gunmen, even as they trembled in obvious fear.

“Dead or not, the glory of claiming an immortal’s head for Lucifer’s throne room is undying,” the one in the middle declared. Hob was almost impressed with how even their voice was.

“You have attacked him in his home, unarmed and unaware of your challenge. There is no glory here, hellspawn.” His Stranger spat the word ‘glory’ like it was vinegar on his tongue, and all three creatures (he had thought they were human, but now he could swear an outline of fire flickered around them) recoiled. Still, they didn’t flee.

“He is unclaimed, Dreamlord. Glory or not, he’s ours for the taking!”

The shadows in the room deepened impossibly, and the air pressure dropped fast enough that Hob’s ears popped and every hair stood on end. His Stranger took a menacing step forward, standing directly between him and the gunment now. When he spoke, the power in his voice shook the floorboards and set Hob’s very bones buzzing.

“Is that so? Allow me to correct that oversight.”

His Stranger threw back his coat, and it melted into a midnight black robe. The folds of the fabric were ablaze with swirling galaxies that seemed to spill into the shadows that surrounded him. The power radiating off him now was equal parts strange and familiar, like hearing a song for the first time but immediately knowing the chorus. Any unease Hob had felt settled at once, even as the gunmen began to quiver and keen in dismay. His Stranger spoke over their sounds of distress, his voice firm and unyielding. In that moment, Hob had no doubt that he could make any declaration and reality would bend itself to reflect his will.

“I, Dream of the Endless, Shaper of Forms, Oneiromancer, Prince of Stories, King of the Dreaming and Nightmare Realms, declare Hob Gadling to be under my protection. Harm him and know the unfettered wrath of the Dreaming.”

Hob had been a lot of things in the past 600-plus years. He’d tried his hand at just about everything that had held his attention for longer than a week, and he had even been decent at a fair chunk of it. Hell, he’d even been knighted once! Right now, he probably had enough wealth squirreled away in stashes across the world to keep him living comfortably for the next two hundred or so years. At his core, though, he was nothing more than a peasant.

His knee hit the floor before his Stranger even finished speaking, and he barely felt the way the movement shocked his still-bleeding shoulder. All he could do was gaze up at his Stranger, awe, in the oldest sense of the word, flooding him. Dream of the Endless. His Stranger had a name. His Stranger was a king.

He wasn’t sure what happened with the thugs after that. There was a moment when the Inn got so dark all he could see where the pinpoints of light in his Stranger’s eyes and the galaxies swirling in his robe, and the next the light had returned and his Stranger had turned that fathomless gaze on him.

He lowered his eyes. “My king.” His tongue was heaving in his mouth, and his throat was sand paper. There was a spit of crimson blood, his blood, on the hem of his Stranger’s robe.

“You would kneel and call me king? Even after the wrongs I have committed against you? I did not even grant you the courtesy of my name.” Power still rumbled in his Stranger’s voice, but it was leashed now in a way that sent a spark racing up Hob’s spine. God help him, but he had always loved a bit of danger.

He risked a glance up and saw his Stranger’s perfect lips twisted in a frown, his brows drawn together like Hob was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.

“I don’t need anything from you that you aren’t ready to give, my friend. You came back to me, and that was more than I could ever hope for.” Those words strayed a bit too close to another truth—that he would have waited forever just for a glimpse of his Stranger’s face, just to hear a single word from his lips—but Hob wasn’t about to start lying now, not when this magnificent creature, this otherworldly lord, had deemed him worthy of his time and attention despite all odds. His Stranger had returned after over 100 years to sit in a pub and listen to Hob ramble about airplanes and smartphones and humanity reaching the moon. How could anything he had to say possibly have captured the attention of a king with no doubt a million other duties to attend to?

His Stranger regarded him, galaxies swirling in his black eyes to match the ones dancing across his robe. Hob tore his gaze back to the floor for fear of falling in.

“Rise. You owe me no servitude or obeisance, Hob Gadling.”

Hob wanted to disagree, but he kept his mouth shut and did as his lord bid. He bit back a growl of pain as he stood, and in a blink his Stranger was there, long arms wrapped around his shoulders and holding him up with unnatural strength. Together, they hobbled up the stairs to his flat, and his Stranger laid him gently on the couch and let Hob grip his hand too tightly as he dug out the bullet lodged in his shoulder, seemingly uncaring of the way the crimson blood stained his pale fingers.

[junkworldusa]

HI I love my copy of Junkworld btw!! Thank you!!

Idk I might have asked you this before or someone else may have but I was wondering if you would talk some about your art practice like. Routine and the like? I think I remember you doing Lynda Barry exercises?

Well either way thank you!!!!

Oliver!!! Yes!!! I'm so glad!

I have to preface this by saying that I don't even work on art every day, much less comics. Last October I picked up knitting on a whim and spent all my free time making hats while listening to an audiobook of Moby-Dick. I made a lino print for the first time while sending out JW #1, fell in love with it, and have spent the last month or so carving and printing and experimenting. I go on painting jags, collage jags, writing jags, and I have two (2) guitars that are sitting in the corner patiently waiting for asteroid Kiana to circle back to them. I've been this way my whole life, and I am trying to work with it and not against it. HOWEVER. There is a hardcore Type A perfectionist inside me that wants nothing but consistency. This part of me abhors the flightiness, the mutations, the bouts of melancholy -- if there must be a Quest, it cries, let it be towards a singular Goal!!!!

For recovering perfectionists there really is no better teacher than Lynda Barry. She has a list of materials, she has dozens of exercises, she has you set time limits. According to her books she is quite a strict teacher in-class, demanding a lot of time, effort, care, and attention. All of this is wonderful. She boxes you in and sets you free.

"Making Comics" is the essential text. My favorite exercise is Monster Jam.

Here are a few of mine, all done left-handed to minimize the influence of the Type A chatter who lives in my brain. I have dozens and dozens of pages of these monsters. Barry recommends this specific process a lot: lay down the lines under pressure before your brain can catch up, then add color/patterns/details, under no pressure at all, while watching/listening to something you like.

There are several iterations after this - you draw their parents, an older sibling, a lover. Then you go back to the beginning and draw, in 6 panels, the story of their life. It somehow always presents itself.

As valuable as they are, I don't use these exercises to actually make comics nowadays. I use them to loosen up and activate that aforementioned feeling. Most of my comics come from doodles or notes scribbled down in a tiny notebook I carry everywhere. The process of making a longform comic is something I have bashed my head against for YEARS, and now involves divination, random image generation, a deck of Nancy cards, a lightbox, and a ton of panels chopped up and spread out on the floor so I can move them around. This is why I still only work in grids!

[apas-95]

an extremely important concept for communists to grasp is that the basis for the common ownership of the means of production already exists, entirely due to capitalism and industry

the fact is that, under capitalism, in the context of the industrial production capitalism has developed, production already *is* socialised, already done in common. a factory producing any good - from medicine, to canned food, to railway parts - relies on the cooperation of many hundreds of workers, in different workplaces, across the globe. it is impossible for any one capitalist to simply produce even a single vial of insulin by themself - they cannot even *manage* production themself, relying instead on an army of clerical workers. production is already carried out, and even organised and partly directed, by the collective labour of workers. it's simply the *profit* and *control* that goes to the capitalist, who has made themself superfluous and irrelevant to the production process.

it is on this basis, and this basis alone, that socialism is possible. this is nothing unique - the same process is what allowed feudalism to develop into capitalism, the same development of production rendering its masters obsolete. in fact, this exact same progression is sure to happen to socialism itself, to render the working class, and with them, finally, classes in general, obsolete. this is the basis that socialism may be built on - going along with the trajectory of history. trying to go against it, to jam your arm into the gears, and 'retvrn' to a pre-class society, instead of advancing to a post-class one, is destined to cause only violence - it is 'reactionary' in the most literal sense.

socialism is the natural next form of society, the clear next stage of history. the only question is whether we can usher it in, or if we will die trying. in the current context, of nuclear war, climate change, and a dozen other armageddons, 'socialism or barbarism' has been narrowed down - our options are socialism, or extinction.

[charminglyantiquated]

Nautilus update! I’ve written more in-depth about all of this on the gofundme page and our social media, so I won’t get into the nitty gritty detail here as well, but I wanted to share the news here, for anyone wondering how things are going! Under a cut because it’s long, but tl:dr is we're moving forward, and we'll be okay.

Good news first: The owner of another local sailing company had put one of their boats up for sale the same week as the accident, and after the surveyors told us to expect the worst, he got in touch. She’s now ours, and we’ll be sailing again next summer! We were lucky enough to work on her in the past, and her previous owner wanted has told us he’d initially meant to offer her to us at the end of this season. With a working boat, we can keep our company going, which in turn means we have a means of making money that still allows us the flexibility to work on repairs, and deal with matters in the shipyard as they arise. (The marina also had a multi-year wait for commercial boats, so we were worried about what would happen if we had to bow out for a few years!) We're extraordinarily lucky and so, so grateful - this literally would not have been possible without the fundraiser, and the safety net it gave us, and the way our whole community has supported us. Without exaggeration, it changed our lives. I will never be able to fully express how grateful I am.

Nautilus is written off as a loss, which we've been expecting. They offered us the chance to buy her as salvage, which we obviously accepted. So insurance wrote us a payout for what she’s insured for, plus reimbursement for getting her hauled and towed, less the value of her as salvage. Because she’s a loss, we have to pay off the loan that we took out this spring to buy her. After that's done, we'll have enough left over from the payout check to launch the new boat next spring (insurance/marina fees/haul and tow) which in turn leaves us free to use the proceeds of the fundraiser to make a start on repairs this winter! In the meantime our insurance is pursuing subrogation: essentially (as I understand it) after paying us out of their pocket, they are going after the other insurance for reimbursement. If we do see any lost income, it would be through this process, but we’ve been told several times it will take months - we don’t know if that means ‘december’ or ‘next august’, and don’t know how much, so we’re crossing our fingers but not making any plans around it. The crisis point was these last two months, and honestly the fundraiser got us through it - now we have our feet under us again, it would definitely be welcome but our stability and livelihood isn't hanging on it, so we can afford to wait.

Repairs - rough estimate from the survey is $83k, but half of that is labor costs. We can do much of the labor ourselves, which should lower it a bit. There are obviously areas where we'll need experts (welding!!), but we have the skills for a lot of what has to be done. Right now we’re getting the boats covered for cold weather, picking up some odd jobs around the shipyard, and clearing room in the woodshop to build a new main mast - that’s the project this winter! We are also going to start tearing up the teak deck to access the damaged fiberglass below, and figure out what, if anything, can be salvaged from the wreck of the mast/rigging (the jib furler sheared in half, but the sail itself made it out with only four small, easily patched punctures! Which is frankly a miracle, given how it was literally jammed through the mast). Anything that seems sound will be checked over by an expert, and a lot of it might still be too stressed to safely use, but after months of looking at the wreck of the thing, it’s honestly just a relief to be able to go through and start taking pieces apart.

Tl:dr is we’re going to be okay. Money is tight, we’re living with family and working 6 days a week, but we’ll be on the water sailing again in May, our company will survive, and we’re hoping to have Nautilus fixed in two or three years. Just wanted to share that with you all; I'm really glad to finally have some good news to offer. It's not easy but it's better, and we're going to get through it, pretty much 100% because of everyone who has been so kind to us both. Thank you all so, so much for every single kind word and share and donation. I am never going to be able to say how much it has meant to me, and what a difference it has made. I won’t be posting much more about it on here now that we're back on our feet, but if anyone wants to keep updated, detailed news about Nautilus repairs will go on the gofundme page, and our instagram will have lighter posts about both boats, repairs, and the 2025 season.

[cyberstudious]

✨ 📖 ✏️ studyblr masterpost jam ✏️ 📖 ✨

📌 what is this?

this is a masterpost jam, like a game jam or a hackathon or a writing challenge, but for creating masterposts! the goal is to share knowledge and resources, as well as connect with other cool folks on tumblr! this challenge was born out of the studyblr community, but anyone who loves learning is welcome to participate. each day, share a masterpost following the prompts below and tag your posts with the hashtag #studyblrmasterpostjam so we can all reblog them and share the love <3

🗓️ when is this happening?

the main challenge will run August 12th through August 18th, although you're welcome to participate on your own timeline :)

✨ everyone is encouraged to participate in whatever way is comfortable!

you don't have to be an academic or a professional! tell us about your special interest, a favorite hobby or craft, or something else that you like learning about!

even if you're a beginner, you still have a valuable perspective that's worth sharing (and writing posts for this challenge is a great way to do some research and learn!).

you don't have to do all of the days or share posts on the "right" day! pick and choose your faves if you want, combine things, and take as long as you need to put them together.

you don't have to make super long posts! if you have a single resource or tip to share, please do and we will appreciate it all the same <3

if you don't want to write any posts, you can still participate by reading posts that other people make and reblogging them so we can all learn from each other!

please feel free to interpret the prompts below in your own way and expand upon them! there are so many different topics out there and the questions I've written probably don't make sense for some of them, so take what makes sense and use the rest as inspiration!

✏️ prompts

[monday, august 12th] an intro to your topic or field of study

how would you describe this topic to someone who has never heard of it? what careers are available? what professional organizations/conferences are big? what journals do academics publish in? what are the big questions, goals, or challenges? what are the sub-fields/sub-topics/areas of specialization? what are some resources for learning about the field itself?

2. [tuesday, august 13th] books

textbooks, fiction that relates to the field, inspiring memoirs, biographies, art books, graphic novels, audiobooks… anything that you think is relevant to your topic and helpful!

3. [wednesday, august 14th] free resources

online things! resources that you might be able to get from your library! and and all ways to learn/study/practice that don't require money - feel free to get creative here and come up with some cool ideas beyond just links to websites!

4. [thursday, august 15th] notable figures

who has made important contributions to the field? is there anyone who made big contributions in the past that are now outdated or incorrect? who has done great things but been overlooked because of racism/sexism/ableism/etc.? who is making interesting contributions today? is there anyone in the field that you look up to? this is a great time to do some research if you don't already have some notable figures in mind!

5. [friday, august 16th] study tips

what are your favorite tips and ways to study this topic? are there lots of things you need to memorize or tricky concepts that are hard to understand at first? is there a skill that requires lots of practice? tell us about it and how you approach it!

6. [saturday, august 17th] tools of the trade

do you work with software? lab equipment? art supplies? your favorite pen and notebook? certain analysis frameworks or processes? tell us about them!

7. [sunday, august 18th] beginner's guide

what resources were most helpful when you were a beginner? what are the important concepts/techniques to start with? are there any prerequisite skills? also, include links to your previous masterposts!

remember to tag your posts with #studyblrmasterpostjam! if you want to participate, feel free to reblog this to spread the word. I'll see y'all on August 12th for the first masterpost!

[vlrspace]

possessive, midoriya x reader

wc: 1.6K

part two, part three

there are three times where midoriya showed you his possessive, jealous and territorial side, they live in your mind rent free.

not that he wouldn’t touch you or anything, but these three times were ones you haven’t expected of the shy boy, who became tall, sturdy and broad over the years. midoriya hesitated to take your hand or give you a kiss on many occasions, fearing of making you uncomfortable or hurting you. it was never the case when you felt his fingers brush against your skin, his touches were always tender, but he remained a gentleman even now, half a year into the relationship.

sure, midoriya can become bold and confident, like throwing an arm around your shoulder around school, kissing you in empty hallways and sneaking into your room after curfew. these were already hot and daring from midoriya, so the first time it happened, your gentle and timid boyfriend showed everyone his possessive side, you were beyond stunned.

a trip to the mall became a monthly event for your class, someone was always running out of something, needing new clothes or had to buy the latest video game. which is why you all agreed to split up because they would surely kick you out of the mall if twenty people just stepped into an already crowded shop. the girls dragged you away from midoriya’s side, who at first didn’t understand why your hand has been ripped from his, but when you gave him a reassuring smile and a wave, he seemed to visibly relax.

it was a tiring process of trying on many different types of clothes and accessories. your friends lost you at one of the drug stores mentally because your brain just couldn’t handle the many different things anymore so when jiro looked at you with the same interest in her eyes, you two agreed that this is how kaminari must feel when he’s jammed.

you two ended up standing outside at the last shop, keeping in contact with the boys, so you can all go and grab lunch together. midoriya asked if you wanted him to meet you before lunch but you kindly declined, not wanting to upset your friends for ruining your girls time. it was surprising that even though, you spent more than 15 minutes waiting for them to exit the shop, that you arrived to the food court first. you and momo decided to stay back at your table while the girls went ahead to buy their lunch.

the conversation between you and momo went flawlessly, you felt perfectly content and comfortable as the two of you stood opposite of each other. however, the pleasant atmosphere disappeared when a boy, around your age or a bit older, slid in between you and momo, interrupting your conversation to start a new one with you.

“oh my, an angel sent from heaven. are you free later honey?” his voice was sickly sweet and the amount of cologne reeked off him so much that you had to stop yourself from gagging.

“leave me alone” you mumbled, trying to move away from him, even if he was shorter and less toned than your boyfriend, you still felt uncomfortable and anxious about the whole situation already.

“awh sweetheart, no need to play hard to get” he smirked, taking a step closer to you before leaning closer to your face “i’d treat you real nice, i promise” his tone sounded so fake, you started to feel sick as he grabbed your arm. you hadn’t had the chance to respond as you took a step back to put some space between you two, trying to free yourself from his grip, your back hitting a hard chest, a familiar hand wrapping itself over your waist.

unbeknownst to you, midoriya entered the food court with the boys the second this guy walked up to you. now midoriya doesn’t blame him, you’re a beautiful woman, he’s mesmerised every time he looks at you and he isn’t surprised that you catch the eyes of many. unfortunately to everyone else, you belong to him and him only.

midoriya started to walk towards you before the others could hold him back, aware of the destruction one for all could do when the green haired male is angry. since the boy in front of you hid momo behind him, you haven’t seen the way her eyes flickered behind you two, wide and shocked to see midoriya’s expression. your friends are used to midoriya’s timidity around you, you’re often louder and more confident while he follows you around like a huge lovesick puppy. it’s usually very funny how his larger frame, strong and muscular, becomes mushy when you’re around.

so this was new to everyone, the way his usual bright eyes were dark and sharp, jaw tight as his face was focused on the scumbag in front of him, standing at 6”3, muscles all tense, midoriya truly looked terrifying.

“she’s already taken” midoriya’s voice comes out deep, grumbling at the boy in front of you two, his arm tightly holding you close to him. if the situation was different, you know you would throw yourself at him, because damn, this side of him was so hot.

it’s funny to see the way the boy’s face in front of you changed within seconds. at first, you can tell that he wanted to come up with something to make himself look better, but as he took in the face above him, he seemed to realise that he’s no match for midoriya. it was hard to not recognise the future symbol of peace for anyone nowadays, but this asshole was 5 foot something, and stood nothing against those muscles midoriya gained over the years.

“i’m sorry” the boy stammered, looking quite embarrassed and avoided midoriya’s gaze, who seemed to press you more against him, so unless he spun you around to face him, you’re stuck like this. “i uh-i didn’t know” his words came out swiftly and tone very shaky, he finally lets go of your arm and you let it fall beside you, not daring to move.

todoroki comes up to stand next momo, kirishima and iida following behind, standing next to midoriya to make sure no punches are thrown. fortunately, nothing happens as midoriya sends a glare towards the boy, before moving you by the waist and starts leading you away from the table.

“are you okay? he didn’t hurt you, right?” midoriya’s voice is slightly strained from the sudden anger he felt from a few minutes ago, his hand stroking your waist and your side and presses his lips against the crown of your head.

“no, no i’m okay. you arrived just at the right time” you quietly said, a little bit shaken up from the events and shocked by midoriya’s behaviour.

“let’s get something to eat, yeah? what would you like? it’s my treat baby” your boyfriends cheery mood is starting to come back, even if his hold on you is still a little tight. you don’t see a point in arguing with him over about the payment of your lunch because you know that he won’t let you pay either way.

when the two of you return back to the table, everyone is already eating, so they are making space for the two of and you both join in. momo asks you right away if you’re okay and apologises to you for not being able to do anything.

“don’t worry momo! “you reassure her with a warm smile as you continue on eating your sushi.

“still, i feel bad! i should’ve said something” her voice sounded light as her eyes began to tear up. bless her, you think, she’s so kind hearted, so you stand up from your chair and hug her from behind, your face smushed with hers and she lets out an airy giggle and puts a hand on your arms for comfort.

“oh my god, let me take a picture! you two are so cute!!!” mina practically screams out loud, causing everyone to laugh around you. momo and you smile for the picture and you know it turned out rather cute.

you walk back to your seat next to midoriya, who now fully calmed down and grins at you as you sit down “besides, mr. number one here saved the day again” you add jokingly, leaning against midoriya’s chest as he puts an arm around your shoulders. “never knew you could be so possessive izu” you whisper to him and his cheeks flush red, causing you to giggle.

“can we talk about how scary izuku looked, like i’ve never seen him so terrifying before unless he’s in a fight” kaminari says with sero and mineta nodding next to him, discussing how they never want to make midoriya mad again because they nearly shitted themselves.

“like sure, katsuki can be very intimidating, but holy shit dude, that was another level” kirishima adds, looking at midoriya with a toothy grin to make sure he doesn’t take it as an offence, which midoriya actually takes as a praise (in his mind).

“i don’t like it when someone hurts people i care about” the green haired man replies with a small smile, gently squeezing your shoulder and you smile to yourself from how safe you feel in his arms. “and no one messes with what’s mine” the last bit came out quite quietly, only heard by you as he tucked his face in your hair, and it was your turn to sit with a flushed face, making midoriya smirk.

the rest of the day went by, midoriya didn’t let you out of his sight and held your hand the whole way around.

oh lord, if only you knew this was just the mild level of midoriya’s boldness.

[dariaslookalike]

Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt 8: Bad Lungs and Choking

Summary:

It seems, oddly enough, that Gregory House lives to annoy you. He takes 'arseholish boss' to the next level. Wake up in the morning, ready to have breakfast, and drive to the hospital where you both work? Nope, you're getting a text that says you're late to his impromptu 4:30 AM meeting where he's had the 'breakthrough of the century' on the team's latest case. Get your hair cut and walk into work, for once feeling confident? Nope, he's saying that he would have done a better job blinded, hands tied and going through Vicodin withdrawals. Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, prove him wrong and attempt to wipe the cockiness off his face? Nope, you're simply slow because you didn't get to your diagnosis quicker and weak-willed because you didn't fight him for it in the beginning. Everything House does infuriates you, and it seems everything you do infuriates him. No wonder you end up pinned to the wall of your apartment and groping him like your life depends on. And knowing House, it very may well.

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter: Pt 9

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

You wake up with a harsh gasp, but the pain is barely present and your fever is gone. The sleep in your eyes makes your vision blurry and you rub at it lazily. You’re still half asleep and if you relax yourself just a bit more, you’ll slip back into your dreams.

Usually, your dreams were an awkward combination of things: going to your grandparents house in your swimmers or being back at highschool and forgetting algebraic factorisation. Of course, in the past few months many had been about House. He had been looming over you in your waking hours, so it made sense he did it while you slept too. But really, what kind of fucking dream did you just wake from? House, in your house?

You walk with bleary eyes to your bathroom. You brush your teeth for the first time in days, and scrub your tongue, and repeat the process until all you can taste is toothpaste. You stare at the centre of your tiles. It all seemed so vivid in your fever. Standing there with House. Undressing. Your eyes trail over to your bathtub and you send a prayer out, thanking whatever higher being, that biting House was a dream. You make your way back to bed, but decide you don’t want to fall back into that dream. House was still a prick. No way in hell would you have gone ten feet near him after the charity ball, even with a fever, and you want to scold your brain for thinking something so ludacris. Instead, you stretch out in the warmth of your bed, sunning yourself in the light drifting through your windows. You roll over, snuggling your face back into your pillow but you stop with a jolt.

Fresh sheets.

Your heart makes itself known by pounding against your ribcage, and you sit up as silently as you can. You study your room with new eyes. Your top draw is open. Your desk chair is pulled back. Even the final box that you have been promising yourself to unpack is tipped over, its contents spilling out against the floor. Suddenly your throat feels tight and you drag your hands down your cheek. Then you look down at your pyjamas, and flashes of your ‘dream’ rush back to you. Vomiting. Naked. Watched.

Fuck.

You tip your legs over the side of your bed and pad silently out of your room. You’re still weak, and you stop every few steps to lean against a wall with a heaving breath. Like a fugitive being tailed, you peek your head around each corner and slowly edge out.

It’s only when your smoke alarm goes off do your muscles grant you enough power to race towards your kitchen. You expect a great, grand fire, but you stop suddenly and stare at what you’re met with. House is standing atop one of your ikea chairs in the middle of your kitchen, with a screw driver jammed to your smoke alarm.

“What are you doing?” Any thought of the previous night is pushed aside for now, as the high pitched ringing continues to sound out.

He huffs and says something that is lost in the sound, but at your quizzical look he repeats himself. “I wanted to test if it worked.”

“Why?! And can you shut it up?”

Your hands fling to your ears but House simply lowers the screwdriver and the screeching stops. House stares up at it as if he wants to jam the screwdriver back to one of the crevices, so you stride forward and yank out of his hand. He wobbles atop the chair and scoffs. “That’s the thank you I get for saving your life?”

He gingerly lowers himself, but you don’t reach to help him down. You take a step back and lean against one of your kitchen counters. “I would hardly call last night saving my life. I was already over the worst of my sickne-”

House raises a hand to silence you. “I wasn’t talking about last night yet, vomit-comet.” Your eyes bulge, but what he says next has your jaw dropping. “Your smoke detector is clearly faulty, because it didn’t detect the smoke from the fire. Who knows when you would have been caught in an inferno?”

“What fire?”

He gestures over his shoulder to your toaster, which you suddenly realise has fading smoke the top. “You have a lot of CDs for me to pick through. Very distracting when I’m trying to make toast.” You deflate against your counter and pinch the bridge of your nose. When you look back up, you see House staring intently at you. Studying you.

You’re the first to break in your weird staring competition, and your eyes trail off to the side where you see House’s cane propped up against a cupboard. You exhale. “Thank you, I guess for last night. And for destroying my broken smoke alarm. And my toaster.”

House doesn’t take the hint, and across the small space of your kitchen he pushes himself up to sit on the top of a counter. Your eyes catch on the flex of his forearms and you curse yourself when he smirks at you. “All in a day’s work for the world’s greatest doctor.”

You stand in awkward silence for a moment before you jut your head at him. The movement makes you dizzy, but you steady yourself against the counter. House’s brows pinch together before he exclaims, “Oh! That wasn’t you thanking me, that was you trying to get to me to leave. I’m like a mould, sweetheart. I’ll grow on you.” He tilts his head. “Or in you, I suppose.”

“What? What are you talking abou…” Your words slur off into a trail and you raise your hands in front of your face. They’re shaking. “I thought- Was better. Whass happing?” Your tongue is heavy in your mouth.

House clicks his tongue and slaps his hands against his thighs. “Well that’s the exciting part! I thought you were getting better too!”

Your head starts to loll forward and you lose sight of him as he keeps speaking. “But that’s because I thought you had something boring. A flu. A cold. Maaaaaaaybe pneumonia. But then I saw your bathroom. Let me guess, the mould was there when you moved in? That’s what made this shithole so cheap right?”

You’re using all your willpower to stay standing but then your knees buckle and you lower yourself to the ground as gently as you can. Still, you thud to the floor. House tuts from somewhere above you, and you hear him push off the counter. “It was everywhere though. Even on the back of some of your canvases. I thought I paid you well enough that you could at least afford a sponge and some bleach. Clearly not.”

From the floor, you manage to raise your head. You can only look at his ratty sneakers as he limps closer. “Walking home in the snow should have killed you, with what’s being festering in you by now. But I guess I-” He clears his throat, “you got lucky.”

Your vision blurs and you hear House groan, as he reaches down and drags your limp body upwards. “You can’t stay here anymore though. You’ll be a walking fungi by noon.”

—----------------

You expect to wake in the hospital. Most people do when they collapse.

Instead you wake in a dark room under heavy blankets. You lay there for a moment, letting your eyes adjust to the lack of light. You turn your head to your right, taking in the empty armchair and small cabinet beside you. There’s a phone handset, a clock and a lamp that is no help in the dark. It’s a weird jolt of terror that you get when your eyes trail down to the end of the bed, and only after seconds of staring into the darkness do they make out the form of House, perched on the end. You scramble up as fast as you can, tucking your knees close to you.

House rolls his eyes. “This isn’t my sex dungeon.”

“Oh,” you scowl, “Do you prefer the term basement? Or oubliette? Where am I?”

House squints his eyes and you can tell he’s debating whether or not to tell you. You kick out deftly under the covers and land a softened blow against his arm. He swats at your foot and you retreat. House clicks his tongue. “Mine.”

You laugh. “No, no, no. Not yours. Where are we actually? Where did you kidnap me to?”

House pins you with a glare. “It’s not kidnapping if its done for a perfectly medical reason and you can’t really call yourself a kid anymore, can you?”

“That’s not what that mea-”

He cuts you off and effectively silences your words with his own. “Mine. We are at my apartment.”

At his words, your eyes trail away, instead surveying the room with a new hunger. The bookcase is filled to the brim with novels and texts, and there’s a cluttered desk opposite you. You’re trying to digest that you’re probably in House’s room. House’s bed.

You run your hands down your face and groan. “What the fuck is happening, House?”

He huffs and looks away from you, head tilted back to stare at his ceiling. “You literally have mould growing in your lungs. But, a handy dandy course of pills and you’ll be fine. I already gave you the first two doses while you were out. You’ll be good for a few hours and have to keep taking some if, you know, you don’t want to breathe like a deformed pug.”

“No, no, I don’t give a shit about any of that. Sure, hypersensitivity pneumonitis or aspergillosis, whatever. But what the fuck is happening right now?” You lower your hands and glare at him. “Why did you bring me here? I pass out and your first reaction is to drag me to your apartment?”

And really, how? You get an image of him dragging your down the stairs, thumping the whole way, and shoving you into the boot of his trunk. House doesn’t sound quite as cocky or self-assured as he usually does when he speaks. “Your place is basically a cesspool of fungi. You won't be able to get better there.”

“So why am I not at the hospital?”

There’s a heavy beat of weighted silence, and he still doesn’t look at you. “Because I wouldn’t be able to take care of you there.”

You deflate almost against his pillows, like a tire with a slow leak. “Oh.”

“Yep.” He says, popping the p.

“House. I can’t actually stay here, with you, after…everything.” ‘Everything’. What an odd way to sum up the feelings in your chest, the screaming matches between you two, and all that lay in between.

He sucks in air and it hisses through his teeth. “You kinda have to. According to the state of New Jersey, reported cases of severe aspergillus mould have to go through months long strenuous, and I mean rip-up-the-carpets-just-to-rip-up-the-floorboards-just-to-clean-the-foundation kind of strenuous process for a place to be legally habitable.”

You clench your jaw. “But that’s only reported cases, right?”

House nods inconspicuously. “Right.”

“Mm,” You nod along, “And no one reported anything, right House?” Silence. “Right, House?”

His blue eyes flick to yours. “I mean…. I think I might have accidentally sent a text to someone. Or a phone call to an office. Or a 32-page email with photographic evidence to the New Jersey state health department.”

You groan, and throw yourself at him. You grab onto his shoulders and with surprising strength, or perhaps a lack of resistance, push him down against his own bed. You swing yourself over him, straddling him deftly, and you squeeze your hands lightly against his throat. “I can not fucking believe you!”

House’s hands reach up and steady themselves against your hips. “Glad to hear it, Newbie. I was always told I was mythical.”

You apply pressure against his throat, and lean down, sneering. “You’re not mythical, you’re goddamn infuriating.”

You expect him to spit something back at you or to swat your hands away easily, but instead he lets out a near-inaudible groan. He shifts against you, and his hands tighten on your hips and you suddenly realise the very compromising and very close position the two of you were in. He rocks against you now, with more force, and you feel him drag against you between your legs. You suck in a harsh breath, and let your hips roll as he grinds you down against him.

He says your name quietly, a whisper echoing between the two of you. You freeze, and stare at him, his own pupils blown wide and looking back at you. He’s breathing deeply underneath you, and you’re nearly certain that you’ll both stay like this forever, too scared to stop and too scared to continue. But then House knocks you onto your back and now it's you who falls back against the mattress, with the wind knocked out of you. You gasp, and try to push against him, clawing like a feral cat to sit up, but he shifts his weight against his good leg and manages to manoeuvre himself quickly into the position you were in.

He laughs at how easily you’re defeated, and quickly places his hands against your neck. While both your hands were barely wrapped around his throat, House’s palm presses against your windpipe and his fingers curl around your neck with ease.

He applies the same, soft and mocking pressure you did. You both know you could get out of it if you tried, and that he would let you; a deep flush settles on your cheeks when you make no move to do so. He leans closer, his breath fanning against your ear. “You like that, Newbie? Which one’s better, choking me or getting choked by me?”

When you don’t answer, House tilts his head, leaning to nip against the corner of your mouth. He speaks your last name into your skin. “I asked you a question.”

You laugh, soft and breathy. “You were the one practically humping me, I didn’t think you had it in you to interrogate me too.”

He gnashes at the corner of your mouth now, and you desperately want him to move a little bit to the right, to connect your lips. Instead, you try to focus on not whimpering in front of him; only one of you should be pathetic in this situation, and it wasn’t you.

“Interrogation? That must be why I found those fluffy little handcuffs at your apartment.” House tilts his head, and you hold your breath, waiting for him to land against your lips. Instead, he drags his head down, and you feel him breathe against your neck. Your hands land against his shoulders, and you briefly think of them as traitorous. They could be pushing him away right now, or slapping him, or scratching his eyes out. Instead, they dig into the fabric of his shirt, and grip it as if your life depends on it.

House’s mouth is oddly soft against your neck. You don’t know why you were expecting it to feel rougher, but he’s slow and meticulous against your skin. He sucks at a spot, and even though you clamp your mouth down, he still hears the embarrassingly loud noise you make. You feel him smile against you, and you dig your nails into his shoulders in response.

He only has to press down with his palm against your throat to remind you who’s in power, and you can’t close your mouth in time to stop the groan spilling out. House looks up at you, blue eyes piercing through you with electricity. “Rethinking that question, sweetheart?”

You don’t like the thing that curls in you at his words- sweetheart. “Nup.”

He leans down, sucking against your throat and squeezing it with the other hand at the same time. He still stares up at you, and this time when you moan, you feel him rut against you. He releases your skin, biting at it only to soothe it with his tongue. “You sure? Cause, I can stop. I’m sure I could find something better to do; chase some poor undergrads around at the hospital or annoy Cuddy. If you don’t like it-”

His hand begins to loosen at your neck and your head is reeling, and you can’t believe you’re even answering, but the words tumble out in a blubbering mess. “Choked by you. Mmhm.”

He chuckles. “Slut.”

You laugh, staring down your nose at him. “So says the manwhore.”

He smiles but still squeezes against your neck, forcing you to exhale harshly. He props himself up, looking down at you. You can’t imagine the mess you are right now. You’re more than ecstatic that you’ve showered and scrubbed your teeth after being sick for so long, but you know your hair is sprawled beneath you and you’re losing miserably against the flush spreading across your face.

House’s eyes are…tender, almost, as he looks down at you, where his hand connects the two of you. It strikes you as out of place, that look. It was too tender, too love-like, to be seen in this dark bedroom where he was still choking you. You wondered what your own eyes were revealing, blown wide and gazing up at him.

But then he smirks and that look is lost, replaced by something darker. “This is just sex, right?”

You blink, shocked by his question. “Um, I-”

A knock sounds out, and you stop, head craning to look over House and towards his door. He doesn’t turn, still staring down at you and seemingly content to leave the unknown guest alone. But then another knock rings out, and another, and another, each with more force than the last.

When your eyes flick back to House’s you nod towards the doorway. “You should probably go check that. Might be one of your hookers.”

He doesn’t miss the snark in your tone, eyebrows furrowing, but before he responds, you scramble out from beneath him and drag yourself away. He stares at you where you sit, and you gulp lightly, trying not to betray any emotions across your face. But when another knock thuds somewhere from his apartment, House breaks eye contact with you and slips out of the bedroom door.

You sit on his bed, and try to slow your breathing. Holy shit. Holy shit.

Was this happening? After all your stupid wet dreams and stupid pining, was this happening? You feel your core throb in confirmation, and you flop against the bed, squeezing your legs tightly.

You stare up at the ceiling and your thoughts are projected against it. You were about to fuck House. And, if you’re honest with yourself, you think you still will. When he pops back into the room, tear off his clothes, ravage him and destroy him. But ‘This is just sex, right?’

Right?

You breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Right.

It’s not like that question pissed you off. It’s not like he was bringing up everything you two had fought over, about you possibly feeling something for him and him hating you for it, and waving it in your face like a pathetic schoolgirl who couldn’t control her heart. It’s not like he admitted he felt nothing for you but just wanted a quick fuck.

You could do this. Push aside everything that lay inside your bleeding heart and push aside all your fights and all you hatred, and finally get laid again.

You nod in determination. You were going to fuck House, and you were going to make sure it was everything you wanted, and you were not going to let any miniscule emotions get in the way of it.

Right.

Now, with your own pep-talk done and dusted, you register the voices ringing out in the hallway. Loud. Angry. Deep

You push yourself off the bed, grateful for whatever medication was coursing through you right now. You tiptoe to the doorway, casting a look out into the hallway. To your left is a bathroom, bare of anything but the real essentials. You peer the other way, and past a desk and bookshelf, you see House standing at the door.

You toe forward, trying to make sure he doesn’t see you spying on him. You hear House speak, back to the monotone, dry voice of his. “First Wilson and now you. I am helping her, not stringing her up in my attic for occult rituals.”

You miss the first part of the deep reply, but manage to catch the second. “She hates you, Mr Home. She’s coming with me, now.”

Your heartbeat picks up and House laughs, “Oh, she hates me so much that she was practically riding me back there-”

There’s the deft thud of knuckles on skin, and House stumbles to the side. Your stomach twists, and you push yourself forward, rushing forward on suddenly shaky legs. “House!”

House’s head whips to you, and you see the dark mark already appearing on his cheek from where he was punched. But then you spy the source of the deep voice, and stop in your tracks.

“Pops. What are you doing here?”

The burly man rushes forwards in spite of House’s exclamation, and wraps you in a tight hug. Your face is smothered in his chest, and you hear him above you. “Are you alright?! I haven’t seen you since that night and then I see him,” he spits, “taking you away! We go now, you’ll be safe.”

Finally, Pop’s puts you back to the floor, and you heave in the air that rushes forward. House grunts from where he stands. “You really are a bumbling idiot, aren’t you.”

Pop’s whirls, and you see fury on his face. You’re struggling to draw in breath. “I should hit you again, you dogish-”

House laughs. “Really? And then who’s going to help her when she collapses?” He gestures to you, and Pop whips his head back. “You and that awful moustache?

Your hands are at your chest, and you’re rattling in breaths. Pops face is filled with worry. “Kid, are you okay? What’s going on? What’s happening?”

House rolls his eyes. “She’s sick. That’s why she’s here, and why if you gave me three seconds, I would have told you not to pick her up and squeeze her like a stress toy.”

You wheeze out soft words, “He’s right. He’s getting me medication and getting me better,” You draw in more air, “But I’m still bad, Pops.”

Pops looks at you with concern. “You need to stay here? With him?”

You nod, abandoning words and focusing on drawing in breaths. Pops clenches his jaw. “Okay.” You can see the millions of thoughts that he wants to speak, but he simply says it again. “Okay.”

Pops steps forward, still wary of breaking you it seems, but places a gentle kiss to your forehead. He peers down at you. “You need me, or Ella, we’re there. No matter what.” He throws a look at House as if to say no matter who, too.

You smile weakly, and Pops retreats from the apartment with a fleeting glance towards you. House quickly steps forward, and locks the door.

You speak softly, with evening breathes. “Are you okay?”

Your eyes flick to the mark on House’s face, and he turns the other way. “You should go to bed. You’re gonna need the rest, especially after that.”

You blink. Just like that, you’re dismissed. "Are you...serious? After all that, I'm sent to bed like a bad kid?"

House rolls his eyes. "Don't make this into some big deal."

You laugh, and it sends you into a coughing fit. "Big deal? We're about to have sex and you get decked, and don't think it's a big deal?"

House's gaze flicks to yours and he sneers. "Exactly. No big deal. Because you hate me and there's no need to get worked up over someone that you 'couldn't stand being near'."

"Is that what Pops said?"

His jaw clenches. "You're not even denying it, are you?"

Your eyebrows cinch in. "You can't act surprised. You're the one who picks fights with me at work or at the ball! You're the one who hates me and hated that I even thought about loving you!"

Silence.

House stares at you, but you get the sense that he's looking through you, far away. "Take two of the tablets beside the bed before you go to sleep."

And with that, he grabs his cane and coat from beside the door and leaves.