#now all i need are some razors to sew into it

[mischievouslittlecreature]

You guys I got a peaky hat!!!

[kendyzzlewp]

you can do it with a broken heart

summary: jackson broke up with you for no reason, so now you try to survive residency while working at the same place. but you’re a real though bitch, you can handle your shit

tags: fem!reader, jackson avery, angsty, ttpd

tw: mentions of su!c!de

—-

“You seem… okay.”

You looked at Meredith who was staring at you with a concerned expression. You shrugged, spitting the toothpaste from your mouth into the sink.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You asked, grabbing a towel and wiping your face from any minty residue.

Meredith narrowed her eyes on you. “Well,” she said, entering the bathroom fully. “Avery dumped you.”

Your heart sank at the mention of him. You shook your head, forcing a smile. “So? It’s not the end of the world. He’s literally just a guy and I dumped him.”

Alex entered the bathroom, pushing past you to get to the sink. You locked eyes in the mirror and he shook his head.

“Pretty boy was not just a guy,” he grumbled, grabbing his razor. “He was like your person or twin or whatever it was you called him.”

Meredith hummed in agreement, sitting on the toilet with her eyes fixed on you. “He wasn’t just a guy, he was your guy.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Your stomach twisting like a wet rag at the topic of conversation. It had been two weeks since Jackson decided to end things after months and months of the stupid will they, won’t they dance. It wasn’t even a viable reason, he needed to focus on plastics and you needed to focus on cardio. It wasn’t you, it was him. After the boards things were going to be different.

Blah blah blah.

“I’m fine,” you said in a failed attempt to convince both of them and maybe even yourself.

Because you were the complete opposite of fine. You were completely ruined. They were right. Jackson wasn’t just a guy, he was the love of your life. Your best friend and one random fight escalated to the point where you turned back to strangers.

Derek popped his head in the bathroom, catching your eye with a sympathetic smile. “Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine!” you exclaimed, pushing past him to get to your room. “Perfectly, fine.”

——

“You gotta fake it, till you make it,” Arizona said as she masterfully dissected a burst appendix. “Break ups suck. The important thing is though that you win, you have higher ground.”

You had the faking part down, now making it? That’s a whole different story.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, your eyes on the cavity in front of you. That seemed to be your new phrase lately, it had variations but fine was becoming your old faithful.

For some reason, you decided to look up at the gallery. Your eyes meet green ones. So green yet so blue at the same time. Like a watercolor painting of a beach paradise. You swallowed the lump that blocked your throat. Knowing the intercom was turned on by the red light, you decided to prove it once and for all.

“I actually have a date,” you lied, your eyes darting back to Arizona’s hand as she finished sewing up the kid.

She looked up at the gallery with wide eyes before landing her eyes on you. “A date? With who?”

“Um…” you racked your brain trying to come up with a convincing answer, your eyes briefly meeting Jackson’s. “A lawyer…yeah.”

Arizona dropped the subject when the monitor started beeping wildly, the attention shifting towards the patient. You look up at the gallery again. He was gone.

You’re fine.

—

“He said he’d loved me all his life,” you sobbed one into your arm one night at Joe’s. Lexie rubbed your back sympathetically. “He lied.”

She sighed, passing you another napkin. “You are going to be just fine,” she said, taking your drink away. “No more tequila for you though.”

You shook your head, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I’m fine,” you said, forcing a smile. “I can handle this, this is nothing.”

——

“It’s kind of ironic,” Alex said one day, watching you repair an aortic aneurysm in the gallery. “She wants to fix hearts for a living but can’t get her own shit together.”

Cristina mumbled an agreement, her eyes focused on the surgery. April shook her head, feeling sad for her friend.

Meredith shrugged. “She says she’s fine,” she said, taking a bite of her apple. “If that was me, I would’ve drowned myself in the bathtub by now.”

Cristina raised an eyebrow, turning back to look at her. “That was you and you did almost drowned.”

“She’s on the verge of a mental breakdown,” Lexie said, her eyes focused on a medical journal. “It’s a matter of time.”

“Avery is a dumbass,” Alex stated, earning a chorus of agreement from the rest of the residents.

All of them were blissfully unaware that Jackson was standing at the entrance of the library. His eyes focused on you as you performed your magic. The way you laughed as you bantered with Altman. His heart sank.

He really was a dumbass for letting you go.

__

You sat in the gallery with the rest of the group, your eyes focused on the surgery below. You mentally took notes. You hadn’t slept in days, food would not stay down no matter how much you tried.

The anxiety ate away at you constantly. The emptiness follows you everywhere you go. The hospital became your home as you dreaded going to bed alone.

Jackson entered the gallery, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. You still couldn’t be in the same room as him, no matter how cool you tried to play it. With a curt nod, you stood up.

As the tension mounted within you, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over, causing you to sway slightly in your place at the gallery. Cristina, noticing your unsteadiness, reached out a hand to steady you.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked, concern etched in her voice.

You forced a smile, nodding weakly. "Yeah, just a little tired," you replied, though the lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

Lexie glanced up, furrowing her brow at your demeanor. "Are you sure?" she remarked, her voice tinged with worry.

Before you could respond, Meredith interjected, concern evident in her eyes as she set her half-eaten apple aside. "Maybe you should take a break, get some fresh air," she suggested, her tone gentle yet firm.

“I just need to leave,” you whispered, hurrying out of the cramped room.

You’re fine.

—

“Hey.”

You looked up from your study notes. Jackson stood in front of you, shifting from one leg to the other. His hand gripping the strap of his backpack tightly.

Your heart was pounding. “Yeah?” You cautiously asked, closing your notebook.

“I just wanted to check in on you,” he admitted, taking a step closer. “You looked rough in the gallery earlier.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a mixture of emotions swirling within you. Anger, hurt, longing—each fighting for dominance as you struggled to maintain your composure.

"I'm fine," you replied, the words coming out more sharply than you intended. "Just a rough day."

Jackson's expression softened, his eyes searching yours for a hint of the turmoil raging within. "You know you can talk to me, right?" he said softly, his voice filled with genuine concern. “I know you. I know you haven’t been eating or sleeping. Meredith told me you barely go home nowadays.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, surprising even yourself. "Talk?" you scoffed, the words dripping with sarcasm. "About what, exactly? How you broke my heart?"

His eyes widened, a pained expression crossing his features. "I never meant to hurt you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I was doing what was best for both of us."

"Best for both of us?" you repeated, incredulous. "How is dumping me, without a single good explanation, the best for me?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. You blinked them back, refusing to let him see your pain. "You don't get to waltz back into my life and act like everything's okay," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "I'm not your consolation prize, Jackson."

He reached out a hand, as if to touch you, but you flinched away, the pain of his betrayal still too fresh. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I never meant to hurt you. I just... I thought it would be easier this way."

"Easier for who?" you shot back, your anger simmering just below the surface. "Not for me, that's for sure."

With a heavy sigh, Jackson took a step back, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Fine. I'll leave you alone," he said, his voice filled with resignation. "But just know that I'm here if you ever need me."

As he turned to walk away, you felt a pang of regret, a part of you longing for the comfort of his presence. But you pushed it aside, steeling yourself against the pain. You had survived his absence once; you could do it again.

You’re good. You can do it with a broken heart.

[acewritesfics]

Peaky Caps and Razorblades | Tommy Shelby

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: from @/runnning-outof-time

Warnings: Swearing. Established relationship. Fluffiness. Things get a little heated but no smut.

Word Count: 832

Tommy Shelby Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Y/N awakens to the other side of the bed empty and still made letting her know that Tommy has not come to bed yet. Pulling the blankets back, she slips from the bed and makes her way down the stairs, seeing the faint golden light coming from the kitchen.   

“Fucking hell,” she hears Tommy curse along with an audible wince.   

“Tommy, sweetheart, what are you doing?” She questions the head of the Peaky Blinders as she steps inside the kitchen, finding him sat at the table, shirtless with a pack of razor blades, a spool of cotton thread and some needles laying in front of him while his peaky cap and a needle were in his hands.  

“I was trying something,” is all he says before he lets out a swear, poking himself with the needle.  

“Let me have a look,” she says making him push his chair back so she can sit on his lap. Taking the needle and cap from him, making sure not to cut herself with the blade already placed in there. “I am a seamstress, after all.”  

“Do you think you’ll one day be sewing blades in to dresses?” He quips as he watches her as she holds the blade between the folds of the cap and begins to sew it in.  

“I was thinking purses,” she jests, concentrating on what she’s doing so she doesn’t poke and cut herself. “That way if a man tries to steal it or tries to do worse, it’ll do as much damage as this cap could. What or who in the world gave you this idea?” 

“I don’t know why I thought of it,” he admits. “No one expects a hat to be a weapon. We can’t use guns so we need to get inventive.” 

“But you have guns,” she points out.  

“And now we have hats,” he says, picking up his glass of whiskey and takes a drink. 

It takes Y/N around forty minutes, with Tommy providing an occasional distraction, to get the blades stitched in to his cap. 

“Watch yourself, alright?” She tells him as she hands him the cap back. “Don’t want you coming home with cuts in your hands because you’ve held your hat the wrong way.” 

“I should get you to do the all the other peaky caps too,” he says admiring her work while taking in her warning as he holds it more carefully. 

“I might have to charge you for the others,” she quips as she goes to stand up, only for Tommy to toss the hat on to the table and pull her back down on his lap. This time she’s facing him with her legs on either side of his with his hands gripping her thighs. 

“Name your price, sweetheart,” he smiles, his hands travelling up her nightgown that was pushed up to her hips so she could sit on his lap. 

“£2,” she breathes out at the feeling of his fingers tracing over her more sensitive area.  

“Per hat? Don’t you think that’s a little steep?” He asks, leaning in to kiss her neck as he begins negotiating with her.  

“Razorblades are a luxury, Mr. Shelby,” she tells him fighting the urge to let out a moan. But her attempts fail when Tommy pulls the lower half of her body against him. “And I haven’t finished yet,” she adds, her eyes closed and her voice filled with pleasure as her hands grip the back of his neck. 

“Continue on then,” he tells her moving his lips from her neck to her jawline and slowly up her jawline to her sweet spot under her ear. 

“You’re to take me away for a weekend, somewhere in the country where we can fuck all day without any interruptions,” she tells him moving her hands down his bare chest to his trousers. 

Before she can undo them, there’s a loud knock on the door, proving her point of needing to have a uninterrupted weekend away from everyone.  

Sighing, she drops her head on Tommy’s shoulder, to hide her disappointment before she climbs off his lap and kisses him once more. She moves back up the stairs to their bedroom, leaving Tommy to answer the door in the middle of the night.  

The sun is beginning to rise when Tommy finally slips himself into bed next to his wife. He props himself up on his elbow, leaning in to kiss her shoulder, necks and cheek causing her to stir awake.  

"The hat worked," he mutters kissing her shoulder once more before laying down, an arm across her waist, pulling her body against hers. He rests his head on her shoulder, kissing her cheek. "Arthur and John want their hats done next." 

"That's good, sweetheart," she replies sleepily as she reaches behind her and pats his cheek.  

"You've got yourself a deal," he says as he closes his eyes, feeling sleep begin to overtake him. "We'll go out to the countryside this weekend. No fucking interruptions."  

[0uch1e]

Shepherd Chapter 2

M!Wrewolf x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.1 K

Warnings: Smut

Your body moved faster than your brain and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. It was less of a kiss and more of a feverish meeting of mouths. You only opened your eyes when you felt the warmth of his hands leave your face. You had never known someone to look so good up close,

“I can’t stay here forever.”

“What?” Scooting back, Silas rubbed his neck,

“We have lives, Y/n. I need to get back home and let people know I’m okay. It’s been a month, my arm is healed and I think it’s better if you find someone cut out for shepherding. I’m not a good watchdog.” He laughed a little at the end and sighed. 

You were confused, upset, and brokenhearted. Was the kiss really that bad? He left that afternoon. No goodbye or promises to come back and visit. He just smiled and walked away through the field and over the hill.

When nighttime came you were terribly lonely. It was the first night you had spent alone all month. Desperate to distract yourself you began a needlepoint. The crickets chirped outside, and the cold wind rattled the house.

 Shhhhhhhhk. Shhhhhhhk. 

Something was scratching at the door. Probably a branch from the big tree just outside. Turning back to your needlework you focused on the stitching. Up, over, and down. Up, over, and down. Up, over-

Shhhk Shhhhk Shhhk Shhhkk.

There it was again. The noise was too frequent and erratic to be a branch. It sounded heavy and intentional. An animal? With the broom in hand, you approached the door,

“Easy does it…carefully…Aha!” Swinging the door open with full force you wield your weapon at the creature. 

Only, it’s not a creature at all. It’s Silas, hunched over, naked, covering his head, and shaking like a rabid dog,

“Silas? You said you were leaving? What happened, are you hurt? I-Owww!” His hand locked around your wrist. His claws dug into your flesh. You could only watch as he pulled your hand towards his open mouth. Blood ran from the tip of your finger. You must’ve pricked yourself while sewing. Silas dragged his tongue along your finger before sticking it in his mouth, carefully avoiding the razor-sharp teeth that filled the void. 

“Mmmmm” He crawled over to you, knocking you on your back. Kicking the door shut behind him he still refused to release you,

“Silas?” He didn’t hear you. Instead, he pressed his face to your neck and inhaled deeply. You used your free hand to pull him back by the hair. Getting a full look at his face in the light of the fire you gasped. His eyes had turned from black to a sickly yellow. 

You’d heard stories about this before. Men go out into the woods and come back as wolves, with insatiable bloodlust and ire. You remembered the first morning you saw him in your field, curled up and naked—this was hardly the same man. Now he had thick hair all over his chest and arms and…other places. Fuck, was he going to kill you? Worse yet, all your animals too? 

He let go of you and began to push up the fabric of your dress until it was all bunched around your waist. Silas looked up at you again and made a throaty noise,

“Please?” They were the first words he had spoken to you since he left and now you could see it. You could see he was still the same man. 

Fear forgotten, you pull him down on top of you. He made quick work of your clothes. Too focused on the task at hand to fully remove your dress, he situated himself between your legs. Your eyes followed the train of hair leading down his stomach and to his crotch. Holy Hell, there’s no way that’s gonna fit. 

Silas kisses like a cannibal. He sucks on your tongue and licks the sides of your mouth, all the while panting and pulling you closer. Burying his face in your neck he pushes in the tip. Instantly you claw at his back, desperate to bring some type of relief to the burn. You can only gasp and cry as he goes in further. 

It feels like forever but he finally bottoms out. His nails mark your thighs and hips. You cry out as he starts to move, the feeling is overwhelming and you beg him to take it slow. Again he couldn’t hear you. You feel every inch of him pulling and pushing, and fuck you’re so wet how could he resist you? 

The combination of the fire, your dress, and the burning in your body made it all too hot. You tore at your clothes and managed to rip open the front of your dress, exposing your chest to him. Seeing you like this made him drool. Hot saliva dripped and pooled on your chest, running over your nipples and down to your stomach. He held up your legs and pounded into you deeper than before. Your whole body moved when he fucked you. It felt like heaven. A tightness in the pit of your stomach began to form. You wailed and cried for him,

“Yes! Yes! Please, more, please, please, please” The noise of the both of you outweighed the creaking of the floorboards and the howling wind outside. Silas groaned and cursed. He wanted you like this all the time now. He wanted to stay here and be your little house husband. He’d do whatever you wanted as long as he could keep having you like this. 

You began reaching for yourself as he continued to thrust. Pushing past fabric and his meaty hands you rubbed your clit. It was electric,

“Fuck-Silas, yes!” The new added sensation took you over the edge. The tightness in your stomach snapped and you came on his cock. Crying his name the whole time. 

Catching your breath after the high, you watched him come undone. His movements became erratic and he gritted his teeth whining. Suddenly, he held your hips flush against his and moaned. His chest heaved. Slowly opening his eyes you looked where he was staring. Still inside you, his cum leaked out from the sides, mixing with the mess you had made on his lap. 

Waking the next morning, you regretted not doing it somewhere more comfortable. Your legs and back ached from being on the floor all night. Silas was still asleep. He must have transformed again overnight back to his normal self.

Tip-toeing past him you go to your desk and pull out the calendar, trying to figure out when the next full moon was.

Taglist: @lilynotdilly

[serenitywritess]

⚠️🚫tw: intense story with intense themes. caution ahead! do not read if you are sensitive to d3ath thr3ats or r4pe, g0re, abu$e! 🚫⚠️

ps. this is jumbled asf and prob jumps a lot so! sorry

"I'm going to kill you."

It starts with that one sentence.

"Why, you ask? No, it's not for revenge. It's not for anything like that. Why do I want to hurt you? It's simply because I have the power to. You are weak. Its because I don't want you, and I want to show you just how much I hate you."

You start to feel yourself coming to. Everything around you looks foggy, and you feel slow. You try to pick up your hand and realize you can't move them. Or your feet. You are completely strapped down. You try to speak only to realize you are gagged.

They get close to you, breathing down your neck, and start fucking you - starting out rough, and getting harder and rougher as it goes. Once they are finally finished they leave you laying there for what feels like forever.

"Now this is where the real fun starts! Now that you've been humiliated, r*ped, and beaten, it's time to make you ugly inside and out, forever. I have my sewing kit, pliers, razor, scissors, baseball bat, tattoo gun, saw, drill. I wonder which ones would be fun to use on you?"

They grab the sewing kit in their hands and look through it revealing its contents.

"I've never been very good at sewing, but I'll figure it out. It's torture, you aren't meant to look perfect anyways, right?"

They put them down on the table and grab the pliers, making their way towards you. Your gag gets removed, and you finally have the chance to move your mouth around some. You start to make a noise to talk but you get shushed.

"Let's take a look at those teeth of yours. Mhmm, yeah. Looks like we will have to remove some teeth today, whore. You've let yourself go so much that you have 5 teeth with cavities in them. Why not just remove them before they get worse, right?"

They pull a ring gag out of their pocket and place it into your mouth. You are still so drugged up that you can't even speak, let alone close your mouth enough so the gag won't go in.

"Aw, look how perfect you look," they snap a couple extreme close up pictures of your face. "Time to get those pesky teeth out - you don't need any medicine because you already have some! Don't you feel it? You can't move much or make much noise but you can feel every little thing being done to you, have fun!"

The first pull was agonizing, it didn't want to come out at all. They were twisting, pulling, squeezing so hard that the first one just completely cracked. "Well, looks like that ones not coming out." You feel like you are about to pass out but then they start to pull another. This one was a front one, and it came out quite easily. They realize this, and roll with it. "Looks like all of the cavities you had moved to your front teeth."

You are in such bad pain you feel like you are going to die, but you can't even make a noise past a little whimper. Your captor grabs a mirror and shoves it in your face to let you look at yourself. You see how bad you look, your mouth a complete bloody mess. You see which teeth were taken. Your mouth looks like a piano, and you start to cry. You can't help but wonder how anyone will ever look at you the same with the missing teeth.

"Aw, little baby is crying? Shut the fuck up whore, no one fucking cares. Your whimpering means nothing and your tears make me horny." He snaps a few more pictures of your face, making sure to snap close shots of your mouth and what's left of your teeth.

"Now that your dental work is finished, it's time to sew that mouth closed. Everyone should know that someone else decided that you don't need a voice anymore. You don't deserve one."

You try to say please, but only a slight whisper escapes your lips.

"I'm not interested in your begging. I'm not going to give you mercy. I'm not interested in making your pain easy or pleasant."

The first stitch felt like agony, and it was the hardest. After you knew what to expect you could brace yourself for it a little more. You still can't help but cry at how much pain you are in. Your whole mouth hurts, it feels like it's on fire, and getting worse every second. All you can taste is blood.

They stand over you, laughing. Your mouth is completely sewn shut now, but they keep going. When they finally stop, they say, "Wow, I think this is the most beautiful you've ever looked, and it's when you look like a pig being slaughtered. Disgusting."

"You've probably had lots of people compliment your hair, tell you how beautiful and long it is. How it suits your face. They comment on how beautiful you look, maybe they like your eyebrows, your nose. Well none of those things are going to matter. None of those things will make a difference. They were all lies anyways, but now I'm going to make sure nobody will ever find you beautiful again. When I'm finished, you won't even look human anymore."

They get an electric razor, and start shaving the top of your head. They cut it all of, and then get shaving cream and a blade to make sure it's smooth. Then they take your eyebrows. You feel every agonizing tug of hair as they dry shave them. They grab the mirror again and show you how you look. You don't recognize yourself. Your mouth sewn and bloody, your hair gone, no eyebrows. Unrecognizable.

"Look at yourself, you look fucking hideous. I'm gonna give you a couple of tattoos, I hope you love them!" They just start scribbling all over your body. On your face they make a mole, they make it look like you have nose hairs coming out and upper lip hair forever. They tattoo where your eyebrows were with the words "Ugly Cunt". They black out your nipples completely.

"Wow, you are a monster. You're a freak, so ugly. You're not a person, not a human. You are a creature, a beast, an animal. You're nothing, nothing. You are worthless. I should just finish you off, you should just die. I'm going to kill you, and no one is going to care. You're just a toy, a thing, an object. You're a slave. I own you, I can do whatever I want to you. You'll never be a person. If I hurt you, it doesn't matter. If I kill you, it doesn't matter. But I'm not going to kill you, no not yet."

They start pacing the room while they are talking, getting more excited as time goes on.

"Not yet, I'm going to break you first. I'm going to make you beg for me to kill you. I'm going to make you wish you were dead. When I am finished with you, when you're completely broken and just a shell of your former self, then, and only then, will I consider it. Only then will I put you out of your misery. Only then will you get the release you used to crave. I don't care about you, or your life, or feelings. I don't care if you are in pain, sad, angry, your regrets. I don't care about any of it, all I care about is breaking you.

If it were up to me, you would have never existed in the first place. But since that isn't an option, all I can do is make you suffer, make sure you're in pain, that you are broken. All I want to see is the shell of you."

[auxiliarydetective]

⛅ Experiments ⛅

Guess what! I finally wrote something for Cora again! We're continuing pretty much where the last fic left off and just before where Season 2 will probably start. You can read the fic in full length on Ao3 - but here's a quick snippet to get you warmed up <3

It was a lazy afternoon aboard the Merry, the crew gathered in various corners of the galley and passing the time. Well, all but one. Luffy and Usopp were sitting on the floor just next to the door to the quarters, playing a board game they had found in one of the cabinets. Nami was reading a book on the sofa and Zoro was drifting in and out of sleep opposite her, his sword leaning against his shoulder. Sanji, as per usual, was busy in the kitchen – and Cora, meanwhile, had locked herself in her quarters for a while now. It wasn’t unusual for her, of course. She was a person who needed her space and that was alright. When she got an idea for a new project, she usually wanted to get to work on it straight away and that formal attire for the crew was still on her mind. Knowing her, she was probably sketching away behind closed doors, not wanting anyone to ruin the surprise. But it was getting really hard to keep Luffy from asking about her every five minutes.

Just then, the door to the quarters opened and Cora came into the galley, her hair messily pinned up, the belt with her sewing utensils fastened loosely over her dress, and a stray piece of thread wrapped around her hand.

“Hey, Cora!” Luffy called.

“Cora!” Sanji beamed. “Fancy a snack?”

“Oh, no thank you,” Cora quickly stammered. “I, uh, I actually wanted to ask for help.”

“Sure, anything.”

“Could you cut this for me?” she asked, holding up the thread around her hand.

“What, you broke your fifty pairs of scissors?” Zoro mumbled, shifting around in his corner of the sofa to find a better position.

“Shut up, mosshead,” Sanji cut in before Cora could try to defend herself. “Is that a way to treat a lady? She still has an injured wrist and fingers, so of course she’ll have to be careful with some things. Not that you know anything about being careful, you gorilla.”

Zoro just scoffed. Meanwhile, Nami eyed the exchange over the top of her reading glasses, an eyebrow raised in skepticism. As Sanji took the thread from Cora’s hand, Nami noticed that the thread was black and shiny. Something struck her as odd about it, but she blamed it on the lighting.

Swiftly, Sanji grabbed a clean knife from his knife block and laid the thread over the blade. Then, he gave a sharp tug – but the thread wouldn’t budge. Confusion was immediately rampant on his expression and he gave the blade a scrutinizing look before trying to cut with it once again. Nothing. It still didn’t work.

“Maybe it’s blunt,” Usopp suggested, the board game with Luffy long since forgotten.

“Can’t be,” Sanji mumbled, “I used it just yesterday.”

Still, he took out his sharpening tools, in the same motion grabbing a glass from the cupboard.

“Or maybe you’re just weak,” Zoro commented.

Sanji shook this off with an annoyed side-eye, but then his expression softened when he looked at Cora again. “Why don’t you drink some water, princess? You’ve been sitting in there for too long now – and I’ll deal with this, alright?”

Cora nodded. “Just don’t hurt yourself. Thread can be pretty annoying to cut sometimes and when it does come apart, you’re likely to cut yourself alongside it - speaking from experience, I’ve done that too many times.”

“Can’t be any worse than chopping carrots, right?” Sanji smirked, covering his ingredients to work on the issue at hand.

He sharpened the knife within seconds and, by now, everyone in the room seemed more focused on this little oddity than anything else. How come a master-class chef, with a set of razor-sharp knives that he valued more than gold, couldn’t cut a simple piece of thread? Despite the rampant confusion, Cora stayed silent, sipping her water as her eyes sparked with unmistakable curiosity. Luffy had gotten up from his spot on the ground and was now crowding around Sanji so closely that the cook had to swat him away out of fear he’d get himself sliced. Usopp, too, had moved over into the kitchen and was leaning on the isle so his eyes were on the same level as the knife and the thread.

Finally, after having convinced himself of the sharpness of the knife multiple times, Sanji made another attempt at cutting the thread – but it still stayed strong.

“This is pathetic,” Zoro grumbled, untangling himself from the couch. He trudged over to the counter and unsheathed his sword, causing Usopp to flinch backwards. “You and your damn butter knife.”

“This is not a butter knife,” Sanji protested, “it’s a—”

“I don’t care what it is, okay? Just hold the damn thread.”

“Alright, maybe—” Cora stammered, but she didn’t get very far.

“And don’t budge or I’ll gut you alive.”

Sanji was standing directly opposite from Zoro now, both of them in a wide stance, with Sanji holding the thread between his fists and Zoro lifting his sword, ready to strike.

“Zoro,” Nami hissed adamantly, but it was too late.

Zoro’s sword came down like a guillotine and hit the thread with what almost sounded like a metallic clang. In a second of shock, Sanji tumbled slightly forwards, but then he was steady, and the two of them were caught in a shuddering battle of strength. But not for long.

“That’s enough!” Nami yelled and, at the same time, Cora’s scissors came up from below, clashing against Zoro’s blade and prompting him to swing back upwards.

“Oh hey, you got about halfway through,” Usopp mumbled, his voice about halfway gone.

As her scissors floated back into their holster, Cora came up beside Sanji, soothingly running her fingers over the indents the thread had left in his skin. Hopefully, it wasn’t rope burn.

“You should maybe cool that, just to be safe,” she murmured, not even daring to look at him as she took the thread back.

Just this once, Sanji was too stunned to speak or to even do anything in return. He just turned around to the sink, letting cool water run over his hands as he looked over his shoulder every now and again. Luffy stared at Cora and the thread with saucer eyes, blinking in confusion.

“What just happened?” he asked.

“Okay, what’s the trick?” Nami smirked, snatching the now damaged thread from Cora and eyeing in intently. “This isn’t your regular old thread, is it?"

- continued here -

Taglist: @starcrossedjedis @oneirataxia-girl @daughter-of-melpomene @bravelittleflower @box-of-bats - let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Also tagging: @supermarine-silvally

[deconstructthesoup]

Finally talking about the Enchanted AU now...

First off---the way the fairytale world works in this universe is inspired by Dimension 20's Neverafter, in that it's shaped by the authors who tell the stories. Currently, it's all happy and bright and Disney-esque, but there were times when it was much more reminiscent of the Brothers Grimm, with doom and gloom and no happy endings. The Narrator, as the evil king, has reached awareness in this sense, and he intends to reshape the world into the land of horror it once was.

Of course, the Narrator (aka the Crow King) has to deal with his two twin nephews, Simon (Smitten) and Skip (Skeptic). Simon, as the firstborn, is the heir to the throne and is set to become king once he gets married, and Skip found out about the Crow King's nefarious plans before he was even an adult. But the Crow King is clever, and has found a way to manage both of those problems---with Simon, he continues to send him out on dangerous quests to keep him distracted and prevent him from meeting anyone, and with Skip, he put a hex on him that forces him to cooperate.

Meanwhile, in the Enchanted Forest, a beautiful and sweet young woman named Danielle (Damsel) lives alongside her many animal friends, sewing clothes and dreaming of one day meeting a prince... but not just so she can finally have her love story. About a year ago, her twin sister Priscilla (Prisoner) mysteriously disappeared, and since maidens don't go on quests in this world, Danielle hopes that her prince will find her sister for her. So when she meets Simon after he saves her from a troll and the two fall in love immediately, she feels like her dreams have come true.

Naturally, this is bad for the Crow King, because not only does this mean that Simon will inherit the throne once he and Danielle get married, he's the one who took her sister. Priscilla happens to be an incredibly talented alchemist who'd also discovered the truth about the world, and she's secretly being kept prisoner so the Crow King can learn from her knowledge---though, she sabotages him while she can. She and Skip are also well aware of each other, though their relationship is... well, fraught, seeing as Skip is working for the man who's imprisoned her, hexed or no.

On the day of their wedding, the Crow King, in the guise of a beggar, sends Danielle to, in his words, a place where there are no happily ever afters---the place where the fairytale world draws its power from. One of Danielle's bird friends, a parrot named Conrad (Contrarian), alerts Simon, and the two dive in after her. And the Crow King sends Skip and his misbehaving crow familiar Harry (Hero) to the real world... along with a hexed Priscilla, as he's close enough to succeeding that he has no need of her anymore.

Meanwhile, in modern-day New York City, a thrift shop owner named Willow (Witch), has lost a lot of her old zeal for life after coming out as a lesbian, getting divorced, and having to take care of her six-year-old Bea (Beast) on her own. She's currently in her first ever queer relationship with a tarot enthusiast and museum worker named Sienna (Spectre), but she's got a lot on her plate, and she's too wrapped up in everything she has to deal with to really pay that much attention to Sienna... or realize that the two of them aren't really that good of a fit. So, when she and Bea run into a very lost and very distressed Danielle on their way home from Bea's karate lessons, Willow's first instinct is to leave her alone---except, Bea likes her, and for some reason, Willow starts feeling a little bit of sympathy for Danielle very fast.

I'm not gonna go into the rest of the story here, but I will say who everyone else is:

Willow's employees are as follows---Zora (Razor), an overly chaotic metalhead and the lead singer in an amateur band; Addison (Adversary), Zora's girlfriend, her bassist, and a professionally trained boxer; Scully (Stubborn), Addison's best friend-slash-fellow boxer and the drummer in the band; Oliver (Opportunist), Scully's boyfriend, the electric guitarist, and Willow's annoying cousin; Natalie (Nightmare), a mischievous goth girl and a premed student in college; and Percy (Paranoid), Natalie's long-suffering classmate and a "skittish little nerd" in everybody's words but his. Literally all of them constantly badger Willow with their version of advice, and literally all of them think that they know better.

Sienna shares her apartment with her brother Colin (Cold) and their friends Stace (Stranger) and Ben (Broken). They end up taking Simon, Skip, and Priscilla in, and they all constantly have to deal with frequent visits from Ben's ex-girlfriend Tiana (Tower), who's a big-time lawyer and thinks she's the queen of New York. Right below their apartment is a bookstore owned by an older couple named Hunter (Hunted) and Chester (Cheated), both of whom are a little bit grumpy and a little bit wary of new people, but are very nice when you get to know them.

I, of course, have a lot of other thoughts, but... that's it for now.

[feltpool]

Boxes of delights

Other family members have been sorting through the belongings of a deceased family member and the question comes my way of 'do you want her sewing stuff or should we just bin it?'

'Oh yeah, just bin it' said no craft inclined person ever

So I'm now in possession of two bonus boxes of mysterious and unknown content

This one is a small and slightly greasy feeling Tupperware box of unknown age

Contents: 11 reels of sewing thread of varying vintages and brands, some likely older than I am, and a travel type sewing kit in a clear plastic wallet complete with mini scissors, needles, and a tape measure

This one reel appears to have a tiny bit of surface mould, but I'm hoping it'll clean up with no issues since it appears so minor. I'll separate it from the rest and see how it goes

This box is much larger than the first

Here we have pins, needles, safety pins, scissors, 3 sewing machine reels, pencils, buttons, a pieces of tailors chalk, various bits of elastic, and two other items

One is this 'sewers switchblade', a thread/fabric cutter consisting of a razor blade held in a folding case that makes it's own blade cover and handle

And the other is this small bullet shaped emergency sewing kit which contains a thimble (in need of a good clean) a strip of felt holding 3 sewing needles, and two small reels of black and white thread

Also in the box are this assortment of machine and hand needles, some hooks and eyes, white bias binding and two well used crochet hooks of as yet unknown size

And under all of that are 35 reels of sewing thread of varying vintages and brands

Idk just how old some of these supplies are, but this reel of thread has a Woolworths price sticker on it and not only did Woolworths shut it's UK stores in Dec 2008/Jan 2009, but with the older logo on the sticker and a price of 20p marked on it I'm pretty sure it predates that closure by a broad margin

This small case was also in the bottom of the box with the thread reels

Opening it up reveals this

which assembles into a travel razor.

Why that was stored with the sewing supplies I have no idea

RIP Dorothy, I shall use your sewing supplies to the best of my ability and think of you when I do so. But I think I'm happy to let the razor go.

[until-the-brahmin-come-home]

little snippet that i don't think is really going anywhere anytime soon (it's just Nate thinking about his prosthetic and being briefly kinda gay for Danse):

The Brotherhood had made him a cybernetic hand. It wasn’t better or worse than the first one he had gotten, over two centuries ago now, after the initial loss. Just different. But still not good enough; nothing could ever be good enough.

The best way he could explain it was that there was a delay. Imperceptible to anyone watching, for sure, but that tiny fraction of a second was enough to make every movement with the hand miserable. So he usually went without.

The other issue is proprioception. And god, isn’t that an old world word now – and he doesn’t even remember where he learned it. In the doctor’s office, maybe, in those long hours where they outlined his recovery and fitted him for a new hand. He can’t feel the prosthetic the way he can feel his other limbs, even if he can make it move with a thought. It’s just dead weight hanging from his elbow.

It does make some activities more difficult, even if he’s mostly learned to adapt by now. He’s not as good with rifles, his attempts at sewing usually end in him cursing at the fabric, and he can’t do the fine manipulation he used to be able to when working on mechanical projects. That’s generally the only time he puts the arm on, anymore, when he has a vision he needs to make real and absolutely needs all ten fingers to pull it off. Otherwise, he asks for help.

He used to be bad at that. Used to go for days running on fumes because his stepfather and brothers and every other goddamn person had drilled it into his mind that asking for help was a weakness. He had gotten better because of Nora. Because she was bad at asking for help, too. It had taken a lot of nights going mad with worry over her before he realized that she likely did the same over him, and they came to a mutual agreement to just reach out to each other if they needed anything. That, more than anything, served as the foundation of their marriage. What was love, if not helping one another?

He missed her all the time. This skip into the future had been messy and confusing, a chaotic scramble to keep the people he cared about alive. Nora was often away on her own missions trying to eke out an existence in the wasteland, while he played nice with the Brotherhood or investigated the safer mysteries available to him. He spent his days playing twenty questions with Piper, teaching Dogmeat new tricks, cleaning up settlements with Preston and Codsworth. He knew he was being useful. He just...still missed Nora.

He scrubbed a hand over his beard and groaned. He had preferred to keep it trimmed neat, before getting flash-frozen, but that was less of an option now. He rooted around in his pack until he found his straight razor, idly flicking it open. It was a bit of a bitch to pull off, but he had managed to shave like this before. It was just a bit of a process, and he’d probably nick himself a couple times.

“Problem, soldier?” came Danse’s voice suddenly, and Nate barely refrained from flinching. The man was rarely stealthy, but Nate had been lost in thought.

“I just need to shave,” he said, tapping the flat of the blade on his thigh. Danse frowned – or rather, frowned deeper. There was usually a mild scowl on his face. Nate tried not to take it personally.

“Do you want me to fetch your-” Nate waved him off before he could even finish his sentence.

“No need, really. I can handle it. Thank you, paladin,” Nate didn’t mean to bring out the title, but he had a habit of doing such things when he got annoyed with people. Danse never seemed to notice. Sometimes, the man’s obliviousness was endearing. Other times...less so.

“But wouldn’t it be easier?” Danse pressed, moving so he was more directly in Nate’s line of sight. Nate grumbled something wordless, before flipping the razor around and offering Danse the handle.

“If you’re so worried about me, why don’t you do it yourself?” he asked. He meant it mostly as a joke, but watching the way Danse flushed and looked away, he was immediately swept up in the possibility. Danse’s hands on his face, careful and precise. He was sure Danse would take to it with the same brisk efficiency the soldier approached most tasks. And he wouldn’t dare let the blade slip.

Okay, let’s dial it back a little, Nate thought to himself.

[balkanradfem]

So I had a very accident-rich day, you all have those days, right? When you can't seem to turn a corner without doing damage to yourself and your environment? I had one of those and I'm gonna tell you about it because I think it's real funny. Also trigger warning for some blood/injury stuff ahead.

So first I was shelling sour cherries and I forgot to protect my new tablecloth so I made a red splotch on it, and I quickly ran to get bleach because it was a white part and it could be cleaned quickly, but the bleach managed to spread and damage another part, which is okay, I can just sew a little flower over it, make it prettier. But then I thought, hey I also need to clean my summer shoes with bleach, so while doing that I accidentally poured some bleach on my foot, making a red blotch over there too (it's fine now, I washed it and put cream on it.)

Then I grabbed a scraper on it's sharp side (I threw that scraper into the garbage, it's too dangerous, the razor cannot be retracted), but it wasn't a big injury, so on we go.

Then I decided I needed to go to the garden and dig out all potatoes that look ready because I was very hungry and zuchinni isn't there yet and I needed some food dammit. So you need some context for this; I don't have a real gardening tool, I was using a copper rod until recently it got stolen, then I was using some sticks, and then I found an old fork in the road, and thought, perfect, just what I needed, so I was gardening with that for the past few weeks.

Well it turns out I got distracted while trying to get to potatoes and I accidentally stabbed into my own hand - into my pinky to be more exact. The shock was worse than the pain, the moment of disbelief and wonder that I could actually do something so... badly coordinated. Anyway, I gathered my wits, found some plaintain weed, pressed it onto the wound, it was bleeding but not too badly. I stabbed it on the inside of the first knuckle, it was not a sharp fork, I think it's more the impact of the hit that hurt the finger than the depth of the cut.

So, I wrapped that in weeds and little cloths I had on me for tying up the tomatoes, got home, and I have to admit my pinky is being very weird, it's not hurting but it's very numb and difficult to move. I'm wondering if I should be worried about that? It's not feeling like a big issues, I think it's just trying to tell me 'don't move me, I'm fixing what you broke inside, stay still' and it's not a weird color or anything like that, so it's fine, right.

I have to admit I was kinda curious about how being stabbed into the hand feels like since I saw a scene of that in harry potter, so my curiosity has been super satisfied, I am now very informed about this.

Anyway I have potatoes and tomorrow I will finally get a decent potato meal and I could not be more excited for that!

[burnwater13]

Din Djarin repairing the Razor Crest on Maldo Kreis. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 2, The Passenger. Calendar by DateWorks.

Grogu sighed. He missed the Razor Crest. Not just because it had a multi-species privy either. Or a private cabin for his hammock. Or a food preserver. Or a fresher. In fact, he wasn’t a big fan of freshers in general. At least not the ones that used sound to clean the dirt off you. 

Sure, his feet weren’t covered in sand or dirt anymore, but the base of the fresher was and then he always ended up tracking it all over the ship and that didn’t make the Mandalorian any happier than he ever was. It just inspired Din Djarin to tell him stories about how Mandalorian younglings learn to clean everything and that when they developed the syllabus for Grogu’s apprenticeship, cleaning methods, techniques, and selection criteria were certain to be a large portion of the practical application courses. Uff. 

Of course the Razor Crest did have a second fresher that had been perfect for Grogu. The Mandalorian called it a ‘sink’ but given Grogu’s size, it was more like a tub and he really enjoyed it. It wasn’t deep enough for him to do a somersault, but he could float on his back and he could practice swimming, although the sink really wasn’t regulation anything in length.

The only downside to the sink/tub was that the bounty hunter complained at him about leaving a dirt ring in it.

“Buddy, the point of a bath is to get clean. I’m not sure that’s really happening here. Where did this dirt come from?”

It was a fair question. Grogu was often surprised at how easy it was for him to get dirty on a ship that was in the middle of hyperspace. One time he’d tried to blame the purrgils, but Din Djarin wasn’t buying it. Not even a little bit. 

“Buddy, I don’t even believe in Space Whales, but I still know they didn’t somehow transport dirt into the Razor Crest just so you could walk in it and track it all around both decks. I thought that coverall of yours actually covered your feet?”

It had covered his feet. Once. But you only had to spend so much of your time walking around places like Tatooine and Nevarro to have that be pretty much a thing of the past. He had held up the edges of the hem so the bounty hunter could see what it looked like. The deep sigh spoke volumes. 

“Listen kid, you really need to let me know when stuff like this happens. This is the sort of thing that was an easy repair when you had the first little rip or hole. Now… well now I need to see if I even have enough scraps left over from the last time I repaired my second layer to make you a big enough patch. We might have to stop on Joona and see if they have fabric we can purchase to fix this or maybe even make you a new coverall.”

A new coverall?! Wow. 

Grogu had no idea that Din Djarin could sew. Or at least he thought if the Mandalorian had been capable of sewing then his own cape/blanket wouldn’t be in tatters all the time. He certainly hadn’t been fixing it when the problem was small. It was more like he was waiting for the whole thing to disintegrate before he replaced to save time. 

But if the Mandalorian was going to make him so new clothing, Grogu really wanted to provide some solid input on the selection of the fabric and pattern to make sure it was comfortable, durable, and stylish. Most people thought he was a walking sack of tubers. He knew he’d been sold as just that at least twice while he was still on Arvala-7. 

The Jedi weren’t really known for their style. At least not the Jedi he knew. And none of them could sew a fastener to a belt, let alone to leg coverings or a shirt collar. They pretty much covered themselves up in criss crossing layers of stuff and hid it all under a huge cape or cloak, depending on their nature. Open, happy Jedi (there really had been a few of them) used a short cape and it just kept their tunics and leggings from getting dirty. The more serious, battle hardened folks had a cloak with a deep hood that kept all but the most determined from seeing the grim visage that reminded everyone of a cross battle droid. Ready for action but never eager for it. 

Grogu always thought it was a pity that even his favorite Jedi Masters stuck to color palette that ranged all the way from sand colored to mud colored. For the truly adventurous you might have an accept color that was most reminiscent of dried blood. Any critters dried blood, it didn’t really matter. 

Grogu wanted something more colorful. Like rainbow even. Bright stripes. Dots. Maybe a criss cross pattern. It would be loose, but not like a balloon because he didn’t need to go flying across a sidewalk like that one time he grabbed the cloak Obi-Wan dropped. Good thing he could use the Force, otherwise he’d have been on the other side of Coruscant before anyone could catch up to him. 

It would have deep pockets for snacks; a mechanism to pull his hem up so it wouldn’t get wet in every stinking puddle he walked through, and sleeves that didn’t impede his arms from being able to reach out and collect items of interest. You know, things that were shiny, tasty, or willing to talk, like Anzellans. 

Finally, it would come with a pair of sturdy, made to measure sandals. Not boots. Not shoes. Sandals. He liked to feel the water squish between his toes and the wind blow them dry as they trotted from location to location. 

Grogu wondered if that’s what the Mandalorian had in mind. 

“Great news buddy! Remember that cape I used to clean you up when you got sick eating all those cookies in class that day on Nevarro? I just found a good sized chunk of that. Once I wash it I can use that to fix your coverall. I have no idea how it got stuck under my pilot’s seat, but its a lucky find for you.”

Yippee… Grogu just hoped it was still blue from the cookies. Fingers crossed. 

[bitletsanddrabbles]

Fan Fiction: What Are You Afraid Of?

I knew my brain couldn't just...concentrate on old stuff for long. Or even switch to 'new stuff we viably should be working on'. Nope, it found a new way to scratch an itch it's had for a rather long time, resulting this 30 minute short.

Happy Almost-Half-Way-To-Halloween from Thomas and Guy.

“I’m still not certain it quite gets the point across,” Guy’s voice carried from the bedroom. It carried with it the hint of a frown. “It’s rather difficult to make half of my face look younger, and the difference in hair style really isn’t that noticeable.”

“Not much we can do about that now,” Thomas replied, regarding his own reflection in the mirror. Their rooms were directly next to each other, so they could easily have conversation without raising their voices too much. If anyone asked, it was so Thomas could be there Johnny-on-the-spot if ‘Mr. Dexter’ were ill and needed help, but no one asked. Honestly Thomas didn't think anyone would believe it if they did. “I suppose we could try to make half of your face look older, if it bothers you that much, although I’d never gotten the impression from the book that Jekyll was exactly in his dotage.”

“No,” Guy agreed. “And if I’m honest, I rather thought John looked older when he was Hyde.”

“True, but we’re not supposed to be mimicking his version, so I’d say that what we have works.” Thomas frowned in his own mirror, sighed, and teased his hair a bit more. “I, on the other hand, should have gotten a wig.”

There was a brief pause, then Guy appeared in the doorway. For any other occasion, he’d have looked a fright. His suit was a patchwork affair made from pieces found at a second hand shop. Thomas had spent the better part of a fortnight painstakingly cutting it all down the middle - from the trousers to the tie - and sewing it back together. The end effect was that the actor’s right side was dressed in a conservative style, while his right looked far more dandyish. He’d worn curlers in the right side of his hair the night before and for most of the day, so there was noticeably more curl, but his hair waved enough on its own that it really wasn’t as obvious as it could have been. Still, if you were at a Halloween party with the theme of ‘how you would interpret your favorite horror story character’, it was pretty obvious. If anything, Thomas’s only complaint was that the right side didn’t look evil enough. Maybe if they splattered some fake blood on the arm…

“Why would you need a wig?” the actor asked, his tone mild and curious. “Moore Marriott barely has any hair at all.”

“Again, I’m not trying to look like Marriott,” Thomas replied, grabbing a comb and trying to stick it into his spiked hair. It stayed, but not as securely as he’d have liked. “In the old penny dreadfuls, Todd had lots of hair. It was unruly and he kept his combs in it.” Thomas adjusted the comb in his own hair. This time it worked better. “Mine isn’t quite long enough for that.”

Guy looked him over, then shrugged. “I doubt anyone will notice. After all, penny dreadfuls didn’t exactly make it over on this side of the pond. They go in more for dime novels.” Almost apologetically he added, “You’ll probably spend more time explaining your costume than I will mine.”

“Hmph.” Thomas scowled into the mirror, picking up his straight razor and tucking it into the apron he wore. “Well if anyone dares mock me for it, I’ll polish them off and we can give them to Mrs. Reed to make into a pie for tomorrow’s dinner. Now, can I borrow your comb?”

[soundscoutress]

I meant to make this post a few days ago but better late than never.

It’s time for everyone’s favorite game show:

What did I pack?

I got some quick shots of my stuff before heading out. So here’s all my stuff and I’ll report later as I make changes to this list.

Starting with clothes - everything fit in two compression sacks. There’s a few things I left out for my carry on bag, but they all fit in the big bag as well.

I don’t feel like listing every item out, what you see is what you get. There’s a couple of items in my carry on bag.

Next is “the bag of extras”. This guy has my Chico’s, along with the extras of lots of stuff: pedialyte packs, face soap, razors, gum, etc.

Here is “everything but the kitchen sink”

In here is a lot of random odds and ends: my steripen, razors, locks, sewing kit, matches, extra sunscreen, belt, cards, door lock, extra glasses, etc

There are two loose items floating around: my foldable sun hat and a fan.

Here is a 2 for 1: on the right is my toiletry bag, with the usual suspects. The removable section is in my carry on for daily toiletries in case the checked bag takes an unexpected detour.

On the left is my med kit: it’s the basics plus a lot of anti-malarials. I’m packing in case I don’t come back to the states between Europe and South America because I’ll need the meds there.

And now my shame: the rest of my toiletries. Yes I packed makeup, but only mascara and lip gloss. I also have a period cup, extra chapstick, hair ties, and extra steripods with a few more items.

On the right is my camp blanket (shoutout to my aunt for giving this to me) and one of my collapsible tote bags.

Ta daaa! All that stuff in the big bag. I strap my tripod on the outside.

In the background you can see a little of my duffel bag that the backpack goes inside of for the plane trip. I didn’t want any of the clasps to break, and there’s only one zipper for the TSA lock which is better than the handful on the green pack.

Now we’ll get into what I have on my person for carry on.

Here’s everything that made it into the carry on tote. It’s that striped bag on the left. It had a shoulder strap, but it ripped off when I carried this bag to the car. Otherwise it’s intact so it’s not completely useless.

We’ve got the water bottle, snacks, a couple toiletries, sleep masks, most of my electronics, a fancy neck pillow, a couple changes of clothing, a book, an a couple odds and ends.

In the purse there’s only a few items.I’m sure you can pick out just about everything for yourself.

Last but not least: that’s me! Your trusty author.

Stay tuned for the story of how a few things went really wrong my first few days!

[0uch1e]

Shepherd Chapter 2

M!Werewolf x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.1 K

Warnings: Smut, and a teeny tiny bit of blood

Your body moved faster than your brain and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. It was less of a kiss and more of a feverish meeting of mouths. You only opened your eyes when you felt the warmth of his hands leave your face. You had never known someone to look so good up close,

“I can’t stay here forever.”

“What?” Scooting back, Silas rubbed his neck,

“We have lives, Y/n. I need to get back home and let people know I’m okay. It’s been a month, my arm is healed and I think it’s better if you find someone cut out for shepherding. I’m not a good watchdog.” He laughed a little at the end and sighed. 

You were confused, upset, and brokenhearted. Was the kiss really that bad? He left that afternoon. No goodbye or promises to come back and visit. He just smiled and walked away through the field and over the hill.

When nighttime came you were terribly lonely. It was the first night you had spent alone all month. Desperate to distract yourself you began a needlepoint. The crickets chirped outside, and the cold wind rattled the house.

 Shhhhhhhhk. Shhhhhhhk. 

Something was scratching at the door. Probably a branch from the big tree just outside. Turning back to your needlework you focused on the stitching. Up, over, and down. Up, over, and down. Up, over-

Shhhk Shhhhk Shhhk Shhhkk.

There it was again. The noise was too frequent and erratic to be a branch. It sounded heavy and intentional. An animal? With the broom in hand, you approached the door,

“Easy does it…carefully…Aha!” Swinging the door open with full force you wield your weapon at the creature. 

Only, it’s not a creature at all. It’s Silas, hunched over, naked, covering his head, and shaking like a rabid dog,

“Silas? You said you were leaving? What happened, are you hurt? I-Owww!” His hand locked around your wrist. His claws dug into your flesh. You could only watch as he pulled your hand towards his open mouth. Blood ran from the tip of your finger. You must’ve pricked yourself while sewing. Silas dragged his tongue along your finger before sticking it in his mouth, carefully avoiding the razor-sharp teeth that filled the void. 

“Mmmmm” He crawled over to you, knocking you on your back. Kicking the door shut behind him he still refused to release you,

“Silas?” He didn’t hear you. Instead, he pressed his face to your neck and inhaled deeply. You used your free hand to pull him back by the hair. Getting a full look at his face in the light of the fire you gasped. His eyes had turned from black to a sickly yellow. 

You’d heard stories about this before. Men go out into the woods and come back as wolves, with insatiable bloodlust and ire. You remembered the first morning you saw him in your field, curled up and naked—this was hardly the same man. Now he had thick hair all over his chest and arms and…other places. Fuck, was he going to kill you? Worse yet, all your animals too? 

He let go of you and began to push up the fabric of your dress until it was all bunched around your waist. Silas looked up at you again and made a throaty noise,

“Please?” They were the first words he had spoken to you since he left and now you could see it. You could see he was still the same man. 

Fear forgotten, you pull him down on top of you. He made quick work of your clothes. Too focused on the task at hand to fully remove your dress, he situated himself between your legs. Your eyes followed the train of hair leading down his stomach and to his crotch. Holy Hell, there’s no way that’s gonna fit. 

Silas kisses like a cannibal. He sucks on your tongue and licks the sides of your mouth, all the while panting and pulling you closer. Burying his face in your neck he pushes in the tip. Instantly you claw at his back, desperate to bring some type of relief to the burn. You can only gasp and cry as he goes in further. 

It feels like forever but he finally bottoms out. His nails mark your thighs and hips. You cry out as he starts to move, the feeling is overwhelming and you beg him to take it slow. Again he couldn’t hear you. You feel every inch of him pulling and pushing, and fuck you’re so wet how could he resist you? 

The combination of the fire, your dress, and the burning in your body made it all too hot. You tore at your clothes and managed to rip open the front of your dress, exposing your chest to him. Seeing you like this made him drool. Hot saliva dripped and pooled on your chest, running over your nipples and down to your stomach. He held up your legs and pounded into you deeper than before. Your whole body moved when he fucked you. It felt like heaven. A tightness in the pit of your stomach began to form. You wailed and cried for him,

“Yes! Yes! Please, more, please, please, please” The noise of the both of you outweighed the creaking of the floorboards and the howling wind outside. Silas groaned and cursed. He wanted you like this all the time now. He wanted to stay here and be your little house husband. He’d do whatever you wanted as long as he could keep having you like this. 

You began reaching for yourself as he continued to thrust. Pushing past fabric and his meaty hands you rubbed your clit. It was electric,

“Fuck-Silas, yes!” The new added sensation took you over the edge. The tightness in your stomach snapped and you came on his cock. Crying his name the whole time. 

Catching your breath after the high, you watched him come undone. His movements became erratic and he gritted his teeth whining. Suddenly, he held your hips flush against his and moaned. His chest heaved. Slowly opening his eyes you looked where he was staring. Still inside you, his cum leaked out from the sides, mixing with the mess you had made on his lap. 

Waking the next morning, you regretted not doing it somewhere more comfortable. Your legs and back ached from being on the floor all night. Silas was still asleep. He must have transformed again overnight back to his normal self. Tip-toeing past him you go to your desk and pull out the calendar, trying to figure out when the next full moon was.

—————————————————————

Thanks for reading! Been seeing lots of great Monstober stuff lately that makes me wanna write! :)

Taglist: @lilynotdilly

Shepherd Chapter 1

M!Werewolf x F!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: None?

When you left the house that morning to feed the animals something caught your eye. Crossing over the fields of greenish gold, you keep your shepherding staff close to your body. The sun had just barely risen and the town was silent, everyone exhausted from last night's festival.

 A patch of grass flattened by the body of a man. Curled up and bare. A drunkard, great. 

He didn’t respond to being nudged by your staff. Only when you saw the blood around his mouth and arms you realized this could be quite serious. Dragging him back through the pasture the animals cried for their daily feed,

“In a minute! I’m busy.” He was heavier than he looked. Once you managed to get him inside your home and onto your bed you took a better look at him. Dark hair and tawny skin. A friend of someone in the village? You’d certainly never seen him before. 

Getting a bowl of warm water and a rag you began to clean him up. The stains around his mouth washed easily, but his arms were another story. Deep gashes and areas that were sure to scar over. This was more than just drunken tom-foolery. He shifted and sighed at your touch. 

————

Slowly, Silas opened his eyes. He was inside again. Somewhere small and homely. A fireplace, a wooden tub, a beautiful woman, and no recollection of the night before. His arms burned and his back ached. What the hell did you do to him?

“Are you alright? I found you just a moment ago lying in my yard and I wanted to make sure you weren’t dead.” 

“Alright? Sure, I’m alright. Do you mind telling me what happened…?”

“Y/n. And yes um, I was going to ask you the same thing. No offense, it’s fairly strange to show up naked in people's homes. Now I’m not one to judge but you look like a decent man, not the sort to get caught up on drinking games and god knows what else. I mean-” Silas quickly pulled the sheets up to his abdomen. This girl sure liked to talk. 

Silas held up his hand to shush you, 

“Could I have some clothes, please?”

———————

Clothes! You rummaged through the drawers and dug out some old pants and a loose linen top once belonging to your father. Handing them over, his hands held yours for only a moment, but that moment was more than enough. Suddenly a warm feeling tickled your chest and cheeks. Turning your back to him you shoo’d the feeling out.

“Your husband won’t mind my borrowing these?”

“He’s up north selling real estate this time of year.” You lied. You didn’t have a husband, but telling a man you were single was like telling a bear you’re secretly made of honey.

You heard the sheets drop and did your best not to imagine him standing there behind you. Tall…tanned…naked…stop! He’s a stranger. For all you know, the blood that was around his mouth could’ve been from some other poor woman! You bunched the fabric of your skirt in your hands and took deep breaths. This man would not get the best of you. When he cleared his throat you turned around. He had a slight smile now and stuck out a hand,

“ I suppose it’s time for me to introduce myself. I’m Silas.”

He explained that he was from a town far across the river and that he had no idea how he made it so far in one night. The last thing he remembers was walking home from his job and taking the shortcut past the woods. When he talked, there was a sincerity in his voice that made you believe every word. It drowned out everything else, the crackling of the fire, the bleating of the sheep-oh shit! The sheep! Excusing yourself you ran back outside and began distributing the feed among the animals,

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry. I got distracted.” Silas followed behind, chuckling,

“You talk to your animals?”

“I think it helps them understand that I’m here to take care of them. I’ll always help those in need, animal or human.” 

Silas was a great deal of help while your “husband” was gone. He’d run into the village and buy bread. Help clean the house. Most often, he’d be sitting underneath the large oak tree that shaded your home. Reading whatever he found and telling you about it that evening over dinner. He never asked about how to get back to his town, only ever pestered you about your husband and when he’d return home.

“I’d hate to be here when he returns, that’s all. I think he’d see you and me and get the wrong idea. We eat dinner together, work together, sleep together.”

“We do not sleep together! Your bed is far away from mine and I’d like to keep it that way.” Silas scooted closer,

“Oh really? Is that why you insist on leaving the house whenever I bathe?”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing! Your face felt like fire. How dare he ask such questions after you let him live here! Throwing your fork down, you shout,

“I do it all in the name of propriety!” 

“Just seems to me like you’re being over cautious. Like you’re afraid you might do something if you saw me naked.” 

“Oh, of all the insane things to suggest!” Your passion had driven you from your seat and into a mad pace around the room.

“You don’t have to shout, I’m just teasing! Why are you getting so defensive anyways?”

“Because I lied. I have no husband.”  The room grew quiet as you sat back down. You only lied to him because you didn’t know him at the time. His hand found yours, and again you felt that strange fire in your body. He didn’t have to do much at all to get you worked up, it was pathetic. Neither one of you said anything. You didn’t know where to go from here. Silas leaned in and took a deep breath. Peering up at you through dark lashes he whispered,

“Then… you wouldn’t mind if I kissed you?” 

[i-cant-sing]

Yandere RE8: TRP Part 4

Part 1 is here.

Part 2 is here.

Part 3 is here.

Part 5 is here.

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

"Uhh... hello?"

You looked at the woman standing in the stairs. She was wearing a dark veil that matched the rest of her outfit- oh shit, that's a funeral outfit.

I really did pick a bad time to come here, didn't I? She's in mourning, she sees an intruder, and her day went from bad to worst. Yep, she's gonna kill me.

You took one look at the woman and then at all the possible exits: the doors- no, they'd be too heavy to move and what if they're locked? The window- but I'd have to jump out and just because it looks cool in movies to jump through glass, doesn't mean it'll work, Y/n.

So, the only option was to eliminate the threat. Or maybe... defuse it.

"This is your doll, right?" You asked, pointing at the doll, judging by the lace designs on both of their dresses. The woman didn't reply. "It looks like its been... used a lot. To be honest, she's very different than most dolls I've seen, definitely a lot more spookier." You nervously giggled, hoping she didn't mind. "But... she looks like she's been loved. A lot. Despite being broken from a lot of places, someone still took their time to fix her." You smiled sadly, remembering your own doll that Mia had ripped. "Wish I had someone like that. To sew up the wounds and fix them."You mumbled, not really sure if you were talking about your doll or yourself.

"Your doll, she's- she's very pretty. My sister would've liked her." You began. "Which is why I'm here. My family, we were in an accident- I know it was wrong of me to come here without permission, but I need to find my sister, Rose and my father, Ethan." You took a step closer. "They both of have blonde hair. Rose, my sister, she's just 6 months old. She was dressed in a baby pink onesie, bundled up in a blanket. My father, Ethan, he's about this tall and has big blue eyes. I think he was wearing a jacket, with blue denim jeans. H-have you seen them?" You asked, eyes full of hope and voice laced with eagerness.

Please, please let her have seen them. God, please.

Unsurprisingly, the woman didn't reply, but she did turn her head towards the left window. You didn't know whether she was telling you to get out of her house or signalling that they are out there, but you knew you had to leave.

Nodding, you slowly walked towards the window, your heart beating faster as you prayed that this wasn't some sort of trap, hoping she wouldn't attack you from behind because that would be like... really shitty.

But you left the house unharmed, and without looking back at the window because you didn't want to jinx it, you walked towards the forrest once again, thankful that the sun had finally came out.

Where are you guys?

You had been walking for a couple of hours now, the sun had been a bit warmer today, which was good since you hated the snow that surrounded you now. You looked at the map, tracing the path to your new destination. The Salvatore reservoir. It seemed like it would take you a day's journey to get there, and you sure as hell weren't seeing any lake in sight.

God, when will this nightmare end?

You decided to sit on a stone and take some much needed rest. Your feet ached from all the walking, and your calves were cramping. You rolled your head, popping it from the side, before taking off the rifle that had been weighing down, stretching out your arms. Digging through the little back pack you bought from Duke, you pulled out a thermos of coffee and twinkie. You don't know how or where he got it, but Duke had filled your bag with a couple of snacks; saying its for his loyal customer.

So, here you sat, in the middle of the snowy woods, eating a twinkie and drinking a lukewarm coffee. Both didn't taste good, but they're gonna keep you alive so, no complaining.

After drinking the coffee, you rested your head against a tree, recalling last nights events as you waited for the caffeine to kick in.

You tried to make sense of what happened when you got... locked in the basement. You thought you had forgotten about her, Angel. Guess not.

Wait- didn't that lady lock me in the basement? Maybe, she didn't look very hostile, her creepy doll looked scarier than she did.

You laughed at the irony. You always made fun of the horror movies where the family would become so attached to the most horrifying doll, and you'd scream at their stupidity, And yet here you were, falling for the cliche as you found comfort in that creepy doll.

Man, I'm really losing it here.

You sighed, closing your eyes as you tried to come up with the next plan. But the warm coffee had lulled you right to sleep, which was dangerous but you were too tired to care.

Just for a couple of minutes...

You woke up to the sound of growling and heavy steps. And as soon as you opened your eyes, you knew you had definitely slept for far longer than a few minutes. But that was not of concern at the moment. No, it was the source of the growling that had woken you up.

Just about 40 feet away from you were lycans. Plural. Not one, not two, but 5 lycans, and one of them was a really big one.

You held your breath as you watched them wander around; they hadn't spotted you yet, and if you stayed quiet, you hoped they would just go away.

Stilling yourself as much as you could, you watched them with wide eyes. One of them started to walk in your direction, it wasn't looking at you, which meant that it hadn't seen you, but he would if he kept on walking this way.

God, I know we haven't been on good terms, but like c'mon, you gotta give me a break. Please, I love you? Come on, you know this is not how I want to go.

You sent a silent prayer, and perhaps it worked, since the lycan suddenly turned the other way, joining its pack as they started walking deeper into the woods.

Slowly, you began to gather up your things, silently shoving them in your bag, one eye on the lycans and the other one making sure that you don't accidentally drop something that'd cause noise.

Fortunately, you didn't. You swung the bag over your shoulder, and took a step forward, careful not to step on any twigs.

Maybe God did love me. All that time in church-

THWACK!

You jumped back as a huge sheet of snow fell from the trees in front of you. You whipped your head towards the monsters and they all had stopped dead in their tracks. Slowly, one of them turned and if they hadn't heard the snow fall, they'd definitely heard the way your heart was about to burst out of your chest. Then, it growled.

Motherfucker.

You pulled out your gun just as the two of them began running your way. With a quick jump to the side, you dodged them and shot them two times each. Hearing your gun fire, the other two began running your way too, while the larger one stayed behind as it watched. This time, as you shot one of them, the other managed to kick you in the chest hard, throwing you against the rock. Luckily, you didn't hit your head, as you rolled and shot it dead.

Spitting out the blood, you looked back at the last lycan who had already started running your way. You began loading up your gun with trembling hands, but just as you aimed, the lycan took a giant leap and knocked the gun out of your hand.

Fuck.

The giant grabbed you by your neck, lifting you up high before throwing you across the ground. You wheezed, scrambling up to your feet as you began running away from it, its heavy steps following you. It roared angrily behind you, and that only made you ignore the burning pain in your chest as you ran faster.

But of course, God had decided to make you live a cliche horror movie, because you tripped over a fucking branch, making you fall on your stomach. You flipped over instantly, and saw your nightmare come true as the lycan jumped on you.

On pure reflex, you punched it square in the face, which you doubted hurt it more than it hurt you, if anything, the monster was momentarily perplexed, but that was enough for you to slip from under it.

But you were only able to take a few steps away when it suddenly grabbed you by your neck and lifted you up again, snarling as it began opening its mouth, revealing its razor-sharp teeth at you.

God, if you're hearing this, I'm converting to atheism because I did not need this today.

Looking at the horrifying lycan, you prayed one last time before you were eaten by it. Surprisingly, your life did not flash before your eyes, which you were kinda grateful for because you did not need to relive that before your death.

But that moment didn't came. No, what came were familiar moans of pain, and then the sound of a drill, followed by blood splattering on your face as the lycan was sliced vertically from the head to the toe by the aforementioned drill.

The lycan fell to the ground, revealing the pair of soldats that killed them and behind them a smirking Heisenberg, who rested against a tree, tipping his hat at you.

You were far too shocked to say anything, and after a few seconds, the man walked over to you, blocking the view of his monstrous creations just mutilating the lycans.

"So... that was a bit traumatising." He started, chuckling at your stunned face. "You okay, kid?"

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck-

"Yeah." You took his hand, and he helped you up. You groaned at the pain, touching the tender side around the chest where the lycan had hit you. Yeah, you probably broke a rib.

Heisenberg helped you sit down on a tree stump. "Hmm, that bastard kicked you hard didn't it." Wait- "But that was a phenomenal punch you threw at it. Nearly made me burst out laughing."

"You were watching? Why the fuck didn't you come in before!"

He shrugged. "I just wanted to see if you could really handle yourself- which you were pretty good at, but then you lost your gun and it was kinda an unfair match from there on." He pulled out some pills from his coat. "i was just passing by when I saw those lycans moving away. Thats when I pushed the tree which made snow sheet fall and you know the rest from there on."

Your eyes went wide. "You did that on purpose? What the shit, Heisenberg-?! Fuck." You doubled over in pain, clutching your ribs, heaving.

"Shh, stay still, kid. Here, take these. They'll help with the pain." You eyed the bottle before popping two in your mouth. Hey, if he wanted me dead, he wouldn't have saved me from the lycan. "I just wanted to see if you were worth the trouble, and as it turns out, you are."

"You didn't have to almost kill me to see that. And now I've lost my gun. And I don't have any money to buy a new one. I doubt Duke gives freebies." You huffed out.

Heisenberg rolled his eyes. "God, you sure do whine a lot. Here-" He dropped a tiny pouch in your lap. "There's some coins in there. That should be enough to buy you a new gun. And for fucks sake, get a gun with more rounds! You don't have time to be loading a gun mid battle." He huffed. "So, where are you going now?"

You rolled your head from side to side. "Well, I went to the Beneviento house. Didn't find Ethan or Rose there. Now, I'm going to the lake."

"The lake? Huh, well if you survived Donna, then Moreau should be a piece of cake. You got the map? Let me show you the short cut, it's not far from here." You gave him the map and he showed you the directions.

"Where are you going then?"

"Mother Miranda called. Don't worry, I'll keep our meeting a secret." He then nodded at you. "Alright, I'm off now."

"Wait!" Your voice stopped him. "I don't know when I'll see Duke again. And I don't have gun, so what if another pack of lycans come?"

Heisenberg slumped his shoulders as he let out an annoyed sigh. "Fine. I gotta do everything by myself." He dog whistled and one of the soldats stopped maiming the lycan and ran to Heisenberg. "From now on, you're gonna listen to her."The soldat looked at you and nodded. "If she tells you to kill, you kill. If she tells you to die, you die. Follow her around and keep her safe." The soldat nodded. Then Heisenberg turned to you. "He's already dead, so don't worry about throwing him in danger. Oh and also, just take him into the sun every once in a while so that his engine can recharge. You'll know when he needs the sun."

You were baffled. "Wait, Heisenberg- how the- what the hell am I supposed to do with him?"

"Figure it out, kid. Think of him as a guard dog."

You looked at the soldat then at Heisenberg's retreating form, then back at the soldat.

"So..." The soldat stared at you. "You got a name?"

"Handsome." You nodded to yourself as you trudged, using the soldat's arm to support yourself. "That's what I'm gonna call you. Handsome. What do you think?"

The soldat was wearing a metal contraption over its eyes, so you couldn't really tell what it was feeling.

"Well, you don't seem to have any complaints, so from now on, you'll respond to the name "Handsome". Do you understand?"

The soldat nodded.

You laughed. God, the pain meds were either making me stupid or everything else funnier.

You looked at the map again. Just a couple of more minutes and then a right turn. And then you should see the lake- god, this map was confusing as hell.

"So..." you wondered what you should ask the cyborg. Oh right. "You seen Ethan? Blonde man, crazy big eyes. Or a baby, Rose?" The man shook his head no.

Sigh. What else could I ask him? What about how did he die? No, what if that's triggering? I can't handle a Terminator right now. And I don't think I should ask him about his past or anything that'll cause him to have a existential crisis. Ah! I've got it!

"Hey, how do you see?"

The soldat looks down at you for a few seconds then points at his metal contraption.

Wait- is that sarcasm?

You scoff. "Of course, you see with your eyes! I meant, with the whole metal thingy covering them, how do you- oh, there's this vision specs in them."

You smiled. "Hey, you're kinda like Cyclops, yknow-" you were cut off as Handsome suddenly pushed you to the ground, turning on his drill.

"Wait, shit- you don't have to be Cyclops! We can talk this out-" but Handsome was focusing on something else, and that's when you saw it. Two lycans.

Handsome ran and easily maimed them to pieces, I mean, you had to look away from the horrific scene midway.

The soldat returned five minutes later, covered in blood. He extended his hand and you reluctantly took it, letting him support you as you began walking again, your heart still beating like crazy.

But you calmed down when you finally reached the lake, the setting sun gave serene feel to the entire reservoir. You inhaled deeply before looking at Handsome. "Lets go down there." You pointed at the lake.

You were both sitting at the wooden broadwalk, your legs hanging off the ledge. You looked at the water, it wasn't crystal clear, but you could see some fishes swimming around, so at least it wasn't dangerous to life. You looked at Handsome, then at his drill and you realised he was still covered in blood. "Lets get you cleaned up, hm?" You said, pulling out a rag from your bag and dipping it in the cold water below. You began with cleaning up his drill, then dipping the rag back in cold water and cleaning his chest and his other arm.

"Good job back there, Handsome."You smiled as Handsome nodded. "Heisenberg was right, you are kinda like a dog. Hmm, I wonder if..." You tested your theory as you petted him on the head. "Good job, Handsome!" But the soldat only tilted its head in confusion.

"Hmm, perhaps not." You cupped the cold water in your hands and washed your own face, You looked at your reflection in the water. "You wanna go for a swim? I don't mind." Handsome shook his head. "Yeah, I'm not a fan of swimming either."

Handsome stared at you. You scoffed. "Oh so you pretend you don't understand what I say, but you want to hear the story? Fine, but I'm only telling you because it might be important later."

You both stared at the water as you began your story. "Well, when I was 15, I had snuck out of the house to go to a party. It was at this rich girl's house and I knew she didn't like me, but I was surprised when she had invited me to her place. Yes, a red flag I should've seen from miles ago, but I was young and dumb and desperate to climb the highschool social hierarchy." You chuckled. "Anyways, long story short, one of the guys there pushed me into the pool because I don't know if they thought it was funny to see me drown? By some luck, I managed to grab onto the pool ledge and pull myself up. I immediately left the party, embarrassed and cold and on the verge of breaking down. Then on the way back home, there was this car following me and then some weirdo catcalled me and tried to get me in his car. Now, scared for my life because I watched a lot of Criminal Minds, I ran all the way home, praying that he leaves me alone. I think he stopped when he saw a Range Rover following him, but I don't know. I just rushed back home." You sighed. "You know what happened next? I bursted through the front door, slamming it shut and I turn around to see my dad in the living room, looking surprised to see me. He stood up and looked me up and down and then said, "Y/n? You're drenched completely. And you're messing up the floor. You know what? Mia's in the bathroom right now, why don't you go upstairs and I'll clean up here. You know how she gets when there's water on the wood." And I was just so shocked, that I didn't say anything and went back upstairs. Once I was in the shower, that's when I broke down crying. I almost drowned, almost got kidnapped and my father was worried about me messing up the wooden floor? Hell, he didn't even ask me why I was coming home at midnight." Your tears fell into the lake, making small ripples. You chuckled, "God, I always wondered how tired he must've been from work that day to ignore all these visible signs of distress. I always hated his job, you know? They made him work way too much." You looked at Handsome who was looking at the lake. "Anywho, now you know I can't swim so, save me if I fall into this lake, okay?" He nodded.

You guys sat in comfortable silence for a few more minutes before a question popped up in your mind. "Handsome?" He turned his head towards you, only to see a mischievous smile on your face. "Are you seeing someone?" The man turned his back to the lake, making you laugh. "Ahh, so you like someone. Tell me, is it someone from the village?" The man further turned his head away from you in embarrassment. "Oh come on, tell me! Is it a girl?" He nodded reluctantly, making you punch his arm. "You dog! Does she know?" Handsome shook his head, making you smile. "Tell you what? As a payback for saving me back there, I'll help you get her. I'll be your wingman, Handsome, hm?" He nodded a bit enthusiastically.

"We all deserve good things, Handsome. No matter how we look, or what we are, these things don't really define one's self worth. Its our intentions, you know?" Handsome didn't know, but he nodded anyways.

"Good. Now, lets go check out this place. Keep an eye out for Ethan and Rose, okay?" You told him, not knowing someone was already watching the two of you.

So... thought?

What did you guys think about Handsome? I'm gonna post a pic of him soon if you guys want.

Part 5 is here.

[dujour13]

Some warmth would be great. Seasonal prompts 19. warming cold hands/feet for siavash and woljif please. 🙂

Thanks for the ask! Apologies in advance for 1) grumpy Woljif and 2) nerding out via Nenio. Credit to my dad for Regill's insufferable aphorism.

The Pathfinder Winter Solstice prompts

“Yeah, who named it Ch-Chilly Creek? Hard up for inspiration, huh? And who decided we needed to pay a social v-visit to Chilly Fucking Creek in the middle of f-freezing fucking Kuthona? What’s with the c-creepy dolls, anyway? And then there’s what, a sea monster with t-two dozen heads? And it splashes freezing water on you when you try to s-stab it?” Woljif was really out of sorts. His feet were so cold they hurt—the parts of them he could still feel, at least. A steady, horizontal sleet pattered against their tightly wrapped cloaks. Under a wide hood to accommodate his horns, his teeth were chattering and his breath made angry little clouds.

“There’s no such thing as poor weather,” Regill declared. “Only poor preparation.”

“Hey, good one.” Lann raised his eyebrows appreciatively.

“What the hells? You’re half lizard, you oughtta be f-frozen solid right now.”

“Perhaps he’s not as cold-blooded as he lets on,” said Daeran. “Perhaps an ardent, four-chambered heart beats in that chiseled breast.”

“At least I have one,” Lann retorted.

“You err, my chimeric companion. My breast is perfectly chiseled.”

All this talk was diverting attention from Woljif’s complaining. “I c-can’t feel my hands. You better hope there’s no t-traps in Chilly Creek, ‘cause you’ll be outta luck. Hells, a f-fireball sounds kinda good right now, come to think of it.”

Yet they were warmly welcomed by Chilly Creek as Jernaugh and his friends led them through the gates and half the village came out despite the weather to greet them. Siavash and Woljif were lodged in a tiny but cozy guest cabin. Malessa brought them firewood and dry clothes.

“Well,” she said, looking Woljif up and down with a crooked smile, “these aren’t going to work for you.” She pulled out a razor-sharp filet knife and began cutting a hole in the trousers for his tail.

“You don’t have to—”

“Don’t fret. Easy enough to sew back up. Or better yet, we’ll set them aside for your next visit,” she smiled.

Woljif’s ill humor got the best of him: her smile seemed so natural and guileless his guard went up instantly. Good old suspicion and contempt would have been honest at least. He frowned.

Not seeming to notice, she peered at him worriedly. “You’re looking a little pale around the gills, sweetie.” His expression turned from grumpy to sheepish. “Get changed and warmed up and we’ll fetch you as soon as supper’s ready. See you shortly.”

At last Siavash noticed. “Great gods, look at you.”

Woljif was standing there shaking violently, hugging himself, his tail wrapped so tightly around his right leg he couldn’t bend his knee.

Siavash kissed his pale, trembling lips in concern, then helped him change, bundled him into blankets in front of the fire, and only paused to change his own wet gear when he was satisfied some color started to come back to Woljif’s cheeks.

Throughout this, Woljif was lost in contemplation. He couldn’t remember one instance when Gran took any interest in whether he was cold except to tell him to quit complaining. Seemed like that was normal. He’d always had an inkling in the back of his mind that maybe it wasn’t, but with everyone fussing over him there was no denying it. This is how it’s supposed to be, he thought angrily. How come I’m just finding out now?

But the anger melted into a glow of gratitude when Siavash scooted under the blanket next to him and snuggled close, making little concerned sounds. “Your hands are ice! By all the good gods, why didn’t you say anything?”

Woljif opted not to tell him he had said a great deal while Siavash was out of earshot. A pretense of stoicism could go a long way.

They sat cross-legged facing each other so that Siavash could tuck Woljif’s freezing feet under his knees and his hands in his armpits. One last huge shiver passed through Woljif’s frame as the warmth flooded in.

“Boy did we get an earful. His teeth weren’t the only thing chattering,” Lann chuckled.

Supper was a whole-village affair in the longhouse, fires blazing and dishes passed around a massive table. On his third helping of fish, Woljif was getting the ribbing he deserved for his complaining, which attracted Nenio’s unpredictable attention.

“Having a furless tail is indeed a thermodynamic liability,” she said, a phenomenally quick hand catching the appendage in mid-annoyed twitch.

“The high surface area to volume ratio allows for rapid radiation of heat, and the way you wave it around, convection is also a significant factor. Indeed, it’s curious you aren’t chronically hypothermic. Hm, it must have a thick subdermal layer of adipose tissue,” she said, poking it. Her grip was firm; he couldn’t pull it away without risking it whipping someone, especially the children who had gathered behind them to whisper and giggle. “I would hypothesize it possesses a countercurrent exchange system. Aasimar boy, if I take a cross-section for observation, you could re-attach it, yes?”

“Of course,” said Daeran with a mischievous smirk.

“Don’t egg her on!” Woljif cried, snatching his tail out of her hands and wrapping it firmly around his chair.

Meanwhile, down the table, Siavash was also on his third helping of river perch filets in herbed butter. “There’s no village leader?”

“No,” said Malessa, “it’s too small to bother. Whenever we have a big decision, anyone who cares enough to voice an opinion speaks up.”

“Loudest wins,” said Markyll.

“Sounds a lot like Andoran. So Jernaugh, no converts yet?”

The priest shook his head with a self-deprecating smile. “No. I’m trying to convince them they can welcome Old Deadeye in their midst and keep their traditions at the same time, but they have their convictions. Not to say they’re stubborn.”

“He’s a clever one,” said Markyll, pointing a fork. “Just insistent enough not to get himself kicked out on his arse.”

“And helpful,” Malessa added with a warm look in her ice-blue eyes. “We’re growing fond of him, our odd little priest.”

Jernaugh blushed.

“So what I’m really curious about,” Siavash went on, eyes twinkling at the flustered young priest, “is how you’ve never had any trouble with demons. We’ve almost forgotten what peace like this feels like.”

“They don’t bother with a little backwater like this one,” Markyll shrugged, looking away.

“Our mother Icy Rill looks out for us,” added Malessa, but her smile had gone a little rigid.

Markyll shot her a quick glance.

“A parochial goddess,” Jernaugh explained. “Probably a Sarkorian river spirit. They’re very devoted to her.”

“But that’s hardly interesting,” Markyll said loudly. “We have the Commander of the Crusade at our table. How about some Crusade stories?”

That night Woljif lay awake in the cabin, listening to the wind and the soft hiss of snow outside, the restless wheels of his mind engaged in more contemplation. He was reminded of something Lann had said about everybody pitching in and being better off for it. This village seemed to be working pretty well on that model. Nothing like the streets of Kenabres. Dry clothes set aside for guests, platters of food passed around until you could burst, Malessa with her all-purpose fishing knife calling people sweetie.

Suddenly there was that prickly sensation at the back of his neck that meant his shadow was about to have opinions.

Something is not right about this village, it whispered.

“Somethin’ fishy?”

His shadow was silent.

“They’re tryina reel me in?”

Sheesh, his shadow really didn’t have a sense of humor.

Be wary. They’re hiding something. And another thing…

Woljif rolled his eyes, but he was listening.

It is because you weren’t coddled that you’re so tough and self-reliant.

His brows knit in the dark.

Don’t let them soften you up, the easier to shape you to their own purposes. Or stab you in the back.

“Piss off, I’m tryina sleep.”

“Hm?” Siavash rolled over.

“Nothin’, I didn’t mean you.”

Sleepily, Siavash tucked an arm around him and kissed his cheek. “Bad dreams?”

“I’m all right.” Woljif remained rigid and wide-eyed. He was definitely being coddled. It was making him soft, and he was going to regret it bitterly.

Right? Or was there a sort of strength in having somebody’s armpits to stick your hands in when they were cold?

He was aware he was in danger of believing what he wanted to believe, but it felt good to stop on that thought and snuggle into the pool of warmth in Siavash’s arms, heave a deep sigh of contentment, and let himself relax and drift off to blissful sleep. Beside him, the shadow seethed.