#poorly drawn skin cat

[poorly-drawn-scumvillain]

End his suffering

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Oh Skinzun, we're really in it now...

[puppyeared]

Big cat

[dailylowqualitycats]

Day 26

Minecraft cat

His name is Steve (again)

[jinkiezzsstuff]

In Season

alastor x doe! femreader

no but really this is actually so depraved and smutty i cannot believe myself i hope yall enjoy the feast xx

Summary: You were aquatinted with hell for quite some time and you quickly learned as much as you could about mating season to protect yourself from other deer sinners. Although you came across the hotel and neither you nor Alastor could resist each other, and your instincts.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, female anatomy- no pronouns, no descriptions of bodytype/skin colour/hair type, heavy breeding kink, female masturbation briefly, penetration, squirting, creampie, horrorish aspects predator n prey, ‘in heat’ trope, OOC alastor bc y’know sex, general vulgarity, brief mention of blood, swearing, not proofread, LEMME KNOW WHAT I MISSED

Word count: 5K

You’ve been in Hell several years, and at first it was a little jarring. Especially since you now had hooves, a tail, a black scent-sensitive nose, and soft floppy ears. Honestly it was amusing getting used to your new body while dodging sinners hungry for new meat, you reminisced on your first days of hell often, as they were the most exciting.

But now you were more aware, you’d spent a majority of your time in hell assessing and attempting to understand the whole eternal damnation thing- after all you weren’t much of a believer in hell when alive. You kept atop all the sinners that were of note, the different sectors of the pentagram, the overlords as well as their strengths and weaknesses that coincides with their demonic form, you also paid close attention to all the rings of hell and their sins. You’d even grown interested in the hellbors and imps, never imagining how birth and life things that was supposed to be god's gift, ended up breeding in such a foul place like hell.

Most demons spawned into hell with some sort of form be it an object like a television, a prop like a doll, a toy such as a jack in the box, or more commonly an animal. Most humans found themselves attached to animals anyways which made sense as to why many showed up as one, as well as why it wasn't surprising to see many dogs and cats as a common form in hell. During your investigative research, you ran into a few.. hurdles.

Bucks, mating seasons. It seemed like all animal life here was cursed with some sort of violent mating season. Where all that sinners could think about doing was mating. Bucks had been your biggest issue in hell, you found it pretty simple to ignore mating seasons, focusing your mind anywhere but the burning in your pelvis, but the bucks would storm around looking for the smell of the doe near them.

It’s a pain in the ass and you always had your calendars marked, alarms and reminders set, as to not forget that mating season was coming and you needed to take precautions.

Besides the chase the bucks would give you every year, you had it pretty easy in hell, you published on a blog your findings marketing it to new sinners in hell, kind of like a guide to hell, and that kept your bills paid and your mind occupied.

~

Walking down the road in the pentagram city with the intentions of snapping some pictures of some of the expected violence in hell, you gazed along the different brick walls and shops, shopping with your eye at times. You came by yet another brick wall, this one littered with taped up signs, your paced slowed as your eyes rapidly moved across the words on different pages.

There were varying signs, one for resale value drugs, IMP immediate murder professionals, and Charlie Morningstars Hazbin Hotel. Pausing your stride you went up to the wall getting a closer look at the shitty drawn piece of paper, there was several different… characters, on it very poorly drawn. You recognize Charlie’s name of course, you’d often see her roaming around the pride ring actually, unlike her father who you never saw.

Pulling out your phone you snapped a picture of the sign and decided to take a trip down to that side of the pentagram to check out this hotel. It’s definitely quite the story to be told that’s for sure.

You made left, rights, had to take cover for thirty minutes while some sinners duked it out shooting up a whole block, then you tried to hail down a cab- failed and trudged for the longest time to the hotel. It was so much further than you anticipated but everytime you felt like turning back you told yourself you were almost there which got you to the door of the hotel, by the end of the day however.

Knocking on the giant doors you didn’t know whether to walk in like you would a hotel, or wait for a guide. Tapping your fingers against your thighs you���re suddenly hit with strong arousal that clawed suddenly at your abdomen.

Bringing your phone up from your pocket you checked the date, you knew the season was changing and autumn was here but you didn’t have any issues with buck recently so you didn’t really have to worry. You did confirm mating season was in progress, with the conformations laying within the calendar, but it shouldn’t have been a problem, unless there is a buck inside the hotel.

Suddenly the door flew open and you were pulled away from your contemplation by a high pitched, giddy voice tugging your attention toward it. “Oh my gosh, hi! I’m Charlie! Come in! Are you here for the hotel!” The blonde rambled quickly, tugging you in by your wrist.

The hotel was weirdly homey, you could tell that there were different personalities that occupied the space, different colours of reds decorated, random items littered around the room like stiletto boots by the door, a large pile of needles in a corner, the bar seemed to be its own aesthetic design. It was comfortably warm and smelt like an active fireplace, as well as something so strong and musky it made your legs inadvertently clench.

You attempt to hold your instincts inside but this wasn’t like any other buck you’ve smelt before- it made you ravenous. Pulling yourself together while Charlie spoke about the hotel you pondered what you’d say, you could exactly be like, is there a male buck here because i’m horny as fuck.

No. Smiling to Charlie tiredly, you finally ready yourself to give her the explanation. “This place really is lovely, I didn’t actually come to be a patron but maybe write something about it for the little blog thing i have.” You felt jittering and lightheaded as you spoke, your eyes scanning the room and ears pulled back. “Uhm would it be okay to stay for a night?”

Charlie perked up clasping her hands together nodding eagerly. “Of course to both~!” She sang out happily. “I am so glad some people are interested! Who knows, maybe after a day you’ll wanna stay!” She exclaimed, twirling around happily.

You smiled at her optimism and you were genuinely happy that the princess of hell was such a breath of fresh air in the smog filled hell you all lived in. “Do you want me to show you around? Meet our staff and guests?” Charlie asked, a glimmer of hope and excitement sparkling in her eye. You took a brief moment to ponder before nodding your head. “I think that would be perfect, then though would i be able to rest, the walk fucked my hooves.” You say tapping the tip of your booted hoof against the floor.

Interlocking your elbows Charlie nodded, dragging you toward the bar. “Of course you can, I'll end our tour with your room, but let me begin it with Husk! Our loyal bartender!” Walking toward the bar you’d spotted early on, the cat demon turned his head ever so slightly toward you. “Hi,” The alcoholic said flatly, Charlie laughed nervously, but you didn’t really mind his demeanour you preferred short and to the point.

“Hey Husk, nice to meet you.” The cat grunted at you, and gave you a sorta glare. “Another deer. Course it fuckin is.” Husk muttered to himself bitterly, Charlie scolded him under her breath, before turning to you with a grin and a shrug of the shoulders. “He’s sweet once ya get to know him. Heh, anyways c’mon lets meet Angel!”

After about thirty minutes of running around you met all but one of the members residing within the hotel. As you skipped around the hotel you entirely forgot about the low grade heat buzzing between your legs, you were used to it after all, and you enjoyed yourself a lot, confessing to Charlie that you particularly enjoyed the rambunctious Nifty and flirty Angel.

“Alright, the last person of note is one of the most important. He’s been assisting in the hotel basically since the start, half of it wouldn’t be possible without him.” Charlie explained walking up to a door, on it had two different do not disturb signs. A large wood one nailed right on the door, and a second hanging off the handle.

Charlie picked the sign from its hanging position humming while examining it. “He’s never had these before.” She muttered, voice filled with confusion, however you were lost in a daze. This was the smell you could pick up down stairs, he must’ve been a buck, there wasn’t any other way.

The scent was pungent, nearly knocking you off your heels with arousal, it was musky, something only described as sweaty and primal. The natural hormones of the demon beyond the door were unlike anything you’ve experienced before; it was like he was a starved man, hungrier than ever and more than ready to breed.

It was dirty and you felt embarrassed at the reaction you were having, typically you had a low hum and no real desire to attempt to have sex with one of the many deer demons who came after you so this was a bit of a new experience. And it was nearly painful, you don’t even know the guy and yet it felt like you were being consumed by him.

“Hm, wait here I’ll go ask Nifty! She normally knows the most,” Charlie drifted off tilting her head at you. “You okay there?” She asked nervously, you promptly nod at that, inwardly cursing yourself for not being more controlled. “Yeah,” You quickly clear your throat trying to play off the lust filled tone for a dry throat. “Yes,” You say with more conviction. “Sorry it’s been a long day. Before you head off, would this guy happen to also be a deer?”

Charlie grinned super wide, purely whites on display. “He is! Best for last! I think you two will be happy to have each other haha,” She chuckled a little awkwardly, brushing her hair behind her ear. She shook her head, swiftly bidding you ado and walking off to find Nifty.

You waited a moment listening for anything down the halls, but you didn’t hear anything anywhere, and you couldn’t see anybody around, nor could you see cameras hidden in the corner. Walls crashing down, heart rate naturally kicking up; you unbuttoned your pants, spreading your legs and slipping your hand down your pants.

You whimpered at the contact of your cold fingers to your clit, feeling the sticky sensation of arousal cover the bit of thigh that your underwear didn’t touch. You soaked yourself just by the smell of the deer on the other side of the door. You slipped your middle finger and ring finger down, coating your fingers entirely before slipping them into you, curling them as you did.

You inhaled deeply resting your free arm against the door above your head for you to lean forward on, you didn’t have the intentions of fucking your self in the hall, but one thrust turned into three. Now you’re dripping, gasping for air and trying to keep yourself quiet when all you wanted to do was collapse and beg whoever occupied the other side of the door to please fuck the neediness out of you.

As you quickened your pace, your body quivered from the uncomfortable position, but you halted everything when you heard the unmistakable sound of a radio on the other side of the door. It was a gritty sound, garbled with no real sound coming out of it, just strange static. You tried to catch your breath as you listened closely, checking your left and right speedily ro assure you were still alone.

Suddenly the doorknob shifted the door falling open under your weight. Your legs stuttered attempting to catch your body, hand whipping out from inside you, slick and sticky with your arousal as if you were some whore. Unfortunately you weren’t able to catch yourself fast enough but lessened the brunt of the fall with your knees before your hands came down to finish. You were still in a blitzed out haze, but the room was pitch black, the only sound that could be heard was an ambient sound of nature and the faintest sound of the radio.

The only light that you were blessed with was the hall light from the opened door behind you. You could barely make out deer heads hung on the wall and a red couch before the door snapped shut leaving you alone in the darkness.

You whimpered, clenching your legs and your teeth, you could still hear the radio but it sounded like it was seriously messed up, switching stations, pitches and incorporating sounds you’d never heard from a radio, like growls and deep rumblings.

Your fear mixed with desire and the smell of lust was far more palpable in this room. It was so much harder to ignore the scent and the smell of the buck who was definitely worked up in this room. “What a depraved little doe you are.” You jumped at the voice, nothing like you expected. He sounded wicked, dark, and surprisingly, hornier than you.

You could now hear him in the room with you, his deep pants, the footsteps around, you swear you could’ve heard him accidentally hit his antler against something as well, it was like he just materialised. “What’re you doing out of bed so late? You do know how filthy bucks can be this time of year, don’t you.”

You yelped as two bright red eyes appeared just a few feet in front of you, either this guy was crouched or contorted as you never stood from the floor. As his eyes got closer to you, his being consumed you entirely, as it dawned on you that he was crawling toward you like a goddamn animal.

“Sorry.” You meekly whimpered, tilting your head back ever so slightly, neck on display for him. He let out a baritone chuckle, shocking you slightly, before he replaced that shock with a new-by pouncing on top of you.

He brought his face closer to yours, the crazily dialed eyes of his illuminating your face enough for him to properly see and observe your face. You however only got brief glimpses of a strained yellow smile, and messy red hair that stuck to his face from sweat. You could feel his body heat against you making your own body feel hotter by the second, his right hand sat above your head, his other grabbed ahold of the wrist that moments ago was deep inside you.

One of his knees sat outside of your body by your thigh, while the other knee occupied the inner thigh too close to your core for comfort, or perhaps not close enough. All you knew is this deer was one of the horniest you’ve ever come across, his breath was erratic chest heaving, breath tickling your face and neck, his eyes were blown and obviously a firey red bright enough to add a horror-esque ambience.

You could feel the strain he had against his suit pants, it was hard not to when in the position he took he was straddling one of your thighs. He gripped your hand harder bringing it up to his face, your heart pounding in your ribcage as you watched motionlessly.

He groaned at the sight of your still wet fingers, his smile stretching just slightly as his eyes momentarily closed. Then his mouth opened, as did his eyes, teasingly he opened his mouth bringing your fingers up to him, before he took a hold with his mouth swirling his long tongue around your digits. You whined, closing your eyes at the feeling, the way he did it was not just in an attempt to be pornographic but to properly taste you, coating his taste buds with your arousal. Pulling his mouth away with an exasperated groan, he dragged his sharp teeth along your flesh, leaving tiny cuts that exuded just enough blood to satiate his desire.

He pulled himself away properly, saliva stringing as he did. You peaked your eyes open, as suddenly a feeling of being sucked into the floor consumed you and you felt like screaming. Though it all happened too fast that you weren’t able to squeak anything out; the floor sucked you in and within seconds spit you out. Gently your body bounced against soft velvet comforters on what you assumed was a bed- his bed. Still surrounded by only the blackened room, the buck nowhere you could see, you sat there heart pounding, bewildered, scared and horny, a unique combination to be fair.

“Tell me, my dear doe. When was the last time you gave into such, primal desires?” The man’s voice appeared before he did, sliding up beside you from the shadows. “Never.” You whisper looking into his deepened red eyes. “I am so sorry. I avoid bucks, I came for business- I didn’t- god i’m sorry i couldn’t help myself- you fuckin,” You threw your head back groaning in frustration, feeling embarrassed to admit you were just about willing to do anything he said if it meant he spread you out and bred you.

He chuckled demonically, his hand sticking out to you. “Alastor, sweetheart, pleasure to meet you, quite, the pleasure.” Alastor’s radio voice lowered and he purred to you so sultry that you clenched your thighs together. Grasping his larger clawed hand that he had stuck out, you shook him tightly enjoying the warmth and contact. “YN, pleasure to meet you too.”

Gently pulling his hand away, Alastor inched his way closer to you, leaning over he placed his hand on the other side of your torso seemingly trying to resume the position he held on the floor. “I could smell you enter the hotel, you know. I keep myself away every season and no other passer by, has been an issue. So what is it that you’ve done my dear,” Alastor questioned accusingly while dragging a claw up your neck and getting back to being on top of you.

Alastor felt like he couldn’t help himself, he felt a yearning for sex he’d not felt ever, sure there’s been the occasional session with his hand on a particularly trying mating season, but never real feral need like this. He wanted to leave his mark on you, and keep all those other foul deer demons that may attempt to take their claim on you in the future.

Growling radio admission and static echoed throughout the room, Alastor promptly closed the inches between your bodies, gently collapsing on top of you. Alastor dragged his tongue up your neck from your collar to your jaw line, ending his travel with an opened mouth kiss. You whimpered at the sensation of his body against you clutching his shirt, as he nipped at your neck with his sharp teeth drawing blood.

His thigh was pressed against your core with the way he leant down on you, and you wondered if he could feel how you were pulsing desperately begging him to fill you. Against your will you jerked up grinding yourself into him, causing him to groan at the own pleasure he got from the friction. Alastor then pulled away entirely looking down at you, then a gentle red light flickered on, then another, and finally a third, lighting the room up with a reddish glow.

You weren’t focused on how, or where the light came from, but rather the man in front of you. You had no clue it was Alastor, as in thee overlord Alastor, although you should’ve put it together based on all the radio feedback that sounded from out of him. Of course you knew of him from your research but he’d been gone when you came down so you easily forgot him.

Alastor was dishevelled, without a suit coat, just a button up and his suit pants, his hair was a mess as you briefly saw before, but man oh man did he look a wreck. He was sweaty, his antlers were out on full display, his eyes lidded.

“I had no idea you were a deer.” You say eyeing him up and down, he chuckled at that. “So you know of me?” The question, you might almost say, sounded uncertain, perhaps before with the lights off lended the two of you a comfortable anonymity that you don’t have anymore. Nodding your head you can’t help but attempt to gain some friction between your legs. “Darling if you truly want this as much as I, then I'd be more than happy to satiate the hunger for both of us- so long as we see to a date and several others after. I wouldn’t be able to stand seeing you with another deer after me.”

Although this formal speech was out of place for your current predicament you looked past it because you wouldn’t mind this being more than a one time hook up. “Of course, I hate one night stands.” Smiling at him, his smile softened compared to its harsher one before. Alastor moved in, this time you were able to watch him in the dim light, leaning back fully and off your elbows, you got comfortable on the soft pillow that kept you somewhat propped up.

You wanted your hands free to touch him, and hold him. When his face was inches from you, lips barely touching, your hands came up to play with his hair. You go cautiously hearing rumours about the distaste he has for contact he doesn’t initiate, however the moment your hands connect to his hot neck, he moans, pushing himself down to connect to your lips.

He smiled through, as you expected him to, but it was the best kiss you’ve ever had, purely based on how intense he was once he finally got a taste of you. You just barely opened your mouth before his tongue was escaping his mouth to explore yours, it was a searing kiss one that was unique to anything before. His body once again lowered as he relaxed on top of you, most of his weight rested on you, which you loved the feeling of it was like he was encasing you with him.

You could feel the stiff hard on that ached to be freed, and his uneven breaths that expanded his chest further into yours, like a tide your chests pushed and pulled each other in and out. It was erotic, and as your make out session dragged on the messier it got, teeth scraping tongues fighting, saliva glistening on the perimeter of both of your mouths. Your hands dug into his hair occasionally touching his long antlers that were out, and everytime you did he’d moan statically into your mouth.

Alastor cared little about his poise and instead chased his own pleasure as his mouth entangled with yours, you were receptive and as needy as he was, so he felt no shame when he started to hump himself against your core. He took even more pleasure in hearing you whine for more, bucking up into him. You buttons were still undone from earlier which made him feel a sense of anger he couldn’t explain, he wanted to be the one to make you come undone, he wish he could’ve gotten to you before you fucked yourself against his door.

So with a new goal in the demons mind, he snaked his arm in between your bodies, him needing to lift himself a bit to do so, and snuck his hand down you pants straight to your soaking wet core. Gasping at the contact you jerked up into his hand, his fingers sliding down the length of you leaving no area untouched.

“Impatient?” Alastor mocked pulling away finally, although he was in no place to, as even the simplest word came out jagged and out of breath. “Alastor please,” You begged unable to stop the way you jerked up into the warmth of his hand.

With contemplative hum Alastor halted all movement making you groan. It was unbearable to put up with, perhaps the foreplay of it all would be more enjoyable if it wasn’t such a painful lust you were in. Snapping his fingers, cool washed over your body like freezer air, and soon you realized you were left bare.

You jumped curling into yourself afraid of being so suddenly exposed. Looking up you were surprised to find the overlord himself nude with you, the comforter that once laid flat underneath you now pulled up behind him. Leaning forward blanket following in suit behind him, you simply stared at him, the markings on his body, the fact he had two tone skin, and of course the more obvious aspect of his body, the fact he was hung.

Covering the two of you under the safety of the blanket, Alastor pulled your legs apart gently, body slotting back where it’s supposed to be in between your legs. “You’re devine torture my dear. Attempting to be somewhat gentlemenly in a state like this, when you’re so desperate, is absolute torture.” Alastor grit out, his static gone as he struggled against the animalistic urge to dive into you.

Breathing out a breath you had no clue you were holding, you begged him pressing your body up into his. Thoughtlessly you reached down between you two, wrapping your legs around his torso to nudge him closer, and slowly you wrapped your fingers around him making him almost robotically crackle.

Giving him a few awkward strokes, due to your position, you guided him towards your entrance that needed no prep, with how you pulsed aching, and dripped greedily you weren’t too worried about pain.

Alastor barely took your guidance, as once you stroked him a twig snapped, when you lined him up to your entrance, he jerked forward plunging into you rather harshly causing your body to jolt. A heat shot through your body crawling down your pelvis straight to your toes, while your jaw hung open, unable to make the noise. Alastors radio was popping and crackling as he fucked into you, grinding his body against your own, he was pouring himself into you as fast as he could and for him it still wasn’t fast enough.

Meanwhile you were still attempting to catch up, your brain hazily lagging behind as your body jerked along with every thrust. You could feel yourself dripping down the length of him, the wet slapping of skin was just more indication you were practically a faucet. Reaching upward to grab onto his neck, it was your turn to growl viciously, loving the way his eyes and smile looked in this fucked out haze.

Grinning at him you tilted your head back, eyes closed at the insane pace Alastor was attempting. “Fuck Al, just like that please don’t fuckin stop,” You moan spreading your legs further apart so your clit was more exposed to his flesh that came slapping down.

One of his hands grasped your neck lightly squeezing, you clenched in tandem with his choking, absolutely loving the feeling of him having you at his mercy. “Who knew such a sweet face would be so, filthy.” Alastor said through a toothy smile his radio voice was gone only leaving his strained raw vocals.

You let out wails of pleasure as he fucked you into the mattress, before you roughly pulled Alastors head down forcing him to give you a kiss. Your tongues met before your lips did as neither of you were going in for gentle but rather a greedy taste of one another.

Alastor moaned and whimpered more when kissing you seemingly without hesitation, making you feel closer to the edge then before. Arching your body up you clawed Alastors back begging him, tears threatening to spill and the feeling of need. “Please Alastor, please fuck- so good it’s gonna- i’m gonna cum- Al don’t stop,” You cried loudly stumbling over what you wanted to say as you felt hot all over.

Above you Alastor could barely hold on, his forehead rested against you as you cried, wailing for him to fuck you begging for him to make you cum, and he knew from how you cried for him, ge was gonna. He also knew he wasn’t far himself feeling as you clenched and leaked all over the bed, it was disgusting and he loved it. Your skin stuck to his as his body came crashing down on yours legs too shaky to hold him himself up, but his pace didn’t let up all that much still forcing himself deep into you, marking every inch of you.

You screamed, clawing his back wrapping your arms around him as you convulsed. You whined about how it was so good how hard you were coming but it got mixed up in his mind as he focused on the violent gushes of liquid that rushed out of you. It seemed your orgasm kept being pulled out as you continued to gush around him making him bellow out his own praises of how good you felt, how glad he was you were coming on his cock and making a wet mess of his bed.

Alastor was ravenous as he used your cunt to milk him of everything he had trying hard to get himself as deep as possible in you. Meanwhile you continued to moan and whine at him your orgasm still pushing on gushes is liquid squirting out of you as your sentive mating body wanted more, wanted to be bred and was ready to hold out to do so.

And bred it was, Alastor bit onto you as he came, loving the feeling of filling you to the brim, it wasn’t anything he’d done or felt before. You groaned, smiling wickedly and you hungrily kissed up his neck pulling his ear with your teeth, whispering to him about how badly you wanted to be filled with his cum, eyes rolling back as he stilled in you finally.

Your body ceased a bit before his movement ceased, It was all insanely animalistic. Now as Alastor laid on top of you, still inside you, you felt the post nut clarity truly hit you. You were still in a lustful haze, however you’d never been that much with a man, nevermind one you haven’t properly met. Although you didn’t mind, as you dragged your fingers through his sweaty hair you reminded yourself he wanted to see you more, not just use you.

Taking a deep breath, Alastor enjoyed the smell of your skin and the doe pheromones you naturally let off. In the back of his mind twisted questions that he couldn’t bother trying to answer. His head laid under your chin, face between your breasts dazed and staring off into space. You cautiously traced your fingers up his ears, his antlers fell in size back to little sticks. His ears twitched but he made no remark as you gently played with them.

“Do you regret it?” You broke the silence with the nasty feeling of worry in your gut, worry that you messed up, worried you both made a mistake. Alastor let out a long hum, his radio frequencies back in action as he did. “No dear not at all. Lust or not I was certain about my decision. I had the strength to hold back when I heard you on the other side of the door but I didn’t want to.” Alastor admits still a little coy is his delivery.

Although he did a very good job at assuring you because any doubt you had vanished. It was a vulnerable time for the both of you, during mating season, that having the knowledge that he still could’ve kept control, kept himself on the other side of the door but instead choose to claim you, yeah made your heart and mind content.

[alnilaem]

so true @altissiia. neighbour/butcher simon is but a matted cat that would charitably leave mice at your door if that wasn’t so off-putting

-

It’s eight in the morning, and there’s coffee all over your work blouse. Burning through the canopy of your shirt, sticking your skin. 

You had loudly cursed as your foot got caught behind an innominate object, propelling you face first—and coffee first—into the corridor. Surely, the whole flat heard it. The tight yelp you released, the thunder of your nose colliding with the floor. 

You don’t care about the coffee blotches congealing in the hallway. The carpet has enough cryptic stains, ones that management isn’t bothered to fix, so you look away and throw a cursory glance over your shoulder—to see the cause of your fall—and grimace without conscious control.

It’s a bag of meat on your doormat. 

Wrapped in a plastic, sitting in a puddle of fresh blood. 

A few drops of dew glaze the bag by means of moisture. It hides its contents, hindering you from recognising anything inside. You poke it with your shoe, cringing at the cartilage and meat and marrow beneath the sole of your foot. It tumbles over in the clear film, revealing its gory underbelly and a sticky-note. 

The note is dog-eared, crumpled, and damp. Covered in writing written by a slap-happy hand. Sorry for being too loud last night with my mates. Guess I’m a hypocrite. Here’s some meat please accept, is what it reads. The tail-end features a poorly-drawn smiley face and a signature. Simon.  

He was being noisy last night. You were just too skittish to slap the drywall dividing you, or to knock on his door and ask him to keep it down. There was an overlap of voices, an undercurrent of accents, and the charm of beer cans persistently snapped open.

As you peel the note off the bag, the door beside you swings open. Simon stumbles out, sweatpants low on his hips, medical mask obscuring the lower shell of his face. By the looks of it, he just floundered out of the shower. His curls are still dripping with opalescent water drops. He’s shirtless, his chest hairs so blonde they’re almost glass-like. Tousled and wispy.

A few scars distort the skin of his ribcage and makes you wince. He’s breathing heavily, distending them, puffing out his chest.

“You alright?” He asks. “Heard you fall.” 

You realise you’re still on the floor. Simon looks cosmic from this angle—colossal—hauling with him disciplined muscles eclipsed by a soft belly. 

You meekly nod, rising to your feet. “‘m fine.”

Simon’s eyes flutter down to your chest. A hot-flash pools under your skin, sticky, messy, leaving you preening under his gaze, until, of course, you belatedly remember your spilled coffee. How your shirt sticks to your skin, revealing the barest hint of your breasts. You don’t cross your arms.

“You’ve something there,” Simon sniffs. He gestures to your chest.

“Um, yeah. I know.”

A whisper of discomfort marinates between you. Discomfort that Simon doesn’t seem to notice—or doesn’t seem to care about—as he keeps staring at you. 

He grunts. “I got you meat.”

“Thank you!” You chuckle. “It was a… sweet gift.” 

It takes you by surprise when Simon tucks his chin into his chest, grumbling. His crows feet crimp together like knife-edges as if he’s barely smiling. 

“Wait here,” he mumbles, then spins on his heel. You assume he’s going to put on some clothes, or bring you some more meat, but when Simon returns, he outstretches towards you a threadbare jersey, waiting expectantly.

“Stained your blouse,” he snorts. “Wear this.”

Owlishly, you blink. It’s your work blouse that’s stained. You can’t go in a Manchester United shirt.

“Um. I wouldn’t–”

Simon shoves it in your chest. At this point, he reminds you of a wet dog. Dripping wet, gratified of his gift-giving. Leaving raw meat that stinks of ammonia at your doorstep, handing you a shirt too-many-sizes too big for you. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging.

His hand is still extended. Above his mask, Simon’s eyebrows pucker as if he’s pouting. Like a kicked mutt, confused, and a little ratty. You feel awkward indebtedness eddying through you, so you snatch the jersey from him and slip it on jointly. It smells heavily of nicotine and pomade, slightly impairing you.

Satisfied, he nods. You think he’s going to say something else—there’s a little stifle between the flicker of his eyes and his jaw—but he doesn’t. Simon turns around and slams his door shut in your face. 

[ihtherik]

When You Bare Your Teeth It Almost Looks like a Smile

Pairing: Astarion x Female!Tav (not described)

Astarion’s POV

SFW/Fluff/Angst (seriously there’s no s€x here)

Summary: Set in Act 2 when the group begins scouring Moonrise Towers and Astarion and Tav encounter Araj Oblodra, the Drow blood merchant. She won’t take no for an answer, and learns why that is a very very stupid thing to do.

~3.2 K words

Bit of a deviation from the canon interactions/dialogue and what the outcome is because ummm little guard dog with her love that most certainly does doesn’t need one is a trope I LOVE and needed to vomit out a lil flash fic at 1 AM last night to perform catharsis help I also kind of made myself sad

I may get this posted on my AO3?

I also will post the next part of Turn My Heart to a Spade soon!!!

“Oh, but I’d prefer if you did.”

The sneering Drow’s reply to his assurances that he would not bite anyone doesn’t quite register for Astarion before she lets slip another gut-reeling string of words, this time directed at you.

“I assume he belongs to you? Judging by the way he’s clung to your shadow since you walked up…” her laugh is mirthful, the metallic smear of red around the blue-grey skin of her eyelids crinkling and cracking in her amusement. “It’s a truly remarkable boon, to have had a spawn at your beck and call during your trek through the Shadow-cursed lands. I’d be remiss and dishonest to say I’m not jealous.”

His pale brows furrow as an unfamiliar emotion hits him. Maybe unfamiliar isn’t right, but he’s been so long separated from it that encountering it again feels like meeting a stranger he’s all too wary of.

Much like how he felt when he met you.

Kind, generous, trusting, infuriating you.

Oh, how he loathed being proven wrong. Having his tried and true skills of determining who people are and what they want sidestepped, his—sometimes hastily drawn—conclusions about things tipped on their heads like a cat swiping a cup off a table. Mostly by you. Endearingly and maddeningly.

For Gods’ sakes, he is supposed to be the unpredictable, unreadable, unflappable one. It’s his armour. His sodding lifeline. When one is in control of their faculties and has only themselves to rely on, their ability to save themselves is entirely up to their skills, or lack thereof.

But you, you whose only purpose was to take a fall or stab (sometimes literally) for him, has somehow managed to get him to willingly hand over the one thing that could kill him.

His trust.

It had kept him from trancing, some nights, gnawing the inside of his lip to shreds while going over every possible scenario in which his trust could be wielded against him.

Yet thus far, you’d not only permitted, but encouraged him to hold the other metaphorical end of it.

Both in battle, and in his bedroll.

He wonders most days if you know. If you’ve caught onto what he’s now realized was a very poorly conceived ploy. He has to tell you, at some point.

There’d been a humbling, blind fierceness in every fiber of your being when you last drew your weapon for him—looking up at the devil Yugir as if he didn’t have his crossbow bolt aimed right between your glaring brows. You swung and hacked and sliced like it was your soul you were fighting for, not his.

You’d done more than received his trust, you’d earned the right to hold it.

And here he is, silently watching, pleading, mentally tugging on the other end like a child grasping at their mother’s shirt—hoping you feel it.

“He has a name,” your voice appears as even as ever to the average onlooker, and certainly to this Drow; but there’s a strain, a warning that Astarion can detect that, to him, feels like the gentlest tug back from your end on the rope.

“Is that so? How quaint,” the Drow tilts her head. Turning her attention back to him, she appraises him from his boots up to his curls with a gaze that makes that strange, ugly feeling swell again. “Do indulge me then, what are you called, spawn?”

“Astarion—but-hold on—“

“Well, Astarion,” the way her tongue flicks over every syllable of his name puts a crinkle of disgust on the slope of his nose. So unlike how you say it. Usually uttered, quick and delicate, the ‘Ah’ nearly clipped off—shortening it to ‘Starion. Familiar and sweet and warm. “I’ve dreamt of being bitten by a vampire since I was a young girl.”

His disbelief manifests in the way he stutters over his words, managing to compose himself into a semblance of his normal character by the end of his reply. “You—What? I’m sorry, You—you want to be bitten?”

“To feel your life’s blood slipping away? To dance between the edge of life and death? Yes, I want it.”

Though he’s already decided that this woman is, in fact, a stem short of a brain, the arrangement she proposes catches his attention. And not in any way that’s enticing. A likely dangerous and potentially faulty potion in exchange for drinking her blood is a shoddy deal at best, and a revolting one at worst. Her blood smells foul. Acrid. He can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, which only worries him more. Not a sort of sickly sweet smell of decay like Gale’s. Nor is it twinged with something medicinal like Halsin’s, or like the pleasant muddle of Shadowheart’s half-elven and half-human blood. And certainly not like yours.

Putting on all the politeness he can muster, which is already more than the Drow deserves, he replies.

“I will have to…erm, decline.”

“Excuse me?” The Drow scoffs, displeasure creasing the space between her brows. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you’re squandering it.”

“I gave you my answer,” he shocks himself with the lack of grace he speaks with, voice lowered and snarling. He used to be so good at evading people like her. What the Hells has gotten into him?

Tutting, the Drow turns back to you. “Can you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?” Addressing you like he’s not in the room, with scant more respect for you than she had for him.

Proving the Drow’s earlier observation right—as loyal as a bloody mutt—he looks to you, anxiety tightening the muscles over his stomach. The scenarios begin to churn in his mind, the worst among them not even that of you asking him to bite her to get the potion—but instead acquiescing his wants in front of the Drow only to reprimand or even punish him in some way later.

They come to a hilt as both he and the Drow await your move, holding his breath.

Then, you do something that manages to stun, relieve, and thrill him all at once.

You smile.

Though a half of a head shorter than him, and barely a few inches taller than the Drow, your presence seems to swell to intimidating heights among the three of you.

“My, you are slow on the uptake, Ms. Araj,” you speak with a lowered, gentle voice, one which commands the both of them to listen carefully—maybe even get closer, though at this point the Drow would have to have a death wish to get within stabbing distance of you. How dreadful, and disappointing, to Astarion; that the ominous and certain threat in your voice still yet seems to fly over the Drow’s head.

And how entertaining it will surely be to watch her pomp crumble in a few moments.

“My dear companion deigned to give you his name and answer, twice. I would pity the other acolytes and pilgrims here—if I cared for their lives—for the mere cruelty it is to converse with you in any capacity.”

Dear companion? Now this is new. And not…entirely unpleasant.

“I’m—sorry, I—“ the Drow’s poise wavers, though outrage still lines the edges of her voice.

“You will be sorry, if you do not shut your Godsdamned mouth while I speak,” you let the full fury of your voice be felt, though you have yet to raise it past what can be heard within five paces of the Blood Merchant.

As a meager credit to the Drow’s intelligence, she does snap her jaw shut. Astarion’s lips curl all the higher with each passing second.

“As I was saying—though I do not pity the acolytes here for the ordeal it must be to give you some form of station here, I think I have reason enough to remove you from it. For how you have treated my—for how you have treated Astarion,” your smile beams brighter, not a crease beneath your eyes to suggest you’re anything but seething. He realizes, in a way, you’re baring your teeth for him. The near possessive slip seems to loosen the anxiety in his frame, slightly. But your self-correction helps more.

“You may be a True Soul, but you don’t have any authority to—“ the Drow’s lips suddenly quiver shut again, but clearly not of her own doing. Astarion glances at you and his own tadpole wriggles as he feels yours come to life.

“I should have been more specific,” you sigh, your tadpole holding the Drow rigid. Brushing past him, you beckon with your finger as you move towards the balcony’s doorway across the room. The Drow begins to follow, feet shuffling awkwardly as the fear wells in her eyes. He’s not used to feeling planted to the floor, but for a moment he can only watch in gleeful disbelief at what you’re doing. He picks up his feet at the Drow crosses the threshold and slips out to the balcony with the two of you.

“When I said I had reason enough to remove you from your station, I meant that in less of a bureaucratic sense—I mean literally remove you from it,” you continue to hold the conversation calmly, one-sidedly, as you turn back to look at the Drow from the stacked-stone guardrail. You point and snap your fingers, gesturing to the one spot on this balcony where the stones have broken off and fallen down to the inky, boulder filled shallows at the bottom of the tower. The Drow moves even more resistantly as the psionic force from your tadpole urges her to obey, but eventually she stands at its edge.

“Tell me, Araj, would you like the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to feel what it’s like to fly? All you have to do—“ you lay a hand upon her back, just between her shoulder blades, giving her the slightest nudge. “Is step off.”

Astarion hears a strange, strained sounding humming, and realizes it’s the Drow trying to plead behind sealed lips.

“Oh—but it’s a simple exchange, really! And I’m a woman of my word. You step off, and I cast ‘Fly’ upon you. The only risk is if you fall too quickly, well—then my spell won’t reach you in time…and I’ve only seen it happen once before, but to fall from this height? Your body would pop like a champagne bottle thrown to the floor. Skin and muscle and bone will split, and all your warm guts and blood will burst and spray everywhere. What do you say? In my mind, it’d be plain idiotic to squander an opportunity like this.”

You turn back, meeting Astarion’s eye. Within yours, he can see a volatile mix ready to explode. Wrath. Outrage. A cruel hunger for revenge.

But even with those powerful emotions threatening to overtake you, there’s a tenuous thread of patience still wavering. Patience, and a question: that which asks for his permission. To not merely act or speak on his behalf, but decide whether or not to take this woman’s life for the affronts to his dignity and autonomy.

Indignation. Righteous indignation.

That is the feeling that’s been gnawing at him, the words for which he couldn’t recall until now. And it’s all because of you. Because you’ve refused to let him think of himself, talk about himself, treat himself, like a loaner to his own body and mind. Stepping off the wall, he approaches the two of you with a swagger.

First taking hold of a strap on the Drow’s armor, he then plants a steady foot on a piece of the stone guardrail to hold himself upright. Looking to you with a reassuring smirk, you step back, and with a rough shove Astarion sends the Drow’s upper half forward, dangling her precariously over the edge of the balcony. He lets her moan and protest wildly behind her teeth for a moment longer before nodding to you, and you release her from the hold of the tadpole. She takes a ragged gasp, as if preparing to scream, and he leans in to her ear.

“Now now, Araj, let’s not arouse any undesirable attention from the guards, hm?”

Stifling a groan of fear, her arms unsteadily pinwheel in the air as her feet try to find solid stone, and not the edge which Astarion has forced her onto.

“I think I’m feeling generous, so close to the overwhelming splendor of the Absolute—“ he mocks the name of the so-called deity that had proven itself a thorn in their group’s side thus far. “Whom, need I mention, blessed and deemed me a True Soul, just like my dear companion.”

Throwing a conspiratorial smile your way, it deflates only slightly to see your face set so tightly, all but trembling in anger. Not at him, of course. With a sigh, he tuts and yanks the Drow from the edge, throwing her to the stone floor of the balcony further in. She scrambles back from the both of you. Following her towards the door with unhurried steps, he tilts his head in the same mocking way she had before addressing her once more. “The next time someone tells you ‘no’, Drow, I suggest you not argue. You might not be so lucky next time.”

—

The two of you eventually reconvene with the remainder of your group, and after determining your next move you all settle within an abandoned wing of the tower for the night.

Neither of you relay what happened to the rest of your companions—and in turn don’t find an easy opportunity to address it with each other, until the others have gone to bed.

He finds you hunched over your pack, inventorying your potions yet again—worrying and fidgeting his hands and fingers as he approaches.

“I think we’ll come across more, we’ve not unlocked every door in this bloody tower,” he offers—sounding uncharacteristically optimistic. It betrays just how uncertain and uncomfortable he feels about what he’s actually come over to say to you.

“Ah, I know. Just a bit paranoid since we got here. We had our asses kicked out in Reithwin, then again when we took care of Raphael’s dirty laundry—and to walk in to that whole spectacle with Thorm? Gods above—“ you huff, coaxing a genuine smile to Astarion’s face. Finally you turn, rising from your crouched position with a tired, lopsided grin. It falters as you take in his expression, and Astarion worries he’ll collapse in on himself if you look at him for a moment longer like you currently are.

Like you’re concerned about him. Which you are. Like you care for him. Which you do.

Like you love him.

“Everything alright, ‘Starion?”

“Oh—yes, of course I’m fine-“ he stumbles over every word, his charming, easy, impervious shell cracking. “It’s just that…I feel—awful.”

You push aside your own exhaustion, giving him your full attention—of course you do. You ask him why. He’d almost rather pull his own fangs out than confess what he’s about to. But as you listen, as you take in everything he hurries and tries to explain or make excuses for, your expression does not change. Not for the worse, anyway. Those same shining, gentle eyes hold his, and make his undead heart swell. He makes sure to express his gratitude, for how you stood up to the Drow—but even more so for letting him decide.

“Well—yeah,” you sheepishly look down at your feet, scrubbing at the back of your hair. He almost can’t take it, how wonderful you are. “I wasn’t going to rob you of that satisfaction,” you joke. Sighing, you meet his eye again. “I was ready to kill her, Astarion. You know I was. But then… I wouldn’t have done anything for you. Not really. Who’d’ve been empowered if I’d done it? Definitely not you. So, sorry for almost doing that. I was…well, I was fucking pissed.”

He’s not sure if he can recall how to breathe. How could you be apologetic right now, when you were ready to defend him like some knight in shining armor? He came here to apologize to you, not the other way around.

“Hells, darling, I might find an opportunity to make you a villain yet,” he offers you a small smile, voice soft.

You reciprocate, your cheeks dusted with a blush illuminated by the few candles lit outside your tent.

“So, um…what you said—about forcing yourself through-does that mean our—erm,” you try to be so cordial, so empathetic, even though pain seeps from every pore at the implication of what he said.

“No—no, darling,” he rushes out, taking a breath. “Being…close to someone, it just…it was always something I did, had to do, to lure people back—for him. I—want us to be different. I know we are. But intimacy feels…” he struggles to articulate it, feeling your eyes on him even as his own flit around the shadows of the room. “…tainted. I just…don’t know how else to be with someone, no matter how much I’d like to.”

“I care about you, Astarion,” you murmur after a heavy pause, and he manages to find your eyes again.

“Really?” He asks, throat filled with a bubble of emotion that threatens to burst.

And where words failing him and the inability to wield his body would normally make him feel completely hollow—a useless husk of a man—the embrace your arms suddenly surround him in makes him seem…whole. Solid.

And unfortunately, capable of dragging him down to the depths of sadness and pain with how heavy he now feels.

However, your arms around him remind him that you’re there with him. That you will be there with him no matter what, Gods and Devils and Mindflayers be damned.

Astarion remembers how to use his own as realizes they’ve been merely hovering, outstretched, and hugs you back. You tighten around him, sighing into his shirt.

He closes his eyes, nuzzling his face into your hair, into the crook of your neck—looking for those places he’d be happily cradled in for the rest of his thus-far miserable life.

When you eventually pull back—Astarion’s hands linger at your waist, his fingers almost curling around your shirt to tug you back in.

“You’re—um-full of surprises,” he musters a shaky smile, which you reciprocate, warmly.

“I am yours until you tire of me, Astarion,” you offer half-jokingly, the gravity of which does not go amiss in his mind.

“Well, unfortunately for you, I don’t sleep—so don’t get your hopes up for being rid of me, darling.”

Your eyes crease, nearly obscuring your irises as you smile.

“I love you, Astarion,” the words are carried from your lips on a breath as it slips out—falling tenderly as a kiss to his ears and piercing as true as an arrow through his heart.

You can tell as much, stepping forward into his arms once more to squeeze his hand and reassure him. “You—you don’t have to say it back. I just want—need you to know that. In the event we die tomorrow or something. Very real possibility, given our dwindling potions.”

“Oh. Well. If we’re telling each other things we need to know, I suppose I should tell you how I’ve been building a stash of potions I’ve erm…borrowed from you, then. You know, clearing guilty consciences and all,” he counters, squeezing your hand back. “I’ll share them with you—as a last resort—of course.” You snort, and then fall into a fit of giggles that he’s dragged into all too easily.

After a considerable effort and a number of failed attempts to stop laughing, a sharp ‘Tsk’va’ uttered from Lae’zel’s tent nearby finally manages to silence you both as you slip into his tent, you staying awake only long enough for him to clear the bedroll of clutter and shake the blankets out.

As you settle your cheek on his chest, snuggled up to his side, his lips press idle kisses to your forehead and hair, desiring to commit your smell, warmth, and weight in his arms to memory.

He eventually slips into a trance—for once, one not filled with crimson eyes and shadows and death—but your sweet smile, laugh, and the way those three words he once longed to forget sound in your voice.

[moonstruckme]

Remus Lupin Drabbles (1/2)

page 2

☁︎ = headcanon ✩ = 18+, mdni ♡ = mae's favs

You make Remus a chocolate cake during a full moon ☁︎

He coaxes you into going to the hospital ☁︎

Remus with a reader who just needs to come out of her shell ☁︎

Remus x faux extrovert!reader ☁︎

Remus when you get dizzy spells ☁︎

Remus x flirty!reader ☁︎

Remus x cat animagus!reader ☁︎

Remus is the perfect fitting room boyfriend ☁︎

Remus is jealous ☁︎

You and Remus on Halloween ☁︎

Remus x Scamander!reader after a full moon

You teach Remus some French

Remus joins you outside in the rain ♡

Comforting aftercare with Remus ♡

Remus helps you with a tummy ache

Your Slytherin pals find out Remus is your boyfriend

You use Halloween to tell Remus you know his secret

Remus gets possessive before the full moon

Remus makes sure you get some much-needed sleep

You admit you want to kiss Remus (he's more than okay with that)

Remus x hearing impaired!reader when your aids are being fixed

Remus reassures you about your compulsive overchecking

Doctor!Remus when you're sick ♡ | cont.

Your boyfriend doctor!Remus heals your grave injury (small cut)

Doctor!Remus can tell when you're trying to power through

Apocalypse!Remus and you are lost in the woods

Apocalypse!Remus and you are attacked

He gets you flowers

You steal shy!Remus from his friends

Remus thinks you deserve better company

Doctor!Remus helps you with a panic attack

Doctor!Remus discovers you at his work

Roommate!Remus comforts you after a nightmare

You and shy!Remus give each other flowers ♡

Doctor!Remus helps with your fear of needles

Your boyfriend doctor!Remus goes soft when you're hurt ♡

Remus gives you a scalp massage

Remus gives you a beginner's guide to scar care

Your boyfriend doctor!Remus rubs your stomach

Remus really, really likes you (you're oblivious) ♡

Remus wants you with him always

Remus won't let you call yourself ugly

Remus is your first kiss ♡

Remus defends whimsical!reader from taunting ♡

Remus apologizes for snapping at you

Shy!Remus gets set up with whimsical!reader

You're loopy after surgery, and Remus is smitten

Remus comforts you after you do poorly on an assignment

Doctor!Remus comforts you when you're afraid of hospitals

Remus thinks your glasses are adorable

Remus is absolutely besotted with you (plus size!reader) ♡

Remus puts your hair up ♡

Remus comforts you when you're overthinking

You have a migraine, but your boyfriend is a doctor

You and Remus have a bookstore date

Whimsical!reader's first snow day after moving in with Remus ♡

Doctor!Remus when your medicine makes you feel gross

Remus is rude to you, and apologizes profusely

Remus helps when you go nonverbal

Remus and american!reader disagree about tea

Remus reassures you when you're insecure about your stutter

Doctor!Remus helps when your chest hurts

Doctor!Remus comes over when you're sick

You comfort Remus after a nightmare

Self-reliant reader goes subby for soft dom!Remus

Shy!Remus (reluctantly) introduces you to his friends

Remus comforts you when you're insecure about your skin

Doctor!Remus is casually dominant

You're nervous to get blood drawn, and your pretty doctor helps

You have a high fever, and your boyfriend doctor!Remus is lovely ♡

Med student!Remus practices on you

Doctor!Remus humors whimsical!reader's alternative health practices

You and Remus have a sleepy nighttime routine

Whimsical!reader wants to heal doctor!Remus

You're Remus' "fake" wedding date

Remus is your tutor, and you're his unwilling student

Grumpy!Remus x sunshine!reader

You make Remus share his cigarette

Doctor!Remus calms you when you come into A&E

Doctor!Remus dotes on a miserably sick you

You're scared of the future, and Remus comforts you

Doctor!Remus is protective when you hurt yourself

Remus sets you straight when you're being bratty

A doped-up you finds out doctor!Remus is your boyfriend

Remus is your emotional support eye candy doctor

You and your roommate Remus are cut from the same cloth

He's all you need after a long day

Rockstar!Remus kisses you soundly

You get flustered during an appointment with doctor!Remus

Remus sees your scars

Remus takes care of sub!reader feeling clingy after sex ✩

Soft dom!Remus is obliging when you're needy ✩

Remus is obsessed with your small boobs ✩♡

Remus finds out you like to be choked ✩

You help med student!Remus study anatomy ✩

Your doctor boyfriend gives you a breast exam ✩

[urhoneycombwitch]

breathe in the air

eddie x reader x steve. part i

foreword: this is part one/set up for a fic I’ve been chewin’ on. cw is for both parts and will get updated- no actual smut in this first one but please heed the tags anyway. +18 mdni as always. (@somnambulic-thing you inspired me to write from Eddie’s pov! 💖)

cw: smoking (weed and nicotine), R’s hair is mentioned but unspecified texture/length, also wears Eddie’s shirt, R has breasts + V,  Eddie and Reader are both varying degrees of stoned while performing sex acts (please be safe IRL and don’t read if that makes you uncomfy!!), pt. ii will have: voyeurism (Eddie and R fool around and Steve watches), blow jobs, masturbation, both the boys being Down Bad™️

wc: 2.5k (part i)

_____

The sun has sunk low over Forest Hills, Eddie’s room cast in deep blue where the golden path of his bedside lamp doesn’t touch.

He’s lighting up a post-sex cigarette, one of the best things this shitty world has to offer, in his opinion- second only to feeling your warm body against his; writhing and wriggling with pleasure, neck craned to let him lick the sloping sweat from your skin- or times like now, when you’re calm and satiated, nude under the comfort of sheets and the weight of your head on his chest.

Casting a hand out to shuffle blindly through the bedside table, Eddie wraps his other arm around the sleepy length of you, pulling you tighter to himself; your response a wordless, happy little noise. His hand deep in the drawer catches on a stray cigarette, then around the hard plastic of a spare lighter. With a sigh of contentment, he kisses the top of your head before bringing the filter to his lips.

Sparks catch under his thumb, cherry of the cig burning red- like some sort of sleeper agent responding to the click, you sit up with a jolt, stealing the mess of sheets upwards, exposing Eddie’s lower half to the cool air.

Eddie swears, startled- thinking you were almost asleep, he’d been nearly careless with the open flame- tossing the lighter aside, he reaches towards your back that now faces him. “Jesus, babe. Give a guy some warning before you snap to attention like a damn general.”

Thumb pressed to the notches of your spine, palm wide around your lower back, Eddie can feel the quiet giggle that shakes through your ribs.

 “Sorry,” you whisper once you’re finished, still staring at the far wall like you're trying not to break a spell. Your arms are crossed, sheets bunching around your chest- “Had a thought.”

“Must’ve been a good one,” Eddie muses, thumb following the line of your spine down, like he’s petting an oversized cat.

In true feline fashion your back arches into his touch, encouraging his palm to sweep up again, to your shoulder blade this time as you murmur, “I wanna go swimming.”

“Okay.” Eddie’s immediately agreeable, taking a long drag from the cig, letting smoke fill out the hollows around his lungs. “We’ll go to Lover’s Lake tomorrow. Heard it’s gonna be a hot one.”

Hawkins is having a record heat wave for the second summer in a row- as if all the damn underground monster shit and horrific earthquakes of last year weren’t enough already: global warming to top it all off. The sun has been merciless these last few weeks, peaking midday, nothing for it but to lie in a heated daze on the kitchen tiles of whoever’s house is the least amount of bitch to get to.

Not that Eddie’s complaining about you being half-naked most of the time. He thinks this is the year you might actually kill him, now that he can touch you, call you his- every curve of upper calf in those short shorts, every soft slip of stomach peeking out from cropped tops- he’s got enough spank bank material to last until his deathbed. (Which he’s decidedly allowed to joke about, since, ya know, the whole almost-dying thing last spring.)

Eddie moves on haptic memory to set aside his cigarette, searching pinky-out for the lip of the ashtray (ceramic, with a poorly-drawn Snoopy, the ears far too big- you’d laughed until you cried over it at the thrift store; he was fifty cents poorer that day but rich and dizzy off your glee). 

“No, not the lake. And I wanna go swimming now.” There’s a hint of petulance in your voice, walking the thin line of childish whine that only appears these days after you’ve smoked, tongue and desires loosened and lax with the help of the finest hash stash in Hawkins. 

There’s a smile threatening to split Eddie’s face in two. He’s been working at that hard-won wall of your solitude for ages now, showing rather than telling you it’s okay to ask for things, that you’re safe to make requests and hell, even demands, from him. Eddie’s not sure what he wouldn’t do for you, at this point- hasn’t found that line yet. Probably doesn’t exist.

A monster of my own design, he thinks, fondly, sweeping the hair from your neck so he can see the outline of cheek and jawbone, reflective with lamplit glow. “Baby, there’s nowhere to swim right now- it’s dark and that’s not real safe. Tomorrow I’ll make us some sandwiches- we can drive out to the lake, you can get stoned and I’ll play lifeguard.”

It’s probably too much to hope you’ve swallowed this bitter pill of compromise in silence, but based on the lack of response, it’s certainly possible. Eddie presses his thumb into the muscle where your neck meets shoulder, massage a silent apology for saying no when you’d been so good to ask. 

Crickets chirp in chorus outside, sound dampened by the glass window- he needs to open it soon, get the hot air out and night breeze flowing (though he is loath to replace the heady smell of sex wrapped like a cozy blanket around his room).

He feels you shuffle under his hand, eyes popping open to watch- you’ve tucked your chin over the dip in your shoulder, looking down the slope of your own nose at him, an expression on your face that makes Eddie’s stomach flip (with nerves, fear, excitement, hard to pinpoint exactly).

Your voice is quiet but steady when you speak, Eddie’s massaging fingers freezing to a halt when you say, “I know a place, open right now, with a lit-up pool. And a lifeguard.”

A thin tendril of smoke from the ashtray floats into Eddie’s vision as he stares blankly at the ceiling for a moment. Then he sits up, crushing the cherry into Snoopy’s wavered outline (sorry, pal) before brushing arms with you, patient and stern with a headshake to match- “No way, sweetheart.”

“Why-y?” That petulance is back, Eddie’s heart kicking up in response; it’s your turn to give the physical affection, winding your arms in a closed loop around his neck, forehead bumping against his jaw as he works it back and forth. 

His stitched-tight resolve quickly unspools as the wet plush of your lips track a path across his throat; he clears it before squeezing at your side again, one last argument to try and stick like cooked spaghetti to a wall. “You’re high.”

You snort, puff of breath sending goosebumps across his skin, rapidly cooling from lack of your affection- “Yeah, and you’re not. So you can drive us there, and then smoke again with me before we go in, and Stevie boy will keep us safe in that nice, heated, well-lit pool of his.”

Even as you speak, Eddie’s shaking his head, but it’s more in disbelief of his own weakness (namely: you). He slips a hand to your cheek, pulling back to take you in- mischief shimmering like twin stars in your eyes as you lock onto his gaze, lips parting pliant when his thumb swipes at your bottom lip. 

“You gonna behave yourself?”

It’s less of a question and more of a check-in, the meaning behind the words an undulating variable, a riddle with a thousand different answers.

The one you do give is complimented by a wicked grin, punctuated with a quick kiss (awfully chaste, considering your bare front pressed against his), your mirthful delight at having won both unsettling and tantalizing.

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

With a sudden push to his chest, Eddie goes down easy for you, hair spreading riotous across the pillow as you move with shocking fluidity to throw a leg over his hip. Your hands meet in the middle of his chest, just under the rippling ink of a crow in flight, settling your weight comfortably on his stomach. 

Eddie’s sure you can feel his pulse, jack-rabbit fast, as you dip to kiss beneath his jaw. His hands automatically settle on your hips, grip tightening with each loving kiss you scatter over his collarbones, his sternum.

He’s half-hard under the sheets by the time your lips find the hitch of his ribs, stuttering and expanding to meet your mouth- can’t be faulted, really, not when your bare chest gleams in the low light, the top of your head imploring for the warmth of his wide palm to rest. 

Just when Eddie thinks he’s in the clear, that the call of your needs (evident in the slickness pooling just under his navel where your naked cunt rests) will drive the call of your wants to distraction, you sit up again, using your planted hands as leverage to swing completely off and away.

The coldness of your absence is cruel and unusual punishment. Eddie groans, scrubbing a hand down his face, deciding right then that he won’t be above begging tonight- when you suddenly reappear with a clean beach towel in either arm, pulled from the bowels of his closet.

There’s youthful, honest enthusiasm to your movements- something that’s catching, apparently, ‘cuz Eddie’s tipping himself out of bed with a resigned sigh, pulling boxers over his flagging dick and answering your spree of questions about these new evening plans.

“Sure, bring a water bottle. No, babe, we don’t need sunscreen- it’s night. Yeah, I’ll bring more weed. How ‘bout you bring me that old shoulder bag and we can bring some stuff with us.”

As you work on digging through the mess of a combined closet to find something suitable for swimming, Eddie folds the two towels that you’d found along with a baggie of joints into the bag. You’re humming under your breath while getting dressed, and Eddie’s staring at all the leftover space- what does one pack for a nighttime high swim with one’s girlfriend and the guy you’ve both sort-of mentioned threesoming with?

He tosses in a well-loved edition of your favorite book of poems, figuring the Harrington abode will have plenty of snacks. Food for the mind, he thinks, then snorts at his own joke. 

“C’mon, snorty.” You beckon from the doorway, an old t-shirt of his just swishing past the dark strip of your bikini bottoms, van keys held aloft. 

At the front door, there’s a brief argument about coats (you think you’ll be fine without, Eddie disagrees vehemently) which Eddie wins, wrangling your arms into the sleeves of his oil-stained work jacket before locking the front door behind you both.

Eddie smiles, a secret, pure thrill watching you tiptoe gingerly across the gravel on bare feet (too stubborn to actually wear the sandals that hang from either hand). His coat is bunched up around your ears while your legs poke out like some sort of winterized bird with bare legs. 

There’s a bright pang of love that suddenly hits hits sideways, a dizzying urge to sink on denim knees to the ground, sharp rocks be damned, just to kiss the tender spot behind your knees, to feel the hill of your calf under his tongue…

Your giggle breaks his reverie, impatient and pointed jiggling of the locked passenger handle clunking out into the quiet park. “Quit staring, weirdo. You coming?”

Hope so, Eddie thinks, spinning the key ring in looping arcs around his pointer finger. He bypasses the porch steps completely, boots hitting the gravel with a satisfying crunch. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Your cheery mood is sustained during the short car ride as you chatter animatedly about some coworker drama that you forgot to catch him up on, Eddie’s hand drawn like a magnet to your upper thigh while he drives. 

But by the time he’s pulling the van next to Harrington’s beemer, your eagerness has waned, speech drifting off into silence once he’s parked. 

“Hey.” His voice draws you back to him, a bit, your eyes too wide and roving for his liking, coat sleeves clenched around opposing fists as you hang onto his words. “Sweetheart. We don’t have to go inside. Can go anywhere- diner for some food, back home, the damn trash heap for all I care. Just want you to feel safe.”

“I do,” you counter, earnest but chest still punching a fast rhythm. “I feel safe. I just… you think he’s even awake?”

There’s a yellow glow coming from one of the second-floor windows. Your fingers twist harshly around fabric in the dark, breath loud. 

Eddie nods, then kills the engine and grabs behind his seat for the Ziploc of pre-rolls, an offering held to you between two ringed fingers. “Want a bit of Green Courage before going in?”

The van windows are soon fuzzily obscured with a haze of smoke, sprinklers for the pristine lawn nearby hissing to an automated start at the turn of 11 PM. The weed coaxes your earlier state of relax to the forefront, this time with an added layer of giggles, which Eddie finds desperately cute. 

He’s sure he’s high now, too, ‘cuz he’s unintentionally focusing really hard on your lips as you speak, and you’re letting him, corner of your mouth quirking when you ask, “Gonna take me inside, Munson?”

“Uh huh.” An automatic response, just so he can keep staring- when you pop the handle of your door open Eddie reaches, faltering before landing on your face, cupping the tilt of your cheek- “Meant it. Earlier. Just say the word. Take you anywhere.”

Weed fragments his speech but you melt with understanding, leaning into his hand, your lashes sweeping sweetly at the bridge of his thumb as you whisper, “Okay.”

You’re out the door and he’s left scrambling in the wake, hauling the strap of the packed bag over one shoulder and snapping up your forgotten shoes from the footwell. He locks the doors (nevermind that this is a nice neighborhood, can’t trust rich people farther than he can throw ‘em and Eddie has always been better at running over shotput on field days) and hikes it across the grass to where you stand, a beacon of beauty under the porch light.

“Ready?” he asks.

Your bare foot- flecked with wet grass- trails up the back of your opposing leg, veins at the whites of your eyes spidering pink with anticipation (and the fresh joint) as you turn to smile at him. “Yeah. Bring it on.”

“Your wish, my command,” Eddie says, winking, knuckles pulled into a fist to rap at the front door of one Steve Harrington. 

___

[END: PART ONE]

[m00nsbaby]

Do you want me (dead)?

Jake Lockley x F! Reader.

Tags & warnings. College AU, no mentions of Marc or Steven, explicit, +18, oral sex (m receiving), cum eating, no use of y/n.

Word count. 3.5k

Summary. He was childish. Unbearable.

It was as if he had a magnet to you, always bothering you, finding a way to ruin your day in some manner. 

You were going to kill Jake Lockley at any moment.

You decided not to blame anyone else but yourself for your bad mood. It had been a conscious choice to only get two hours of sleep due to your sudden desire for a movie marathon by yourself.

You didn't have many friends; you exchanged words with a couple of people, if you were lucky. On any given day, you would arrive, attend class, and then spend the rest of your time alone somewhere else. So, on a Wednesday morning, you could afford to rest your arms on your desk and hide your face there, dozing off until the class started.

Or at least, that was the plan.

"Cariño." If you were a cat, that single word would have been enough to make your fur stand on end. You didn't even bother lifting your head to see who was by your side.

He cleared his throat louder. "Cariño."

When you raised your hand to show him your middle finger, he smiled satisfactorily. Jake was content with getting even a gram of your attention. There was a personal pleasure in getting under your skin, as if his day got 200 times better.

"Did you sleep well?" He was going to keep pushing until he got more from you. "I slept amazingly, actually. Last night, I found a video where..."

"I'm not interested, Lockley." You growled, finally raising your head.

"There she is." You wanted to wipe that cocky smile off his face with a punch. You could only hope that one day he would annoy the wrong person, and someone else would take care of the dirty work. "As beautiful as always."

"I hate you."

"Ouch, my heart." He placed a hand over his chest, still smiling.

"Go to..."

"Good morning, everyone!" You nibbled on your lower lip to avoid screaming over the professor about how much you wished a truck would run over Jake Lockley.

At least with this, you were free of him for the next three hours.

It wasn't long before a poorly folded note landed on your desk.

Hey :)

With your index finger, you pushed the note, letting it fall to the floor.

Heyyyyy!!!

The next one also landed on the floor.

Hey, hey, hey, hey

You caught a glimpse of what looked like a poorly drawn cat. Next paper to the floor.

You didn't even bother opening the next one.

"Professor?" Hearing him speak again made you lift your gaze, wondering what nonsense he would come up with this time. "We have a trash bin in the classroom for a reason, right?" As he said this, he pointed at you and then at the papers on the floor.

"No, no, no! I didn't..."

"You two again?" The professor pressed the bridge of his nose with his fingers as he sighed heavily. His gaze landed on you almost immediately. "Get out of my class."

"But..."

"Out." After a few seconds of silence, you realized he was serious, and you had no choice but to make as much noise as possible with your belongings while standing up.

"Go to hell, Lockley." You said loudly, eliciting a collective 'uhhh' from the group. If you were already in trouble, it was better to have a good reason.

"You're staying for..."

"Detention, yes, yes." You growled as you slammed the classroom door.

You could still feel Jake's gaze on you, along with his triumphant smile. You didn't cross paths with him for the rest of the day.

It seemed that the next day fate was on your side because there were no signs of life from him.

Classes passed as boring as ever, in fact, even more so now that you had no one to argue or talk with. 

It was quieter without him around. Well, the good side was that you were finally free to go home.

You had no choice but to cross the edge of the football field to leave school. Both hands were in your pockets, and you had your earphones on. You were almost thanking God for getting through another day without Jake Lockley.

Almost.

At the last row of stands, there was someone. It wasn't uncommon, and you would have done your best to avoid them, except this time you recognized who it was even with his face hidden in his hands.

You rolled your eyes when you realized you couldn't even have a single day of peace.

Fortunately, not even the sound of footsteps caught his attention. In fact, it left you more intrigued how loudly he was breathing. Perhaps today was the day he finally crossed paths with the wrong person and got put in place.

You shrugged to yourself and kept walking, but your chest decided it didn't agree with you.

What if something had happened to him? Was he crying?

"Keep walking, keep walking, keep walking," you thought to yourself when your legs wouldn't move any further.

Ugh.

You retraced your steps.

"Are you okay?" It came out in a stronger tone than you would have liked.

When he lifted his head from his hands, your stomach churned. You always thought you'd enjoy the day someone finally gave Jake Lockley what he deserved, but this felt horrible.

He nodded silently when he realized it was you.

There was a cut along the bridge of his nose and another on his eyebrow. Blood was flowing from one of his nostrils and reached his lips, all on top of a black eye.

His response should have been enough for you to continue your way, but...

"You don't look good."

He laughed, not genuinely, but one of those laughs you give automatically when someone tries to cheer you up in the worst moments, even though you weren't joking.

"You should've seen the other guy." You didn't smile.

He was a jerk, even in this situation.

You hesitated a few seconds before making your decision. You took a seat next to him on the stands, close enough for your leg to brush against his.

You were silent for what felt like an eternity. Jake didn't even bother to look at you, but at least he wasn't hiding in his hands anymore; he was watching the field as if the grass were the most interesting thing on planet Earth.

"Can I see?" you whispered after a while.

"Huh?"

"Your face. Can I see?" He finally turned to you in silence, and you did the same, daring to look at him. If you noticed any hint of him about to give you that stupid smug grin he always had, you'd make him regret it even more.

But no. Those huge brown eyes were fixed on you as if he were a lost puppy.

You used your right hand to gently hold his chin, lifting his head slightly to search for any other injuries. Fortunately, there didn't seem to be more than what you noticed at first glance.

You pulled the sleeve of your sweater enough to cover part of your hand, which was such a light shade of pink it could pass for white, though you didn't care as you used the fabric to wipe away the blood running from his nose.

If only you had been aware of how Jake's heart was racing.

You licked the fabric slightly to dampen it when you noticed the blood had started to dry.

"Is this why you didn't go to class?" You tried to fill the silence that was starting to make you nervous.

He nodded without saying anything more. You never thought you'd wish to hear his annoying voice.

"Was it a fight?" Another nod. Well, knowing there was no one else bothering him was enough to give you some relief. You kept cleaning. Under his nose and upper lip. The wounds looked less dramatic without so much blood.

"Done."

He licked his lips, cleaning off any remaining blood. You adjusted your backpack on your shoulder when you finally stood up.

"It's late, Jake. Go home." you whispered. You didn't care if it seemed like you were talking to yourself. You didn't wait for a response before walking away, or at least taking two steps before his voice stopped you.

"Hey." You spun on your own feet to look at him. "Thanks, cariño."

You smiled; you couldn't have stopped it even if you wanted to.

"See you tomorrow." It was the last thing you said before continuing to walk.

And yes, you did see him the next day, against your will.

The following days were torturous for both him and you, as Jake set out to annoy you in new ways.

He asked you at least 4 times if you would spend some time with him after school, like a date or in any situation. He simply took your concern for him as a way of saying, "Maybe I don't hate you as much as you think."

You were on the verge of exploding.

You were tangling the cable of your laptop when you noticed a silhouette in front of you. You didn't have to look up to know who it was.

It was just the two of you in the classroom now that everyone had left.

"What do you want, Lockley?" You didn't look up as you packed your charger into your backpack.

"I want to know if we can hang out after school," his tone was firm, more than usual.

"I already told you, Jake, in how many languages do you want me to say it? Fortunately, it's the same in Spanish or I doubt you'd understand," you were not in the mood, not today, not now, and especially not after having rejected his invitations several times before.

"I just want to buy you an ice cream, cariño. Or do you prefer a smoothie? A frappe?" The poor guy was desperate.

"I don't want anything." You finally turned to face him with a frown, adjusting your backpack on your shoulder.

"¿Por qué tienes que portarte como una idiota conmigo?"

"I understood it, you enormous jerk!" Your voice rose almost immediately as you pushed his chest to keep him away. "We're not friends, Jake, we're nothing. I can't stand you, and you can't stand me either. What happened the other day was just some human empathy."

Your index finger kept hitting his chest again and again as you spoke, your frown remained deep.

In Jake's eyes, you looked nothing more than an annoyed kitten, hissing when someone gets too close.

"So leave me alone, seriously, because I swear if you keep this up, I'm going to..." You couldn't continue speaking because his lips were on yours, devouring them like a starving man.

Your eyes opened in surprise just seconds before you succumbed to his delicious taste of mint and cigarettes. Your hands slowly traveled up his chest until they reached his shoulders, which you held onto when your legs weakened.

It wasn't fair that he was such a good kisser.

He moved forward slowly, guiding you until your body was pressed against one of the walls of the classroom. His hands were hooked onto your waist as if you were going to run away at any moment.

You had no intention of doing that; your mind was genuinely somewhere else. However, after eliciting a delicious moan from the guy in front of you by biting his lower lip, your thoughts were momentarily disrupted.

"Please, hermosa." he whispered with a husky voice as his kisses trailed down your chin. "Please, just one date."

You couldn't hate him more. How could he do this to you?

Your eyes were closed as you tilted your head to the side, guiding Jake to your neck. You nodded without saying anything.

A moan escaped your lips when you felt him bite your skin, sucking with enough force to leave a mark.

"Fuck, Lockley," you whispered with heavy breaths as he pulled away from your neck. That stupid cocky smile. Ugh.

"Then I'll see you this afternoon." You hated him. Really, you hated him, just as much as you hated his ridiculous and soft lips now coated with your strawberry-flavored lip gloss.

"Fine." You wished your mouth had expressed what you felt, but your body was acting faster than you."

He picked you up in his car, and you would have preferred to jump out of it while it was still moving than admit that there was something about being in Jake Lockley's car that made you feel... special, especially after hearing him call it 'baby' more than once.

The car smelled like leather, cigarettes, and his cologne.

"You look beautiful." You rolled your eyes with a smile as he got in on the opposite side of the car.

"Thanks, Jake." If you were going to spend so many hours together, the least you could do was try to make it tolerable for both of you. However, you remained on guard for any stupid remarks that might come out of his mouth.

"So, ice cream?"

"I love the vanilla ice cream from McDonald's."

"McDonald's it is, then."

Was it because it was him, or were you just easily impressed to feel delighted with an invitation for a one-dollar ice cream?

"Are you going to tell me why you got beaten up the other day?"

"I didn't get beaten up." He rolled his eyes as he placed a hand on your seat to look back, reversing the car.

Oh, that was...

Oh.

"Well." You imitated his disgusted gesture. "Why did they fight you then?"

"It was over something stupid. Can we talk about something else?"

"And what could you and I talk about?"

"About school?"

"Boring." When he stopped at the drive-thru, you remained silent, smiling.

"Two vanilla ice creams, and... do you want something else?" Was this what it felt like to be the passenger princess?

"Fries."

"And some fries."

"Have you ever eaten fries with ice cream?" You asked as he drove forward to receive his ridiculously small order.

"Together? No." He frowned as he looked in his wallet for the exact 3 dollars to pay the girl at the window. "That's disgusting."

Receiving your ice cream made you confirm that this was what it felt like to be a passenger princess.

"Or maybe you just have terrible taste." You also received the fries.

You would have never imagined that Jake Lockley's idea of a date was sitting in his car, chatting and eating fast food, but you weren't complaining. He was doing an excellent job of making you feel comfortable.

You didn't even notice when the sun set, and the McDonald's parking lot emptied, leaving just the two of you.

"Jake? They'll worry at home, it’s late."

"Sorry, cariño! I didn't even notice." He quickly started the car, and you laughed because you would have never imagined that a guy like him would care about what your parents might say.

You sighed heavily as you got back into your seat. If only the day lasted longer.

And if only the way home was longer.

He opened the door for you just as he did when you got in, and you smiled in thanks. You turned on your heels to face him after stepping onto the sidewalk; you needed the extra inches to be able to look him in the eyes.

"Thanks for driving me," you whispered as he took a step closer to you.

"You're welcome, cariño."

"And thanks for the ice cream."

"You're welcome, cariño." he repeated, trying not to laugh.

"And the fries." His hands found your waist as he pulled you closer, keeping you on the edge of the curb.

"You're welcome, cariño." He finally laughed before leaning in just enough to leave a chaste kiss on your lips.

"See you tomorrow." Another kiss, short and gentle.

Both of you went to bed with the most ridiculous smiles on your faces.

You were looking around nervously, feeling a pit in your stomach at the mere idea of running into Jake. How should you approach him this time? Did you want to deal with the curious stares from your classmates?

Well, you didn't have to look for an answer because a hand pulling your arm took you out of your reverie. Before you could react, you found yourself locked inside the janitor's closet, and once again, you were about to kill Jake Lockley.

"Jake... What the fuck?" You said with almost disappointment. Just when you thought he couldn't annoy you any more.

There was no response from him. The only thing you got from him was the most desperate kiss you had ever received. His tongue was exploring every inch of you while you tried not to knock over the stack of mops and brooms next to you.

"I missed you," was all he could say between kisses. You wondered if he had always been this intense or if it was his strange fixation on you.

You pulled away for a moment to catch your breath, looking at him. Bright brown eyes, flushed cheeks, and lips now pink from kissing you.

Maybe you didn't hate him as much as you had sworn.

"Can you lock the door?" you whispered, looking at him with your lower lip between your teeth. Maybe it would be fair to give back some of the mistreatment you've put him through lately, while he looks at you with so much admiration.

Maybe he deserved it.

He stretched out a hand to obey you, when the 'click' resounded in the small closet, your hands immediately went to his jeans, you unbuttoned them without looking away.

“¿C-cariño?"

"Shhh, do you want to get caught?" You questioned with a smile that nearly made Jake faint.

You pulled his jeans down enough to free his erection, still covered by his boxers. You gathered saliva in your mouth before running your tongue along it to moisten his underwear, all without taking your eyes off of his.

He exhaled heavily causing a smile in you. You licked over the top of the cloth again a few times before slowly lowering his boxers.

You swallowed when his cock was in front of your face.

"What is it, hermosa?" He questioned with a mocking smile when he noticed the surprise in your expression.

"Shut up." You rolled your eyes as you spit into your hand to hold it. You licked its entire length again from base to tip.

You aligned it to your mouth with your hand while your lips were in charge of leaving wet kisses on the head, not caring that your lips were being stained with pre-cum.

"Hermosa." Jake repeated, his voice shaking. You already knew what he wanted but your habit of bothering him was always present in you.

"Yes, Jakey?"

"Please."

"Please, what?" You looked up at him as you traced little circles on his slit.

“Put it in your mouth. Please please please".

“You are adorable when you ask properly.” You gave a small laugh before obeying him. You took a deep breath in through your nose and you pushed it into your mouth in one movement, to the point where you felt it hitting your throat.

“Carajo.” He whispered breathlessly and finally placed a hand in your hair. He held a few strands in his fist and pushed you further against him, to the point where your nose collided with his abdomen.

You'd have to fix your makeup when you got out of there.

And although your eyes began to water, you didn't move away or make any fight to push him, first dead before letting yourself lose. After a few seconds he released you, letting you take a breath and sniff.

"Do you want to kill me?" You whispered laughing as you licked your lips.

"It seems to me that you are the one who wants to kill me, hermosa." His fingers squeezed your chin before pulling you back against his erection.

It didn't take long for you to open your lips for him, taking his entire member into your mouth for the second time.

Your gaze was still fixed on him.

"Are you going to swallow it all, mi amor?" With teary eyes you nodded, your hands resting on his thighs. "Buena chica."

Both hands went to your hair to keep you still. You obeyed and opened your mouth wide for him, even sticking your tongue out from under his cock so he could move freely.

He thrusted into your mouth without an ounce of mercy, you could feel your saliva run down your chin to your neck. When his movements became more frantic you knew he was getting closer.

The heat in his lower abdomen had him covering his mouth with one hand trying not to make any more noise.

One more hard thrust and Jake came. His hot cum ran down your throat as there wasn't enough room in your mouth to keep it there, it shot straight for you to swallow.

"Are you okay?" You questioned with a smirk as you wiped your chin with the back of your hand.

"Better than okay, cariño."

Hey :)

A note appeared on your desk, making you roll your eyes before laughing softly. You uncapped your pink pen to write underneath the horrible handwriting.

Hi! ♡

You filled in the heart before placing the paper on Jake's desk. You even winked at him when he looked surprised to receive a response.

Vanilla ice cream after classes?

And fries too? :)

[howtofightwrite]

One of my characters is forced to kill one of their childhood friends to save a bunch of people and I'm wondering how quick (or painful) can you make their death with just a knife? Thanks for your input!

I'm not sure exactly how fast a bleedout from a severed femoral or carotid artery is. In the former, we're talking less than a minute, in the latter, death occurs within seconds. Being able to reliably open the artery you want does require a bit of anatomical knowledge, so getting the most value out of a knife isn't something that any character would automatically be able to do.

As for how much it hurts, I dunno. Neither one is particularly high on my bucket list, so I'm content on leaving that as a question mark.

From personal, subjective, experience, the condition of the blade has a bigger impact on how much it hurts. A clean, and sharp blade, fresh from the factory (or carefully sharpened and honed) will hurt less than a poorly maintained blade. In the latter case (or, with cat claws, as I was recently reminded), you can feel the foreign object catching and ripping your skin. It's an unpleasant sensation, and, far more painful than a clean blade.

In fact, my most painful laceration experience came from a hose attachment that came apart while I was using it, and ended up getting jabbed into my thumb. As a safety measure, if you find yourself in a situation like this, turn off the water beforetrying to repair the attachment.

In contrast, the scar on my right index finger was almost painless. It was a brand new knife, which I fumbled. (Specifically it's double bladed, and the handle is a little too short for my hand. I accidentally knicked my left hand on the base of the fore-blade, and instinctively, flicked it away, gashing my off-hand.) At the time, I didn't even feel the cut, and then saw what I thought was a small welt... before it started bleeding. There is some truth to the cliché about not feeling a cut when it occurs, but the blade needs to be in immaculate condition for this to occur.

How painful can you make it, intentionally? This is not going anywhere pleasant, but I'm not sure there's a limit. That's not sarcasm. There is a point where too much pain can cause someone to slip into shock and die, but, for someone with sufficient sadism, there isn't really a limit. The problem is that a knife in an experienced and knowledgeable hand can do horrific things to someone without killing them. If the point was to inflict pain and suffering, that could be drawn out for day. Probably weeks.

As for the scenario, I have reservations. I'm reading a lot into the way you phrased the setup, but there is something very artificial and, more than a little cliché, about the villain strong arming a protagonist into violating their morals. Particularly on ticking bomb scenarios.

In a lot of cases, neither side really gets anything of value out of the interaction. The villain gets a tiny bit of room to wag a finger and say, “we're not so different now,” but, really, they would have done that anyway. And the hero gets to have a chunk of their credibility chipped away, for no real benefit. In this case, I specifically mean their credibility with the audience.

The reason I say that is because this is a downright inhuman thing for someone to do. Kill someone who you presumably care about, or save the lives of five thousand randos. One of these things is an abstract concept, and the other is a person.

Now, the problem is, for you, both are abstract concepts. Your hero's childhood friend is not a real person to you. They are, at best, a simulacrum, but one you know is fake. Similarly, the mass casualty event is something you also know is fake. Even more so because you have already chosen the outcome. This means that, for you, this is a simple trolley problem. However, the evaluation would be radically different for your character. In situations like that, it is possible they'd elect to kill their friend on the basis of there being fewer casualties, but that kind of cold calculus is borderline monstrous.

This doesn't mean that you can't create a compelling scenario where a character ultimately needs to put down their friend. But, it is a deceptively difficult scenario to credibly engineer, and even then, can frequently result in massive plot holes. So, it can be done, but proceed carefully.

-Starke

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[mothervonmayhem]

Battle of the Bands

Hobie, Miguel, Gabriel, Gwen and 1st person pov OC / MC

New Adult magical realism AU (obvi) brain worm that has grown from a 2-shot screenplay for some fun comics into a monster. This fic is like Tremors in my brain.

The summer before college MC, Gabriel O'Hara, and Miguel O'Hara go on an international road trip with their metal band, Neon Requiem. Destination? BandFest, the Battle of the Bands in London guaranteed to secure the winning band a record deal. They meet other ATSV characters along the way.

No mention of Y/N / Reader, written from 1st person POV. Self-insertion is made easier by fewer details about the MC.

Notes on language: Tried my best here, if you are a native speaker of French, let me know if the MC's French is unnatural and I will love you forever.

Romance, angst, and poorly understood music concepts are often written as having a distinct visual component because I am an artist first. <

@pinksugarscrub @the-kr8tor I DID THE THING!

*******************************************************************

Chapter 1 - “Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l���oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire”

The Rusty Nail's neon whir and raucous rhythms had been muted to a melancholy hum that evening, it was a ghost town, the emptiness of the dimly lit bar echoing with decades of unfulfilled longings. I nursed my drink, letting the smoky burn of liquor etch contours of quiet contemplation onto my throat as I surveyed the handful of kindred souls keeping solemn vigil. Life had been feeling heavy, and I needed to write, to make art, and to get lost in music.

At the far end of the bar hunched a beautiful wraith, his slim, angular frame sheathed in torn denim and studded leather. Something indefinable shimmered around him, unsung poetry, snippets of melodies, a symphony I could see and hear and almost touch. Drawn like a moth to the lambent glow of the music, I slid onto the stool beside the ethereal punk spectre. In my mind's eye, I crowned him the prince of punk, a fairy tale rebel.

Our bodies brushed intimately in the cramped space, raising ghosts of sensation along the exposed skin of my fishnets. "Wozzat, luv?" he murmured, kohl-rimmed eyes flickering over the point of contact with a soldering heat.

Mon dieu, {My God} Had I spoken my admiration aloud? A flush crept up my cheeks as I scrambled for a response.

"Désolé. Je répétais quelque chose pour ne pas l'oublier… Need to write it down before I lose it," {Sorry. I was repeating something so I wouldn't forget it…} I mumbled, a flimsy excuse for my wandering mind.

Fumbling through my bag ,I pulled out my tattered notebook, fingers trembling as I scribbled down a scrap of verse inspired by the punk's incandescent presence beside me. I scribbled my observations in hasty strokes. The dying light of day bled into night, a liminal space that begged for a soundtrack. I could almost hear it, a melody just out of reach, shimmering in the smoky air.

"The liminal light of late afternoon, yawning into early evening…" I muttered, pulling on the strings of the melody, trying to draw it back to me. "I don't want to be loved for the things that I don't do. I don't want to be just a pretty face, I want to be a work of art…We are all just works of art."

The jukebox fell silent, making my mutterings around sift and strange, slightly unhinged---but the punk prince remained---his gaze heavy on my skin. I met his stare, unflinching. Unabashed curiosity flickered in eyes, wide brown and doe-like, framed by lashes so lush they seemed to blur the line between masculine and feminine, earthly and ethereal. I found myself dizzied by warring impulses - to flee this unsettling intimacy, or be consumed by it wholly.

He was a changeling, gorgeously androgynous: part punk Mona Lisa with a Cheshire cat grin, part Jean-Michel Baptiste, part force-of-fucking-nature. He made me feel like a background character in his story, could be a punk fairy princess, and I would be the dragon. My thoughts raced, fragments of poetry and half-formed desires. I scribbled faster, chasing the threads of inspiration, but a nudge from my prince brought me back to earth.

Snatches of poetry, raw and unfinished, that I urgently longed to refine on the page before they dissipated like the last wisps of smoke in a spent ashtray. But the punk's aura dragged me too deeply into devotional reverie. I glanced up apologetically as my concentration scattered, the thread of inspiration slipping through my fingers once more.

The bartender had sprouted up directly in front of me, and she eyed me expectantly. Her hair was a shock of blue curls and silver streaks shorn close to her scalp, it made her eyes seem more gray. Her skin etched with lines that mapped out the years like a roadmap. I felt the familiar pang of a poem lost to the ether.

"Un…Jack Daniel's, s'il vous plaît," {A…Jack Daniel's, please} I said, no longer able to filter its lilt from my words, as I wasn't paying attention to dulling it.

"Blimey, that's a proper choice, innit? You 'ere for the battle of the bands event this week, love?"

"Oui, how did you know?" {Yes, how did you know?}

"Just a…sense," he demurred with a wicked grin. "Call it a punk's intuition, darling. I'm in the mix too, y'know."

The bartender chuckled as she set my drink down. "You mean because everyone is here for Bandfest? Don't listen to this one, lovey, he's incorrigible. The crowds will be in later on, but you're a bit early."

"Shh, Roz. Who's up tonight?" The prince asked, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Oh, you want insider information? What's in it for me?"

"Givin' away free tattoos, could autograph yer arm, love."

"I'll pass, thanks. The brackets are up in an hour anyway. It's Night Terrors vs. Death Rapture, Blood Prophecy vs. Cherry Bomb, Spider Punks vs. Neon Requiem…"

"Why are the punk bands going up against the metal bands?" I asked, just as the prince inquired about Phantom Pulse.

"There wasn't a lot of quality competition this year, or that's what the sponsors said, so they automatically advance to the semifinals since they won last year."

"Bollocks!" The prince cried, his outrage palpable.

"Oi Punk, you don't want to sign with Vic Luna at Zenith Music Group, anyway."

"Tu…ne le fais pas? Mais pourquoi?" {You…don't? But why?} The words tumbled out, my curiosity getting the better of me. At her blank stare, I repeated the question in English, heat rising to my cheeks.

Roz leaned in, her voice low, "Look kid, it's complicated…"

The prince rolled his eyes, a sneer playing at his lips. "Betrayed a lot of good bands."

"You don't need to remind me, Punk, I lived through it. Despite the changes at Zenith Music Group, they still organize the annual Bandfest, which showcases both established and emerging talent in the punk and metal scenes. The event is highly respected within the community and provides a platform for bands to gain exposure and connect with fans," the bartender continued, her words stilted, rehearsed.

"Ay, and they are the sponsor bringing in your crowds." The prince's voice was sharp, laced with an emotion I couldn't quite place.

"The only time we're out of the red, punkass. We'd have to shut down if it weren't for the Battle." She said heavily, "Which is the greater evil, we are a place of refuge for several members of the community, not just you."

"You don't need to remind me Roz, I'm living through it. Right, I'll stop ragging on the corporate sods for now, until you have some plausible deniability." He raised his hands in mock surrender, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

"There's a good Punk." Roz smiled, sliding him another pint before retreating.

I made a mental note to warn my bandmates about Vic and Zenith's sordid history. We were in this for the music, not the money, no one played metal for the money--but it never hurt to be cautious.

"Roz is like the den mother of the London punk scene, a living testament to grit and resilience, and screaming yourself hoarse at basement shows. Dream t'be like her when I grow up. To listen without judgment, offer advice without preaching, and know when to slide a shot of whiskey across the bar and when to cut you off. She has a way of looking at you, really seeing you, like you matter… like you are more than just another face in the crowd." His voice trails off, heavy with emotion. He blinks and shakes it off.

"Can I see it?" The prince's voice cut through our lost thoughts, his fingers reaching for my notebook.

I clutched it to my chest, a knee-jerk reaction. "Can you look into my very soul, like Roz?"

His smirk widened, that Cheshire cat grin that set my heart racing. He nodded, a challenge in his eyes.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he purred, and I felt my stomach flip. I repeated the phrase in my mind, first in French, then in English, just to be sure I'd heard him right. Wasn't this some flirty idiom?

"You have a book of poetry somewhere hidden in those skinny jeans, mon ami?" {my friend?} I ask, hesitant, double-checking his meaning. He flirts like others breathe.

In lieu of an answer, he produced a sharpie from thin air. Before I could protest, he had my arm in his grasp, his touch electric against my skin. I shrugged off my leather jacket, baring my arms to his ink-stained fingers. Roz chuckled as she set another drink before me, clearly amused by the prince's antics.

"You'll need it…I see you took this wanker up on the free tattoo offer. Don't let him draw any on your arms."

"Any? …Any what?"

"Wankers," she clarified with a laugh. It clarifies nothing, I need to study my British slang.

"I would not mar the flesh of such a beautiful and willing participant, Roz. Kindly fuck off," the prince mumbled around the sharpie cap clenched between his teeth.

Between the verses he scrawled, he peppered me with questions, his voice a giddy whisper.

"So, who's your poison, love? Which bands get your motor runnin'?"

"Ah, j'adore Rammstein, Gojira, et bien sûr, Motörhead. And so many others, doesn't even scratch the surface. Et toi?" {Ah, I love Rammstein... And you?}

"Proper choices, those. For me, it's the classics - Sex Pistols, The Clash, Buzzcocks. Real raw, in-your-face stuff, y'know?"

I leaned in, excited, but too close. I nearly jumped as my lips grazed the dusky shell of his ear. "Ah, un homme de bon goût! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, c'était incroyable!" {Ah, a man of good taste! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, it was incredible!}

"No bleedin' way! Metal chick like you? I'd give me left bollock to have seen the Sex Pistols live. But I did catch The Clash back in '07. Changed me life, it did."

"Lemmy, sans aucun doute. The man's a legend!" {Lemmy, without a doubt.} I declare into the bar.

"Oi, don't go disrespectin' Johnny, now! The bloke's a punk icon, 'e is!"

"You're a punk icon!" someone shouted from the back, but the prince waved them off with a grin.

"Oh, I didn't catch your name," I said, with a sudden shame, my brow furrowed.

"Everyone just calls me Punk. You can too. Just not dirty punk, we don't want to come to blows, do we, love?"

"I'd kick your ass, mon ami. Pas grand chose à donner, mon petit prince des fées… eh mon prince dégingandé, right? I would not describe you as petite even if you are skinny." {I'd kick your ass, my friend. Not much to give, my little fairy prince… eh my lanky prince, right?}

Miguel was at my side in an instant, all rippling muscle and furrowed consternation. "Carnalita, {little sis} why did you sneak out on practice just to drink in this hellhole?" he rumbled, disapproval lacing every sonorous word. Tenderness faded a bit.

I met his gruff chiding with an insouciant toss of my hair. "Salut, Miguel. Ça fait longtemps." {Hello, Miguel. It's been a while.}

"Is that Jack? No puedo mas… Carnalita…This shit is bad for you." {I can't take it anymore…little sis...}

"Je nais etre rond comme une queue de pelle. Tu es vraiment un trou de balle quand tu dis des choses pareilles!" {I would be round as a shovel handle. (Idiom, essentially she is saying ~ I was born to be drunk) You are really a dumbass when you say things like that!}

Miguel's grumbling stream of Spanish reprimands washed over me as I settled into our familiar dynamic - the tender yet terse cantata of friend and protector that had composed them score of our relationship since childhood. For all his bluster, I knew every arrhythmic cadence encoded Miguel's steadfast affection.

Only Gabriel's soft interjection could salve the rising discord. "You worry too much, Miggy. We've been practicing all week."

He cast me a plaintive glance, silently pleading for conciliation, and I grudgingly obliged with an internal eyeroll. "Qu'il aille se faire! C'est vraiment chiant tu te rends compte." {Let him go fuck himself! It's really annoying, you know.}

Heedless of my saucy french asides, Miguel merely drew a fortifying breath before continuing in that maddening timbre of unrelenting reason. "Gabri and I could have come out with you. You shouldn't go out alone in an unknown city - it's not safe for you, mi carnalita."

The prince leaned towards us with a lazy smirk, "S'not that serious. The Rusty Nail is safe enough." He paused as the bartender snorted in agreement before continuing, "We're keeping the lady safe, mate…you can trust me, I'm one of the Spider-Punks."

Miguel simply sneered at the prince's proffered handshake, dismissing it out of hand. "You have arms like sticks. How would you keep her safe?"

The punk's smirk widened as he shrugged. "Ah, one of those. Never skip leg day, eh bruv?"

I strangled a guffaw as Gabriel hastened to run interference, engulfing the punk's hand eagerly. "We've heard of you guys, the local punk band, yeah? Your drummer is…gahh…Ah-Mazing! You think we could meet?"

"You call that punk noise "rock"?" Miguel scoffed. "Metal is where the real skill lies…Real talent is in the complexity, the technical skill. Metal pushes boundaries, takes you to new places. Punk's just three chords and an attitude."

I rolled my eyes. At this rate, I'd have to drag Miguel out before he started a brawl.

"Ah, mais non, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, non?" {Ah, but no, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, right?}

Miguel grunted, but squeezed my hand.

I stood, motioning for him to lean in close. "Allez, let's save the competition for the stage, d'accord? I learned some things about the record company. We should talk in private." {Come on, let's save the competition for the stage, okay?}

The prince unfolded himself, towering over me. "Tell you what, mate. Let's settle this on stage. We'll let the crowd decide who's got the real chops," he challenged.

Gabriel chimed in, "Pero, mana's right, Miguel." {But, sister is right, Miguel.}

Miguel looked ready to explode, but Gabriel's eyes held him in check.

"Music's music. Let's just focus on putting on a good show, and maybe we can learn something from their band, eh?" Gabriel said.

The prince leaned in, lips grazing my cheek. "Aye, love. Can't wait to teach your wall of meat here a thing or two. How about we give 'em a show they won't forget…later?"

I grinned, "Oui! A collaboration? Here… Ça ne casse pas trois pattes à un canard…mais, pour vous. I want it back later." {Yes! A collaboration? Here…It doesn't break three duck legs (Idiom ~ It's nothing special) …but, for you. I want it back later.}

The lanky punk sauntered off, his studded boots leaving faint trails of glitter on the barroom floor. Miguel's scowl deepened as he watched him depart, fists clenched tightly.

"Is that your poetry notebook?" he growled, voice rumbling low.

"Yes, I traded it to the punk faerie for these tattoos, I smirked, revealing the vine-like scrawl of ink now adorning my flesh like raised scars from whipping brambles.

Miguel's face darkened further, storm clouds gathering at my words. "The one you never let anyone touch or read…"

His voice strangled to a whisper, and I could not parse the complex calculus of emotions flitting behind his eyes

Gabriel placed a calming hand on his brother's arm.

"Easy, hermano {brother}. He's not worth it," Gabriel said in a soothing tone.

"Be nice, Punk is a good guy. I like him," I countered softly, a warm glow blossomed within me as I realized my entire arm was now a crawling garden of sentences entirely in French.

Miguel opened his mouth, undoubtedly to unleash a heated retort, but Gabriel cut in, "Should we go look at the brackets to see who we're facing?"

"It looks like my entire arm is covered with quotes from The Little Prince, which happens to be my favorite book. It's actually quite a sweet gesture," I said softly, fingertips grazing the raised words like treasured runes.

With renewed curiosity, I examined the ink quote now etched on my skin: "Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l'oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire." {You are the master of your life and your emotions, never forget that. For better or worse.}

I didn't mention the lone scrawl that could have been a phone number hidden amidst the literary foliage now vining my limb. Miguel was in full-on Dad mode, and I didn't need to add fuel to that particular fire.

"I already know the competition for the quarterfinals, we don't need to waste our time. Come on, manos {used as slang for brother}, we're going to kick some ass!" I giggled brightly, elated at my new 'tattoos' scrawling up my arms. I didn't put my leather jacket back on, I didn't want to cover any of it up.

Miguel's glare never wavered, his eyes fixed on the far side of the bar where the prince had disappeared into the crowd. "Don't tempt me. Let's go, carnalita {little sister}, time for practice."

With a resigned sigh, I surrendered to my brothers' insistent tugs, allowing them to lead me from the Rusty Nail. But the punk prince's parting words still reverberated through my mind like the lingering notes of a siren song. Later, he had purred, that single hushed syllable seeming to contain all the intoxicating lure of a siren's call - equal parts velvet promise and brazen challenge, twined inextricably into an enchantment I could not resist. The whole damn bar was a sailor's nightmare.

[j4mboree]

as much as i like cutesy sweetie lil guy petey who has been given god's hardest battle i wish we could like do something more than that as fandom. like petey can be more than just a sad little guy who gets bullied alot. how about we make him look decrepid, make him look like a little freak cat whos been dumped into a bat of freezing cold water, make petey scary. people dont stray away from making jimmy and gary look weird and unnerving but what about petey? why is he confined to this position of always just being the cute one. like make him a lil thing creature who looks like hes going through it i need more lil thing petey please pleaseeepleasee.

heres a visual representation of my idea ft. my hc petey design, poorly drawn ik

the first one is fine tbh, its representative of peteys appearance on the surface, a lil guy whos sad alot of the time aw mannnnnnn :'( hes so sad and pathetic!!

the second one is interesting imo. he looks like an animal that just crawled out of its hibernation burrow /affectionate. like it really showcases the internal disposition of petey that he could be feeling to put it simply. i think he should be tired, and miserable looking

i would love to see somebodys depiction of petey and its like petey but he looks like hes been stomped on 15 times ran over by a train, and double tapped. cuz to put it plainly bullworth is literally the worst school ever and petey is most likely one of the main targets of bullying for literally anyone. give him eyebags to indicate he cries alot, give him a slouch, make him look tired, let him fidget with his hands, bite his fingernails, pick at his skin. this kid is the worlds most specialist little guy that routinely gets nothing in return from it i love him.

another thing is that petey is just like this desperate little freak. like he has no friends and doesnt really hang out wit no one cuz he doesnt feel like he fits in with anyone else. hes pretty socially awkward and only hangs out wit jimmy and gary cuz he wants to feel included by others and have a semblance of friendship even if they mistreat him. i feel like the second one really illustrates that, not to say that being socially awkward and having no friends means youd look like that but you get the jist.

so in conclusion i think more people should draw petey like this

[beebeewoop]

SLOPPIN IT UP TAKE 2 BECAUSE YEAH 💥

I drew mine and my friends' ocs as Evil Hall again because they're my new favorite blorbos now and I'm posting it because I wanna 💪 if you haven't read Tally Hall vs. Evil Hall (created by @salad-006) I really think you should because it's great and the guys are kinda super silly

Anyways I'm going bonkers

Spoilers for like the lastest chapter methinks proceed with caution

Starting off with the least glonked up fellas we got

Moore (belongs to @arthurisveryrandom) as Evil Zubin

Bro just look at him... He's so sad... Covered in paint... He looks traumatized... Moore is a wet cat confirmed Arthur told me so himself /JJJJJJJJJJJ

B (belongs to @shim0nk) as Evil Andrew

Bro's swaggin it up in here look at him all chill like that... Even tho he got burnt to a crisp... But it's ok because he's a robot he can't feel pain and his melted latex skin peeled right off he's ok guys don't worry. Burmnt chimnken nunghet... Also get this man on a billboard because whatever he's selling I wanna buy it I mean just look at him wouldn't you also want to buy what he's selling he seems trustworthy ykw I think I'll give him my credit card info and social security number /JJJJJJJJ (PSA: DO NOT GIVE OUT YOUR CREDIT CARD INFO AND SSN ON THE INTERNET 👍)

Pardon my goofy ahh rambles... It gets worse from here

Below the cut are the slightly more glonked up fellas...

//bonked up robots or something exposed wires n shii

//blood but it's green evil robot ooze and poorly drawn

//technically decapitation BUT IT'S FUNNY TRUST ME 💪🥺

Lucius (belongs to @rose-is-fucking-cold) as Evil Rob

Ambrose keeps calling him cunty and I can't disagree... I think everyone should draw Lucius in high heels like right now. Also I'd be mad too if I got my head chopped off like bro now I gotta carry my head around or tape it on... Smh my head. But at least he has high heels those are pretty nice I mean just look at him... Slaying... Here king you dropped this 👑 but good luck keeping it on since you can't even keep your head on Lbozo skill issue (I am so sorry /gen) (I am sleep deprived) (I am mad at Tumblr still) (Tumblr hates me) (I am taking my anger out on Lucius 🙁 /hj)

Fartlord (belongs to @stromboli-muncher) as Evil Joe

It's everyone's favorite ! The man the fart the guy himself ! Eyeless. Well missing one eye because the birds took it. He got attacked by birds this is so tragic can we get an F in the chat guys one like = eye patch for him 👍

And last but not least...

Rosebush (MY guy 😋) as Evil Ross

Bro's mad... Fuckimg chrunchy... Listen I'd be pissed too if I fell down an upstairs escalator and came out looking like this... Like zoinks Scoob ☹️ (Well actually he got PUSHED... 😳) Pro tip: don't fall down upstairs escalators even if you're a dream demon robot you're not invincible to escalators those things are terrifying LIKE HAVE YOU SEEN FINAL DESTINATION????? Yeah never again... Escalators are also a no go. Just use the stairs... EVERYDAY is leg day 🦵🦵

And that's enough of that... El oh el ecks dee ✌️

[birindale]

Catra looks into ecoterrorism. Perfuma learns about stranger danger. The Netherlands are canon, I guess.

Transcript/Image ID below the cut

[Image Description: A cover and 14 comic pages from the She-Ra mini-comic, “A Most Unpleasant Present”.

Cover: Starburst She-Ra stands in a fairly small meadow of flowers, smiling at Flutterina as the latter lands. Perfuma stands between them, also smiling. The Princess of Power logo takes its customary place at the top of the page, while the title of the issue breaks from tradition and sits directly below it, reading "A Most Unpleasant Present" in violet, with a whisper of a black border surrounding it. At the foot of the page, on a wavy-striped green strip, the copyright info reads "Illustrations: (copyright symbol) Mattel, Inc. 1985. Hawthorne, CA 90250 U.S.A. PRINTED IN TAIWAN. All Rights Reserved. (registered trademark symbol) and TM designate U.S. trademarks of Mattel, Inc." Which is actually a little weird, because this is issue 8 and was released after Fishy Business. I guess they weren't necessarily produced in the order they were published in but huh. Huh!

Page 1: A pale lilac caption box reads, "Never was a garden in Etheria more lovely than the Laughing Swan Inn's. Perfuma tended her flowerbeds with care. Where a flower had bloomed and faded, she quickly planted another. Dainty lady's slippers and sweet candytufts, bright Dutchman's breeches and soft buttercups—each flower was a lovely work of art." Great, now the Netherlands are canon. 

Perfuma is walking through a garden with a basket of flowers in her arms. The artists don't share in the writer's proclivity for flowers, as they've taken the names literally and drawn literal lady's slippers, a pair of jorts overflowing with flowers like a scarecrow that's been chopped in half, and several flowers full of hard candies and candy canes, which is double stupid because candytufts aren't even named after candy (It's from Candia, former name of Crete's administrative capital). Which isn't to say the writer knows all that much, because those flowers would do pretty poorly if subjected to identical conditions. But perhaps Etheria has some kind of magical ability to filter its sunlight and soil drainage for individual flowers. Behind Perfuma is the Laughing Swan Inn, which is shaped like a giant pink swan. So I guess this is another of those things Mattel and Filmation had distinct designs for. 

End Page 1. 

Page 2: A pink caption box reads, "A bustle in the hedgerow took Perfuma by surprise. Looking up, she found a pretty cat-woman was standing at her side." Perfuma meets eyes with a sly-looking Catra, who's in her Scratchin' Sound Catra outfit, sans mask and gloves. Catra is emerging from a flower bed that might once have been a hedgerow but certainly isn't now.

"My my! Your flowerbeds are beautiful this time of year," says Catra, grinning with a little too much tooth.

"Won't you plant these seeds too? They're a special gift," she says, holding a neatly wrapped present out to a pleased Perfuma. It's wrapped in yellow paper and a blue bow. 

End Page 2.

Page 3: A pink caption box reads, "Perfuma quite unwittingly obliged. In an instant, pigweed and poison ivy sprang up everywhere! She found herself trapped in a tangle of briars with no hope for escape!" A startled Perfuma raises her arms and looks down at more plant names taken literally, with several shrubs sprouting pig heads and skull-and-crossbones blossoms. Poison ivy and pigweed are both used to refer to a series of weeds found primarily in eastern North America, especially further south. They're prickly and tend to snag, and of course poison ivy is an allergenic, irritating the skin and causing rashes, but neither of them has thorns so I wouldn't really use the term 'briar'. Like you're going to be pretty itchy and covered in seeds for a while, but you could simply walk out. 

"Soon all Etheria's gardens shall look like thisss!" says Catra, grinning again. 

End Page 3. 

Page 4: Oh, I see. This and page 3 form a two-page spread. Catra is standing on the other side of a meadow of weeds, arms held out and away from her body as if she's basking in the light of the sun, her face lit up with an exultant smile. There are more skulls and pigs heads around her, plus a few evil-looking fiddleheads that vaguely resemble ram horns. 

"Full of weeds… wonderful weeds!" says Catra, gesturing at her handiwork. Girl it was one seed bomb this is hardly guerilla gardening. 

End Page 4.

Page 5: A pink caption box reads, "Flutterina watched from a second story window at the inn. Spotting Catra, her face darkened. She knew she had to fly to Crystal Castle for help." Flutterina is standing on the world's smallest balcony, like I think as small as one can be before it stops being a windowsill. But it looks OSHA-compliant, so good for Thaymor. Perfuma and Catra are visible in the field of weeds below her. 

"So, Catra's up to her old tricks! I must get help quickly," says Flutterina, flying towards the Crystal Caslte.

End Page 5. 

Page 6: A pale purple caption box reads, "Spotting Flutterina in the air, Butterflyer took wing to meet her. Breathlessly, the young girl revealed Perfuma's plight. Her words echoed through Crystal Courtyard as Princess Adora listened secretly." So Butterflyer (usually called THE Butterflyer) was a carrying case released with Wave 2 of the toys. In-universe she was discovered by She-Ra in 'the beautiful caverns deep beneath Crystal Castle' sleeping in a cocoon and woke her up, whereafter she carried She-Ra and her friends around Etheria.

The illustration shows Adora watching Flutterina land in what's apparently called 'Crystal Courtyard', where Bow and a very green Mermista receive her. Like, her hair is green, her outfit is green, I literally wouldn't know this was Mermista aside from the necklace and seashell bodice. It doesn't help that (the) Butterflyer is nowhere to be seen despite being featured in the caption. 

A pale purple caption box reads, "She knew they would need her help. So she drew her Sword of Protection and said…" Adora holds the hilt of the sword, just in-frame. 

"For the honor of Grayskull…" says Starburst She-Ra, transforming with her arms spread wide, "I am She-Ra!"

End Page 6. 

Page 7: A pale pink caption box reads, "She-Ra leaped between Butterflyer's wings and beckoned her friends to join her. "Quick, everyone! We must help Perfuma stop Catra from ruining the beautiful gardens!" She-Ra said. In an instant they were airborne, heading for the Laughing Swan Inn." Oh good, we're back to quotations in the caption boxes. Bow and Mermista seem to be riding comfortably astride (the) Butterflyer, while She-Ra is like… floating alongside her? Her right hand is resting on her, but her left arm is held out and away from her body, while her legs float in free space. Flutterina flies along behind the Butterflyer. Mermista's hair is closer to teal than green on this page, so we're getting there. The Crystal Castle recedes into the distance behind them, sitting atop a beautiful pink mesa.

The Butterflyer is slightly smaller than her toy, proportionally speaking, being only about twice the size of the figures here. She's all pink, including skin and hair, though it's lighter and darker there, respectively. As a toy, her skin is a pearlescent white almost the same color as She-Ra's outfit, and her wings are a different, more flexible plastic, used as handles to carry the figures around. This picture is slightly off-model, as it shows the Butterflyer with her arms held back against her side aerodynamically, whereas the toy has them clasped in front of her and holding a white butterfly. She also has a different neckline; the toy has a scoop neck with a patterned border and the picture features more of a poorly-defined feather look. It's also sleeveless, instead of the elaborately patterned opera glove/sleeve combo of the toy. We can't even say they were keeping it closer to the Filmation design, because that one doesn't HAVE arms. 

End Page 7.

Page 8: Catra swoons extremely dramatically as a huge flower emerges from Perfuma's back and emits a large yellow cloud. A pale purple caption box reads, "Meanwhile, Perfuma had used her magic sleeping power to put Catra in a deep sleep. But she knew her power was only temporary and Catra would be awake soon." The skulls and pig heads are still there. 

"Oh my, I must have dozed off! Your power is strong, Perfuma, but not strong enough!" says Catra, who's awake again, after a single panel.

"Oh no… here comes She-Ra!" says Catra, looking mildly concerned.

End Page 8. 

Page 9: A pale purple caption box reads, "Down, down Butterflyer dived. Perfuma grabbed Bow's arm and off they flew leaving Catra behind in the brambles." Okay but if you just wanted to escape why not do it for the 5 seconds she was unconscious? I thought the idea was to stop her from seed-bombing the whole planet. Bow is floating off the side of the Butterflyer now too, his arm wrapped around Perfuma's waist to lift her to safety. Mermista and She-Ra are beaming at him. She-Ra has her sword raised ineffectually and Catra is seething in the meadow below.

"You butterbrains! Flee before you feel my fireweed at your feet!" says Catra, hurling what appears to be a flaming dandelion after them instead of the pioneer species also known as rosebay willowherb and bombweed. This time it seems not to be intended as a literal reference, at least.

End Page 9. 

Page 10: A pale purple caption box reads, "Mermista quickly put out the fireweed. Caught in the spray, Catra ran for cover. Swooping down, Butterflyer made a perfect landing at the Laughing Swan's front door." The Butterflyer smiles at a small explosion, as Mermista shoots a jet of water from her necklace at the fireweed. Mermista, Perfuma, Bow, and She-Ra are atop the Butterflyer, and there's a pair of butterfly wings behind Perfuma so I think the implication is that Flutterina is now, too? 

"Hurry, everybody! We have no time to waste!" says She-Ra, gesturing for her friends to spring into action now that they're all on the ground.

End Page 10. 

Page 11: A pale pink caption box reads, "She-Ra and her friends worked quickly to save Perfuma's garden. Bow began pulling weeds, but Catra hurled a tumbleweed that sent him sprawling. Waist-deep in tarweed, Mermista was helpless to stop him. Perfuma was certain Catra could not be stopped, but She-Ra had a plan." The princesses look on in mild concern as Catra gleefully throws a gross, fleshy, hollow orb at Bow. Honestly it looks like the mace of a nutmeg, without the nutmeg. There are still pig heads and skulls and such around everyone. The Laughing Swan Inn looms in the background but does help balance the composition a bit.

"It's time to give Catra a taste of her own medicine!" says She-Ra.

End Page 11.

Page 12: A pale purple caption box reads, "She-Ra sent Perfuma inside the Inn. When the girl returned, she held two tiny seeds—one in each hand. She-Ra told Perfuma she must trust the magic of the Sword of Protection and gently waved it over the girl's open palms." Perfuma looks down at her palms, held face up with a seed in each, as She-Ra holds a very short-looking Sword of Protection over them and lifts her other hand as though casting a spell. The sword and Perfuma's hands glow with sparkling purple magic. 

The seeds, about the size of blueberries, are coated in a golden light.

They grow larger, more the size of cherries. "Why, look!" says Perfuma.

They grow larger, now the size of kiwis. "The seeds have tripled in size!"

End Page 12.

Page 13: "Now quickly, Perfuma! Throw the seeds at Catra's feet!" says She-Ra. 

A pale purple caption box reads, "Huge snapdragons and dogwood sprang from the ground—their bark worse than their bite. Catra quickly darted away, quivering with fright." A dog-headed plant barks at Catra, while three 'dragon' plants snap. Catra looks apprehensive, rearing away from them but not yet running. Perfuma and She-Ra watch from the background, smiling wide.

End Page 13. 

Page 14: A pale purple caption box reads, "Perfuma's eyes were full of tears. Catra was gone indeed, but she had left her weeds behind! She-Ra gently spoke to the girl with words both wise and kind. "Catra plays some nasty tricks; but we can help you make your garden pretty again. Perfuma, I think we can all learn a lesson here!"" Is it the lesson that semicolons function as conjunctions and as such you should never follow it with a second? No? Just that you should always take plant names literally? 

She-Ra puts a consoling hand on Perfuma's shoulder. 

"Oh, yes! I know now that it's dangerous to take gifts from strangers," says a crying Perfuma, in the orange-ish red of recent morals.

"Come on everybody and pitch in! We have work to do!" says Bow, holding a hoe. 

End Page 14.

End ID]

[cherry-dr0p]

Want some OC lore nobody asked for? I gotchu!!

Sam Blyth ~ More about their species, powers etc.

Introduction / General info ;

Sam Blyth is a Non-binary half angel (they go by They/Them). They are the youngest sibling in the Blyth family (Andrew Blyth being the oldest). Sam has always been known for being quite shy, struggling to communicate with most people and being overly emotional with crying over the most minor inconveniences. However, Sam has grown up to be "the angel of nature", with their willingness to help the nature around them, especially animals! Sam has a soft spot for animals, and always has had it. They can approach and take care of animals with ease, and believes all creatures should have a life and be protected, even the ones who have a tendency to be more harmful!

Sam has always lived in the "shade" as such, with their older brother Andrew taking up most of the spotlight most of the time with his charisma and general extroverted behaviour. However, Sam doesn't mind as much not being in the spotlight, as it allows them to do their own thing. Though it can spark some form of jealousy with Andrew always being the favourite, even having the chance to be famous as a human. Sam lives with their older sibling Andrew from when they were 6 years old, and always has done ever since Andrew and Sam's mother gave Sam to Andrew. They both have the same mother and different father.

Their main hobby is fashion design - making funky outfits and clothing items. They hope to make this their job one day, hopefully gaining traction over it. They usually dress in their own styles, like cottagecore, fairycore, ethereal, and more! Their favourite colour is pink, so they dress mostly in that colour! However, they also like to dress in lighter blues, purples, white, and perhaps even yellows (basically more muted/lighter colours)! They have an obsession with strawberries in general, so expect to see strawberry patterns on their clothing/accessories, strawberry themed decor, and more! Despite their love for all animals, cats are their favourite.

Sam's face under the hair at the side of their face ;

Sam is canonically half angel, half shadow creature. A shadow creature is a species I made up years ago - around age 12/13.

A shadow creature is a creature that has shadow-like skin and unique powers and/or other attributes that are special to them. They also mostly survive off of their souls being in gems (in which souls are a huge part of my OC lore), which can be located anywhere. They can have any amount of gems, but they mostly have 1-2 gems. Shadow creatures' existence are mostly frowned upon due to Discord being the king of them, so they are mostly believed to be evil. However, in contrary to popular belief, they aren't actually all that evil - not all of them anyways. In contrast to angels meaning to be good, or demons meaning to be bad, shadow creatures are meant to have a mixture, some good, some bad. They are mostly creatures who haven't been located in heaven or hell (purgatory if you will). (Discord used to be a shadow creature before turning into a demon)

The first photo is to showcase that Sam is actually half; with their genes being mixed up as their mother is an angel and father is a shadow creature. Technically they were only meant to take one and be fully angel or shadow creature - as thats how things usually work in my universe - but somehow, Sam managed to take both and become half and half! Their gems are located; two behind their tears (hidden) and one in the cape they wear in their full shadow creature form (which will be visible in a later photo) ◇

Phase 1 / 2 (minor phases) ;

These doodles look poorly drawn but you get the memo

Phase 1: Normal Sam. Their symptoms of being a shadow creature mostly are not visible (only beneath the hair that covers the side of their face). This is when they are in a positive/normal mood. However, being simply sad or angry does not provoke their symptoms to work up to phase 2. It has to be extreme emotions.

They dont have a tail during phase 1; only a halo, wings, and shadow creature like features under their hair that covers side of their face; so they mostly look like an angel and unless you peek under their hair (which Sam will hardly allow), they will look like your average angel.

Phase 2: the shadow creature symptoms are a lot more visible. These can include growing a feather like tail as shown above, shadowy skin spreading, seen experiencing stronger emotions like seething anger or distraught emotions for example, and usually seen to always have tears in their eyes (especially the shadowy side of their face).

Phase 3 (The final phase - uncontrollable) ;

Finally, last but not least...

Phase 3: The final phase. Now, Sam hardly ever reaches phase 3, once in their life I reckon. This is when Sam is at their strongest (strongest in my universe in that case). Their powers become out of control, and their shadowy skin takes over them fully, turning them into this "abomination". They grow out of control with their powers, having the ability to create large natural disasters (for example) unprovoked. Like I said however, theres no need to worry as theres only one instance where Sam has gotten so furious that this has happened. It's usually quite difficult to calm Sam down from this much emotion (it has to be extreme EXTREME emotion for Sam to get this far), but it is possible.

Their symptoms include;

☆ Shadowy skin taking over their whole body, turning them into this shadow-like abomination where their skin begins to melt.

☆ Their hair grows to a long length, usually braided.

☆ Turquoise horns grow (I know the horns above look more green but shhhh).

☆ They have a mini cape now. As well as the gems covered by their tears, they now have one attached to the middle of tje cape as shown.

☆ Their feathery tail grows longer than phase 2.

Extras ;

♡ Now, as already mentioned, Sam has their own weapon they can make appear for however long they wish (as all supernatural creatures like Sam can in my universe), in which Sam can make appear from as little as phase 1. Phase 3 gives a clue, but its a lavender bow - thats their weapon.

♡ Sam has been told by their big brother Andrew since they were younger that they were to keep their magic in check from a young age, so they weren't allowed to use their magic (mostly, it was more lighter ones that could easily be controlled that Sam could use) and they were shielded from the outside world from a young age, thus, they were homeschooled by Andy. This is where Sam realised they had the ability to communicate with animals, and when they learned that they were the angel of nature.

♡ Sam always defends and looks after animals, even animals like tarantulas, snakes, tigers, rats, all of them!! However, they also defend all sorts of creatures too, even the more frowned upon ones like demons.

♡ WILL cry if you yell at them. Please do not yell at them.

♡ They have tiny wings and a small halo to signify how important theyre viewed by the public(folk in my universe) in terms of the tale, in contract to Andrew having a huge halo and huge wings to signify his importance.

♡ They LOVE flowers (honestly, same)

♡ They are always the best dressed at the event. Like 99.5% of the time

♡ Completely unrelated, but the outfit in the first photo was an absolute NIGHTMARE to draw. Had to repeat "trust the process" to myself so many times before I actually continued.

Anyways!! Thats Sam for you!! In conclusion; Sam is best lil fella.