#scratching the wood with his nails... NASTY

[amymbona]

Probably the nastiest shot from the whole movie

[mcondance]

another tim + his dorm fantasy lol ☆ reader is able to be fucked against a wall ☆ he’s described as “way taller than you.” matthew is 6��4 so tim is 6’4.

bf! tim and his unbelievably good dick. he fucks dirty and he fucks well, pretty face twisted up at the feel of you around him.

against his door is how you take it, how he gives it to you this time. strong from years of hockey and fueled by a love for this, his ruts and thrusts and the way he fucks you right is normal and routine.

your hands curl in his tee with something nasty printed across the front, nails almost ripping holes in his shirt. he wouldn’t care if you did, cause it’s his style, of course, but also cause he can wear it around, getting compliments and odd looks and only the two of you know what the rips came from.

always needing and wanting, you kiss him as best you can with him rocking you against the cold wood, hands on the sides of his face and just barely scratching at his box blonde hair. messy and wild, tongue and spit and overshot kisses that land on each other’s cheek or nose half the time.

broad and strong, way taller than you, he’s a pro at picking you up and drilling into you exactly how you both need it. you whine raggedly from deep in your throat, letting his deliberate strokes bang you against the door, throwing your head back and moaning to the sky. it’s almost too much to be getting pounded like this, and it’s everything.

his boxy tv playing an old rerun of living single, loud conversations passing outside his dorm room, the city buzzing just outside his window, and the two of you, enthralled and having fun fucking like the movies.

[spacebarbarianweird]

Would you do some headcanons for Astarion/a Druid Tav, I know druids are supposed to be opposed to the undead on principal, and I dunno, just want to see people dealing that.

It turned out a bit long and bittersweeet and, I hope, you will enjoy it! Tav \ Reader is a Forest Circle Druid since it's the most popular one.

Astarion x Druid!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

You're complete opposites, even if you don't take into account the fact that he is undead.

Astarion has always been a city person, someone who feels comfortable in bustling, busy places.

Even after 200 years of torments, he is still ready to live in his favorite city, Baldur's Gate.

But you are a child of nature, born in a small village and raised by the Druids of the Forest Circle.

You love and respect nature in all its forms: animals, plants, trees, insects…

You can sleep in the dirt and feel comfortable under the starry skies.

All materialistic things make you feel sick. Meanwhile, Astarion craves them as repayment for 200 years of the most pathetic existence.

Moreover, Druids aren't really of the Undead.

The Undead desecrate nature and all your spells hurt Astarion, reminding him he will never be truly alive.

You try not to think about the future. Who knows if you even manage to survive.

But then, it's over. You are alive. The nasty astral thing in your head disappears, and you want just to wash it all from yourself and disappear into your beloved woods.

Astarion cries in pain as the sun burns him alive. He runs away and disappears in the shadows.

You look for him, in daylight and at night, but he is gone. What if he is dead? What if he burnt to death?

After a few days, you finally decide to leave the city and return home. With a broken heart.

Only to wake up at your small camp by soft steps.

You yell at Astarion. You curse him. You even cast a druidic spell that hurts him a bit.

"How could he? Why? So everyone was right about the undead; they are cruel after all."

Astarion apologizes. He was embarrassed and scared. He decided you would never want to have him by your side.

"You are a Druid, my love. You are supposed to hate the undead. I will desecrate whatever you hold dear. I just wanted to say goodbye."

And he looks like a miserable stray cat, saying this.

"I was a Druid when I met you. I was a Druid when I let you have sex with me. I was a Druid when I accepted your darkness. Nature is about a choice. You choose not to be evil. I choose you."

He is still hesitant. "It's not like you would allow me to murder animals."

"Would I forbid a wolf from eating a deer? Would I condemn a falcon for feeding its fledglings? You are a predator, Astarion, so be one. Just don't take more than you need."

You travel through Faerun—Astarion might not admit it, but he misses nature; he craves it.

He wants to enjoy the fresh air and green scenery, far from dirty city streets.

Astarion loves stargazing. You teach him to use stars to find the way in the woods.

You also teach him basic survival skills: how to build a fire, and how to find shelter. He is a good student and soon does all these things even better than you.

There is also something changing about him.

Astarion's obsession with his looks has always come from his vulnerability and lack of body control. His face and body were the only things Cazador didn't take from him.

But nature… nature has a different beauty.

Suddenly, you notice Astarion doesn't freak out if he scratches his perfect skin or breaks a nail.

He is okay wearing simple clothes even if they are a bit dirty or ripped.

He stops asking if his hair looks good, and, some days, he resembles a Feywild, not a High Elf.

First, you worry it's a sign of a soul illness, fatigue, and mental tiredness.

But, no. He is happy. He enjoys walking barefoot on grass or climbing up trees.

One day, he admits to you that he can't be happy in the cities. They will always remind him of his death, revival, and slavery. But the woods mean freedom.

But it doesn't mean he doesn't struggle. Nightmares, panic attacks—name it yourself.

He screams. He cries as if he is being tortured at the very moment.

"No one will hear you here, my love. Cry and scream as loud as you need. Cry away all the pain you've stored in your heart."

And he does. He yells. He howls like a wounded animal. Letting himself express everything he couldn't before.

It's a way of healing.

If you notice he is anxious or depressed, you make the drink for yourself, and then, when you feel the effect, let him drink from you.

You teach him to hunt.

You kill a deer. You eat the meat, he drinks the blood. Together you bury every single bone in the ground so the animals can find the path to their next lives.

There is another perk you have. You know how to polymorph.

You constantly take the form of a falcon, a wolf, or a cat. Other forms don't feel natural to you.

Astarion especially likes your cat form—a red feline with a fluffy tail.

"Oh darling, you are the most adorable little cat."

One of the issues he still has is a fear of touches. It's mostly okay. You sleep together, cuddling each other (almost always naked).

You have sex, loud and wild, not caring about being noticed.

But sometimes he just can't let you touch him. Touches are a pain; intimacy becomes torture.

He tries to force himself, but it always ends up bad.

So when you notice he is like that, you polymorph into the cat.

You crawl on his lap and start purring.

He strokes your fur and ears, pressing you tight to his chest as if you were a plushie.

You just adore being held like that.

In daylight, he stays inside the tent while you look around. Once, he notices you stand in the center of the beautiful meadow—while he, as usual, hides in the tent.

He can't take his eyes from you—you smile, opening your arms wide.

And then, suddenly, you put off your tunic, drop it onto the ground, and start dancing.

Absolutely naked.

There is nothing sexual about it—but something very wild instead.

You dance to the music you are the only one who can hear—as if praying to the sun and to the woods.

You are free. You are wild. You are part of nature.

He looks at you in awe as if seeing you for the first time.

After sunset, he dances with you the same way—naked in the moonlight.

He knows you will always be with him. Even when your time comes.

When it happens, he will bury you in the roots of an oak, giving you back to nature.

Your body will become grass and flowers, and, wherever he goes, he will know you follow him.

And when he decides it's enough, he will undress and dance till the morning comes.

He will face the sunlight one last time and turn into ashes, that will be scattered on the wind.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

Chapter 2 - Anger

Force of Nature - masterlist

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TW: death mentions, neither vampire hunters nor vampires having a great time, staking vampires, non consensual blood drinking

Julius stood in front of the mirror, contorting himself to be able to take a look at the scar over his spine. Fucking bitch. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get the splinter out. He felt it move with every twitch of his body, it was lodged deep between muscle and bone. And it wasn’t like he ever owned any sort of instrument that can cut open his perfectly preserved vampiric skin; hunters made them hard to get, that was his bigger problem. He could technically use his nails that were sharper than a sword of the best human welder, but he wasn’t precise enough to get out the tiny piece of wood that was the size of a sewing needle. 

Fucking hunters. They didn’t just want to kill anymore as the honorable saviors of humankind as they used to back in the day. Julius didn’t know when that stopped being the tradition. Their stakes weren’t as smooth, made to splinter and lodge into vampire's skin. Make them weaker, easier to take to ‘study.’ He shuddered at the thought of more than one of the nasty needles being stuck in his skin. The one inside already hadn’t left the wound left after the stake heal properly. He has never felt more vulnerable in his life. Or death if he wanted to be precise. He has roamed the earth for over a thousand and eight hundred years, never once had a barely thirty year old human hunter come even close to hurting him. Sure he ran into a few humans with stakes, some managed to scratch him, those were the honorable times. Hunters were skilled and prepared, and he admired that, so he ended their lives with mercy.

When Carter drove the stake into his back, leaving him on the ground to kill the fledgling vampire he had mentored, he decided he would torture her for as long as he could, at least for the same amount of time the young vampire got a taste from eternity. He swore he’d make her suffer. That rage was all he needed to reach back, and pull the stake out. He tried to stand quickly, but he stumbled. He felt weak, so he ran.

Carter ran around like a crazy person all day. She presented her first independent kill for the family that day, and the celebration had to be perfect. It wasn’t customary for her to do anything really, but she loved the thrill of organizing the party almost as much as defending herself against the monsters. The dead creature was placed in a wooden box, tied down with silver chains, that proved it died. If it was alive the chains would burn it, but now it was a harmless carcass adorned in silver, the centerpiece of the event, after herself of course.

She instructed the caterers to follow her plan, she decorated the hall herself.

An hour before the event everything seemed perfect, she could finally take a few moments to slump down on a chair and rest.

Her friends were the first to show up, way before the rest of the guests and the extended family, they felt they needed to have a little celebration of their own. 

They weren’t the only ones who wanted to have fun as they quickly found themselves in the company of two uninvited guests.

Julius and his fledgling appeared among them going unnoticed for a few seconds. The older vampire thought it would be a perfect opportunity for the other to practice blending in and using charm. He never imagined it would go so horribly wrong. The fledgling couldn’t handle his thirst as great as he proved before, and standing close enough to the humans set him off. Still Julius trusted the hunters were distracted enough with the alcohol they were consuming to let them off in case of a mistake like that. He wasn’t quite lucky enough, and he blamed himself for it. 

He held out for as long as he could against the rough stakes and silver bullets raining down on them before deciding to retreat finally. They both turned their backs to escape and went down the exact same time. It was only luck that his attacker didn’t stick the landing too well.

His luck. Julius wished he died right then and there with another the stake forced through his ribcage than having to watch the young immortal flail and go limp with the hunter straddling him.

His luck that the other missed with their bullets. And his luck that he got to escape and the hunter's celebrated two kills in one night.

A couple times visiting Carter did its toll on her mind and he managed to make himself comfortable in her head, only then he made her remove the splinter from his back. The scar that bothered him for so long finally healed. Julius was practically floating from the relief he felt. And Carter’s blood never felt sweeter as when he bit down on her wrist the moment she presented him with the piece of wood.

[imbadatparking]

The Wither’s

“The Ol’ Wither’s house ain’t nothin’ but snow and coal, now. 

The gray winter pulls on its hinges and clings to it like rust on metal. The paint thickens and peels off like cracked nails, revealin’ molded wood underneath. The planks splinter and lay worn by the passage of time. It sags off the frame, like pale, dead skin too heavy for brittle bones. The windows that haven’t yet broken are cracked and half-boarded. They glow an eerie blue, curtains darkenin’ the light that tries to escape. The wind pushes against it, causin’ it to tremble. 

The surroundin’ overgrown weeds grow in tangled clumps, lost in the grass that hadn’t been mowed in over a lifetime. Damn shame too – my grandaddy used to tell stories of the beautiful sunflowers that there yard used to grow, their thick, beautiful stalks that shot up to ten feet tall, the way their mustard gold petals turn towards the sun in youthful yearnin’. Now, the only thing that grows there is them vines, full of malicious intent, and there ain’t no sun they can turn too. 

The dark oak front gate groans when the wind gets too heavy, a warnin’ against those foolish enough to approach. They’re a rare bunch, but they tend to come in abundance. The trouble-makin’ youngins who get adrenaline rushes from triple dog dares, teeterin’ on the edge of brave or just plain stupid; squatters that leave cigarette butts littered across the already gross property; CPS and CVS and all the other nonsense government spies with sticks up their asses and an itch to scratch. Jameson, who doesn’t know the difference between black and white, is certain the latter’s been comin’ ‘round just to find somethin’ wrong. I’m inclined to believe him, just this once – I can’t be the only one who’s seen them pokin’ around poor Molly’s trailer. It ain’t her fault she’s livin’ disability check to disability check.

Ain’t nobody ever been inside, and those who say they have are just flat-out lyin’. Everybody knows of the rot that sets in every year. The heat must be too much for the old wood, and the smell that wafts off it is like nothin’ I’ve ever encountered. It smells bad enough that the police did an investigation on it a while back. Someone said there musta been dead bodies in the walls, but when they tore apart the inside, the only thing they found was those nasty maggots. Apparently them nasty critters had been there for months.

The ‘Withers? Well, nobody really talks about ‘em no more. They’re just an ol’ part of this town’s lore. And, well, we’re not really sure how true their stories are, see –? They’re ghosts, now, too lost and sad to let go. 

Between you ‘n me, they were an odd couple. Jamie and Sarah were the parents, the ones who started the beginning of the end of the Withers’ legacy. They’d inherited the two-story from Sarah’s grandparents – her father had earned it from his father, had earned it from his mother. you know how it goes. Who knows who owned it first, or how long ago it was built. Apparently it’s been such a state since their daughter went up and left to become some big city hotshot. She hadn’t been the same since her brother died in that fatal accident. 

Terrible thing, the way that family attracted tragedy like nobody’s business. Or everybody's business, if you live ‘round here. Some people just can’t handle it. They drift away, dreamin’ of becomin’ somethin’ like an artist or a singer or a poet, and they end up dead, addicted to drugs, or back at the gates of this town, beggin’ to be let back in. You know how it goes – we all do. It’s the same song and dance. 

It's just unfortunate that the house has got to be the one to pay for it, just sittin’ there, witherin’ away. Us too, of course. Whatever happens to one family in this town, affects the rest of us.

But those are just rumors and you didn’t hear nothin’ from me. All that really matters, all we really know, is that that house right there has more ghosts than a cemetery. 

Some say it’s the same place where Missy Felps went and died – her innocence stolen like a final breath before drownin’. Her pinky piggytails were the only trace of her left behind, ‘cept for the stories the kids around the block whispered with exaggerated terror. Missy’s fate was left to be told by those with too wild of imaginations and middle schoolers with too much time on their hands. The adults ‘round here pretty much know better, keepin’ their mouths locked and sealed ‘bout secrets untold, as they should. Ain’t nobody want anybody talkin’ ‘bout them as Missy is talked ‘bout, so most had the half-mind and empathy to look the other way.

Missy had been the ripe age of six when her screams echoed through these ivy-clad streets. That night, the lights flickered low and yellow as they turned on, their dull glow illuminatin’ hopelessness and danger. Neighbors had run out into the street as the ambulance had wailed loud enough for the next town over to hear. News of her death had been known straight to Atlanta by the time mornin’ time had come. The sky had been colored in a hazy mix of oranges and pinks, and her headstone had been a black shadow ‘till the sun came out.

Most of the story had come straight from Missy’s ol’ neighbor, Georgia Smith.

I’m not one to talk ill on a lady, but Aunty Georgia could hardly be considered as such. She has more words to say than she outta be allowed.  She didn’t just run the gossip mill – she created it. You can hear her whispers carryin’ through the cold wind if you listen hard enough. Her weathered hands knit the tales that laysthe foundation of this town like they knit her sweaters ‘n scarves ‘n gloves. She always sits in that same rockin’ chair, an ominous creak as she rolls forward, echoed by an ominous creak as she rolls back. She has as many stories ‘bout her as she’s created – kids sayher one blind eye was the reason she knew everythin’, that she was the one who killed the stray tabby that’d turned up in her front yard, that her wealthy, white collar grandson was threatenin’ to send her into one of them mental institutes – but nothin’ could be considered true, ‘less it came straight from her mouth.

Yeah, she’s one person to be wary of, especially around your secrets. Nobody outta blame her, though, Lord knows that mansion’s been awful empty since her good-for-nothin’ husband up and left her. You know, all her kids are adults by now, out in the real world. Empty nest syndrome ain’t for the faint of heart, and she’s had that condition for years now. Most the town’s got their bets placed on the day she clocks out and never clocks back in. Jameson says she’ll last ‘till May, but there’s no way she’ll survive past April. 

No matter – the town’ll find a new Aunty Georgia once the mournin’ is done and the everyone’s done well to move on. There was an Aunty Georgia before I got here, and I’ll be damned if there ain’t when I leave. There always is, there always be. That’s the way things work ‘round here. 

Don’t worry if you’re not used to it yet, sometimes it takes a while. New soil, new roots – we all get it. Though, most of us ‘round here have been ‘round here since pretty much the beginnin’ of time. Ain’t no reason to leave. We got a market and a gas station, and that’s all we need. None of those fancy academics with their billion dollar homes – makes the charm of this place dwindle and the economy crash.

In this town, life unfolds like the lazy river that runs along the fields of cotton and sunflowers. The drawl of conversation is as slow as the molasses in the sweet tea, and always has been – ain’t no point in rushin’ when we're all goin’ the same destination. 

After all the Withers’ ain’t the only place where there’s ghosts, and they won’t be lonely for long. That’s just a fact of life.”

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Carnal | Interlude No.2 | I was Born with a Healthy Appetite

Nina had always greeted Death like an old friend

CW: graphic violence, cannibalism, gore, child death, suicide This is a cannibal/horror AU Title Credit: Drown by Marika Hackman

Death was a family friend. Always coming around at inopportune times just to remain unforgotten. A familiar face but never one she could bring forth to memory at command. A cold, slippery kiss to the cheek and a boney hand holding her shoulder. 

She first met Death two days after birth. Her mother had gone septic after severe hemorrhaging. She didn’t remember it but her father made sure she never forgot. She came into this world tearing apart flesh. She had a photo, an heirloom locket, and a book of English poets - all her mothers. Given to her by her father. All death had given was an engraved stone, now overgrown.

She met Death again as a child, age ten. She had one friend, Audrey. A sweet girl with green eyes and a gap between her teeth. Audrey would hold her hand as they walked around the surrounding fields and forests. Nina had a nasty habit of biting the skin around her nails and Audrey did her best to keep at least one hand unscathed. 

There was a stream they’d always cross. They’d sit and take off their socks and shoes and run through the cold water. It was early Spring and it had been raining all week. Audrey slipped on a mossy rock. Her skull cracked open and leaked out like an egg. Nina held her hand and pulled her up the embankment. Audrey lay in the grass with Nina sitting next to her. She remembered kissing her head, hoping that it would fix everything. 

It was dark before she could hear her name being called. It wasn’t even her father’s voice. It was John Price’s, her father’s favorite sergeant at the time. 

“Nina! Can you hear me? Nina! Audrey!” She hid her face from the flashlight he was waving about. “Jesus christ…”

She’d gone feral in one afternoon. Biting, scratching, and screaming as he pulled her away from her friend. He’d wrapped her in his jacket like a wild animal and held her to the ground till others could come. He held her as they walked out of the woods. He held her in the back of the ambulance as she was looked over. As she heard Audrey’s mother scream when they told her that her only daughter was dead.  

He carried her home, the short walk through the village. Her father was waiting in the drive. She was handed off to him. She remembered it was reluctantly. He barely held her, letting her down just over the threshold and having her nanny, who would be fired the next day and blamed for the whole incident, take her upstairs. 

Price had always looked up to her father before that day. Now he looked at him with disgust. She had wished he’d never taken her back. She would have much preferred to be left in those woods forever. 

Thinking back he was so young too. Younger than she was now. Twenty-two maybe. He was a more devoted father figure than her real father ever was. He’d always been brotherly to her anytime they saw each other. Sneaking her sweets and making jokes. He took a more protective role after that day. He checked in regularly, he always brought gifts, he was the one to answer all her questions about life, and he’d try to answer when she called no matter where she was in the world. 

He was the first person she called after her father’s suicide. 

That abrupt visit from death. She was nineteen. Despite being nothing more than acquaintances she still made him breakfast for his birthday. She didn’t even notice the gun in his lap as she set his plate down in front of him.

“Happy birthday, Daddy,” She had smiled. She sat on the opposite end of the table as she always did. He said nothing, as he always did. 

“Nina?” There was a click, the sound of the hammer being pulled back. She kept her eyes on her lap.

“Yes?” He was going to kill her, she was sure of it. Her condition was always a matter of tension between them. He wasn’t afflicted but seemed to know the basic treatment. She took her supplements and ate large amounts of protein at every meal. He’d protected her this far. Made excuses when she bit other children or the stray adult. He pulled her from school to keep the questions away. He taught her to hunt her own food and installed the freezer in the basement so she’d always have food even when he was gone for long periods. 

He couldn’t be there forever. Sooner or later he’d get killed in action or get sick or get in a car accident or something else. Maybe it was a mercy. 

The prior summer a local farmer’s ewe had given birth to a two-headed cyclops lamb. Two mouths, two ears, and one giant eye shared between the two. It could barely walk, left stumbling around its mother’s pen. It was a miracle it had survived till morning. The farmer had taken it away and shot it. 

She’d run into him as he buried it. On one of her daily walks, Adurey’s death had been little deterrent from her wandering. 

“Its mother can’t help it. Did the best she could but it’s not her fault the poor thing came out wrong. Luckily another ewe had twins so I’ll switch them out. Better this way for the little feller.”

Tears fell onto her lap. Her nails cut into her palms. She waited for the end. She hoped Price wouldn’t be the one to find them. He was really her only friend. He wasn’t a stranger to death, they were colleagues in fact. She just didn’t want him to find her half decayed with her breakfast still on the table. She hoped he didn’t fuck up her face when he shot her. 

“I’m sorry,” her father said. 

She jumped at the bang. The gun hit the floor with a heavy thud. Her father was slumped over. Blood and brain looked almost floral against the green wallpaper behind him.

She didn’t scream or cry. She bit down on her tongue till blood filled her mouth. She let it linger and stain. If she didn’t she wouldn’t be able to control herself. She was quiet as she went upstairs. Her phone in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other.  Outside, she sat on the front steps and called Price.

“Good morning, Nina.” He sounded cheerful. She hated that she had to ruin his breakfast as well. “How’s the old man? Fifty-five today, right?”

“He shot himself.” There was a pause on his end. 

“I’m on my way.” 

She was sitting on the front steps, cigarette in hand when he pulled up an hour later. He handled everything. Called an ambulance, set up his funeral so he got proper military honors, and even paid for a company to come in and clean up the dining room. 

She was sitting on the front steps again, six years later. A mouth filled with blood and a dead man in her bedroom. She lit a cigar she had stolen from Price and called him.

“Nina? Is everything okay?” That’s how all their conversations started if he knew that Arthur was in town. He’d been practically begging for an excuse to punch his teeth in. She hated to ruin his evening by telling him it wasn’t an option anymore.

“Arthur’s dead.”

“How?” He sounded surprised, a touch angry too. 

“He hit me.” And she’d ripped his throat out.

“I’ll be over as soon as I can. Don’t call the police. I’ll handle everything.” He would fix everything. Just as he always had. 

“Okay.”

“Stay safe. Love you.”

“Love you.” 

She smoked the cigar, hoping the scent would overpower Arthur’s. Her stomach growled and her mouth watered so much it was hard to smoke. She stubbed out the cigar and left it in an ashtray in the living room. 

She stood in the doorway of the bedroom. She’d have to rip out the floorboards or get a rug. She hoped his blood hadn’t leaked to downstairs. She really did hate the smell of bleach. It had been years since she had something this fresh, this raw. He was still warm when she bit him again. 

Death wasn’t a friend anymore but simply a reflection in the mirror. 

Tag list: @gogh-with-the-flow @queen-ilmaree

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[whaleofatjme1920]

From Where the Land Meets the Sea - Chapter 2

[GN!Reader]

[Warnings: Minor wounds described, nothing too bad.]

[AN: 4374 words! <3]

Full Index

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Reblogs are appreciated!

Sluggishly, you woke to the sound of thick droplets of rain pattering against the window and roof of the cold place your body laid. You felt a deep pounding near the base of your skull and the back of it, something deep, sharp and unpleasant. Instinctively, you raised your hand to soothe the piercing arche but were halted by the thick cords wrapped around your wrists. You glanced downwards to see the thin white zip ties that accompanied them, and with a heavy sigh, you realized that your ankles were in the same shape. 

The familiar texture of cotton coated your mouth and tongue. It was hell, the lack of moisture. You swallowed on instinct a few times and attempted to garner some spit to wet your mouth by pushing your tongue around your throat. It’s a useless effort though. You’re only met with more dryness. As you slowly came to, you finally took in the unpleasant scent of the room. Iron. Must. Mildew. All of those things at once. Your stomach turned at the recognition. 

On the floor were marks. Not from claws or anything supernatural, but boots, maybe tools at one point. It had been a while since someone really took care of the place, that much you could tell. The scratch marks that you expected to see were adorned and splattered on the walls, most notably around the door and window. The window was clouded in thick condensation around its edges. You slowly sat up to the best of your abilities and peered out of it only to see the woods that peeked through the thick, blanketed fog. You wished you could run off into it, far from this place. 

An eerie creak filled the air and sent your heart racing. Sweat beaded on your brow. There was no way you could fight in such a position as this. You scrambled atop the greasy, cold sheets that you laid on and backed against the wall. You looked like a wild, caged animal. Which really, that’s all you were to them. You huddled into yourself, fearful, but felt a deep sense of anger balled tightly in the back of your throat. 

In front of you, the man who danced death with your mother stepped forward. At his hips hang hatchets, their blades sharp at the tip but dulled from hacking into muscle and bone near the centers. He cracked his neck loudly, inhaled, and moved to the side to give the person trailing just barely behind him some room. He looked exhausted, almost as if he wanted to be anywhere else than playing glorified babysitter to you. He cleared his throat and nudged the person beside him unceremoniously, harshly, with his elbow like they were trying his patience. He cleared his throat again. 

Gingerly, you peeked your eyes upwards to see their face clear through the gnawing fear you felt. Your gaze then met theirs - hers. The woman’s eyes you looked into were so dark, you hardly believed they were real. Dark pools, black holes of the universe that sucked you in further with every lingering second, you couldn't pull away, not even when she moved her hand up to show you that she had brought you something. You pressed further against the wall and bared your teeth in a nasty snarl to scare them away from you. 

The woman stepped forward. Her movements were deliberately slow to not spook you any further. It was like she was attempting to soothe a spooked horse, the way she spoke to you and carefully sat down on the bed. Her face cringed when she felt the seeping, not-quite-wet cold of the sheets before her expression was shifted back to that of neutrality and exhaustion rolled into one. 

“Toby,” she breathed out as her slender, cut up fingers pulled at the tab on the top of the can. There was dirt under her nails, or maybe it was dried blood. Cracked into the crevices of her skin was more dirt. More filth. More evidence her work operated outside of the legal spectrum. Her hoodie was just as dirty. Was it ever that white to begin with? There wasn’t a centimeter of it not caked in the earth or stains of her time rolled around in it. 

The man, now identified as Toby, reached into his back pocket. His brows furrowed for a moment as his fingers shifted around, almost frustrated with how long the simple request had been taking when he finally curled around his smooth prize. He clicked his tongue at the woman before tossing it her way.. A loud exhale sounded from his uncovered nose as she fumbled for a moment but caught it. He leaned back against the wall, popped the bones in his neck and then his wrists, and trained his steely gaze on you. He watched you like a zoo animal, wondering if you’d do any tricks if he poked you hard enough. 

The woman sighed as she lowered her shoulders. She attempted to make her form smaller, less threatening, rounder and to give you a sense of ease. She sighed once more, “c’mere.” The tone matched exactly how she appeared to you. “You need to eat something. Please,” she said as she dipped the spoon into the food. The scent of watery strawberries just barely filled your nostrils. 

You tilted your head, carefully staring down your nose to the contents of the can. Just barely, you caught Toby shaking his head at the woman as she turned her attention back to you. Cautiously, you moved atop the bed inch by inch to the woman. You sniffed a few times. 

“Kate,” Toby warned in a low, taunting voice. 

You watched as ‘Kate’ rolled her dark brown eyes with an amused glint hidden deep within them. You frowned when she pressed the spoon to your lips but opened your mouth slightly regardless, of course accompanied by your equally foul glare. You practically inhaled the food, not caring that the strawberries were waterlogged, not sweet at all and slimy beyond belief. If you were in a better state of mind and a higher position of power, you might have considered it a texture nightmare and outright refused the fruit all together. 

At least your stomach was not rumbling anymore. The thick clouds in your brain were just barely starting to thin. 

Kate stood up, placed the plastic spoon in the now empty can and made a move towards the door. She gave a passing glance towards Toby before the two of them froze. Her shoulders squared, as if she was fixing herself to be presentable and of power and respect. Her eyebrows raised, and her tired expression shifted to the vague notion of surprise. “You take it,” she muttered under her breath. Her calloused hands shoved Toby the can decorated with the plastic spoon before she stepped back. 

Toby rolled his eyes to mock her and pushed off the wall. “I’ll be right back,” he said over his shoulder as he shoved the door open and slid out. 

A pregnant beat of silence passed through the room as Kate settled in Toby’s place. You noticed that she had trained her gaze anywhere rather than looking directly at you and wondered if she was preoccupied. That or she just didn’t like you. You bit your lip and swallowed quietly, still tasting the remnants of watered down strawberries and must. You decided to take a gamble. 

“What have you done with my family?”

Kate could sense the fear in your voice, how it wavered just shy of cracking into a million pieces from the hairline fracture embedded deep within it. She could practically feel your heart seize as if it were her own. Still, humoring you, she curled her brow up on her pale face and raised her left foot to prop against the wall. “What happened to a simple hello?” She started with a loose sigh. “I mean, I’m Kate but you already heard that.” Her eyes bored down on the floor as if it was leagues more interesting than you. Her form contorted slightly, unnatural, arms crossed over her chest and shoulders squared inwards. She was uncomfortable. Deeply so. 

Damn her comfort, you were much more interested in learning all that you could about your situation. You took another gamble and changed your approach. “Please,” you pleaded softly as you raised your eyes upwards to finally align with hers, “just tell me something useful. It can be anything.” Your pleading almost fell on deaf ears given the way you looked at her. Uneasily, as she was your predator. Fear. Exhaustion. And just a hint of understanding that she must be just as tired as you but in a completely different way. 

She sucked in the air around her sharply, practically whistling it when she caught your downtrodden expression and body language. You looked small, genuinely small. Tired and beaten, cold, and uncomfortable beyond belief. Some part of her felt bad for you, and another part of her whispered louder and louder still that you were nothing more than her ward, her victim. The more human part of her began to shout, and unfortunately, she listened. Kate checked the door and honed in on the sounds around her. She couldn’t hear her group members moving around. She felt safe enough to speak. 

“Last night didn’t go as planned,” she whispered softly. Her tall form loomed closer to share the secret with you. “Your parents-”

The door swung open. Toby, accompanied by a man dusted in faded yellow that reminded you of the dust kicked up from the earth stood unimpressed in the doorway. His muscles were tensed underneath his hoodie followed by his equally tense energy. Though he was wearing a black ski mask painted with a comically large red frown, you could tell he was scowling. His hands were balled into fists, steeled to suppress his budding rage. He honed in on Kate, even more unimpressed at how caught-in-the-headlights you two looked before him. 

“Get out,” he commanded plainly. 

“Hoodie, I’m-.”

“Get out, Kate,” he repeated as he accented his words with sharp venom. 

The woman shot him a look - one you couldn’t quite decipher - before she tucked her tail between her legs, head down and tried to scurry past him. 

Hoodie’s gloved hand gripped tightly at her shoulder, enough to make her squeak, as he pulled her uncomfortably close. His teeth grit together under his mask as he whispered a warning before harshly shoving her out of the room. He then turned to you, squared his shoulders, and stalked up. He seemed to take mild joy in how you scrambled back on the bed and pressed pathetically against the wall in a vain attempt to bury inside of it and avoid his presence. If he came any closer, he’d burn you. 

He reached his gloved hand out, the same one that had hurt Kate, and roughly grabbed your chin. He could feel your flesh under his covered nails. “Your parents? The ones that put up that pathetic fight last night?” He watched as fear welled in your eyes. His hand moved your face around so he could get a good look at you. Covered in filth from the woods. You’d seen better days and he knew it. This was not one of them. “They’re fucking dead.” 

You didn’t want to cry or show weakness, but you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. More and more drops of water braided together into waterfalls that pooled at your chin. The tears that spilled from your eyes were almost enough to fill the seas. You gasped softly when Hoodie pressed you back, his hand letting you go as if you were a piece of trash he’d forgotten to discard before he rolled his eyes at you. 

“Look at me,” he demanded. He crouched down slightly. “Look at me.” He didn’t want to repeat himself. When you finally did as told, he carried on. “I’m only saying this once, so listen up,” he continued, his facial expression largely neutral under the mask. He didn’t seem to want to be bothered with babysitting you, or even spending time in your presence. Though, you did manage to catch a glimpse of regret in his body language due to how harshly he’d handled you. The little nick on your chin caused from the rough seam in his glove… It almost made him pause. “You’ve got fifteen minutes for a shower. When you’re done, come right back to this room. Move it.” 

Hoodie stood up, nodded to Toby, and then left as quickly as he entered. The air felt impossibly warmed from his anger, but uncomfortably cold that chilled your bones from the dreadful news he’d imparted on you.

You hardly managed to register the words through the pain you’d felt. How could you be told such life altering news and expect to go on? Your parents were your entire world. They supported and loved you through everything. They were all you’d ever had in the world, and now, they were gone. You tried to stifle your breathing to force it to something even paced but hitched on every breath. “Oh gods,” you whispered through your pain. Your body began to rock back and forth to soothe and let loose some of the energy bursting from within. 

Toby crossed the distance to meet you at the bed. He crouched down, flicked his pocket knife out and snipped at the binds on your ankles. He then moved upwards to your wrists, not caring that the blade was cold against your skin. He shot a look at you: don’t try anything. 

It’s not like you had that energy to begin with. 

You felt your world had come crashing down around you. You were pieces, no longer whole. There was no other way of putting it. 

Toby’s hand reached around to your bicep. Tired of your crying, he yanked you upwards and guided you out of the stale room. 

You glumly looked around at your surroundings. The place you were in, it was dim. The clouds from the late summer, early autumn rainstorm were blocking the sun’s light. The floor was ill taken care of. When was the last time the wood had been polished? Certain floorboards were rotting away. Others had nails sticking out to show they’d been just barely ‘repaired’. Black mold decorated the corners. This was not a place anyone stayed in for too long, that much you could infer. 

You watched as the dusty floors picked up in boot traffic, and tiredly, you looked up. The living room. You were in the living room. You could tell by how much ‘nicer’ the room appeared. A few mismatched lamps, an overhead light with a burnt out bulb on one side, the furniture didn’t match, again, you could tell this place was not anyone’s true home. It was a crossroads, somewhere for people like… you. 

You could feel the presence of several other people but kept your eyes glued on the floor after sneaking a quick peak. What characters these people were. None of them felt real, or at least, they’d be gawked at in civilized society. Who cuts their face into a smile? Why are several of the people here wearing masks? The only reason you wanted to catalog their faces was not for feeding curiosity, but rather for alerting the authorities when you escaped. 

“You’ve got more like, thirteen minutes,” Toby said as he opened the bathroom door. “Remember, quick. There’s clothes in the cabinet.” And with that, he shut the door. 

From where you stood, confused, scared and alone, you could hear him slide against the wall and settle down. He whistled as he waited, and it brought you a sense of deep unease. It was stupid, but you didn’t want to waste an opportunity to feel just a bit better. You bit your lip, let your mind go blank, stripped and turned on the water. The ice ran circles up and down your back, making your body go numb. But it was a pleasant numb, one that allowed the heavy marks and agitated flesh on your wrists and ankles to soothe for a moment before it shifted to something a bit more lukewarm. 

Your lips pulled downwards as you gingerly traced your fingertips over the marks. You’d have to get that situated. Not wanting to face the world or the situation you were in, you slowly turned off the water as Toby’s whistling began to slow. He was not whistling the jeopardy theme song. How quaint. 

You stepped out into the cold air and rummaged around in the cabinet under the sink. Jeans, some socks, a few shirts… They had a few colors, but you weren’t picky and blindly chose, ending up with the dark grey one. You popped the shirt on and opened the door to the bathroom and readied yourself for whatever evils may come your way. Though, a shower and a fresh change of clothes, that didn’t feel like something a murder victim would be gifted. What on earth had you found yourself in? What did Kate mean by things not going according to plan? 

You winced when Toby grabbed your wrist.

“Sorry,” he apologized as he moved his hand upwards to your forearm. It was almost human, the way he reacted to your display of discomfort and pain. “I’ll send EJ to look at that.” 

Internally, you wondered which one of the monsters in the living room was ‘EJ’ before being shuffled along back through the living room and to the room you knew as your prison. Obediently, you sat back down and waited, absentmindedly nodding when he told you not to do anything stupid in the meantime. You pondered jumping out the window, though it was sealed shut and shattering the glass would make far, far too much noise. Maybe you could use a shard to stab a captor? No, mom and dad never taught you how to fight. Though, apparently they’d learned themselves. 

You weren’t allowed to be consumed by your thoughts as a polite knock sounded on the door. It’s not like it was your place to answer, so you didn’t. You held your breath as you watched the next monster waltz into your prison. 

He was tall, but not gangly. In fact, it looked like he was strong, much too strong. His true face was obscured by a mask, something deep blue like the pools of twilight decorated by an oil spill from a black hole. He smelled faintly of citrus and even more so of tar. 

“Eyeless Jack. Just call me EJ,” he greeted - and you took note of his relatively thick Polish accent - as he softly closed the door. For such a large, imposing figure, he was so even mannered and gentle with precise movements. In his other hand was a first aid kit. It looked tattered in some places, falling apart at the hinges due to its heavy usage. Huh, even monsters need first aid from time to time, don’t they? Eyeless Jack drew closer to you before sitting down on the edge of the bed. He looked comically large atop it, but you dared not to laugh. He set the worn box down on the sheets and made a ‘give me’ motion with his gloved hand. 

You studied him cautiously before deciding that he was ultimately there to help you. Hesitantly, you handed him your wrists which earned his hum of approval. You were surprised at how gentle he was in treating you. His grip was firm, but had a professional’s touch as he worked on disinfecting your battered skin. 

“They really tied you up good,” he observed aloud to make light conversation. 

You made a noise of disgust and rolled your eyes at him. The pain you felt physically was nothing compared to the weight on your heart. “Is that a compliment or an insult?” 

He brushed off your statement, choosing not to acknowledge your words at all, all the while not caring at how you sat on the bed in order to give him better access. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.” He pressed the cloth drenched in isopropyl alcohol on your wrists, gently dabbing and letting the strong smelling liquid fill your nostrils and drip along the curve of your wrists before he glanced down at your ankles. In his opinion, your ankles were in much worse shape than your wrists. “So,” he whistled, “how are you?” 

What kind of question is that? Is he mocking you?

“What does it matter to you?” You spat. 

He looked genuinely surprised that you answered him because his head snapped up momentarily from his work. His ears shot upwards, like he heard a sudden noise. You could imagine his eyes were just as wide before he moved his attention back down to his work.

You fought the urge to cock your head to the side. “What?” You asked curtly. 

“Oh, I was just making small talk. Filling in the quiet spaces, I find it weird when patients are too quiet,” he explained as he banaged your wrists up before he patted the bed to nonverbally tell you to reposition yourself so he wouldn’t have to contort to fix you. “I don’t actually care.” 

The pure nonchalance as if he were telling you the time almost made you gape like a fish plucked from the water. 

You awkwardly put your attention on the window and cleared your throat to cover your shock. Quietly, you let him finish his work. You felt much too awkward to even try and open your mouth. So, you allowed your thoughts to remain on your parents, the people you loved most. The memories you had of the life before this, and the life you would have had provided masked maniacs didn’t siege your house. When Eyeless Jack finished on your ankles, he briefly checked over his work once more, asked a few follow up questions like any good doctor might and then left. Though, much like Toby, he told you not to do anything stupid in his absence. 

The rest of the day was rather silent, especially from you. From what you could hear though, someone was stationed outside of your cell and they would shift out every hour or so. Some people were more precise than others. In your boredom, you tossed a pebble at the window and gained the attention of Hoodie, who must’ve spent an eternity in the doorway debating whether he should punish you or not before he closed the door and went back to waiting outside of it. It’s not like he wanted to spend any more time with you than he had to either. 

Eventually, someone came back in to feed you. This time, it was Toby. He was satisfied with plopping the can and plastic spoon down in front of you and watching from a comfortable, yet close distance away. He eyed you like a hawk, refused to speak to you, but found amusement in you subconsciously thanking him. That happened often, often enough for him to add it to his mentally tally board. All the victims that thank him for something as vital as food. It’s human to be grateful even in shitty situations. 

The night washed over your cell in the world far too slowly for your comfort and with it came the bane of being lost in your thoughts. You felt lonely, oh so lonely. You curled up on that crumpled, dirty bed and began to cry. It was soft, as you did not want to gain the attention of your captors but your body could not think of any other way to relieve the stress. You thought about your life, the things that mattered to you, and shuffled deep in your memories for anything that could bring you a spot of joy. 

You were 15 years old and it was a stormy night. Your friends, they were busy with other things and flaked on you last minute. This wasn’t the first time they’d disregarded your feelings, and it certainly would not be the last time. Your parents, who had a rare night off together from work, wanted to cheer you up. Your mother sat with you on the couch and browsed the selection of movies while your father made popcorn that rivaled the stuff you got at the theatres and poured other fizzy drinks that would undoubtedly upset your stomach later. You chose the scariest movie possible and had the joy of hearing your father scream like a child. You and your mother pelted him with popcorn. A storm raged outside. The half-baked apologies from your ‘friends’ for flaking were left unread. When you were spooked, your parents cuddled around you and promised to always protect you. You had never felt safer than in their arms. 

You stared at the ceiling, mentally counting the little rough popcorn-like bits when the moon finally cut through the clouds. How you wished you could go back to the days before this, when the nights were warm. When you were loved. You imagined the stars in the popcorn bits, and faintly listened to the waning voices outside your door. The whispers of what is yet to come have not yet reached your ears.

You closed your eyes. Though sleep is the only option, is it not a choice you would willingly make. 

Still, a seed of resilience had been planted inside of you. None of them could deny that they saw it. You still had some bark despite your bite being stolen away from you. You would grow your teeth back astronomically fast, sharp, rough calcium deposits bursting through your gums that would explain the reason people would grant you space. But that was well known through trial and error with someone like you. Though you felt alone and scared, you couldn’t even begin to know the half of it. In your pathetic, heartbroken state, you were denying yourself your nature. But that was expected, and you were-

Familiar. You are too familiar. 

It was only a matter of time until you learned why. 

[spinderella-umbrella]

A Peter Pettigrew Project Prompt

Excerpt here

Prompt: A bed, marshmallows and a bicycle.

Idea/Concept: Crookshanks has it out for Scabbers

Ron drools in his sleep, and even rats can do better than a drool soaked pillow for a bed. Scabbers the rat scuttles out of Ron's clutches, the boy not even stirring as Scabbers slips from his fingers.

The rat stops in his tracks when he catches a whiff of something sweet as he scales down the side of the bed.

Little feet hit the floor without a sound, though his untrimmed claws click on the wood flooring as he goes to investigate the delightful sugar-sweet smell.

Scabbers is delighted to come across a single, fluffy pink marshmallow the size of his head, lost under the bed. It’s his lucky night, innit? His little rat tongue darts out to taste the powder-coated sugary treat, before he sinks teeth into the side of it.

His little rat brain had forgotten how tacky and sticky marshmallows could be- he tries to pull away with his first chomp to chew, and his teeth are stuck. His little rat shoulders slump as he sighs. Alas, he’s tired but in no hurry. Surely if he just licks it enough, it will disintegrate and he will be free.

He’s lapping at the marshmallow in his mouth, pushing his tongue against the back of his teeth to unstick them when he hears a low growl behind him. He stiffens, hoping that if he just stays still enough, Crookshanks will be fooled into thinking he’s not there, and be on their way. Perhaps his rat scent will be covered by the scent of marshmallow?

No such luck, it seems, as a giant paw snatches under the bed right for him, catching him by his tail and dragging him out from under the bed. Peter wants to scream, to cry out to his master to save him, but he can’t, because his mouth is still stuck with marshmallow.

Desperate to get out of Crookshanks clutches, Scabbers scrambles at the ground, nails scratching and breaking on the wood as Crookshanks pulls him free from under the bed into the open, their other paw landing on his back to stop him from squirming. Scabbers feels like a pancake, and all he can do in his current position is continue to lick his way free of marshmallow.

Apparently Crookshanks is at a loss of what to do with him now that they have captured him, and for a moment, they’re still. The rat knows he has to act quickly before Crookshanks makes a decision. They’re probably going to eat him.

Crookshanks’ paw lets up just a tiny bit, and Scabbers flips beneath their paw, thrashing and scratching and causing enough confusion and pain that he can scramble away, running, free from the cats clutches and that pesky marshmallow- stuck now between the toes of the nasty cat.

Crookshanks is making chase, he knows it, but he slips between the crack in the wall and he’s home free- Getting out alive… It’s like riding a bike, huh?

[hidingaway1995]

Gale Stuff

Gale was in control of his temper these days. Or rather, he didn’t have a temper most of the time. Things were both delayed and muffled with the distance from his heart and the apathy that had sunk into his very bones during his long, aimless existence. There were still times he lost it, just like he had as a young man, but he always knew they were coming.

One day, as he was fixing tack behind the horse barn, he heard the sounds of an animal in pain and a man’s shouts. In case it was an emergency, he put his work aside and jogged towards the noise. A man, one of the other ranch hands, stood over a cow on her side, raising a chunk of wood to strike the wallowing creature again.

“Up! Get up you stupid-”

Gale stepped in, catching the larger man’s wrist. “Don’t do that. It’s not needed. She ain’t got milk fever.”

Malten, that was the other’s name, shook him off. “She’s got to move! I’m not coming back out here after dinner to get her in!”

“Try a bribe. You know cows are stubborn.” Gale’s voice was even, face blank. He noticed, in a distant way, that there were nails sticking out of the wood Malten held and nasty scratches on the cow’s shoulder and side. “If those get infected and she dies, it’ll come out of your pay.”

Malten rolled his eyes and threw the wood aside. “You deal with her, Mr. High and Mighty Runt.” He shoved Gale hard in the chest and he nearly fell. Malten stalked off, aware of those creepy gray eyes on his back. Tallman wouldn’t do anything, he knew, but he still disliked the man’s gaze.

Gale sighed, checked his battered pocket watch and got to work, bribing the cow into the night pen and pouring a little moonshine on her scratches. She slobbered something disgusting onto his shirt and he rubbed her nose. Animals were so easy. He knew how to feel about animals, even when they were inconvenient or unpleasant.

He went back to mending tack until someone rang the mess hall bell. Dinner was uninspired as ever. It was meant to keep a group of men in working order, not really be enjoyed. Throughout the meal, Gale kept checking his pocket watch.

“You got somewhere to be tonight?” One of the others asked, jokingly. Gale was quiet, but still part of the group. “Some pretty lady visiting the rest of us should know about?”

“No. I’m waiting for something. It’ll arrive soon.” He told the man and went back to eating. He finished his dinner, dropped off his plate and cup in the kitchen and checked his watch one last time.

10…

He shrugged out of his coat and lay it on the bench by the mess hall door. On top of it went his knife, hat and work gloves. He emptied his pockets too. The watch went on top.

6…

He shook out his arms, rolled his neck and turned to survey the room. There was Maltan, sitting at a table with his friends. Gale started over, flexing his hands. How much could he get away with and not lose his job? How much control would he have in-

3…

“Hey.” He said, tapping the man on the shoulder. “Stand up for a second.”

“Fuck off, Tollman.”

1…

The rage flared behind his eyes was so intense that he gasped. He seized the other man by the back of the head and slammed his face down into his bowl of stew as hard as he could. Maltan came up spitting and cursing. Gale did it again, splintering the wooden bowl on the stupid man’s face and flattening his nose for good. The ugly fight that followed left at least 4 other ranch hands unfit for duty and Gale unemployed. He was not too regretful.

[pseudoneiiric]

@deathwis​ / @e1dest​​ asked:

cracked knuckles bump along a wrinkled forehead, cautious and flighty. only grazing along the skin enough to feel out signs of warmth ; an inspection half assed given how naturally sun soaked jay is, though he's firm on not pushing it. wood scratched fingers retract back into an equally worked palm -- mangling into a fist as he edges away. no fever, that's good. all thoughts are scattered and red tinted, murky fog of an irritated headache disguising the original reaction to this whole goddamn thing : a peeling sort of primal fear. knees ache from the awkward climb down the muddied slope, dirt caked under janky nails and strands of sandy brown mussed and askew thanks to the humid whipping of air. narrow chest smoothing out from panted breaths, blue eyes a hidden tint brighter since he can now assess the damage. but all that worry's finally being shoved into an even more smothered anger, 'cause fucking god how could jay be such an idiot?

“how'd it happen? when you're out here, you're supposed'ta be watchin' your step.” tyler scolds, all unimpressed and difficult. exhausted gaze rakes over the variety of red lines scratched over baby fat skin. the new holes in hand-me-down clothes. recognizes the ratty remains of dale's old shirt clinging to a wiry frame immediately, which only serves to make him bristle further. lips pressing into a thin line as hollow cheeks puff out in aggression, bracing against the urge to jerk jay closer to force an inspection. not like he'd appreciate it anyway, tyler's sure. finally, intent eyes land on the swollen red of his brother's the kid's knee ; ignoring the way bile crawls up his throat at the sorry sight. “nevermind that, can you stand?” his level tone wavers, voice shrinking a size in barely concealed empathy. it'd wound his pride if he could focus on anything but the signs of pain flickering across jay's face. and being crouched down beside him makes that more than a little difficult.  //  smth smth baby brother had a nasty fall in the woods & scared this man shitless <3

it’s not like jay doesn’t watch his back — something he’s eager to voice with a grumble, since he knows tyler never gives him the benefit of the doubt. dale always gives him the benefit of the doubt with these things, though the youngest holt can’t argue that when he took this nasty spill, the first name he called out, broken and fearful, was tyler’s. knowing that if there was gonna be anyone that could patch him up, keep him safe, it’d be the eldest. his older brother, with a yawning distance between them that jay doesn’t think they can ever close. not with tyler so much older and always scoldin’ him like he’s his pa. the way tyler stares at him at dinner always unnerved him, too, not even bothering to say anything. it’s no secret in jay’s head that tyler’s more like a pa than a brother, though jay can mouth off to him in a way he can’t with pa. takes that small victory where he can, at every opportunity that comes up. “i was,” is what he forces out, though his voice is tight with pain. “you know i always do.”

but he doesn’t give voice to what actually happened, worried that tyler will say something biting about it, and jay’s just not in the mood. not when his knee feels like it’s going to buckle. “i think... i can stand.” but when he tries, his knee immediately seizes up, and he lets himself fall to the ground — better than reaching to tyler for support. tyler probably wouldn’t appreciate jay getting handsy anyway, even though jay hisses at the feeling of stray pebbles scratching his palm. “i think it’s sprained.” the words are said plaintively, lost blue eyes looking around for anything he can use to splint it. he already knows there’s nothin’ around here — if he coulda splinted it, he woulda already done it. “you’ll...” and jay hesitates, not wanting to trigger tyler’s ire by asking him to do something, practically telling him, “hafta help me back home. i remember the way, i just can’t get there on my own.”

[beels-burger-babe]

A Pain You'll Soon Regret - Pt. 1

***This...This is glorious. Oh ho, I will most definitely give you this fic @millenniumofpain! I will do so gladly! Thanks for sending in this great request!***

Poly!MC Summary: MC and the demon lords get in a fight resulting in MC leaving. They planned on going to Purgatory Hall until things cool off, but they never quite make it there. TW: Heavy Angst, Violence, I don't know what to tag this, but there is a pretty nasty verbal fight, Gore/Injury Part Two: HERE, Part Three: HERE, Part Four: HERE

You growled to yourself, angrily wiping tears from your face, as you marched away from the House of Lamentation, away from your partners.

Well, you said marching. It was more of a stumble what with the way your intoxicated brain could barely walk forward. You wished you could say you didn't know how things got like this, but the evidence had been there all along. It was in the slow build of tensions that increased and increased until they overflowed. It was in the way everyone would bite their tongues more and more frequently rather than communicating their thoughts.

Everyone had little things about the relationship between the eight of you that bothered them, and no one said a word until the words could no longer be held back.

It all started after you came back from clubbing way past curfew with Asmodeus.

The two of you were definitely drunk and were giggling messes as you did your best to hold the other up.

You both jumped when the hallway light turned on to reveal Lucifer and the others waiting there for you.

You bit back a sob as you thought of the vicious words that came out of their mouths.

"You're so reckless! Do you know what could've happened to a human like you this late at night in this state?! For Diavolo's sake MC, I expected this behaviour from Asmodeus, but I expected more from you!" Lucifer shouted Asmodeus groaned and leaned against you. "We were just having some fun. It's my date night. Don't get your wings in a twist." Beelzebub glared at him. "Just because it's your date night with MC doesn't excuse you putting them in danger. You couldn't even defend yourself right now, forget about defending them!" You frowned and stepped forward. "Guys relax. Nothing happened." Mammon scoffed, "That's always how it is with you! You think that just because nothin' has happened to ya that it's fine. You ain't invincible MC. Gah, it's like you're just throwin' ya self into dangerous situations just to get us to come to save ya again!" Satan raised an eyebrow at Mammon's comments and crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe that's what they want. Attention. Is that the real reason why you keep being so reckless?" he tsks and scowls at you, "If you wanted attention MC you could've asked one of your seven boyfriends." You looked at them all with wide eyes. "Wha- I do NOT do all of this for attention!" Levi snarled, "Then why do you do it? Huh? Why else would you get drunk in one of the most notorious clubs in the Devildom? Why else would you date all seven of the Lords of the Devildom?" You stepped back as though you had been slapped by Levi's words. You glanced around at the others, but no one rose to your defence. You met Belphie's gaze hoping, that maybe as the only one to have not spoken up, that he'd be on your side. He just snickered and gave you a perplexed look. "What? Don't expect me to step in. You got yourself in this mess." You stood shocked and hurt; almost unwilling to believe that your partners, the people who you thought loved you unconditionally, verbally attacked you. Anger bubbled and boiled inside of you until you couldn't contain it anymore. "If you guys have such a problem with it, then maybe I won't depend on you anymore! I'm reckless, yeah, I admit, but I never did it for attention and I certainly never put myself in danger just so you all could play the hero," you turned your anger to Leviathan, "And in case you forgot, you all agreed to date me! I thought it was because you all loved me as much as I loved you but apparently fucking not! So if you don't mind, I'm going to leave now like the attention-driven child that you all think I am!"

Not your classiest moment, but you didn't care. It was clear you weren't wanted at the time, and you were too tired to handle the brutal words that they were throwing at you. So you left. Which brought you here, stumbling your way towards Purgatory Hall, drunk, and sobbing as you shivered from the cold Devildom air. You could just see the shape of the Hall ahead of you when you suddenly tripped and found yourself tumbling to the ground. You winced as you felt your knees and hands scrape against the ground. You groaned and turned yourself over to inspect the injuries. "Just when the night couldn't get any worse," "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" You stiffened as three demons came out of the woods around you and began circling you like vultures about to swoop in on their prey. The tallest one snickered. "Looks like the Lords' little pet strayed too far from its masters. Lucky us~"

A shorter, rounder one smiled sharply as drool trickled from its mouth. "Their loss, our gain," it leaned forward and inhaled deeply before sighing in pleasure. "Oh, get a whiff of that fear~ Just, delicious! Do you think it's true when they say that human tears really do add seasoning to its meat?" You tried to scramble away from it, as your heart pounded in your chest, but yelped as your back bumped against a curvier one. Its long nails dug into your shoulders as it secured its hands near your neck. "Only one way to find out." You were in trouble. These demons clearly had no intention of letting you go. You needed to get out of there before it was too late. You jammed the heel of your palms against the back of the wrists of the demon that holding you down, while you leaned backwards away from it. You were able to get just enough slack to roll away from the demon before jumping back to your feet. You were still surrounded, but at least now you weren't defenceless on the ground. Progress.

You did your best snarl, one that you and Mammon had jokingly practiced together one day, and glared fiercely at them. "Do you have any idea who you're messing with? I could have you all killed with just a snap of my fingers. You have one chance to run away, or I promise you that no one will ever be able to find your sorry corpses."

The tall one laughed and smirked at you. "And what exactly are you going to do? Scratch us with your blunt little nails? Bite us with your flat teeth?" The round one perked and began to hop excitedly. "Oh! Oh! Maybe they'll summon the lords to do it for them! Such a pathetic thing doesn't stand a chance on its own."

The curvy one wore a sickening grin as it leaned down mockingly at you. "So, you gonna call your guard dogs or what?"

You froze. You couldn't summon the brothers. Technically, you could, but not at this moment. Not after that fight. They had basically screamed at you about how they were tired of you getting yourself into situations exactly like this and then come crying to them for help. And what did you do? Take off and prove them right. They didn't want to be your heroes. They didn't want you.

You were on your own in this, and there was no way you could fight and win. Without a second thought, you turned towards Purgatory Hall and ran. The laughter of the demons rang behind menacingly. You barely got five steps away before a set of claws slashed deep into your ankle. You screamed out as you collapsed roughly to the ground, making your forehead against the dirt road.

You twisted onto your side to see the round demon drooling over your heavily bleeding leg with a nearly psychotic expression. "I love it when they try to run." That was the only warning you got before it sunk its razor-sharp teeth into your calf. You wailed loudly in pain as you used your other foot to try and kick the demon off of you, but it wasn't so willing to let go of its meal. The tall one grabbed your arm, bending you foreword as it roughly folded it behind your back. You cried out as you felt your shoulder pop out of its socket and nausea swirl in your stomach. "Not so tough now, are you?" It purred in your ear as it licked the tears off of your cheeks. You choked on your sobs as it roughly bit into the flesh on your collar, and weakly struggled in its grasp. "Let go of me! H-Help! Somebody! Help me!"

The curvy one finally approached you, burying its fingers into your hair before harshly yanking your head towards it. You screamed before it slapped its clawed hand across your face. Bile threatened to rise out of your throat as you felt your own blood drip down your cheek.

Spots began to blur your vision as the demon leered down at you with its menacing eyes. You felt your stomach drop as a realization hit you. This was how you would die.

You whimpered as you thought of the brothers, and how you never got to even kiss them or tell them goodbye one final time. Hell, you didn't even get to see them smile at you. Instead, you were reminded that you could never be what they needed you to be.

You would die scared, in pain, and unloved.

The curvy demon laughed as it wrapped its hands around your throat. You struggled to breathe and whined as, for just a moment, you saw Belphegore choking you to death once more, and not this monster. You morbidly thought that it was only fitting for you to be killed the same way twice. The demon leaned closer to you, demanding that you meet its un-naturally yellow eyes as it smiled. "You realize it now don't you? That this is your death bed? That no one is coming for the pathetic little human. I bet no one would even-" Before it could finish its sentence a blindingly bright beam burst across the side of its face sending it flying across the ground. You could hear the other demon curse and began to take off as two voices shouted and more bright flashes were sent in their direction. As your vision began to fade, you saw tear-filled, innocent blue eyes look down at you and a small mouth framed by chubby cheeks try to speak. But it was too late. With a final whine, you felt your eyes roll to the back of your skull and your mind plummet into darkness. ***This request is just evil and I love it. There will be a part two. So stay tuned for more pain. Hope you enjoyed it @millenniumofpain! Thank you for allowing me to write this!!***

[seijorhi]

Final Girl

Kuroo Tetsurou, Bokuto Koutarou & Akaashi Keiji x Female Reader

And please check out the incredible fanart @lausterdomyamong created for this fic here 💕💕💕

TW blood, gore, violence, minor character death, implied non-con, pregnancy mentions, nsfw

Your lungs are burning. 

You haven’t run like this in years, your thighs are screaming at you for a reprieve. With every step it feels like the soles of your bare feet are splitting open but you can’t stop, not for a single second.

You can’t stop. You can’t stop. 

Keep running.

It’s dark, and you can barely see.

Stumbling like newborn foal through the thick undergrowth, tripping over the roots that catch at your feet. Your legs are scratched and bleeding, and there’s a nasty scrape along your arm from where you’d fallen and tried to cushion the blow, but you shove it all down and you keep running.

You can’t hear much over the sounds of your laboured breaths and your own heartbeat hammering away inside of your ears, but you know you must be making a racket. Branches breaking, leaves crunching underfoot as you clumsily dash through the woods - keep running, keep going.

Being quiet won’t save you if they catch up.

The loud whoops and the hyena like laughter that echo out through the trees behind you spur you onwards. Faster, you have to run faster.

This is nothing but a game to them. 

“Wait- wait, just stop for a sec… do you hear that?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes as you scoot closer to his bedroll, “Really, babe? The campfire stories weren’t enough for you? Do you not want me to sleep at all on this trip?”

There’s a teasing little grin on your face, not that your boyfriend can see it in the darkness of your tent. You expect him to laugh, grab you by the waist and pull you under him - make some quip about his wicked intentions of not letting you sleep a wink, but he doesn’t.

He stiffens, pushing himself back upright onto his palms, head cocked to the side like a dog listening for the faintest hint whisper of a sound.

“Babe-”

“Shh!” he hisses, and it’s more shock than anything else that has your mouth falling shut. His hand reaches across to grab yours in the darkness and he squeezes it just once. An apology maybe, or a reassurance that you’re still there with him. “Can you hear that? I think… I think there’s someone out there.”

You swallow uneasily, goosebumps prickling at your skin. If this is part of some stupid joke, you’re gonna kick him out of this tent and make him bunk with his friends for the rest of the trip. He’s never been one for mean spirited pranks, but this is freaking you out.

“It’s probably just one of the guys-” or an animal, or the wind, or his own overactive imagination. You guys are out in the middle of the woods after all. 

“I’m gonna go out and check,” he whispers, pulling his hand from yours and pressing a quick kiss against your cheek. “Stay here.”

There’s a road, a long stretch of winding highway that you’d driven along for what felt like hours when you’d first arrived with your friends. There’s no possible way for you to know if you’re going in the right direction, but if you can just make it there, then-

The thick scent of smoke invades your nose and for you falter - just for a split second - searching for the source. There, maybe two hundred yards away to your left, you spot the orange glow flickering between the trees and your stomach lurches.

Dark figures flit through the clearing, maybe a dozen of them, half illuminated by the bonfire. You can hear their laughter, the shouts and drunken revelry as they party the night away. They don’t have a care in the world, and why should they? Real monsters belong in horror movies and scary stories, not lurking in the shadows of the woods. 

Leave them.

The vicious thought takes you by surprise, but for one awful moment, you consider it. The promise of fresh new toys to rip apart and break, drunk and blissfully unaware, surely that would be enough to tempt them away. You’re just one girl… 

(The truth, the one that sits heavy in your stomach, whispers that you know better than to believe they’ll ever let you get away.)

Your heart pounds against your ribs, your legs unwittingly slowing down. You don’t have time for indecision; it’s them or you.

If leaving them to the wolves meant that you walked away from this, if you could make it back home-

There’s a shout, a scream that rips through the crisp autumn night before it cuts off with an abrupt gurgle. A loud thud followed by a laugh you don’t recognise - one that sends a chill running down your spine. More voices, more screams. Footsteps and a splatter of something dark and viscous against the side of your tent.

There’s a hoot and a chuckle, closer this time, and you hear a sob that’s all too familiar. Pleading. 

Your friend begging for her life.

“Shh, shh, shhh. Aw c’mon sweetheart, don’t be like that.”

Another hiccuping sob. “Please… p-please I don’t wanna die…”

“Kuroo-”

There’s a petulant huff, a loud voice interjecting, “s’no fun when they’re just sitting there.”

Kneeling frozen in your tent with one hand clamped tightly over your mouth to stifle your own terrified cries, you squeeze your eyes shut, not daring to draw breath. 

Somebody sighs - the first one, you think. “Y’know, I think Bokuto has a point… Do you like games, sweetheart?”

There’s no response - at least not one that you can hear - but she must have nodded, because the voice continues, “Glad to hear it! Tell you what, we’re gonna play a little game, and if you win, we’ll let you go! Sounds fair, right?”

“We’ll even give you a headstart, just cause we’re nice guys! Whad'ya reckon ‘Kaashi? A minute? Two?”

There’s a short silence, filled only by the sounds of her ragged whimpering. “Two,” the second one - ‘Kaashi - decides. His voice is deadpan, smooth, cold and blunt, but there’s an underlying current of something excitable - the barest hint that he’s not quite as disinterested as he sounds. “She won’t get away.”

No.

You veer, sprinting towards the camp. 

The others died while you hid like a fucking coward, too scared to do anything to help them (it wouldn’t have made a difference, but you should have tried) you can’t do this again. 

You can only imagine how you must look, a strange woman sprinting out of the woods, barefoot, your nightgown torn and filthy, blood streaking your skin. You can pinpoint the moment that they catch sight of you, one of the guys doing a double take and jerking so badly he almost falls off the log he’s perched on. “What the fuck?!”

Another turns, eyes wide and gaping, “Dude, she’s fucking pre-”

“RUN!” you bellow, just in time to see an axe arc through the air beside you and embed itself smack bang in the centre of his skull with a sickening thud.

“Now that’s a bullseye!” Bokuto hollers, maybe thirty feet behind you and gaining quickly. “Didja see that, Akaashi?”

Screams erupt from the other campers, scrambling frantically to their feet as their friend collapses lifelessly to the ground, blood still spurting gruesomely from his wound. 

“Don’t go gettin’ cocky now, the night’s still young,” Kuroo drawls, swinging his baseball bat - the dark wood flecked with dried blood, rusted nails crudely hammered through the barrel - experimentally through the air a few times. “And last I counted, I was still two up on you.”

There’s no time to humour the fear that rips through you like wildfire. You grab the nearest camper - a girl not much older than yourself, staring wide eyed and trembling at the body in front of her - and yank her forward with you. “Run,” you hiss again.

The others scatter, drunk and clumsy - a split second too slow. 

A boot lands on the fallen tree stump, its owner springing gracefully over it. Akaashi’s machete gleams in the moonlight, sweeping gracefully like an extension of his arm as he slices downwards. Blood sprays, drenching his front, and another body falls to the ground - this one missing half a face. 

It’s brutal. Chaotic. 

Ruthless. 

You can’t look back, you can’t help them. The girl is screaming at you, yelling words you can’t hear, trying fruitlessly to tug her wrist out of your grip, but you don’t relent. You don’t slow down, not even as dread fills your stomach and tears burn unshed in your eyes. You can’t help the others - not as Kuroo’s bat comes swinging out of the darkness, tearing flesh and muscle from bone, not when Bo yanks his axe from his victim’s head with a foot planted on his chest, immediately giving chase to another with a wild grin, not when Akaashi’s machete, slick with blood, cuts through her friends like butter - but you can save her.

Just one person- 

“Kitten, come back and play!” Kuroo shouts after you with a sickeningly fond chuckle.

- so long as you don’t stop running.

The camp is eerily quiet, even the crickets have stopped. You have no idea how long ago they left to hunt down your friend, how long you’ve sat, sobbing in silence, too scared to breathe, waiting to see if they’d come back. 

Your friends are dead. Your boyfriend is dead. 

You don’t realise how badly you’re shaking until you try and move - almost falling flat on your face when your arms give out. They’re gone, but every noise, no matter how muted, feels deafening and you try not to flinch as you drag yourself towards the mouth of the tent. You don’t have time to prepare yourself for the carnage waiting for you across the camp ground, you can’t think about the fact that people you love have been torn apart and murdered while you cowered away frozen in fear.

The grip you have on your emotions, your sanity, is fragile, but in your terrified hysteria, you understand one very important thing - they could come back at any moment, and you cannot be here when that happens. 

You cannot stop and cry for your friends, you cannot afford to break down when you see their bodies hacked up and scattered around you - you won’t even look - you just have to take the car keys fisted in your right hand, get to your boyfriend’s truck and get the fuck away from this nightmare as quickly as those wheels can take you. 

Crawling on your hands and knees you slowly pry open the tent flap, biting your lip and wincing at the quiet hiss of the zipper. 

The cold night air hits you like a slap in the face, but it’s nothing compared to the overwhelming coppery tang of blood that settles on the tip of your tongue as you breathe it in. You bite down on your whimper, squeezing your eyes shut and forcing your leaden limbs to move - you can’t afford to stop now, you have to get away.

You won’t look, you won’t look, you won’t-

“I was wondering when you’d finally show yourself.”

Ice douses your system, your heart lurching. Your eyes shoot open, darting towards the source of the voice - there, leaning calmly against the thick trunk of a tree only a few feet away from you is a man. Tall and slender, with dark hair and delicate features, you’d probably go so far as to call him pretty if it wasn’t for the blood splattered garishly across his pale skin and the teasing grin tugging at his lips. 

Absolute terror renders you helpless as he pushes away from the tree and takes a single, calculated step towards you. “Kuroo and Bokuto won’t be long, they’re just finishing up with your friend.” His pretty smirk widens as your eyes well up with tears and a gasping sob finally rips its way free from your chest, “but I don’t think they’ll mind if we get started without them.”

You’re following the well trodden path, praying to god that it’ll lead you back to the road, to any kind of safety. The shouts and screams behind you died out a few minutes ago, but you can’t let yourself think about what that means - it’ll only slow you down and you’re so close.

“Wait, wait, stop! We ha-have to go back!” the girl cries, trying once again to pull you to a stop. “My friends-”

“I’m sorry,” you pant, glancing across at her - and you are. Her eyes are wide and terrified, swimming in a pain you know all too well. It’s selfish and cruel, and it’ll tear her apart just like it has you, but if you let her go now… “It’s too late for them, we need to keep-”

“Baby, you know you can’t hide from us!”

Bokuto. Your heart seizes just as the girl shrieks, and you risk a glance over your shoulder, slowing just a faction. 

They’re closing in, all three of them, less than twenty yards away.

Panic and desperation bite at your nerves - you can’t let them catch you, not now, not when you’re almost free. But your body is aching, your muscles on fire and your stamina is shot to pieces. You’re on your last legs and they know it. They don’t even have to run anymore, they’ve worn you down completely - it’s a miracle you’re still standing.

And it’s childish and petulant, but you just want to scream and cry and yell and beat your fists against the ground because it’s not fucking fair!

You were so close.

Your grip around her wrist slackens just a touch, and the girl takes the opportunity to rip her hand free from yours. You expect her to run, to flee like a bat out of hell and leave you crumpled in the dust, but instead she turns to you with a withering glare, “This is all your fault. You brought them here. You did this.”

The accusation hits you like a slap, but before you can even open your mouth to protest (she’s not wrong, you know she’s not wrong) she grabs you by the shoulders and with all the strength she has left, shoves you back in the path of your pursuers. You stumble from the force of the blow, not expecting it, and for a moment you feel yourself start to fall, instinctively curling in on yourself to protect your belly-

Strong arms catch you before you can hit the ground, pulling you against a warm, muscular chest. “Gotcha,” Kuroo breathes, his tongue darting out to lick at the blood splattered across your cheek.

Vaguely, you register Bokuto’s low, furious growl as he launches forward, his axe raised high. The sharp, piercing screams are cut off quickly - violently - as he buries it in her neck with a snarl. He swings again and her head tumbles clean off to bounce across the forest floor, but he keeps going, swinging again and again and again until her body is nothing but a bloody, mangled mess for the animals to scavenge. 

Your vision blurs, and it takes you a moment to realise that it’s tears welling up in your eyes as Kuroo’s hands run up and down your sides, drifting protectively across the gentle swell of your stomach. “You did good, kitten,” he coos, Akaashi and Bokuto coming up either side of you. “But it’s time to come home now, don’tcha think?”

A hand cups your cheek, drawing you to meet Akaashi’s twisted, lovesick expression, “Gotta reward our pretty little girl for playing her role so well,” he murmurs, his thumb gently stroking the delicate skin. 

“Maybe we can fuck another kid into her,” Bokuto adds with a grin, his previous rage all but forgotten, sated along with his bloodlust thanks to the butchered corpse lying a few yard away. His golden eyes, half lidded and burning with lust, flicker across your face for just a moment, drinking in every last drop of crushing defeat and despair before his lips crash down on yours in a savage, bloody kiss.

This was nothing but a game to them - one you never had a chance in hell of winning. 

[nuggiebugge]

Norman Bates

This is a general headcanon request from the lovely graveyard_fairiez

(Go look at their work, its so amazing istg. They have a slasher drabbles book, go read it.)

Sleeping

he would sleep on his stomach in a starfish position

Or he would like, wrap his entire body around a body pillow

He is a sleepwalker, you're gonna have to put a collar with a bell on him lol

Lock all doors at night, and invest in a refrigerator lock, he likes to sleep raid

He is known to go out at night and switch into his mother, hopefully you get to him before he goes too far outside

Favorite foods

i think he would really like Italian food

Lasagna babe

He would like to make you spaghetti for dates, he's a hopeless romantic

(Low key he would love to recreate that lady and the tramp scene)

Other than that, he would also really love Asian bbq.

Take him to an authentic Japanese bbq place and he will love you forever

Habits/ quirks

he has a really bad habit of picking his nails, get him some gloves

He likes to talk to his taxidermy if he’s feeling lonely, go give him a hug :( my baby

If he's bored, he's gonna munch on something random. Like, a piece of plastic he found or a piece of wood, little nasty man.

If he finds something off centered, it just irks him to a point that he has to make it perfect. If a picture frame is even slightly off, he is centering every frame in the hotel.

His idea of a date

his mama raised him right. He is either cooking his s/o something completely from scratch, or he's taking them out to dinner. Split the bill? Are you crazy?Let you tip? No. He’s tipping.

Sweet baby might take you out for a romantic picnic later on in your relationship, take you to a clearing in the woods near his hotel.

He would make you chocolate covered strawberries, and feed them to you like royalty (because you are, tf?)

Animals

He is a cat guy, enough said.

He prefers animals to be stuffed, but cats are the exception

They are s cute and fluffy

He thinks hairless cats are scary

Dogs are also scary

He hates small dogs like chihuahuas or corgis

Those little bastards are so mean

Movies

his favorite type of show or movie unironically would be chic flicks, or cheesy romance

A sucker for twilight movies

He likes sappy cavity sweet movies like marley.

Music 🎶

i have a feeling he loves velvet core music

Or reggae music

Bob Marley be hittin

If you're a metalhead like Moi, he will totally head bang with you!

He loves all kinds of music, velvet and reggae are his favorites though.

[silverskye13]

I’m having a lot of fun so here’s a snippet from that Village AU I’m chipping at, under the cut if you don’t want spoilers? Can you spoilers your own fanfiction? 

[shrugs loudly]

Ahead of them, trundling along in their horse-pulled cart, the owners of Horsehead Farms were also striking out towards town, taking up a solid half the road with how massive the supply cart was. Vigenere’s quick trot brought them alongside boxes of nails and other iron goods, different types of decorative woods, stacked glass panes and a few barrels of unknown contents - though likely seeds for the garden beds Gem was so excited about. Hypno, tow-headed and strikingly pale in comparison to the black jacket and headscarf he wore, was lounging with his ankles crossed over the top of the buckboard, arms pillowed behind his head. xB, the selected driver for the morning, wore an identical black jacket, and he scratched at his beard as he bickered with his associate.

“Listen, I’m just saying, it’s not that great of a farm idea if we can just outsource it, right?”

“Etho doesn’t deal in bulk, dude,” Hypno pointed out, “And if they’re really thinking about letting us access potion breweries? We’re gonna want some bulk stock. You have any idea how much some swiftness pots would help with the harvest this year?”

“Right, I get that, but the Powers That Be have been threatening to let us get potions for like, three years now? I don’t think it’s gonna fly with the brass, you know, and they’ll probably regulate that sorta thing anyway -- oh! G’mornin’ Doc!”

Hypno cracked an eye open and waved as Doc reigned in Vigenere beside their leading horses, the two carts matching pace, “If it ain’t the Goatfather himself - figured you’d be in town already buddy.”

“We had a straggler,” Doc jabbed a thumb in Ren’s direction.

Ren huffed indignantly, sitting up a little straighter on the wood pile, “Well I still made it, didn’t I?”

Gem elbowed him in the ribs, “Just barely.”

Ren opened his mouth to argue, but a particularly nasty bump in the road cut him off. Ren noticed the Horsehead Farms cart was edging ahead of theirs slightly. He and Gem exchanged a look.

“How’s everything up at the ol’ 8-Side?” xB asked pleasantly, fiddling with the reins a bit as the cart creeped forward a little bit more, “Last we heard you guys were expecting?”

“The Octagon’s got four strong kids in the barn, and one more on the way, if the pregnancy goes well,” Doc hummed, letting his reins slacken a bit. Vigenere took the hint and picked up her pace a tad. Their cart crept forward, until Doc was passing the Horsehead wagon just slightly, “And Gem and I were talking about maybe trying our hand at some goat’s cheese for the town soon, you know, it might be a nice change from all the cow products going around.”

“Right, right, yeah,” Hypno slowly straightened in his seat, uncrossing his ankles from the buckboard and planting them more firmly beneath him. He reached around to grab a tighter hold on the cart, and he grinned, “Variety is the spice of life and all that, but you can’t really make a warm cup of hot chocolate with goat’s milk, yanno? Or bake a cake - speaking of which, I heard one of the folks in town is thinking of making a bakery. It’ll be good for our business - like most things are.”

“Right, your business, speaking of - ahm - when do you plan on selling the saw mill to Ren? He does a great job running the place for you. Dude’s got that down to an art, right brother?”

“Doc,” Ren said warningly. Gem grinned and grabbed onto the backboard of the cart. Ren managed to think that was a good idea.

With a whoop, xB suddenly spurred the horses forward, and their cart lurched into a rattling run as the goods piled in the back clattered together. At almost the same time, Doc shouted for Vigenere to run, and throwing all her weight behind the gallop, she did, half dragging the rest of her team along as she went.

[lazarettta]

First Glimpse

Summary: Just a random glimpse into the life of a rare pairing of Sasha Banks and Bianca Belair.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: suggestive scenes, language maybe, but fluffy late night stuff w a married couple.

Sasha wasn’t sure if it was the thunder that woke her up or the constant flashing from the lightning through her window in her bedroom that she shared with her wife. Sasha lifted her head from her slumbering wife’s chest and looked around their bedroom slowly, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Sasha figured it was just those damn horror movies her wife insisted on watching right before they go to bed. 

Ever since the damn global pandemic came and forced the WWE to halt production until the worst of it was over, it’s been hell trying to figure out how to keep themselves from losing their minds being confined indoors. And Sasha could only do so many makeup tutorials and watch so many Disney movies. 

Sasha sighed and carefully slid away from her wife as she pushed her side of the covers aside and slipped out of bed. Sasha quickly glanced at the clock and rolled her eyes. That was another thing that the Coronavirus screwed up; her sleep schedule. She tried her hardest to keep up her usual schedule but after two days, she gave up. Not because she wanted to, but her wife took their three month vacation very seriously and wasted no time sexing Sasha up and down their house.

Sasha flipped on the stairway light, she didn’t want another incident again—she was lucky the last time, because now was not the time to go to the hospital. Sasha made her way down to the kitchen, she wasn’t particularly hungry but maybe a light snack would help her go back to sleep. 

The moment Sasha turned on the kitchen light she heard nails scratching and sliding on their wood floor as Lola, their pitbull, came scrambling in no doubt hoping to get something to eat too. At first glance, Lola was muscular and very fit but the moment either of them walk into the kitchen...Lola the fatass is right there, waiting for her share even though she has treats and eats hearty meals. 

Of course, it didn’t help that they always indulged her. 

Sasha stared down at her dog, eyebrow raised, “Why is that everytime I come in the kitchen... you in the kitchen. Lola you need to get a job.”

Lola shuffled, huffed and was content to watch her. Sasha pulled the milk out of the fridge and she opened the cabinet, searching for the bowls and she rolled her eyes, cursing her wife for putting them on the top shelf. Sasha considered getting the chair but it was too far and it would’ve made too much noise. 

Sasha took a deep breath and climbed up on the counter carefully and she reached up for a bowl, of course she could’ve just used the other ones closest to her but those weren’t her favorite cereal bowls. 

Sasha nearly grabbed it when she suddenly felt two strong hands on the back of her bare thighs, long nails gently grazing the bottom of her panties beneath the long shirt she wore. 

“Whatcha doin’ pretty girl?”

Sasha looked over her shoulder at her wife, smiling softly, “Making cereal, want some?”

“I could eat.” Bianca smirked though she was clearly still half asleep.

“Nasty.” Sasha rolled her eyes and grabbed two bowls, setting them down on the counter before she forced Bianca back a few steps so she could get down safely, though they both knew that Sasha wasn’t going to hit the floor even if she did slip. 

Bianca took the bowls from Sasha’s hands and set them aside as she pressed Sasha back against the counter with her arms on either side of her, and Sasha placed her hands on Bianca’s forearms. 

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

The couple were quiet for a few moments, content being in each other’s presence until Bianca couldn’t resist leaning down and softly kissing her wife, who immediately returned her affections. When Sasha slid her hands further along Bianca’s arms until she was able to wrap them around her neck, one hand tangled in Bianca’s dark hair, and the other cupping the base of her neck. Bianca moaned softly, attempting to deepen their kiss but Sasha’s growling stomach interrupted them. 

Sasha pulled back slightly, though their foreheads were still touching, “Captain Crunch or Frosted Flakes?”

“How about you?” Bianca moved her arms around Sasha’s waist tightly, hugging her close.

“Later. Now pick.”

Bianca sighed loudly and dramatically, kissing the top of Sasha’s purple head, “Tsk, fine. Captain Crunch.”

Sasha smirked, wiggling her way out of Bianca’s embrace, “See, now was that so hard?”

Bianca crossed her arms, halfheartedly mugging her wife as she walked into the pantry, “Girl, with you? It’s always hard.”

~~

Bianca lay on her side next to Sasha propped up on her elbow as she drew random patterns along Sasha’s spine, feeling her erratic heartbeat slowly coming down. Bianca couldn’t help but feel smug about how limp her wife was, especially since she was talking so much mess downstairs half an hour ago.

One of Bianca’s favorite things to do was to shut Sasha up. Her way, of course. Everyone else just wanted to beat her up...but not many of them could get through Bianca first. Their TV was playing in the background, some late night Lifetime movie that they were only half heartedly watching while they caught their breath.

“So,” Bianca started quietly, eyes no longer on the TV but one the random patterns she traced on Sasha’s spine with the tips of her fingers, “I think I’ll be drafted to Smackdown soon.”

Sasha shifted slightly so that she could look at Bianca curious and hopeful, “How do you know that?”

Bianca shrugged, “I talked to Stephanie and Hunter the other day when you went to the grocery store. It’s not set in stone, but it’s likely we’re gonna be on the same brand soon.”

“I guess that means I gotta tell Bayley to hit the road soon, huh?”

Bianca laughed softly, but she didn’t answer. Instead Bianca rolled Sasha over so that she was on her back, and despite Sasha’s exhaustion she was already spreading her legs in anticipation. Bianca’s gaze never left Sasha’s even as her free hand made its way down Sasha’s belly as Bianca draped casually over one of her spread legs, holding her still.

Bianca and Sasha continued to look into each other's eyes as Bianca worked Sasha’s tired body until she was trembling beneath her and gasping sharply as another orgasm tore through her body. It wasn’t until Sasha was whimpering and her eyes started to droop that Bianca finally relented and the last thing Sasha saw before falling asleep, was her wife licking her fingers clean with a self satisfied smirk on her face.

“I hate you,” Sasha mumbled.

“I love you too, babe. Sleep tight.”

Two weeks later…

As it turns out, Bianca had been right about her getting drafted to Smackdown, but she wasn’t the only one that was moved to a different brand. Roman Reigns and another Superstar were sent over to Raw. It was right around the same time the WWE sent out a mass email to all of their Superstars on roster about pre-taping shows and PPVs without an audience. And while the email was in no way forcing anyone to come in and guaranteed that they’d still be paid, everyone in the WWE knew how Vince McMahon could take rejection. Not very well, but a few of them were brave enough to say no and face the wraith that may or may not come their way later down the line.

But that wasn’t why Bianca was carrying two suitcases through Orlando International Airport with Sasha making sure that Lola was on her best behavior behind her. Wrestling was what they truly loved to do and while they loved being at home and spending time together, they were going to be on the same brand now and there wouldn’t be any more long lonely nights and FaceTime calls and sexting.

The decision to get a temporary six month apartment in Orlando twenty minutes from the Performance Center was an easy one, and they were on a redeye out of California a week later. 

“What do you think it’s gonna be like?” Sasha asked Bianca as they got settled in the rental waiting for them with Lola in the backseat, staring out the window at the new city they were in.

Bianca shrugged as she reached over to take Sasha’s hand once they were on the road, “Girl, you’re askin’ me like I don’t know what you know. It might be some bullshit, but we gotta make the best of what we have, right?”

“Right. Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Sasha sighed, shaking her head, “I guess it’s...I already feel weird without a crowd being there and going city to city, but it’s nice to be in one spot too. Are you ready to be on the best show in the WWE?” Sasha grinned softly when Bianca scoffed, and adjusted her glasses.

“Yeah, but...I’m gonna say this one time. Evans better not talk to me, she better not even look at me if she knows what’s good for her.”

“You have to let that go, baby. That was two years ago, we were barely talking back then.”

“I don’t care, the moment I seen you strutting backstage like you owned the place...I knew I was feelin’ you, and I had to ask you out. You were mine...no one knew it yet, but I did.”

Sasha snorted but she’d be lying if she didn’t like having someone defending her honor, even if they barely knew her (at the time), “So, what? You’re gonna break everyone's nose for saying something bad about me?”

“If I have to, don’t let these acrylics fool you. Tennessee bred, we protect what’s ours.”

“Even if I can handle myself?”

Bianca laughed, looking over at her wife but she didn’t say anything. Though she didn’t need to, that slight red painted smile and that mischievous glint in her dark eyes told Sasha everything she needed to know...Smackdown was about to be a lot more interesting for her..and anyone who got in their way. FIN

[michiieewrites]

Shigaraki - Grind On Me (fic)

WARNING: SMUT, 18+ ONLY!!

A/N: So last week had this dream about Shiggy and things got heavy and heated very fast, so this fic is based on that. I hope you will all like this fic. If you want more, don’t be shy to slide into my inbox, I don’t bite :D Anyway, enjoy!)

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Hurried footsteps slip inside. You follow the white haired man into the living roo. Once inside, you both feel the tension leave your bodies. Even if your chances of getting caught are rising with the minute, all you are is curious. You were both supposed to be in class at your college, but today is ditch-day.

You’ve never been in the Shigaraki-home before. Tomura never invited you over and you weren’t one to pry. He was your friend and you knew that he had a hard time letting himself be vulnerable around others. Give him the time he needs and he’ll slowly unravel the mess of strings inside his heart.

Looking around the living room, you could kind of guess why he never invited you. Everything was… big. Not in size, but in stature. From the outside, the house looked decent enough. Clean and obviously for a wealthy family. But nothing too crazy, nothing that stood out. The inside however, showed that the family that resides here is just straight up filthy rich. Dark wood decorated the interior, the walls filled with classic European art, even the chandelier was covered in crystals.

Turning around, you are met with carmine eyes. His eyes are studying you, trying to read your reaction. When his gaze falls away from your face, he walks over to the wine colored couch behind you. He sits down, leaning back and spreading his legs. The expression he wears tells you that he’s waiting for you to say something.

“It’s uh… I bet it fits your father’s taste,” you tentatively say.

A couple of seconds are filled with silence. Tomura nods. “Yeah, he says it’s shows the importance of our family. I think he just likes to ‘look’ at his money.”

You only met the man once, when he was waiting in the car while you and Tomura browse through the game store. He seemed like the type of man who wasn’t easily impressed. The look he shot you was that of someone who thought others should be beneath them. Someone with a goal ahead and the ability to make it happen, no matter the cost. Sometimes your friend would tell you a little about the path his father had laid out for him. At times, he listened to his father and his plans. At times, he would curse him to Hell and beyond. And at times, he just didn’t know what else there was to life, so he just went along with what others expected of him.

You sit down beside him. Your hand lies on his wrist and his eyes are pulled to the action. Because of his quirk, he was very cautious with touching others. But with you, the risk was worth it. It was worth it to feel the tips of your fingers touch his skin.

“Well, I’m very grateful that you invited me to your home, Tomura.”

“I thought you wouldn’t be swayed by the money my father has.”

In time, you had learned to sometimes read between the lines of his words. This time it meant that he trusted you not to suck up his father’s ass. That you would actually want to be around him for the person he really is. It made your heart squeeze in happiness for being allowed to closer each day.

Just as you pull your hand away from his wrist, you notice the tag of his shirt is out. You tuck it back in his shirt, your fingers grazing his neck. A startled gasp leaves his throat. He whips his head to look straight at you. You quickly pull your hand back.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer out.

His chest is falling and rising quickly, signaling his panting. “Do it again.”

You aren’t sure you heard that right. “W-what?”

“You heard me,” he said. Leaning over to your side, his arm going behind your back and pulling you closer at the same time. “I told you to do that again, Y/N. Touch my neck.”

Gingerly, your hand reaches out. The pads on your fingers press against his scratched up neck and the action makes him leans his head back, letting a soft groan. A little more daring, you decide to let your fingers travel along his neck. Your fingers press down, a feeling too light to massage any muscle. Only to make their presence known to his body.

You feel movement on the couch and instinctively look down to see Tomura bucking up his hips ever so slightly. His neck exposed, his whole body reacting to your touch. You can feel the fire slowly spreading from your fingertips up your arms, all the way up to your chest. Looking back up, you see lidded eyes watching you closely. Daring you to continue your adventure.

So you do. Crawling into his lap, your legs on both of his sides. With his own legs already spread wide, he has to hold on to you. Pulled as close to his chest as possible, one of his hands travels down your side. His touch is lighter than silk, rougher than an unpolished diamond. With his pinky lifted up, his hand rests just above your ass.

Now both your hands are touching his neck. Making a path down to his collarbones, exploring more unmapped territory. Maintaining the eye contact, you have to ask: “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Pressing his pelvis up against you, he lets out a longer groan this time. “Fuck, yes. Don’t tell me you never thought about it?”

In truth, you have. The pull you felt when you two sit closely next to each other. The comfort each other’s presence gave to the other. The intimacy of just enjoying each other’s company together. Grazes of simple touches lingering a little too long. The body heat that is shared from standing too close to each other. The trust between you two makes it easier to break down every wall. The protectiveness when you’re too far apart.

All these thoughts run wild through your head and it shows on your face. How your eyes fall down from his immodest stare to his lips. Emotions like an open book and all Tomura can focus on right now is how good it feels to touch. To touch you, to be more precise.

His free hand goes holds onto the back of your head and pushes your lips to his own. Cracked lips press against soft ones, not too fast or too slow. He swipes his tongue across your bottom lip and he tastes the mint chocolate ice cream you had earlier that day. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers your hands going back over his shoulder and down his back.

Wanton noises are heard throughout the living room. The temperature of your body is rising and you just know you need to feel something, anything that can restrain this heat. Your body has a mind of it’s own and grinds back down on Tomura. The man beneath pulling back from your kissing to let out a filthy and loud moan.

“Fuck Y/N! Fuck fuck fuck, yes, just keeping doing that.”

His breathing becoming more labored. The hand against your head entangles itself in your hair while the other one presses your body down. Following his movements, you grind yourself against the growing bulge in his pants. You place a kiss on the little mole next to his mouth and slowly make their way down his chin to his neck. You pay a little extra attention to the spots he keeps scratching himself.

Tomura moves his hand to hold on just beneath your ass, his fingers tracing along the swell. Mumbles of ‘good girl’, ‘right there’, while occasionally tugging on your hair. The vibrations of your moans against his skin. He grows more and more impatient with the way your body moves on top of him, but he doesn’t dare stop the heavenly treatment you’re giving him right now.

His pants are getting too tight. Even through the layers of clothing he can feel the heat of your pussy. Practically feeling how wet you’re getting. His own precum now staining his boxers. The plum weight of your ass in his hand, your mouth sucking on his skin. The occasional whimper being voiced. The need for feeling more of him coursing through your body.

As the minutes tick by, your movements becoming more desperate, trying to feel up the other as much as possible. Your hips have set up a pace of their own, your nails clawing at Tomura’s back to hold on. Your mind occupied by thoughts of how good you could really make him feel if this went on any longer. You don’t wanna stop. Only being spurred on by the feeling of your pussy grinding on his stiffening cock.

His lips constantly kissing your hair and whispering filthy things to you. “I finally have you riding yourself in my lap,” he whispers.

Your response muffled by the bite you hold on his neck. Sucking and licking over the new bruise. “I’m not the only one humping like a horny mess, Tomu.”

Pressing down just a little harder to hear that delicious groan of him. “Ah, you’re right, Y/N. But who knew you’d be such a nasty little bitch? Dry humping her best friend on his father’s couch?”

“And who knew his father would come home early today?”

The new voice startles the both of you. Both your heads look to see who it is. You don’t know what’s worse; being interrupted while making out or being interrupted by Mr. Shigaraki. Filled with shame, you try to get up from Tomura’s lap, but are being held back by his arms around your waist.

Sure, he respected his father, but right now Tomura wished he would perish on the spot. How dare he interrupt this moment between Y/N and him? Your face is burying itself against his shoulder, your body curling up in itself in his lap.

How dare his adoptive father make you feel like hiding yourself?

Smirking, a plan is forming in his mind. Still keeping you locked in his arm, he shifts you around a little till the older man has a good view of what’s between his legs. Looking AFO dead in the eyes, he starts palming himself.

“Unless you wanna see my dick out and proudly fucking Y/N here, I suggest you leave the same way you came. You got 5 seconds,” Tomura says.

For a moment nobody moves. Not until Tomura starts unbuttoning his pants, does AFO turn around and walk out the front door. Reveling in his victory, he turns his attention back to you. His eyes filled with primal longing and care. His tongue swiping over his lips, a promise of how the muscle can pleasure you.

“Now where were we, my little vixen?”

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***Please let me know if you liked this ending, thank you!

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