#semicircle pool

[voleuri]

Exterior (Tampa)

[daichiduskdrop]

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆·˚ ༘ *𝙎𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡 ⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

• Chapter 40

Pairing: BTS Ot7 X fem! reader

Genre: A/B/O AU, Fluff, Angst, Strangers to lovers,

Warnings: none! Enjoy!

Words: 3356

Taglist: @thelilbutifulthings @ilovemoneymorethenmen @singukieee @cherrysainttt @felicityroth @mageprincess7 @lucis-noctiana @danielle143 @osakis-gf @girl-nahh @vintageoldfashionstyle-blog @neverthefirstchoice @juju-227592 @silentreadersthings @i-have-no-life-charlie @everyonehatesshani @iamkookiesforyou @dragonsflare @fangirl125reader @roseidol @frieschan @popcatx0 @liz67900 @exfolitae @plexcaffeinate @strawblueberrys @massivelyfullenthusiast @iimichie @bts-0t-7 @hannahdinse8 @hannahdinse8

(open)

Previous:

⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ *

„Hyung, that's unfair; I wanted to be with Bunbun!” Jungkook whined when the teams got divided. Except for Namjoon, all played rock, paper, scissors to see which team would be theirs. 

It ended with you, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin on one, while Jin, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Yoongi would play opposites. After the second eldest would actually get into the pool, that is, as he rumbled annoyed that it's too early for this, while he placed the previously scattered towels into a neat pile. 

Your team got the more shallow side of the water area; not that the opposite was too crazily sloped, though—that just really wouldn't be fair. 

Plus, except for maybe Yoongi, the alphas were very tall, so they would be fine; you believed not to feel too guilty. 

All of you soon gathered just at the net border to talk before the game. 

Jungkook, with his competitive spirit shining through, began, "Alright, let's go over the rules real quick before we get started. That way, we're all on the same page."

Taehyung jumped in, adding, "Scoring works like this—we'll play to 15 points. You score a point when the ball hits the water on the other team's side." The young alpha measured your team with attentive eyes, a supportive yet competitive gaze that met yours. 

„And also, remember, when serving, make sure the ball goes over the net and the other team has a chance to return it. Let's have fun!"

Jungkook nodded in agreement. "Exactly, and when volleying, you can use any part of your body to hit the ball, but no catching or holding onto it. And also, no crossing the net into the other team's territory—that's a big no-no." He smiled brightly, happiness shining through. 

You wished you were this confident too, yet your skills just wouldn't hold up, but you were ready to try your very best and really just have fun.

Taehyung grinned mischievously. "And if the ball goes out of bounds, it's a point for the other team. Let's keep it in play, guys, and show off those volleyball skills!"

As the packmates listened attentively to the rules, Jungkook clapped his hands. "Alright, now that we're clear on the rules, let's get this game started! May the best team win!"

The proclaimed leaders of each team, for yours Namjoon and for the opposing Jungkook, played rock, paper, scissors once again to determine who would get the first serve. 

It ended up being Jungkook's team, and so, as the youngest got ready into the position from which he would start the game, all of you too separated to form a sort of net and hopefully win. 

You were at the right side of the pool, just a metre or so from the net, attentively watching the youngest alpha, waiting for him to throw the light ball. To your left was Jimin, behind you was Hobi, and at the very back corner was Namjoon. 

Jungkook's throw turned any hopes of your skills not being that bad out of the window, his muscles flexing as the ball flew high up in almost a perfect semicircle, aimed towards the back of the pool where the leader stood, his belly button just in the water. 

With a soft gasp leaving you, you watched in almost slow motion how the alpha reached forward, and it truly seemed as if his fingers just barely touched it in time before he let the ball bounce back forward. 

Once again over to their side, you watched as Yoongi, who stood just before you let the sphere easily pop back over the net, clearly aimed your way with the soft blow, much less stressed than when the youngest alpha threw it. 

„Kitty-!” He breathily called, just to really make sure that Jimin wouldn't reach for it instead. And so, you stood on your tippy toes to touch it sooner and let the ball bounce just over to Yoongi again. 

You smiled brightly, happy that you didn't miss the opportunity or mess it up for your team too badly, even when Jungkook's team scored in the end. 

The match continued for a while after, yet you struggled to always respond correctly, especially in the pool position at the very back. You messed up a few times, but your teammates were quick to cheer you up, claiming you would get it next time with no problem. 

You had fun, to be truthful, but after the opposite team won, though only over 3 points (3!) you let the others continue another game while Hoseok abandoned them to spend time with you. 

The alpha smiled at you, his wet and pretty hair brushed back to show his forehead. You giggled when water splashed into his eyes from Jimin, calling, „Don't stare!” while giggling loudly, as you jumped to Hobi's arms, who was rubbing at his eyes, grumbling softly. 

No hurt feelings today; even after you slipped into the water from your games with Taehyung, the alpha was quick to hug you soon after hiding your face in his neck. 

With your palms resting over his collarbones, the alpha held you close. With your eyes closed and your chin resting next to the connection of his shoulders and neck, the calm, soft waves were nice against your body, allowing you to rest. 

„My sunshine...” Your eyes fluttered open at the man's voice, looking up. His eyes were fond as they stayed on your calm form, the tips of your hair wet. Even in what you would believe was an unflattering look you currently had, the alpha before you and all the others around you believed in the exact opposite. You were beautiful. 

The alpha smiled even wider, his nose meeting the very top of your head and his scent sticking to you again. 

You spend more time in the pool with the alphas, Hobi having you hold onto him as he walked around the pool, the pretty waves nice against your shoulders and arms, eyes closed and truly vulnerable—yet not even for a moment did you feel unsafe. 

And when the youngest alphas came around to you to have you be part of their competition to make the biggest splash when jumping, you reluctantly said yet, but only when Hoseok would stay at the corner of the pool, ready to help you the moment you would have any troubles. 

True to be told, the rest of the alphas watched very closely whenever you would jump into the water. While the youngest alphas would choose the deepest end for their performance, you stayed at the spot where your tippytoes would still reach the bottom, too afraid otherwise. 

You had Jin and Namjoon judge the splash, first just the eldest, but once Jin claimed you jumped the most 'splashy' even when it wasn't necessarily the truth, as you just slipped in the water, barely making a proper splash, your competitions started crying out about Jin being biassed, claiming, „Hyung, you can't say that when I was clearly the winner! The water touched the ceiling too!” 

At the whines and your cheeky smiles, Namjoon came over from letting the water spray on his back from the massager head, claiming he would make the judging fair. 

Soon after thought, the playful competition turned into smiles and one of love as you and the other three tried to make different letters and shapes in the air while the elders judged, clapping and laughing. 

You did your best to make BTS letters, but the B was a bit wonky while Jungkook held your ankle to his tummy with your arms around his shoulders and the man's other hand at your waist. 

At your first successful attempt, you and the others bugged Yoongi, who brought his phone to take photos of your jumps, as you held your hands with the others, or when each of the men would have an individual photo with you at the very deep end, jumping with you in their arms. 

You had true fun; the entire pack took a bunch of funny photos with the phone, taking videos and time-set photos. And just before you had to leave, Jungkook sat you on his shoulders, and with Taehyung and Jimin on him as your opponents, you played rooster fights the alpha gentle to not be too harsh and throw you completely over much too dangerously in their eyes. 

Not much later than that, the second eldest man's phone started ringing again, and an alarm was set so that they would leave on time. With that, the men started all slowly getting out of the water, Jimin being the first to bend down near the edge to hook his arms under your arms, picking you up from the water before you could even try to do so yourself. 

Tenderly placing you back onto the tiles around, he said a soft, „Be careful not to slip, princess.” Before you could even step away, the eldest was already there with the fluffy towel he got you, wrapping you up in the comfortable pale purple, the alphas palms gently warming you up as you started to shiver. 

Soon you were already leaving, with Yoongi's fingers closely wrapped around you, holding you after he brought your crocs over before. Namjoon ushered all of you out after he slid the doors open, waiting for everyone to leave before he turned the heating back to low-spend mode before the pack alpha followed after you all. 

„Here, angel, I'll wrap your hair up, baby cheeks!” Taehyung smiled widely, the cute boxy smile like a cure to any sadness lingering from having to leave already, as the alpha stood behind you in the corridor leading further to the house, gently letting his fingers comb through your hair before he wrapped the towel around the locs, squeezing the water out. 

You looked too cold in his eyes, your lips turning too purplish for his liking as your skin felt cold under his sweet touches. And so, the alpha's warmer body wrapped around you in a comfortable hug, his chin going over your temple with cute eyes. 

„How about you shower to warm up a little baby? You're too cold; you'll get sick.” He fretted over you, Namjoon, who just walked past, quick to catch on, the back of his hand carressing your cheek, a soft frown taking over his features. 

„I'll start the shower for you, pup. Come on.” He said gently, taking your other hand in his, with Taehyung holding the left one. The alphas were quick to lead you upstairs, leaving small droplets of water on the floor. The eldest complained about having to clean later, but he had too much fun to be truly angry. 

The second youngest led you to his bedroom, your confused glances shushed with his calming pheromones. He pulled out one of his warm cardigans, a mixture of warm tan, dark green, and red in an argyle pattern. 

„Babycheeks, how about this? Or do you want something warmer? This one is super warm and has a nice fabric too. What about it?” The man said, rummaging through the racks of clothing while you watched wrapped in towels. 

The alpha pulled out a cream-white sweater with a small black heart with big, pretty eyes. The logo was cute. You smiled wide, noting how well-scented it was, and so you nodded right away, having the man return a wide, boxy smile and hand you the heavy sweater. 

„Wait, sweetie, let me check the tags, so it won't be harsh on your skin.” He remembered, softly once again taking it back, looking and reading closely through the tags on the bottom of the torso. 

'Comme des Garçons V-Neck Cream Heavy Knit Sweater

luxurious blend of 80% cashmere, 15% silk, and 5% merino wool

high-quality construction

Hand wash gently in cold water; lay flat to dry.

Designed for A/B/O comfort, avoid prolonged O wear to prevent skin irritations.

Elevate your style with Comme des Garçons.'

„Okay, baby cheeks, it should be okay. Do you want help choosing the rest of the outfit too?”

He asked you, a certain longing in his eyes you recognised easily. You always liked the alpha's style, and even if you only saw a few so far, his outfits were always very comfortable-looking, so why not? You thought, letting a small nod leave you, having Tae smile even wider, taking your palm in his, and leading you back to your room.

The door to the bathroom was already open, a warm mist leaving it as you heard the packalpha humming to himself and the shower running. Just then he came out, leaving a soft peck at your forehead, his dimples on display as he told you to warm up soon after you choose what you would like to wear and that you will all leave after you all quickly wash up. 

You and Taehyung agreed that you would like to wear something warm and comfortable prioritised, opting for good-looking sweatpants rather than any more structured pants. 

In the end, you ended up with bootcut leg solid dark brown wool knitted sweatpants, which were very soft and didn't have any flashy logos, just a small but foreign name of the company at the waistband. 

You soon hurried to the warmed-up shower, washing your hair and using nice-smelling shampoo, conditioner, and body wash to get rid of the light chlorine smell. The shower was quick but very comforting as your skin warmed up, cheeks rosing up. 

The towels were hanged to dry as you rinsed your swimwear from the chlorine water, placing it over the fluffy towels, which you would have to return to the alpha again. 

You pulled on the pants quickly, nice warm socks, and a cute brown turtleneck to match the plushy pants you wore as you shrugged on the very well-scented v-neck, the heavy fabric comforting on your shoulders. 

You wished you would have a necklace or two to layer on with the pretty v-neck cut, which would look especially pretty, but it was okay and you weren't too upset, drying your hair as quickly as possible with the hairdryer who blew cold air. 

As quick as you could, you left the bathroom again, grabbing your phone from being charged at the bedside table and rushing to not have the others wait any longer. 

Jin met you at the bottom of the steps, frowning at how your hair wasn't fully dried yet, opening his mouth to complain, but you hugged him instead, mumbling how you didn't want him to wait any longer. A simple response was received: „We would never mind peaches; alphas will always wait for you.”

As the eldest breathed in your sweet scent, he sneakily brushed his hands against your back, his own scent combining with Taehyung's that you were swimming in. 

„Cub here, I just warmed these up in the oven for you; they aren't freshly baked but should still be really good, hm? You like chocolate, right?” The damp-haired alpha asked, slightly worried for a little moment. 

He placed the warm chocolate pastries with oozing chocolate before you, the flaky batter golden. They looked delicious, with small wallnut choppings at the very top, sprinkled, and pretty. 

You nodded happily, sitting to take a bite just as the eldest placed ice tea before you with a big metal straw, making you smile and thank him softly. 

Only halfway through the two big pastries served to you did you hear the packalpha call out for you all to start getting your jackets, having you all leave very quickly, apparently almost late already. 

Jin looked worried, turning to you after packing a few packaged snacks into a lunch box, sighing annoyedly. The alpha wished you could have eaten calmly and fully, but their timetables just wouldn't suffice. 

The other pack mates rushed back downstairs as you calmed Jin down, saying it was all good and that you didn't mind finishing your food in the car, while the eldest placed the warm breakfast into a paper bag, choosing to grab a smaller carton of packaged ice tea and placing the full glass in the fridge for later. 

„Pup, baby, we need to go now.” Namjoon came over, a heavy, long black coat on, the man ready to leave with a beanie on his head. 

„Joon, she didn't even finish her breakfast!” Jin gasped, upset. What would it matter, the eldest thought? The photoshoot could wait. The other alpha frowned at that, biting his lip, considering just waiting for you to eat, but you answered instead:

„Let's go, oppa; I can eat later.” You smiled softly, taking your breakfast as you walked over to the racks with coats, choosing a simple black puffer jacket. Jimin, standing next to you, handed it to you. 

„Here, princess, let's zip it up for you.” He whispered gently, the closure sounding as the alpha helped you, ending with a cute kiss to the tip of your nose. 

You smiled softly when Jimin placed cute fluffy earmuffs on your ears, his eyes creasing as he couldn't contain his excitement. He hugged you close before snapping a quick picture, having you hide your cheeks right after. 

The alpha helped you make up the snow boots, which were comfortable and warm on your feet, lacing your fingers with his leading you out of the entrance, walking first to make sure you would know if there was any ice on the cleaned-up path. 

It was no longer snowing at the moment, but the temperatures were as icy as ever, having you all hurry to the large van you would all go in. Namjoon, who walked a few steps before you pulled the doors open for you, picked you up by your waist before he placed you on the heightened step, not wanting to have you slip like that one time a while ago. 

„Bunbun, sit here! I saved you the best spot, baby.” You followed Jungkook's voice, having you sit down at a seat in the back row in the middle, with your other side shared with Hobi. At your spot was a cute, comfortable blanket that the youngest was quick to wrap you up in, no matter the cranked-up heaters in the car. 

His tattooed fingers wrapped around yours, his lips ghosting over your knuckles, his own scent left subtly. With Hobi combing through the slightly damp hair of yours with a soft click of his tongue, you watched as Jin entered the van, Yoongi calling out if everyone had all they needed as the ride wouldn't be too quick. 

At first, it was planned for the pack mates to drive to HYBE first to meet up with their staff and have a driver take them to the spot, but in the end, the plans changed as the alphas wished to not have you go with the other staff, who usually travel together in separate vans. 

You let Hoseok put on your seatbelt for you as you rested your head against his shoulder comfortably. The smiley man was cute as he rubbed your knee in comfort. 

The ride was for at least an hour, the pack on their way to a snow resort for the photoshoot, and so you let Jungkook play a movie for the three of you, having you hold the phone, reasoned by you being in the middle, but he really just wanted you to have the best view. 

As the action movie you didn't understand too well played, the noise was subtle enough not to disturb the other alphas, you occasionally watched the passing streets, and the time seemed to slow down with you and the pack. 

You ate the still warmed-up pastries comfortably in their company, offering them both a bite or two they happily indulged in. 

With a soft peck to the top of your head, Hobi ran his fingers through your hair, his voice soft as he said: 

„Sunnybub, thank you, really. For everything.” Jungkook nodded, serious eyes set on your cute form. As you squeezed both their hands closer to yourself, your cheeks warmed up. 

For once in your life, things truly felt right. 

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Next:

[ken-dom]

Lips

Driver x afab!reader

1.6k words

Summary: He fulfilled one of your fantasies without knowing it. Tonight you’ll fulfil one of his.

Can be read as part 2 of Gloves (either can be read alone).

Warnings/content: NSFW, blowjob (road head, completely unsafe do not try this at home etc.), semi-public (in the car ofc), glove kink, mentions of fingering, reader has a vagina, kissing, details of Driver's fantasies

He was wearing those gloves again.

He didn’t always wear them when he was with you; last night had simply been good timing, or perhaps he somehow knew you’d craved his fingers plunging inside you while they were still wrapped tantalisingly in the soft brown leather.

Either way, heat rapidly pooled at your core to see his elegant, gloved fingers gripped the handle of the passenger side door to open it for you.

Steady. Silent. Strong.

‘Hi.’ He bit his lip, watching carefully as you slid into the passenger seat.

When he slipped into the driver’s side, he flexed and squeezed his fingers around the steering wheel. A display intended for you. 

He turned to you and smiled then, eyes sparkling with anticipation. He hadn’t stopped thinking about the way you’d moaned and clenched around his fingers last night and he wanted to feel it again, fuel his desires.

He didn’t know you had different ideas for this evening. Plans that didn’t involve his gloves, although you did need him driving.

‘Know somewhere quiet? A long, steady sort of drive?’

Oh. You didn’t want him to pull over and fingerfuck you again. 

His brow furrowed. ‘Yeah. I know a couple of places like that.’

When he reached for the gearshift, your hand found his, your fingertips stroking suggestively at the small semicircle of flesh revealed at the back of his hand, briefly slipping a finger beneath the leather.

Ah. He was wrong. You weren’t avoiding his touch; you were taking it up a notch. He shivered.

You still wanted him. You just wanted him whilst he was driving.

Fuck.

Excitement stirred in his gut.

Don’t get hard. Not yet. Please.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled smoothly out of your street, trying to focus on the route he was planning in his mind, not what you might want him to do while he drove.

You returned your hand to your own lap, leaving his hand free, and the absence of that small connection came as a relief. No matter how much he craved your touch, it made his burning desire for you much easier to manage in moments like this.

Still, his trousers grew uncomfortably tight.

You were gazing at him instead of out the window. Waiting for a shift in the air, like the one last night that took you seamlessly from glancing at his handsome profile to breathlessly straddling his thighs while his hand slipped inside your jeans.

‘Thank you for last night,’ you cooed.

Head already swimming with the memory of it, he immediately flushed. He could feel heat uncomfortably prickling at his cheeks and hoped that in the darkness you wouldn’t notice, but the passing lights from the buildings and street lamps outside betrayed him, lighting them up pink.

‘That’s alright,’ he breathed, glancing over at you as he braked for a red light.

‘I had a great time.’ Your hand landed on his thigh, resting far too high up. He tensed. ‘You were so good.’

He cursed under his breath, shifting a little in his seat, and when the lights changed, he drove on faster than before.

You slid your hand an inch further up his thigh and at the same moment, you noticed his signal; the almost nervous way the toothpick wedged between his teeth flicked upward a little too sharply when he swung around a corner and slowed the car to a steady roll.

Keeping his eyes on the deserted road, he quivered as you leant in to press your soft, warm lips to his cheek, and when your hand slid up further, cupping his cock over his jeans, the toothpick dropped from his mouth.

He felt you gasp softly against his cheek; he was already hard, and he felt big. He instinctively spread his legs as far as he could manage while you rubbed his length with a firm palm, and then an uncomfortable thought pierced his pleasure.

‘You… you don’t need to repay-’ he started, voice breaking.

‘It’s not repayment,’ you whispered into his ear, ‘I want to touch you…’

The noise he made then was barely audible, pitched somewhere between a gasp and a sigh as you unzipped his jeans with careful fingers, easing out his cock. He had no idea what an impressive sight it was, thick and throbbing and already oozing precum from the angry red tip.

‘When you pulled me onto your lap last night? God I could’ve cum just from kissing you… have you ever felt like that?’

His breath turned shaky as your words sunk in and cool air stung his hot flesh until you wrapped your fingers lightly around him and pumped lazily.

He couldn’t have answered you, even if you weren’t bringing him to the brink already. Of course he had felt like that. Every time he’d thought about your lips brushing against his, slipping your tongue eagerly into his mouth, sliding your hands inside his jacket and running them down his chest while your breath felt hot against his kiss-swollen lips he’d felt like that.

The first time he actually kissed you, he had to rush home to relieve the ache between his legs, so hurried that he left his gloves on. It was better that way; he could pretend it was you more easily.

And he hoped you didn’t notice that last night he came in his pants, untouched, just from watching your pleasure. The pleasure he was causing you.

He wished he could kiss you while you touched him now, push his tongue into your mouth and swallow your moans, but the idea that you wanted to touch him like this at all, and driving no less, had his cock twitching just as much as any fantasy.

‘I… want to try something,’ you whispered, removing your hand. ‘May I?’

He nodded quickly, not wanting to answer with words in case a weak moan slipped out and you realised that with just one more pump of his cock he would have emptied himself all over your fingers.

Don’t cum don’t cum don’t cum- not while she isn’t even touching you- fuck, calm down, don’t cum-

Lost in his panic, he didn’t realise you were shifting your position to lean over the centre console until he felt a new sensation. Wet and warm and different… better than he’d ever imagined your mouth feeling.

You flattened your tongue, dragging it up the side of his shaft before swirling over his leaking tip and he shuddered, a sharp gasp filling the car as his breathing turned ragged.

His driving was impeccable, even as you took him into your mouth and hollowed your cheeks until his fists tightened and the leather of his gloves caught against the steering wheel.

He slipped a hand down shakily to grip loosely at your hair. He didn’t try to control your movements, he just wanted to feel them. Make this seem more real. Because it couldn’t be, could it? It was far too much like his filthiest fantasies of you.

But so was last night, when he’d spilled in his underwear. He needed to show you he could handle himself now that your lips were wrapped around his cock and you were sucking him dry.

He clenched his jaw, as quiet as ever, but at the next little noise he made – a sharp intake of breath – you slipped your fingers around the base of his cock and stroked lightly. His hips bucked, and an almost imperceptible hum escaped him.

You hummed too, and the vibration caused his cock to throb.

He pressed his foot down harder and the car sped up as his fingers tightened in your hair. 

He was always driving fast like this in his fantasies, the thrill of imaginary danger getting him off just as much as the thought of your lips wrapped tightly around his cock. Or pressed hard against his mouth…

When his release hit the back of your throat with force he finally allowed a sound to escape him, a low, drawn out growl, as a thick rope erupted, filling your mouth and trickling out past your lips while you swallowed as much of it as you could manage. 

He pulled the car over when you released him from your lips with a pop. His legs were trembling and his breath was heaving. How would he ever recover from that? 

How would any fantasy ever compare to the real thing? God, he hoped you’d still want to see him, that he hadn’t put you off with his loud moan and excessive release.

You carefully tucked his limp cock back inside his jeans and shuffled back into the passenger seat, licking at your lips and wiping at them with the back of your hand.

He wasn’t sure what the etiquette was now. Should he thank you? Kiss you? Taste you?

Your silence was making him nervous.

He glanced over at you, and felt immediate relief. You were smiling to yourself, coy and… satisfied?

He huffed a playful laugh.

‘You liked that?’ you grinned, eyes meeting his.

His lip curled. ‘Yeah.’

‘Me too.’

‘I wasn’t expecting you to…’

‘I know. But I wanted to. And god, I wanted to hear you moan.’

‘You… you liked that?’

You nodded, a blush colouring your cheeks to match his. 

You fell silent then. Comfortably so.

But a need burned in his mind so strongly that you could almost feel the heat of it yourself.

‘What is it?’

He turned to you again, but didn’t answer. He just turned his body to you, reached over and gripped your jaw between his gloved fingers and thumb, and your lips met in a soft, passionate exchange.

When you parted, pausing an inch apart for a few breaths, he relaxed back into his seat and started the car up again, driving you into the night once more.

[kayawolfhorse]

Tell Me So I Say | Read on Ao3

—☾—

The landscape has shifted again.

False doesn’t remember what it was before, lines of white and smears of purple and blue already fading from memory. The harder she tries to hold on, the faster it slips away. Her fist doesn’t listen when she tells it to let go.

Today’s terrain feels as though it’s determined to swallow False whole.

The sky hangs high above False’s head, framed by the lip of the enormous chasm she’s trapped within. Smooth, dark walls make up each side and reach far enough down to hit the bedrock layer and the shallow pool of stagnant water that covers it.

To one side is a city of oranges and whites, neatly contained upon platforms of stone built over the water, separated by the canals that run between each one. To the other is a cylindrical tower that reaches as far upwards as False can see, flanked by covered roads that continue through the semicircle of smaller towers that flank the horizon.

False stands upon a walkway suspended between the tower and the city, gripping the glass handrail hard enough to turn her knuckles white. An uneasiness she can’t name settles along the bottom of her gut; heavy. All is silent save for her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

It’s eerie. Something tingles at the back of False’s neck. She aches for her elytra; some grasping sense of control; anything. Her back remains bare of her wings, as it has for longer than she can recount. For all her time spent here, flying has never worked in False’s dreams.

Initially, she didn’t realize she was dreaming. The real world and her own brain are both confusing enough—who can blame False for the mix-up? A landscape that refuses to remain unchanged; pulsating; restless; hungry. Home is murky liquid slipping through False’s fingers, and her mind is left scrambling for the image it left behind. She can’t wake up—she’s tried, over and over again. No matter what she does, she remains stubbornly asleep.

Being trapped within your own subconscious is a terribly fickle thing.

False walks. What else is there to do? She follows crossing paths down to the city, rows of office buildings and apartment complexes, neon signs advertising non-existent businesses and, inexplicably, a mayoral candidate, to empty streets. Perfectly manicured hedges sit within rectangular planters that line the sidewalks. Every interior behind the white-stained windows False glances into is bare.

False walks until the footpaths become wider roads and the roads lead into the central tower. Looking up at it from the city hadn’t done the tower’s sheer scale justice; False has been shrouded in its long shadow for what feels like forever—time is a logical artifact of the real world; it has no place here—and the sun is entirely invisible behind the tower’s looming silhouette. She steps inside.

If the outside had made False feel small, she feels positively miniscule within it. Sunlight pours through the topmost dome and each of the tall windows that run down the sides of the tower, catching against the glass of each of the higher levels’ balcony railings before hitting the mirrored floor beneath False’s feet; the effect is dizzying. Four different wings, accented by harsh blue lights and soundless water features branch off from the main room. Something about it puts False on edge.

False casts her gaze sharply downwards, a shield against the kaleidoscope above her, an old habit that still clings, and mistakenly catches a glimpse of herself at her feet before flinching away. She doesn’t recognize the stranger in her reflection with features so similar to her own.

Suddenly desperate to be away from the mirror, False strides into the wing closest to her—a pair of elevators. The thought of being confined within such a tiny space sets panic prickling at her palms. The promise of the higher vantage point found on the upper levels leads False to finding a set of emergency stairs and climbing them until the back of her shirt collar is damp and her breaths wheeze from her lungs.

The highest level of the tower is a circular hallway, with doors spaced evenly around the glass-floored center of the room directly beneath the domed roof. Storage rooms filled with strange mechanical parts and offices with desks piled high with mostly indecipherable paperwork blur together as False riles through them. The windows whose ledges she climbs to see through them overlook views of unmoving robots upon bright cyan land; blank hexagonal plates laid out over a calm blue sea. Where is she?

The last of the doors, the one furthest away from the elevators and stairs, is locked. Its mechanism appears to be a surprisingly simple key lock, not at all what False would’ve expected amidst such a space. Curiosity and dread gnaw at her core in equal amounts. She makes quick work of picking the lock open.

The light of the hallway pours into the pitch-black space. False feels for a light switch along the wall; when she flicks it, hanging lights flare to life one by one along the center of the ceiling, casting the room in a cold white. The onslaught of a headache casts its accusing finger behind False’s eyes.

Half-filled shelves line the walls and metal pipes run along the ceiling above them. Empty racks on wheels lay abandoned on the floor in front of a long, stark-white counter. In the back corner is a tube-like chamber, large enough for False to stand in, the last remnants of its glass walls clinging to its copper frame in wicked shards. Leaves of crumpled and torn paper litter every surface of the room. A clock ticks on the far wall.

False doesn’t know what to make of it all. The answer feels so close. Acrid foreboding curdles in her stomach.

She bites her tongue in frustration and approaches a corner of the counter, upon which an askew clipboard rests. With unsteady hands, False picks it up and squints at the shred of paper still caught beneath its clip.

The words are unintelligible, a hasty scrawl written with a heavy hand, but the sliver of blonde hair and pale skin surrounding too-bright blue eyes is unmistakable. False’s face, for once her own, stares back at her.

She drops the clipboard and runs. All but stumbling back down the stairs, she skids across the mirrored floor and sprints blindly for the nearest exit. The clock’s ticking rings in her ears.

False flees back to the hollow city and drops into a crouch in the middle of the road. It’s not familiar yet, but she’ll become acquainted enough with the landscape until it morphs into its next iteration, and then her memory will melt away with it and she won’t have to think about all of this anymore. She’ll sit right here while she waits, away from the tower and its mirrors and its unsettling rooms. It’s not real. It’s not real.

The ticking finds her even down here, echoing through the barren streets, maddingly loud against the silence. False ignores it until she can’t take it anymore. The sound of her boots hitting pavement as she wanders another lap around the city is a blessed respite. By her third loop around the block, something green and impossibly animated on the corner catches False’s eye.

An explosion of foliage blooms in the alleyway between the buildings at the edge of the intersection. Long, curving vines climb the orange and white buildings on either side of the alley. Colorful flowers tucked between lush leaves sway in a breeze False can’t feel, collected around a dirt path that leads up to a silver metal gate, left invitingly ajar.

It’s a trick. It has to be, right? The garden is just something her brain’s thought up and put in place to torture False with some new, fresh horror. It’s not real.

Despite every instinct screaming at her to run, False tentatively takes a step towards it. What’s there to lose at this point, right?

When nothing leaps out of the bushes and attacks her, she inches forwards again. With every step closer, the stillness of the city falls away. The ambrosial freshness of foliage fills False’s senses, and she swears she can hear birdsong. Even False herself changes; when her feet touch the dirt, feeling floods her limbs, connecting them to her body in a way False hadn’t even realized she’d missed. Her vision glows sharper, the world more vivid. The ticking of invisible clocks falls away entirely.

False touches a single hand to the gate. The world goes dark as she’s pulled through.

—☾—

Warmth. The first thing False notices is warmth, beaming down upon her and pooling in the places her skin meets itself. Blinking open bleary eyes, False squints against the sudden, harsh light, and quickly shuts them again. Everything aches.

Awareness comes back to her all at once, and False registers that she’s sprawled on hard ground. Her eyes flare open—ow, right into the sun, that’s what the warmth is—and she almost falls scrambling to her feet, so False settles on sitting upright, digging her fingers into the earth around her. When she brings her hands to her face to pass them over her cheeks, the dirt clings beneath her fingernails.

After giving herself a moment to come fully to, False slowly rises to her feet and takes in the space around her. The path she stands upon is dark dirt, accompanied by wooden steps where the land slopes upwards, continuing on beneath what looks to be a cave, its underbelly leaden with hanging vines and ripe glowberries.

False’s stomach, she realizes with a jolt of shock, grumbles at the thought of them. It’s been so long since she’s felt hungry. Maybe she could investigate the rest of her surroundings and come back to them—who knows what could lurk beyond the vines? She’s not even sure if she’s dreaming anymore.

The cave turns out to be more of an arch, and the other side of it is breathtaking, bursting with bright, undeniable life. Sepia-toned buildings stand proud between fields of wheat and patches of trees that all dance in the same wind that lifts the ends of False’s hair. Low stone walls line the path and contain the fluffy foliage present throughout. A cat perches upon one of the ridges, regarding False with vague interest. There are sunflowers everywhere, all facing towards where she had just come from.

It feels terribly, frighteningly safe. False never wants to leave. It’s not real. It can’t be.

Soft chatter floats through the air, its source a group of people in vibrant shades of green and yellow, laughing as they work near the edge of one of the fields. False freezes. Of all the things she’s had to deal with, people haven’t been one of them. Should she go to them? No, definitely not, right? But they could at least tell her where she is…

Her dilemma is interrupted by the soft crunching of dirt under foot. A playfully musical voice calls out, “You alright there?”

She’s intimidating. The broadness to her shoulders and solidness of her stance speaks to a strength that worries False. She’s beautiful. Golden feathered wings fan out on either side of her, the same color as the petals of the sunflowers that adorn her rich brown hair. Her green dress falls to her knees, and freckles dance across her bare skin. Sweat streaks dirt lines along her forehead as it drips. She feels real.

At False’s lack of response, the woman in green tilts her head. “You’re looking a little heat exhausted there, mate. Can I take you to the tavern for a drink and some rest?”

What does she do, what does she say? Social niceties have never been False’s strong suit, but they fail her completely now. “Um…”

The woman’s brow crinkles with concern. “Do you need a doctor?”

“No! No, I’m alright. Erm.” False wishes she had her elytra. Perhaps a pit conveniently beneath her feet to fall into. “…A drink sounds great, thanks,” she finishes lamely.

Looking unconvinced, the woman shrugs. “Right this way, then. Are you from around here?”

Does False lie? Admit that she’s completely at this woman’s mercy? She decides on, “Not from here, no. I’m a… traveler.”

“A traveler! Well, welcome to Gilded Helianthia, mate. I’m Pearl, and I don’t believe I caught your name?” Pearl starts forward in what False hopes is the direction of the tavern.

“False,” she supplies, falling into tentative step behind her. She’s never heard of Gilded Helianthia, certainly never Pearl. Pearl doesn’t seem particularly inclined to hurt False, at least.

“Nice to meet you, False!” Pearl’s voice is as warm as could be. “It’s nice to have visitors. Tourists tend to go for Mythland, y’know? I don’t blame them, it’s very pretty this time of year.”

“Mythland?” False echoes without meaning to, then winces.

Pearl gives her an odd look. “Mythland? Ruled by King Sausage? Has that whole blood sheep thing going on, but really quite lovely. You really aren’t from around here, are you?”

False gives a nervous laugh. Her head throbs.

Pearl waves a reassuring hand. “No worries at all; nothing wrong with being new! Mythland is a neighboring empire, and one of our allies. Sausage has had some… weird stuff going on lately, but he’s friendly.”

“Got it,” False says, if only to keep moving. Sweat prickles at the back of her neck. Discomfort itches at her gloved palms. Empire?

“Gosh, I’ve been rambling, haven’t I?” Pearl gives a slight shake of her shoulders and picks up her pace.

“No, it’s okay, I like explanations,” False says awkwardly. “Learning how things work… yeah.”

“You do strike me as the type,” Pearl says. “Are you at all interested in magic? Crystal Cliffs’ magic academy will be opening soon, open to all students!”

Magic? False isn’t so sure. “I like… making things. Machinery and such,” she says, hoping Pearl doesn’t take offense.

Pearl brightens. “I get that!” Leaning closer, conspiratorially, she says, “This empire’s rooted in magic, but between you and me, I’ve always preferred getting my hands dirty.”

“Your dress is an interesting choice for that,” False says, the words slipping out before she can stop them.

“I’ve got to look queenly in some regard!” Pearl laughs. “You ought to give The Grimlands a visit at some point. Inventor-types, the lot of them. You with your goggles would fit right in,” she says, her tone teasing but not insincere. False reaches up to touch her goggles. She’d forgotten she has them on.

The conversation flows uncomfortably well between them as they walk. Pearl notes the purpose of each structure as they pass them and in return False tells her a bit about the inventions that sit upon her workbench back in Cogsmeade, trying to ignore the pain in her chest when she speaks of it. In another life, Pearl would’ve been a good ally.

The trek to the tavern is a reasonable one. The tavern itself is a large, inviting building with a wooden sign out front that labels it The Golden Sunflower, its namesake planted by the handful around it. The scent of meat pies and warm pastries that wafts from it fiercely rekindles False’s appetite.

“And finally, that’s the…” Pearl falters, stopping in her tracks entirely. She glances at False, and for a split second, all familiarity falls from her face. False takes a step back.

Pearl opens her mouth as if to speak when her entire form flickers. Her beautiful wings smolder and the end of her dress charrs, scattering ash upon her now-bare feet. Her eyes glow bright; burning. False almost stumbles over her own feet in her hasty retreat, and hits a stone wall hard enough to force all the air from her lungs. The ticking starts anew.

“Pearl?” False hesitantly calls out. She feels like the floor’s disappeared beneath her when she’s only just started to find her footing.

White-hot eyes meet False’s own; it’s hard to hold them. She looks away.

“False. I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances,” Pearl says. Her accent is the same, shaping her words into something strong, but her voice almost seems to echo.

“Pearl?” False tries again. She’s not sure what else to say.

“We don’t have much time.” Pearl clasps her hands together. Bewildered, False stays silent. “Listen, False, you’re not as alone as you think you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? That’s not comforting, if it’s supposed to be.” It’s a miracle False can hear anything through the damn clocks.

Pearl continues, “You’re stronger than you know.”

How could False be strong? These hands of hers wield a sword she doesn’t remember picking up; her mind is something to be escaped.

“And you’ll make it through, okay?” Something in Pearl’s fiery eyes shifts.

“Through what? Make it through what?” False thinks she may be pleading. The clocks’ relentless drum multiplies.

Pearl draws closer, stopping squarely in front of False. She regards False with a firm line of the mouth and soft set to her eyes. Raising her hands, she places two calloused fingers on each of False’s temples. False finds herself too shocked to move.

“It’s time for you to wake up,” Pearl says gently.

As the world fades into darkness, it changes, lightning-fast: Gilded Helianthia in flames, the sky above shrouded in storms. The rubble’s smoke reduces to wisps and the ruin disappears into the ground, reclaimed by the earth once more as soft green grass and tiny saplings grow tall in the blink of an eye. Right before it all goes black, the ash dissipates from Pearl’s form and the damage to her dress and wings is undone, and False swears the light around her head forms a halo.

—☾—

In her own bed, tucked away in a corner of Cogsmeade, False gasps awake. Morning sunlight pours through the window behind her, and the cat that's been asleep at False’s feet lifts its head and meows. The docked airship outside hums its mechanical tune as the iron farm contained within churns away. False’s headache is a dull throb. The faint scent of sunflowers lingers in the air.

Somewhere deep within the cavern of her empire, a lone clock ticks away.

[glorixuspurpose]

The Missing Link

loki x black!daughter!reader

“So…all of you are Lokis? Even that one?” He asks, pointing at the girl, who scowls at him and smacks his hand down. 

“Yes…no…not really. We’re related..sort of, but obviously, I’m not him. He’s my-” She stops herself mid-sentence. “Wait, if you’re not a Loki, then why are you here, let alone with them? What was your nexus eve-”

  “Stop yelling! You’re gonna alert him!” Kid Loki shouts, pointing at the dark cloud in the sky. 

 They continue to walk until they reach a circular door in the floor, presumably a bunker. Classic Loki opens it.

 “Well?” Loki asks, still waiting on the girl’s answer. 

“I killed him.” She finally answers, as she descends into the vault. 

Something in his mind told it that it couldn’t be true. That girl looked familiar, too familiar, and he’s not one to forget faces.

“Wait, that can’t be true..” He mutters.

“Why can’t it be true?” She asks, mimicking his accent, as they all walk down to an area with a semicircle of chairs, with a small pool in the middle, probably for the alligator.

 She was starting to get annoyed. “Why not?”

“Because…er..well, what’s your name?” He asks. 

“Y/N.” She ever so quietly responds. 

“Y/N…”He repeats to himself, as if trying to memorize it. 

 “Then…that can’t be true because..I’m your father.” 

Y/N uncrosses her legs. “Woohoo. You finally figured it out. The last time you saw me was when I was more or less 5 years old, and Thor took you to see me. Honestly he was more of a father than you were, and honestly more than you ever will be.”

   (time skip bc i can barely remember this episode lol)

“Sylvie…and Mobius? You guys came here?” Loki asks. 

“Well some of us, not by choice, but for the most part, yeah.” Sylvie stays silent, then walks off.

 “And who might you be?” Mobius asks Freya, as if she were some random little kid that approached him. “Y/N.” She bluntly responds.

             (another time skip, woohoo!)

A/N: And now for the good part.

 “Why did you tell me that your nexus event was killing me?” Loki asked, as they sat in the grass.

“Quite the questionnaire, aren’t you?” You jokes, subtly breaking her ever so permanent poker face with a slight smirk. 

“You might as well have been dead anyway.” 

Loki frowns. 

“Well? What was it?” 

She fully smirks. “I don’t remember.” 

Loki’s hopeful face returns to a frown, then he creates himself a blanket, wrapped around him.  Y/N chuckles. 

“Of course you would do that.”

 Loki sighs. “Do you really not remember?” 

“I wouldn’t be a descendant of the God of Mischief if I didn’t tell a lie now and then. Of course I remember.” 

A gust of wind blows, and causes Freya to shiver, and her teeth to chatter. 

Loki alters the blanket so it’s wrapped around the both of them. 

 “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“You seemed cold.” 

“Is this some kind of stupid scheme to get me to tell you?”

“What? No!” 

 Y/N tilts her head so it’s leaning on Loki’s shoulder.

“Tell me about my mother.” 

 “Oh…wow. Okay,” Loki says, taken aback by the sudden question. 

“Well, she was a smart, strong, beautiful, and independent woman. She really never needed me. She had powers, just like mine–and yours– but she liked to use these fans with blades on them…and she liked to cut me with them.” That earned a chuckle from Freya.

 “She also loved the color purple. It was her absolute favorite, and she would wear it pretty much everyday. She also adored grilled cheeses ever since we first went to Midgard. She really could’ve had anyone she wanted.  I have idea why she chose me. Considering that, if it weren’t for me, she might have still been alive.”

 Loki subtly wipes his eyes with his shoulder. 

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“I thought I was saving her, but obviously I proved myself otherwise.” 

“Saving her?”

“Well you see, there was…let’s just say, a battle, and..she was hurt. I was out of my mind to think that this would work, but I turned her to stone. I thought that..because I did that, it would heal when I turned her back. I saw it work before..and I knew how to turn her back, but it was too late.”

 “I wish I could have spoken to her…even if it was only for three minutes. I…” She looks behind her. “I think she wants to talk to you.” She tell him, pointing to Sylvie. 

 “I think she can wait.” Y/N creates a watch and checks it. It’s only just going backwards. Really fast. 

“This watch is not useful, but I’m sure she’s been waiting long enough. I’m always gonna be here. There’s no leaving.” 

 Loki stands up, making the blanket disappear. 

“Except you can leave, because you’re coming with us.”

[kittyball23]

Mission Accomplished (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: The brothers are able to break Floyd free from the diamond… but are they still too late?

A/N:  Okay, okay, I know I said the previous one would be my last update for now, but how could I NOT write about that new scene that came out?? FYI, spoilers sort of, so if you’re not down for that don’t read

__________________________________________

The brothers’ song still lingered in the air even long after they’d finished singing it, sparkles resulting from the musical notes that they’d hit so harmoniously. The Family Harmony had been accomplished, and the wanna-be popstar twins were off somewhere in the river below them, more than likely flailing around helplessly with their thin, limby arms and legs.

Smiles and cheers had followed from the jubilant group. The Trolls had won!

“You did it!” Poppy cried, hugging Branch

“We did it!” he corrected. He readily cupped her cheek, overcome with a sudden urge to sweep her in for a heart-stopping kiss, when a weight suddenly fell onto his side, unbalancing him. He gasped when he realized that it was Floyd.

The magenta Troll, having been cheering alongside them, fell over, unstable on his legs. He groaned as he hit the ground, far too weakened to even attempt to push himself back up.

“Dude!” John Dory cried, hurrying to one side of him. Branch, Clay, and Spruce were quick to follow, surrounding their brother in a semicircle. Poppy and Viva stood off to one side, watching with wide eyes and giving the guys their space.

Branch felt his eyebrows crease with worry. Floyd had used the last bit of musical lifeforce inside of him to help add on to the harmony and break himself free, and it seemed to be having its effects on him now. He was hardly able to breath, each intake and release of air labored, and the last of his telltale magenta color was disappearing.

“Oh my gosh…” Clay murmured. “What do we do?”

“I… d-don’t think that any…thing can be d-done…” Floyd managed to say, albeit strained.

“What?” John Dory sounded appalled. “What are you saying, Floyd? That you should just die?!”

“No way,” Spruce pitched in. “We came here to break you free from that diamond!”

“A-and you did…” Floyd said. “I couldn’t be any more grateful. I knew you guys could do it. And I thank you for it, more than you could ever imagine…” He paused, glancing up at each one of them and feeling his eyes water. Suddenly, a little laugh escaped him. “Heh… look at us… We’re all together again…. I want you to know that you’re my b-bestest friends in the whole… wide… world… I couldn’t ask for any other brothers… I l-love you guys so… so… much…”

It was a little difficult for Floyd, but he managed to lift his hand just enough in Branch’s direction. Branch saw this and, meeting him halfway, gripped it. Floyd looked up into his eyes, and though he spoke no more, Branch could still read the intense emotion coming from him. Floyd was his favorite brother, and Branch was Floyd’s favorite as well. And it was the blue Troll who he continued to look at, all the way until his eyes fluttered shut and his hand went limp.

Branch felt his heart clench terribly. “Floyd?” he whispered, feeling his voice break. He felt tears pool into his eyes. “Oh, goodness no…”

“Floyd, wake up, bro,” Spruce urged, “Wake up!” He grabbed onto his leg and shook him, but the Troll was still deadweight.

John Dory slumped, covering his face with his hands. “This is my fault,” he whimpered. “If I would’ve just been faster…”

“No, bro, this is my fault,” Clay said, “If I hadn’t given y’all a hard time trying to come in the frst place…”

“Uh-uh,” Spruce said. “This is my fault. If I would’ve - “

But he had stopped himself from finishing his sentence at the sound of Branch bursting out with a sob. The blue Troll leaned over his brother’s body, pressing his forehead against Floyd’s and clutching onto him tightly.  Tears leaked down his cheeks in large, messy drops as he came to terms with what had just happened.

We tried... We tried but we were still too late. Now Floyd is gone.

Another family member gone, just like their Grandmother.

He felt his other brothers come to surround him, all putting one of their arms around each other, and the other arm on Floyd. Each of them silently mourned the loss of the magenta-haired Troll.

Suddenly, some humming began. John Dory looked up, as did Spruce and Clay, and they found that it had actually been Branch. And in listening closely, they recognized the song. It was the song they’d sang for the Family Harmony, a slower rendition of it, as Branch paid homage to its songwriter with the somber tune.

His brothers easily joined in, humming along and pushing past the pain. It was the least they could do. There seemed to be nothing else…

Until…

Branch could sense a glow emanating, and he forced his eyelids open, lifting his head slightly from where it had rested on his brother’s. He gasped. Was he really seeing what he was seeing?

It seemed like he wasn’t, because his brothers saw it too when they opened their eyes. There was a colorful glow that ran from each of their arms from where they were on top of Floyd, as if they were supplying him with their talent. Floyd’s body glowed, his arms regaining that blueish skintone and his hair regaining some of that rich magenta color it had been.

Suddenly, he looked nearly completely normal.

But, is he actually… alive? Branch wondered.

“Floyd?” he asked, shaking him gently.

There was silence…

But then…

The magenta Troll gasped, blinking awake all at once. JD, Spruce, Clay and Branch all gaped at him. He stared back at them.

"Am I... I mean, did I... die?"

He squeaked in surprise when all four of the brothers replied with a scream of "FLOYD!" and was subsequently crushed by arms squeezing him in a tight hug.

"You're alive!"

"Oh, thank goodness!"

"We thought you were a goner for good!"

The three elder brothers bombarded him with phrases of relief. Branch in the meantime remained clung at his side, not wanting to let go, making sure that this was real.

"I'm so glad you're okay," he told him genuinely.

Floyd grinned at him, sweetly ruffling the blue-haired crop of hair atop of head. "Hey, um guys?" he asked the brothers. They immediately perked and listened in. "Do you think we could be a family again?"

Branch exchanged a look with the others. They knew just what he was thinking, so he spoke up for all of them. "Floyd, we ARE a family." And with that he went back and hugged him again.

Viva and Poppy, overcome with emotion, hugged each other as well. "Mission accomplished, sis?" the Putt Putt Queen asked.

Poppy winked. "Mission accomplished!"

[beanibon]

Can we have the part 2 of this beautiful masterpiece with 98 Knives?

Of course Anon! I'd absolutely love too, we all love a good old kinkfest in the form of bottom Knives.

TW: dubcon, foot fetish (sorrynotsorry!), foot fucking, collar play, breath play, puppy play, piss kink (SORRYNOTSORRY), Exhibitionism, oral (f!receiving), spanking, anal play, fingering, overstimulation, use of sex toys, mummy kink, public humiliation.

Part One

The sounds of begging, pleading and crying echoed off the walls of your home. Nails dug into the fabric of that refurbished couch, where you sat amused at the scene playing out before you.

Knives was bucking his hips forwards, face so red it rivalled his brother's signature jacket. All you did was rest one leg a top the other, Knives chasing his high against the base of your foot, collared, gagged and looking absolutely whorish where he bent over.

Ever since your last encounter, where you fucked Knives into submission, whenever Vash obliviously dropped off his elder brother, you got to work.

Now it was second nature for him to strip the moment that door closed, signalling his brother had abandoned him into the domain of an insatiable witch. Today was no exception, you already had him drooling, getting off to the simple command of humping himself against your foot like the mutt he was.

What an absolutely glorious sight it was.

As Knives began whining, mouth eliciting lustful whimpers, your foot was soon coated in translucent semen. You gave the plant no time to savour his high, shoving the foot harshly into his face.

"Be a good boy, lick it."

And just as well trained he was, Knives swallowed thickly before cleaning up the mess he made, gagging as you shoved it down his throat. You giggled as his tongue swirled around your toes, drool pooled between each one.

"Mummy is going to get something special for my sweet baby, be a dear and try to compose yourself." Your cruel words had Knives shivering, tongue stuck out as you pulled your foot away, wiping the saliva with his discarded boxers.

Knives jerked, crying out as another harsh smack to his ass had pain exploding all over his backside. He was propped up over your lap, ass in the air, cock rubbed and squeezed between your plush thighs. The room was spinning, tears already stained his reddened cheeks, jolting as another smack with the paddle collided into his behind.

"I'm sorry baby, does that hurt? Maybe if you had've been good, you wouldn't have to be punished." Between the slaps of the paddle against Knives ass, your free hand teased his hole, amused by how it quivered and puckered at each minor tease.

"I-I'm- Ah! I'm sorry, m-mummy." How utterly pathetic he sounded, apologising to this witch that tortured him practically on a daily basis. He was ashamed of what he'd become.

But fuck did it turn him on.

Knives gasped out, hips squirmed as you inserted the tip of your finger inside him, no lube, drool or stale cum, just dry fingers prying him open. It burned along with his abused ass cheeks, how on earth was he going to explain to Vash why he couldn't sit for a week.

His feet kicked, toes curling in protest to how you forced those neatly manicured fingers into his ass. Laughter as sweet as honey, yet laced with the most potent poison echoed of the walls, free hand released the paddle as his collar tightened suddenly.

"Ca-can't... breathe!"

"I know, that's the point." Another finger traced an enticing semicircle around his hole, the pad slipping in with slight resistance.

Knives mimicked a dog in heat, hips wiggling, anus sucking those intrusive fingers deeper. Your fingering was never gentle, no that would be out of character, instead you abused his hole into it was pink and raw to touch. So Knives should've expected the cruel pace the moment those fingers curled against his prostate, strangled, choking moans pouring from his slobbering mouth.

You worked him relentlessly, pumping your dry digits to the knuckle into your mutt. The paddle was back in hand, the slaps against his reddened ass cheeks ten times more painful. As cries and moans of pain and pleasure, along with the occasional sound of wood on skin filled your little country house. It was absolute bliss.

With a final slap, fingers squashed against his prostate, Knives painted those glorious thighs in his cum, body jerking with the waves of his orgasm. That was only the second time, there'd be much more torment, far worse humiliation awaiting for him.

This was by far the worst form of humiliation Knives had ever experienced. It may be the dead of night, no one around besides the odd drunk passed out on the road, but this was a new low.

The tug on his leash was a reminder of your demand, sickly sweet eyes observing the man you forced on all fours. "Well Knives, this is the only bathroom break I'm giving you. You shouldn't waste my generosity."

Knives robotically turned to look up, swallowing the dread that arose in his throat. You were being dead serious, and that in itself mortified him.

A tug had Knives dragged forward, face colliding into the cooled sand. You leaned so innocently against that wall, eyelashes fluttering in fluid motions. Neither helped make that stupid, red fire hydrant anymore tempting.

But he digressed, obedient as always, Knives felt hot with embarrassment. The humiliation of cocking his leg like some stray, relieving himself against some germ coated hydrant felt so belittling.

As he finished, head hung in shame, Knives was offered no chance to pity his situation. Nails scratched against his head, fingers previously deep in his ass pulled his hair, face pressed against your exposed cunt beneath that short dress. Those eyes pleaded, pleaded that you weren't going to make him eat you out behind your house. But Knives knew better, you weren't afraid of getting caught.

Your weight strained at his neck, back now pressed against that very same hydrant, warm from what he'd done. His face was tugged against your folds, impatience evident as your right leg wrapped around his skull.

"Knives, it's rude to keep me waiting. I'm sure you wouldn't want your brother to catch you in such a predicament, that'd be rather unfortunate."

Tears of humiliation welled in his tear ducts, mouth working your nectar coated pussy, much more experienced since his first night. Knives had made an effort to familiarise himself with your pleasure, for when those rare moments of pleasing you arose he'd know how to draw out your songs of ecstacy.

He relished these moments, even in the most embarrassing scene like now, bringing you to a brief moment of incoherence was fulfilling. Especially when you praised him, it hardened him easily compared to the degradation.

"Good boy, you're doing so well. Right there, that's the spot." Those fingers loosened just that smidge, allowing Knives to pressed into the warm embrace of shivering cunt, nose tickled by that neatly trimmed trail.

It no longer mattered he was sitting in his own piss, the pleasure of your praise had erased that prior shame; all that mattered was how your thighs squeezed his face as he lapped up your nectar.

"My sweet Knives, so obedient for me." Knives melted into your touches, cheek pressed against your warm, sopping cunt as his arms hugged the back of your thighs. "Let's get you cleaned up for the main course."

The machine was horrific, why on Gunsmoke was there two? What could you possibly need with two of these machines!?

Knives trembled, damp skin from his shower glistening in the moonlight. What torture awaited him now?

"Did you wish to continue? If so, you may not be able to verbally speak our safeword, so please remember the tap signal we came up with." This was the only part you asked such a question, the end events always being the most strenuous on his body.

"I recall." Knives suspiciously eyed the two machines, one already dripping with cold lube.

"Please show me." Only then did you look up from what appeared to be the instructions, patiently awaiting his demonstration.

Knives tapped the synchronised safe tune against the door frame, heartbeat elevated at your rare genuine smile. It made him wonder why you couldn't be more sweet, like the first time you suggested the existence of a safe word. Which Knives thought ridiculous, yet grew to be grateful as one night became too much too quickly.

"Perfect, hurry up then I can't remember how much charge these have and I'm impatient." Were you not to pleasure him for the final scene?

His face held an agitated pout, disappointment etched in every feature as he stomped forward; much like a child throwing a silent tantrum. It irked him how attached to your cruel forms of sexual activity he'd grown accustomed to, not to mention how addictive the after-care you provided was.

"I didn't spend three quarters of my paycheck to have these covered in dust, you're using them whether you like it or not mister!" You ignored his grumble, the machines would take care of that attitude.

Cold lube was shoved into his already prepared hole, he hated how much you used, the sensation of freezing lube dripping onto his balls was not pleasant. "Must you use so much?"

Once again he was ignored, Knives abandoning any further investigating, instead studying the machine in front of him. Many questions danced around in his mind, one of them being were you to join him? Yet he didn't seem to belief that theory, if that were the case it'd be lubed too.

Deceitfully gentle hands clutched his waist, ass positioned so the tip of the dildo pressed inside his gaping hole. You giggled at the sound of his moan, hooded eyes now studying you as you began fiddling with the machine in front of him.

That's when light bulb went off; Knives having no time to protest as the dry dildo was shoved into his mouth. The silicone was new, that rubbery flavour was all Knives could taste. Drool began trickling down the corners of his mouth, muffled words directed your way.

Yet again, he was ignored, this time it irritated him enough to glare your way. A dangerous act of defiance.

A muffled moan escaped Knives, the dildo pressed into his ass thrusting in and out at an excruciatingly slow pace. Nails dug into your wooden floorboards, adding to the many lines scratched into its surface from previous nights full of lust filled torture.

Then came a strangled gasp of surprise, teeth grazing the new silicone as it thrusted its way down his esophagus. He wanted to get away from this strange sensation, never before had he experienced something shoved down his throat, yet the more he moved back, the more the machine behind him fucked him deeper.

He was trapped, it felt like each evenly paced thrust was bending his spine just the slight bit. Both machines thrusting forward at the same time, you clearly timed that on purpose.

"How does it feel? Good?" The sound of a chair scraping against the floor made Knives wince, eyes darted around to find where you'd made yourself comfortable. "Oh right, you can't talk."

Fingers tilted his head, gag reflex activated as the dildo hit the back of his throat. Knives met your sweet gaze, squinting to see what toy you spun in your hand.

"Let's up the anti, have these wonderful machine face fuck and pound into you at a quicker pace. Then I'll put these to the test too." From this angle Knives couldn't make out what was in your hand, and it had anxiety suffocate him worse than this damned silicone cock.

The pace you program next wasn't a gradual step up, it was full on, both toys ramming into him ruthlessly. Cum splattered all over your floors, the sight an absolute treasure as you crouched to watch his cock twitch. The warm embrace of your hands had Knives moan, needy for your touch against his neglected dick.

"Such a whore." You mocked, shoving something onto it, it was slimy, textured weirdly that it had Knives squirm as much as his body allowed. He hated it, wanted to gone.

Then it constricted.

Whatever you'd engulfed his cock in was milking it for every drop of cum, constricting and releasing at random times. Part of him wished these were your hands, palm slicked in his seed, massaging it into the feathery reproductive appendage.

Fingers toyed with his nipples, feathers sprouting from his back at the touch, quills quivering as you pinched them. Those breasts pressed into his back, mouth nibbling at his ear, Knives became some beautiful, feathered creature, those very same wings wrapped around you protectively.

"There's my sweet plant, so beautiful." Your words had Knives frothing, using his wings to feel up your naked body.

It was heaven, why else would he be on his knees worshipping some gorgeous goddess. At least that's what he'd like think, if it weren't for lack of air suckind into him rather than two massive chunks of silicone.

You were still draped over his back, the tremors of his body being bent rubbed against your clit, feathers rubbing up and down your slicked walls.

This went on for while, you moaning so sweetly in his ear, feathers toying with your sex. While Knives filled his cock toy, semen leaking from around the rim, spine contorting at the pace of the machines.

You wanted to kiss Knives, shove your tongue so far down his throat that you were all he could taste, and that's what you did. You freed him from gaining a sore throat, tongue lapping at drool coated lips, forcing yourself inside. It was sloppy, heated and much more. Neither would change the other for the world.

"A-Angels."

Both toys were shut off, freeing the man from his torture, concern written over every feature of your face. Yet Knives shakily got to his feet, you in tow as he collapsed onto your bed, nuzzling into your neck.

"You just wanted attention, pussy." You teased, a wing slapping you lightly.

Knives didn't respond, drunk on your addictive scent, lazily planting kisses against your pulse point. His wings flapped gently, in rhythm to your steadily beating heart.

The sound lulled you to sleep, cradling Knives in your arms, engulfed inside his own protective barrier.

Neither you, nor Knives bothered to answer the door, content in each other's embrace. Yet Vash relented, calling out for either one or the other.

It irked Knives, who growled and stood, stumbling from the pain of last night. The elder twin didn't even bother dressing, only appearing decent from the way his wings curled around his naked body.

The door was opened, revealing the true state of Knives bruised form, eyes glaring at his brother then towards the insurance girls behind him. "What is it?"

"Are you okay? Geez I know {name} can be rough, but I didn't think she'd hurt you!" Vash exclaimed, shock at the sight of Knives hickies and swollen bruises.

It wasn't the worse, not compared to the broken skin of his ass, Vash couldn't even see the real damage. Not that Knives would ever allow such things.

"I'll repeat myself, what is it that you want?" He was impatient.

"I'm picking you up? We finished the job, so I came by to get you." Poor Vash, riddled with concern for his elder brother who didn't seem to care.

"Is that it? Well have a good day." Before any of them could question him, Knives abruptly slammed the door in their faces, Vash copping the brunt of the blow. He dragged himself back to your room, cuddling up beside you once more.

You may be cruel, wicked even with insatiable lust; yet kindness still ran through that heart of yours. It was evident in the way you praised him, showered him in kisses after the torture had ceased. Knives adored you, even before all of this had begun.

Besides, he didn't mind showing weakness to you. Knives trusted you, a pathetic human that put him in his place.

A/N: I really apologise for the lack of writing, I've been working on more personal projects in regards to AO3 stories recently. Not only that, I've been feeling rather self-conscious about my works compared so some absolutely beautiful fics other creators have blessed us all with.

I definitely am coming back, just expect updates to be much slower. I am down to the last few requests and plan on opening requests after everything is complete and some personal fics are released.

I thank you all for your patience, please enjoy!

[steddieasitgoes]

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours) | A Steddie Big Bang Fic | Expected Delivery Date: October 2023

Steve wastes no time when he finally turns on to Birchwood Court and drives straight for Mr. Darkness's house. The fortress atop the hill.

He makes sure to set Posty’s parking break — he’s in enough trouble as it is, he doesn’t need to add a damage van to the mix — and hops out of the car with the bin carefully clutched in both his hands.

It’s only as Steve approaches the jetblack stairs to the front door does he realize how bad of a plan this is. It’s a quarter to seven, Steve’s never even met this guy before, and he’s quite possibly going to wake him from his sleep to deliver mail he’s been deliberately not giving him for weeks.

He’s in too deep to turn around, though. Steve situates the bin under his arm so it sits on his hip and heads up the familiar pair of stairs.  Without a second of hesitation, Steve wraps his fingers around the semicircle and raps it against the jet black door in three, solid, loud knocks.

And then he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Steve’s about to cut his losses, set the bin of undelivered mail on Mr. Darkness’s doorstep with a quick note of apology and head back to Posty when there’s a loud commotion from inside. It’s hard to hear beyond the thick wood door, but Steve can faintly make out the sounds of someone cursing. Heavy footsteps racing towards the door, voice becoming clearer as he gets closer and closer.

“I already told you people. I’ve found something better than God. It’s name is marijuana and it makes me a better man than any of your stupid books and pamphlets will!”

The door swings halfway open in a hurry. It’s so fast, Steve doesn’t have time to make himself look halfway professional, the overflowing bin of mail teetering in hands. He manages to save it from falling on his feet, but he can’t say the same about his jaw which feels like it’s just disconnected from the rest of his head.

The man in front of him is an utter disaster that makes Steve’s heart race accelerate.

Wild curls radiate off his head in every direction, wispy bangs falling in his sleep-heavy eyes. One hand grips the frame of the door, large, gaudy rings adorning his slender fingers. The other forms a fist that he brings to massage the sleep from his tired eyes.

His lean but muscular legs are on full display given his lack of pants. Light brown hair covers the expanse of his calves and thighs, blending with the rich colors of tattoos that ebb and flow with the contours of his muscles before disappearing under the most absurd apron Steve has ever laid his eyes on.

Garfield the cat is splayed out across his chest eating a bowl of pasta. A word bubble above him noting that he’s “an eater, not a cooker.”  

It’s only when Mr. Darkness clears his throat is Steve pulled from his ogling. He feels his cheeks burn under the intense gaze brought upon him. A pit forms in his stomach as he takes in Mr. Darkness’s face again. He’s sporting an equal look of utter confusion. Lips barely parted, owlish eyes beating into Steve’s.

“Well,” he clears his throat again before pulling at the hem of his tacky apron. “You’re not the Bible thumpers.”

“I am not.”

It’s hard not to squirm under the man’s intense gaze as his eyes trail up and down Steve’s body. Taking him in bit by bit — Steve can’t help the rush of blood that pools below his belt. It’s not his fault this man is simultaneously sizing him up and taking him apart.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my terrible mailman,” the man jests, letting his weight fall against the half-opened door. “To what do I owe the pleasure.”

“It seems like some of your mail has slipped through the cracks at the post office,” Steve says with an air of causality he hopes pay off. “M’just here to deliver it and apologize for them losing it.”

“Right, ‘cause the post office lost it. Not my mailman who hates me house.”

“I don’t hate your house!” Steve objects.

“That’s two lies in under a minute. I don’t think your boss will be too happy to learn that you’re lying to your customers…” the man trails off, gesturing at Steve.

“Steve.”

“So you are the mailman that has all the Housewives of this hear street’s panties in a twist.”

It doesn’t seem possible, but Steve feels his face heat up even more. He’s never been a big blusher, not even in high school when he was pumped full of alcohol and had girls perched on both his arms. But he doesn’t need a mirror to know he’s been rendered into a blushing mess in under give minutes by Mr. Darkness. God, it’s probably so obvious too against the harsh backdrop of his house and the navy blue polo of his work uniform.

“Look,” Steve trails off, eyes glancing down towards the mail bin in his hands. He tries to catch sight of Mr. Darkness’s real name but all the letters on top are still addressed to an E. Munson. And he’s not about to call this guy Mr. Munson. That’s reserved for his superiors and this guy is anything but.

“Eddie,” Eddie supplies, the corner of his mouth twitching up momentarily.

Steve nods. “Look, Eddie, I don’t hate your house and I’m really sorry about the…” Steve trails off again. His nose turns up as he’s hit with an overwhelming waft of something burning. A smell he’s accustomed to smelling living with Robin who continues to cook despite the kitchen’s hatred for her. “Is something burning?”

“My bacon!”

Or: 

The year is 1991 and Steve Harrington is working as a mail carrier who is pettily withholding mail from Eddie, one of the new residents along his route. When Eddie threatens Steve’s job, he is forced into making amends by hand-delivering the missing mail. In a surprising twist, Steve and Eddie end up hitting it off and the two start spending an alarming amount of Steve’s lunch breaks getting to know each other. 

But the more time they spend together, the less time Steve spends delivering mail which might just end up costing him his job and his newfound relationship with Eddie. 

written by steddieasitgoes | 45K Expected Word Count | Mature

[leffee]

Day 23: Lemonade

Anthro au :)

Also, there are degrees mentioned in this one, my ass is using Celsius, America or not, I don't think it will hurt anybody, and I actually know what they mean, Fahrenheit on the other hand? Nuh-uh.

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

“Man, it’s so hoooot,” Pepper whined and tugged on her crossed legs.

“Yes, you have already said it like 20 times.” Zoe fanned her sweat-covered face, not stopping even when the chilly air produced by the ventilator hit her.

“Cause it’s still true!” Everyone groaned in agreement.

They were all at Zoe’s house. It was the middle of the summer - perfect time to enjoy her outdoor pool… or so they thought. They tried to push the scorching heat to the back of their minds and enjoy the water, the sunbeds, the tanning but… eventually they simply needed to admit that the sun was too much today and that inside will have to do. So now, instead of enjoying some water fun, the group sat on the floor with a ventilator in front of them, gracing each of them with a puff of cold air from time to time as it rotated. Even Zoe and Minka who normally thrived in hot temperatures were now slumped on the floor and panting heavily. 

Everyone was displeased with the weather, well, almost everyone.

“I wish it was just a little bit warmer, then it would be one hundredth percent perfect!”

They all turned to glare at Vinnie.

“You are an actual psychopath.”

“It’s like, forty degrees outside, if it gets any warmer, I think we will all perish.”

“Shut up, please, just shut up.”

Vinnie who has just entered the room chuckled at his friends,’ in his opinion, dramatic reactions. Being cold-blooded was normally a pain in the ass, but there were at least the tiniest number of situations when it was actually a plus. Still, he did feel kinda bad for everyone else.

“Maybe I can do something to help?”

“As much as we appreciate the offer, I don’t think there is anything you can do.” Penny sighed and leaned backwards on her palms.

“Or maybe…” Russell thought aloud as the air ruffled his hair. “Zoe, do you have ice cream or anything similar? Sorbets, maybe?”

Zoe merely shook her head.

“I wish. Yesterday when those three were here,” She pointed carelessly at Pepper - who grinned, Penny - who chuckled a bit, and Minka - who simply motioned a peace sign, “we ate all the frozen treats I had.”

“Wonderful,” Sunil huffed. 

“Mmmhm.” Zoe breathed a sigh. But then, “Wait! I might not have anything cold to eat but I did make some, well, lots of lemonade this morning, this should do, right?” She looked around at her friends who all nodded. So then, in this case just one tiny problem remained – nobody really wanted to move and risk heating up even more, at least nobody directly next to her. “Vinnie!” She called out.

“Yeah?” He asked when he approached closer to the semicircle "of shame", though he did deliberately avoid getting anywhere close to the fan’s radius.

“There are pitchers of lemonade in my fridge, take them out and bring us some,” Zoe ordered.

“Okay.” Vinnie nodded. “Can I have some too?”

“Yes, sure, just make it quick.” She waved him off and let her back hit the floor.

“And add plenty of ice cubes to our glasses!” Penny yelled behind Vinnie.

“Yeah, and be quick or we might evaporate!” Minka added, getting a thumbs up in return from him.

“And please, don’t spill the lemonade or worse, shatter the glasses!”

“Okay, I get it, jeez.” Vinnie threw his arms in the air at Sunil’s addition but did march to the kitchen.

It couldn’t have been longer than a few minutes when he returned to the rest of the group with a tray filled with glasses, but it felt like ages. He moved slowly, trying to perform a miracle of not tripping over anything. It seemed fate was on their side today because he reached his friends unharmed and put the tray before them, leaving it for their enjoyment after claiming one lemonade-filled glass for himself.

“Enjoy.”

“Finally, our lemon-aid, I think I was genuinely starting to turn into steam.” Pepper was the first one who managed to push herself forward and take one glass. After her, everyone one by one took one for themselves too. The glasses were generously filled with ice, perhaps even too generously, but they weren’t gonna complain since combined with the fan’s chill, they finally felt significant relief.

One thing was for sure, to survive this day, they would need a refill, probably more than one.

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

Eepy!

Why does this prompts list has so many drinks, I mean first juice box then coffee now lemonade and day 26 is milkshake, there's only so many drinks-related stories I can write.

[luizazemi]

I closed my eyes and I saw everything 4/???

2022 has passed, welcome 2023, welcome to the many of you who joined the shipwagon, I am sorry you had to wait so long for the next adventure of our Omaticaya teens namely Neteyam discovering the Mektayina's habits and customs! Now I have come back with the next chapter of your absolutely not shippy Avatar : The Way of Water fic!

Enjoy today's menu, including traditional sound and light show, awkward physical and eye contacts, and many beads.

[Title after this song]

Aonung had lowered his voice. They made their way through to the silent, ceremonious crowd, and by Aonung’s focused look Neteyam could tell he was looking for the best spot there was left. In the middle of the Metkayina assembly lay a tide pool, and in the middle of the pool sat a rock, naturally polished by the coming of the waves, slightly leaning towards the water and the awaiting attendees.

Next to the tide pool lay a piece of fabric, much like that of the marui hangings; except the fabric was adorned with beads, and on it were carved pieces of wood. Neteyam leaned towards the pool to see the objects better, and he could only guess these were instruments, for he had never seen such tiny ones before. He pondered on what kind of eerie high-pitched sound these could make. He mused at the carvings and the paintings, though, and wondered how such precision could be achieved on such delicate materials. He clenched the bead in his hand.

Aonung touched his shoulder – they crouched to a spot on the outside of the semicircle, on the side of the pool. The wet sand was soft still and uncomfortable both for feet and legs. As the boys were searching for a comfortable sit, a jingling sound resonated. Neteyam fell on his bum, but not too harsh, because Aonung’s hand remained clasped on his arm.

With the tingling, an apparition had made its entrance. Wrapped up in a vegetal cape, the shape tapped each of its bare-feet step on the wet sand, and each step jingled in a precise tone. The apparition moved its hand above the instruments, a soft movement that seemed like a gentle stroke to wake the wooden creatures. The hand hesitated. It finally stopped above one of the smallest tools and took it up to the mouth of the apparition, whose face was unrecognizable behind the dark face paintings and the wooden ornaments of their hair.

The first whistle blew through the air as a cheer, and all the Mektayina raised their heads up as if to follow that happy sound. There was silence. Then, directly taking back from where it had stopped, the music flew again. The whistle was so thin in the musician’s hands that it almost seemed like they were whistling themselves. The notes sounded like bursts of laughter echoing through the mangrove, gliding on the pool’s surface, and vanishing into the dust.

Still the musician tapped their feet, and Neteyam opened his eyes and ears in wonder of this one Na’vi orchestra. Stamping, jingling, whistling had grown so loud, the hosts of the reef or of the jungle could hear it as well. And indeed, another shape was approaching the stage, their steps aligned on the musician’s. And while the musician, wrapped in vegetation, only shone through their performance, the newcomer basked under the starlight.

She was barefaced, and barefooted as well, and her skin was of a thousand beads. On her muscled body the small lights rippled, and beneath her feet, the pool’s surface reflected these thousands new stars. She went on the water, in rhythm with the musician, and made it to the rock. Her arms held a wooden box, carved in black, and mounted with strings so thin only the reflection of the stars revealed them. With one hand she carried the box, and with the other she pushed her bead robe aside to sit properly. The tip of her feet was planted in the sand, the beads of her robe struck the rock’s side. Now they could see her face a bit better, and she seemed young, although Neteyam had never seen her by the reef. Her lips were curved in a smile, her eyes shimmering like her beads. She spoke:

“I see you, my family.”

The attendees greeted her as one.

Her voice was as deep as the whistle was high, and her attitude as calm as the musician’s was energic. She lay the box on her thighs, making sure no beads were in the way. Then with the same cautiousness the musician had before choosing the whistle, she picked a string.

At that moment, the whistle stopped. She picked another string, and the steps stopped. Then another, and then a melody flew in the air, and it was as if the whistle performance had been but a warmup for these notes to appear. They were clear like the beads, deep like the jungle, quick like the reef hosts. They dropped like waterfalls, rose like waves, vanished in the night like the last star before the eclipse.

Over the crystal notes, the deep and smooth voice recited.

She recited a tale from a long ago, Neteyam guessed, so long ago that the characters’ names had been lost. There were three brothers of the Mektayina village: the first was the youngest, and when she spoke of him, the melody was soft and merry; the second was the eldest, the Olo’eyktan, and for him the notes were solemn; the third was the middle child, the second son, and his melody was a fast dance with hints of bitterness. The brothers and their clan had discovered all there was to be hunted or collected in the jungle. But they had not dared, although they lived right next to it, troubled the ocean’s peace. They would play in the waves, gather occasional shells, and meet on the beach, but the realm beneath the surface remained uncharted territory.

The second brother could not bear it any longer. Suddenly the reciter slammed her strings all together. The disrupted harmony resonated over the crowd’s mesmerized faces, and Neteyam was so surprised by the sound effect that he didn’t notice Aonung was more focused on the Omaticaya’s reaction than on the story.

Only the drone of the drums accompanied the lament of the second brother. For the forest was a closed and dark place; Eywa had offered them strong limbs to swim and deep breath to hold in the infinite water – why couldn’t they explore it as well? He spoke well, and his energy convinced his brothers. Softly, but going louder with the verses, the melody of the dance broke through the muffled drums. The youngest brother was a bit frightened by the power of the tide, so the eldest gathered his strongest warriors, and the three brothers and their squad built canoes to glide on the open sea.

The canoes did glide, and maybe they glided too well. The cheerful song became serious. Pushed by the currents, the brothers wandered through the flows; and when the youngest dared to look overboard, the clear water of the coast had become dark water of the depths. And the depths loomed under the canoe, like predators ready to draw them in, and never let them go.

In deep, repeated notes, the oldest brother regretted. He had taken his warriors from their family, and now they were in the open sea. The second brother also regretted, though he was less afraid, for he had always dreamt of being here. Once again, his dancing tune overlapped with the drone, and none of the brothers were defeated yet. While the eldest comforted his men, the second brother took a deep breath. The answer was definitely not in their canoe – the sea was sending them a message, and they had to prove worthy of the risk they had taken. He exchanged a look with his brothers, and jumped in the sea.

For how long he stayed under the water none of his clan could say. Like Neteyam, the men waited in an anguished silence interrupted only by the crashing of the waves.

[mrhyde-mrseek]

SCIENCE MOST SINISTER - PART THIRTEEN

CW: Slight claustrophobia, descriptions of drowning/suffocation, possession (think Exorcist-level body horror).

Jekyll hardly noticed his exhaustion until he entered the laboratory, then realized that it may be best to go straight to bed instead of taking the serum. Ignoring Hyde’s weak protests, he turned and headed upstairs, using Hyde’s cane to guide him.

He went through the motions of undressing and changing into his nightclothes half in a daze. Before pulling on his shirt, he trailed his fingers along his arms. The scaly infection had spread to his shoulders; feeling along his torso, he discovered erratic patches on his stomach and hips.

He hardly had the energy to care. He felt he could sleep for a year if given the opportunity. Leaning the cane against the bedpost, he climbed under the sheets and shut his eyes. Within minutes, he was fast asleep.

~•~

His first realization upon opening his eyes was that he could see again. His second realization was that it was so dark he might as well have still been blind and it would have made little difference.

He found himself in a circular chamber. The outline of damp bricks glistened in the walls. He stretched his arms out to either side, and his fingertips met cold stone before he’d extended them completely. His heartbeat began to race, and he swallowed down a lump of fear that had risen in his throat. After the first transformation into Hyde, Jekyll had developed an odd aversion to being trapped in cramped spaces, a phobia that was significantly heightened when he became Hyde.

Something wet trickled onto his fingers. He tore his hand away from the bricks with an exclamation of disgust. Squinting at his hand through the dimness, he saw a black liquid dripping from it like molasses, and where he was hit him like an oncoming locomotive.

He was inside the well.

More of the well-liquid leaked through the bricks, pooling around his shoes, and rising quickly. Too soon, it had reached the level of his waist. He strained, but it held him fast in place. Besides, there was nowhere for him to go if he could move. The lip of the well was high overhead, a mere pinprick of light.

The liquid had risen nearly to his neck. His breaths came and went erratically, raggedly. He couldn’t think or breathe or move. He managed to take one last shallow gulp of air before the well-liquid closed over his head.

It rushed into his ears and mouth and nostrils, poisoning him, choking him. A cough struggled to rise in his throat, suffocated by the black tar that poured into his windpipe. Colors popped and flashed against the back of his eyelids, hot, neon outlines of his veins. These colors swirled together, slowly forming coherent shapes. Through the haze of his fading consciousness, Jekyll watched, fascinated, as a scene played out before him.

He was looking down at the cellar from above. The House, with the addition of Newt, as well as a man and a woman he did not recognize, were gathered in a semicircle around the well. Newt’s lips moved, but Jekyll could not hear the words he spoke.

Gwen stepped forward from the crowd and approached the well. She held an antique knife so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Then, with shaking hands, she raised the knife over her head.

Jekyll cried out, momentarily forgetting she could not hear him. The vision disappeared as more tar poured into his mouth with his shout. Lungs burning, as his last bit of consciousness drifted away, he felt himself sinking, falling into the very depths of the well, far below the ground—

He bolted upright, coughing and gasping for breath. His heaving chest still felt like it had been set on fire. Blinking, he felt around himself in panic—for his vision was still shrouded in blackness—and felt a tangle of blankets. It had all been a dream. He was in his own bedchamber—blind once again, but alive.

~•~

Griffin ran through the dark. Gas lamps flickered, grotesque shadows crawling up the walls like spiders. Corners yawned at unnatural angles, snapping shut like the jaws of some great beast as he passed them. Laughter bounced off the walls and rang in his ears, monstrous and distorted.

He rounded another corner. A wall loomed up in front of him, seemingly out of nowhere. He skidded to a halt, stopping himself inches away from ramming straight into it.

“Something about this seems familiar,” he muttered. He whirled around. An almost-laugh escaped his mouth, a mixture of triumph and surprise.

Another wall had appeared behind him. There was no door, no window, nothing—simply wallpaper plastered smoothly over solid wood. Just as he’d expected. He was dreaming his hallucination all over again.

This time, he was unafraid. He knew exactly what would happen next. He would grow dizzy, and then disembodied faces and limbs would circle him, taunting him—

And then his head snapped violently back on its own accord.

His conscious mind was sent spinning, spiraling away as a new force crawled—yes, crawled, like an insect, like a rat—into its place. He could feel his limbs, but it was as though he had become a marionette puppet, with no control over his movements.

Yes, this should do nicely, his mouth said. It sounded like his own voice, but it was merely an imitation. I must thank you for surrendering yourself to me, Griffin. He tried to shout at whatever this was to get out of his body, but he found himself unable to make a sound.

The thing chuckled at his attempts to protest. Oh, do not be so upset. I will give it back—although I cannot say for certain whether you will be alive long enough to enjoy it.

Griffin’s feet rose off the ground. His head rolled from side to side. His mouth fell open, and he coughed a stream of the well-liquid from his lungs. His heart raced. It was a dream. This was only a dream. This could not be real. He was only dreaming.

. . . Wasn’t he?

[padme-looks-showdown]

[image description 1: a photo of Padmé wearing her velvet cloak from revenge of the sith. the cloak is deep purple and gently pools around her feet. it is draped around her shoulders several times and loosely covers her from the neck down. her hair is pulled up into twisted buns, one on each side of her face, and she is wearing thin silver earrings. end image description.]

[image description 2: a photo of Padmé dressed in her foreign residence gown. the gown is black silk with gold and white beaded designs running down the outside of the sleeves. the sleeves extend further on the inner side, ending in a triangular shape; the inside fabric is a dark turquoise color and has matching beadwork. the gown is floor-length with a high neckline. her makeup consists of a white base with red dots and red lipstick, with a red stripe down the center of her lower lip. her hair is styled into a semicircle shape with the round edge facing upward, and a small portion of the hair is set over her forehead with a decorative knot in the center, held in place by a gold accessory. end image description.]

[saintsofwarding]

SAINTS OF WARDING; HUNGRY DEMONS

Chapter 11: In Which Even Devils Have Their Day

He was alone again, alone in the dark, nothing but half-forgotten memories to light his way.

***

A little boy huddled in a closet, knees pulled to his chest, staring through the gap of light between the door and the frame.

In it he glimpsed a room: comfortable and shabby. The glimmer of gilt. Embroidered cushions, worn with use. Firelight shadows. A woman, standing before the outside doorway, her back to the boy as he stared at her, paralyzed with fear.

This is a blessing, you fool. A gift. A chance for him to become greater, to serve a purpose beyond any of your mortal imaginings-

Wings spread, six of them black and glistening like mold. Fury radiated through the room in waves. The woman stumbled back as Miranda advanced, her gilded claws spread.

Somewhere, a baby began to cry.

You should understand. You, the child's mother. Do you not want better for him? To claim his name? His birthright?

The woman hadn't backed down. I won't have you claim it for him.

Miranda's eyes had flashed beneath her golden mask. A god, yes, but also a petulant child, denied a plaything.

Pity, she'd murmured.

"Don't look," the little boy whispered.

Heisenberg didn't. He turned from the scene, from the truth, and stepped through the slick curtain of mold. His mother's cries echoed behind him as the light receded, as the darkness closed around him once more.

***

In that darkness-

"Help me!"

It echoed from the mold-shadows, a long, trailing cry. Rose. Heisenberg picked up speed. Mold rained around him, sucking at his boots, writhing up his body as if to bear him down into the churning black pool at his feet. He tore through, forcing himself on. Voices echoed from the darkness, lost in time.

A perfect affinity...

A villager's face flashed in his mind, wet with tears, the snarls of lycans descending. Please, don't, I promise, my lord, I swear-

A woman's bloodied face, her throat ripped out by one vicious slash, golden claws sticky with blood gripping his shoulder. An alien force in his mind, already licking the memories clean. You needn't worry, child.

You have a new family now.

"Heisenberg! Help me!"

Take her. And take care of her.

Please-

***

With a yell, Heisenberg muscled through the wall of mold.

It fell away around him; the darkness rippled, muscular as a throat, slicking out into the black-and-white tiles of an ornate parquet floor. Crystal chimed, high above: a massive chandelier. It seemed to float, suspended in midair, countless candles flickering through its facets. The ruddy glow of antique wood filled the lofty heights of the hall, stoked by the embers of a fire in a massive carved fireplace. Heisenberg's gaze traveled up the sweep of a staircase, carpeted in red, the heights of the place drowned out in shadow.

His breathing slowed. He knew this place. Of course he did. He'd tried his damnedest to avoid Castle Dimitrescu- place reeked of blood and money- but in all his years of serving Miranda, he'd inevitably been there a time or two. Before, it was full of cackles and taunts, Dimitrescu's daughters circling him like a trio of black-clad hyenas, licking their fangs as they sized him up and spat lewd jokes and giggled when he returned them in kind.

Now, the shadows were empty.

He paced forward. The limits of the hall rippled, details lost in haze; this was a dream, after all, one of Alcina's memories culled from her many years of life. Portraits stared down from the wood-paneled walls, Dimitrescu ancestors as elegant and dark-haired as the Lady herself, watching this interloper in their midst with aristocratic disdain.

Heisenberg stopped before the fireplace, the trio of couches that made a semicircle around a low coffee table carved in overblown Baroque style. Two teacups waited there, an antique silver tea service set up as if in anticipation of a visitor.

All of this is mine? All of it?

Heisenberg turned as the double entry doors were flung wide. A girl swept through, tall and statuesque, her broad shoulders thrown back beneath the fur collar of a gray velvet evening-coat. Her sleek black hair, bobbed to her chin, reflected the firelight, glossy as the mahogany paneling. Behind her, wreathed in a cloak of black feathers, came Miranda.

Of course it is, Alcina. A scion of the ancient House Dimitrescu deserves the embrace of its ancestral home.

The girl- Alcina- laughed, spinning in a circle, letting her coat flare around her. She let it slip from her shoulders, trailing into an opulent pool of silvery velvet on the floor. It's like a dream. It's like something I always knew was there, and yet could never reach...

It's all in your grasp now, Alcina. Thanks to the Black God, everything we penitent can dream is possible.

Alcina glanced back at Miranda, her blue eyes glittering.

Even what you spoke to me of?

Especially that. You-

Miranda cut off as Alcina's eyes widened, then, without warning, she coughed. Blood burst from her perfect lips, spurting across the black and white floor tiles. It spackled the front of her loose day dress, marring the creamy silk, trickling down its intricate embroidery like strings of glossy red beadwork.

Alcina's hand flew to her mouth, but the damage was done.

And...and this? she managed, after a moment, lifting her gloved hand from her lips.

Miranda drew closer, taking the taller girl's hands and clasping them, gently, in her own. Everything, she said, her voice soft and soothing. This will become a strength too, my beauty. You needn't be afraid of it.

You needn't be afraid ever again.

They were gone, and with them went the firelight. Whispers filled the great, empty hallway, the cold darkness. Soft footsteps pattered away as Heisenberg pushed forward, searching the darkness for the first sign of movement.

"Rose?"he called. His voice echoed away, away, warped by the unearthly resonance of this dream-place.

More footsteps, more shuffles. A chorus of soft whispers. Ghostly forms waited in the darkness, huddled together, whispering to one another behind their hands. Young women, all of them. He thought he recognized some of their faces from the monastery. The women Dimitrescu had stolen, he realized. Were their original minds trapped inside her? Had Lady Dimitrescu, mutating still as she healed herself, become a mutamycete colony within herself, trapping these girls' consciousness even as their bodies were wracked and changed by her considerable will?

If they were trapped here, witnessing Dimitrescu's actions, then they must have seen what had happened to Rose.

They flinched away as Heisenberg approached.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

Cannot- will not- Their voices fluttered around him like frightened birds. Mother- she'll hear us- wants to protect us- hurts, hurts, hurts-

"She'll hurt her more if I don't find her. You get me? That kid's father killed her the first time around. You've been inside her head. You have any idea what she'll do to her in payback for that?"

She pleaded with us too-

-Couldn't help her-

-Needed a friend-

One of the women lifted a ghostly hand, pointing. Red glimmered atop a nearby shelf. Heisenberg rushed for it and took it up.

A little straw doll, a twist of red yarn tied around its neck.

"Needed a friend, huh?" Heisenberg muttered.

A scream lit the air. A door thudded open. Beyond pulsed a dull red glow. With a last glare at the girls, Heisenberg made for the door and stepped through.

He passed into a courtyard. The castle courtyard, but chopped up, put back together wrong, blurred and indistinct. Snow swirled through tangled plants, through icy stone archways, flagstone paths leading off at mad angles. Statues rose through the snowdrifts; for a moment Heisenberg thought they were in Dimitrescu's typical taste, nubile young women in poses of slaughter or sacrifice, but as he drew closer he saw they were hooded and corseted, antique necklaces clasped about their throats. Their faces were familiar- pretty young girls with spills of blood dripping from their mouths. Now, though, they didn't taunt him or mock him. Now, each was frozen in an expression of terror. Bela, Cassandra, Daniela, their figures remade in milky crystal, their hands raised as if shielding them from a merciless final blow, frozen forever in their final moments of fear.

The red glow still pulsed ahead. With a last glance at the Dimitrescu daughters' corpses, Heisenberg stepped into it.

The hall on the other side was red, and wet. The walls shone slick as fresh meat, the air thick with the fug of flesh and decay. The door slammed shut the instant Heisenberg stepped through; he whirled, but it melted into the red gloom before he could so much as grab for the handle.

Ahead, further down the hallway, another scream echoed. Agonized, howling. A wounded animal.

Heisenberg picked up speed. Doors swam from the darkness; he pushed through.

Beyond was a bedroom. He'd never seen her private chambers before- thank fuck- but from the decadence of the decor, the ornate goldwork along the ivory paneling, the brocade curtains sweeping from the bed canopy, Heisenberg assumed this was Dimitrescu's. Embers shimmered in the fireplace, illuminating the bed and the two figures on it, one reclining, one standing.

Illuminating the blood.

A sea of it soaked the bed, the carpet, the prone form of the woman lying atop the bedclothes, her nightgown stuck to her skin. She was so pale Heisenberg was surprised there was any blood left in her body at all, her shining waves of dark hair dripping as she gasped each pitiful breath.

Miranda stood over her, watching Alcina as she lay in the throes of her disease. Rest now. Save your strength for the Cadou.

I could not save them, Miranda...

They served me well, dearest Alcina. Take comfort that your daughters' deaths were not for nothing.

I...I was not there to protect them. I left them to the dark. The cold...

The whites of her eyes were webbed with red. One hand- mortal, not yet taloned- twitched on the bedclothes, as if reaching for a girl that was not there.

He cut them down, she whispered. One after the next. My dearest ones. All of this...all my strength...and it was still not enough...

What was this place? The hollow in her heart, Heisenberg realized, with a pang. The locked room deep inside that was her substance, that held captive the summation of her every fear. Past her talons and stature, past her decades of murder, torture, and bloodshed, past her magnificence, her arrogance, her confidence reigning supreme, this was what made up Alcina Dimitrescu. A dying woman, unable to save the daughters she so desperately loved.

A dying woman, plucked from insignificance and granted monstrous power, weeping alone in a hell of her own failures and grief.

Heisenberg approached the bedside.

Miranda melted away as he took her place, standing over Alcina. She looked so small like this. So human. That was what she was, after all, before the Cadou. That was what all of them had once been.

"Alcina," Heisenberg said.

"Heisenberg." She coughed; her teeth were slick and red as rubies. "You...you found me. Wretch. How dare you see me this way..."

"Shut up and face the music, Alcina. You lost. Fair and square. Now let Rose and the other girls go, and fuck off."

"Concede defeat? To you?" Her lips stretched back in a ghastly smile. "Never."

"You serious? I blew you up."

"You may have sprung your little trap, but I can still fight. I will crush you. I will crush you until your Cadou fails you, until that graceless heart of yours gives out..."

"You always hated me, Alcina. From the beginning."

"Undeserving. Common. Utterly without propriety."

"So were you. Who were you before Miranda plucked you from your parents' hovel? A peasant? Do you even remember, or did she fill your head with bullshit, too?"

"Liar," Alcina hissed. "Liar."

"Oh, keep blabbing! You're the biggest liar of us all, and completely to yourself." He leaned over her, grabbing her shoulders and pinning her down. "Now give me back Rose."

"She's...she's never going to...never going to replace her..."

"I know she's here somewhere, hidden in this freaky mind-palace of a castle. Now shut the fuck up and tell me where-"

"She'll never be the same as Claudia," Alcina whispered.

Heisenberg froze.

Mistake.

Dimitrescu's eyes flashed golden. She grinned, her teeth lengthening into fangs, her body crackling as she grew. Her hand snapped around Heisenberg's throat, and with a heave, she lifted him off his feet.

Gasping, pulling at her hand, Heisenberg could only stare as she rose from the bed, growing before his eyes, her bloodied nightgown becoming the rags of her white dress, her hair lashing in gore-matted tangles around her shoulders.

"You want Rose?" she cried. "You'll have to go through me! Just like her father!"

With a heave, she flung him. Heisenberg crashed into the wall and shattered through, chunks of wood and mold raining around him; he hit stone and skidded, tumbling head over heels to an aching, grating stop. Snowy wind spackled his face with cold. A quick glance around told him she'd thrown him onto the bridge between the main wing of the castle and the Tower of Worship, a walkway of stone connecting the two structures over a perilous drop.

As he set eyes on the doors, he felt a warm pulse in his pocket. He clapped his hand over the warmth, feeling the shape of Rose's straw doll.

Ah-hah, Heisenberg thought. Of course. Where else had Dimitrescu ever kept her secrets safe? Nice one, kid.

He turned back as a scream of rage drowned out the wind. Dimitrescu loomed in the hole he'd made in the wall. If she was intimidating in her usual form, like this, she was terrifying. Nine and a half feet of rippling muscle, of bloody gown and bared teeth, she smashed through the remnants of the hole in the castle wall and stalked after him.

Dust and snow swirled around her as she splayed her hand. With a sound like swords drawn, her claws arced free. Five jet-black blades so sharp Heisenberg could nearly feel them on his eyeballs. Oh, now she was really coming out to play. Her draconic form might have been the stuff of nightmares, but when she got the claws out, things got real personal.

"I'll slice you into ribbons," she roared, eating up the distance between them with each mammoth stride. "Just like I should have a long, long time ago!"

His Cadou fluttered in his chest.

Somewhere-

Over Dimitrescu's howl, over the wind-

"Help me!"

Dimitrescu's footsteps hammered closer. Heisenberg made himself stand his ground as long as he dared, those talons slicing closer; she brought her hand back, ready to strike, ready to slash him in two-

Heisenberg whirled and dodged. Dimitrescu charged past him, momentum carrying her up the steps and past him. She smashed into the Tower of Worship's doors and through with a brassy bell-warp clang; Heisenberg ducked past her and into the Tower's gloomy cathedral interior, a mess of smashed pews and broken stained-glass windows, a holy place left to rot and be forgotten.

Now, it was inhabited by the living.

At its far end, where in reality the sarcophagus of Dimitrescu's would-be assassin rested, a small figure stood atop a dais. Hundreds of chains lashed her to hooks in the wall and ceiling and floor, pulling her arms painfully above her head.

Pale hair glinted.

Rose.

"Heisenberg!" she cried.

"Hey, kid," he yelled back.

"No!" Dimitrescu recovered, fast. She heaved to her full height, unsheathing her other hand's full retinue of claws.

There was little usable metal in the place, nothing but a bunch of old wrought-iron candlesticks about Heisenberg's height.

Good enough.

He summoned one and brought it up like a shield as Dimitrescu lunged; it hummed through the air and into his hand the instant before she struck. Sparks fountained as her claws shrieked off the iron, gashing deep marks in the metal. A second strike sheared it in two, edges glowing molten-orange from the force of her blow.

Heisenberg threw the pieces aside, stumbling back, back, with each strike, closer and closer to Rose.

"You think you can face me? You think you can ruin this again?" Fury blazed in Dimitrescu's eyes; each slash seemed harder, wilder, as if she'd thrown all of her elegance to the wind. "Did you enjoy it? Murdering them? Watching the light leave their eyes?"

She no longer saw him, Heisenberg understood. He was Ethan, or her nightmare-version of Ethan, the monster who'd massacred her daughters. Never mind that she'd set them on him. Never mind that he was searching for his own child. There was no logic, Heisenberg decided, to a parent's love for their children. There was only that love, and its strength, whether good or bad, could tear the world apart.

And now it would. And now she would. Let them all suffer for how she'd suffered.

It doesn't have to be this way.

We don't have to destroy each other just because she destroyed us first.

He stumbled up the dais, beside Rose. She stared at him from the thicket of chains, her eyes wide, her shoulders rising and falling with each sob.

"You came to get me," she whispered, amidst each tearing shriek of Dimitrescu's claws.

"'Course I did, kid," Heisenberg said. "You trust me?"

"Yeah."

He grinned at her. Behind him, the air parted. Dimitrescu's next strike would cut him in half. "Good."

And he fell to his knees and wrapped Rose tight in his arms.

***

The blow never came.

Cold seeped into his knees. A stone floor; the smell of blood. When he opened his eyes, a sea of shifting mold surrounded him, and clamped in his arms was Rose. She looked up at him and smiled, the protective coating of her mold that surrounded them sloughing away, melting into her body once more.

"Kid," Heisenberg managed.

"Did I do good?"

"More than good. How 'bout me? How'd I do?"

"You..." She buried her face in his shoulder with a little snuffle. "You smell gross."

"Shut your trap, kid, before I strangle you." He ruffled her hair, and she giggled. Together, they looked up.

Lady Dimitrescu sprawled before them, buried under the church's half-collapsed roof. Beams and rubble covered her, her flesh blackened and smoking, her wings reduced to rags of membrane and pulsing veins of mold. They writhed at each other, trying to reconnect and heal themselves. Her humanoid torso was slumped, head lowered, shoulders heaving as she breathed. Each exhale was a sawblade rasp, trickles of mold escaping her lips.

"You...you got me, Heisenberg." Her voice was an echo of its sumptuous self, a ghostly hiss, made reedy by her strangled breathing. "In...in the end...it was you...what humiliation..."

"Suck it, Dimitrescu," Heisenberg said.

He released Rose and climbed to his feet, shedding the final remnants of her mold. She didn't make a move against him as he approached and stopped before her, between her great taloned forepaws. Even like this, she towered over him.

"Going to strike the final blow?" she said. Her golden eyes narrowed. "Go on. Do it swiftly. Kill me with honor."

"I'm not killing you, Alcina," Heisenberg said. "Much as I want to." Mutters and gasps filled the church. Glancing behind him, he saw a collection of grubby people filing from a grate in the flagstones, eyes huge, faces blanched, taking in the ruined church and the monsters in its midst. The townsfolk from the catacombs. Some of them fell to their knees, hands raised in supplication, though whether to Dimitrescu, to him, or to Rose, Heisenberg couldn't tell.

"It's over," he told Dimitrescu. "Miranda. Us. All of it. Now move on. Find somewhere else to lord over."

"Someone must pay for my daughters..." A sob choked her, mangled and awful, as if wrenched from deep inside. A rumble coursed through her monstrous body. "My daughters..."

"Then why'd you spare me and the kid, huh?" Heisenberg asked.

Her eyes snapped to him. With a vast stirring of wind, ash and snow swirling in the draught, she lifted her wings. Her talons curled; she heaved to her feet, shaking aside the beams that had trapped her, exposing the great, glistening wounds they'd carved into her sides. Magnificent, Heisenberg thought, not for the first time.

"You really are a fool, Heisenberg," Dimitrescu told him, softly.

Her haunches tensed. Her wings snapped wide, and she bellowed, bringing the rest of the townsfolk to their knees, shaking the church, the hill, the foundations of the whole damn town.

With one powerful leap, she took to the skies. A thrum of pressure, a sweep of shadow, and then she was gone.

Heisenberg let out his breath. He flicked a hand down his dirty, ash-streaked trench coat. Rose approached him, and looked up at him.

"Still cool, kid?" he said.

She was already running. He knelt as she flung out her arms, as she clasped them around his neck. He gathered her to him, holding onto her, knowing all those fuckers from the catacombs were watching, and still not managing to care.

***

Outside, the rest of the town had gathered in the ruined graveyard. The morning light fell gray-gold and bleak across the wreckage, the town beyond, smashed roofs and cratered streets, bonfires sweeping their way through the rest, pouring dark smoke into the sky. People picked through the rubble, ashen, haunted. Some leaned against gravestones, rifles between their knees, heads down, weeping.

But others still were grouped around makeshift camps, around the prone bodies of the winged girls, their wings already dissolving into moldy pulp. Amongst them, he glimpsed Emilia, Anca and her grandmother tucking blankets around her, waiting with water and soup for the first sign of regained consciousness.

"Anca says she'll be all right."

Heisenberg turned. Teo stood behind him, backed by Andrei and the rest of her crew, bloodied and beat-up but fundamentally intact. Her mother's silver pistol was shoved through her belt. She'd shed her coat, and under the open neck of her shirt Heisenberg glimpsed the dark, radiating veins creeping up from her gut wound.

"Did you know the stolen women would be released when you defeated the Lady of Blood?" she asked. "Or was that just a lucky side effect?"

"Fifty-fifty, sweetheart," Heisenberg told her.

She arched her eyebrows. "I should punch you for that."

"Go on. I'd be interested in experiencing for myself the strength of a fresh Cadou recipient." He smirked at her. "All in the interest of experimentation, of course."

"Of course." She paused. "You feel like sticking around? We could use your, ah, skillset."

"Nah. I got Rose back, and that's enough good deeds for this month." He waved a dismissive hand at the townsfolk. "I don't have a horse in this race. Besides. What can I say. This place isn't exactly my scene."

The corner of Teodora's mouth quirked up in a dry smile. "Too dull?"

Heisenberg lifted his eyes to Rose. She'd wandered off, going to crouch by Emilia's side, pressing her hands to the other girl's forehead.

"She deserves a change of scenery," Heisenberg said. "And I made her a promise. I've come this far. In for a cog, in for the engine, as they say."

Teodora nodded. She glanced toward the ruined town, toward the crowd of townsfolk. Something seemed to settle in her eyes, and she gave a little nod, as if to herself.

She faced Heisenberg again and held out her hand, its nails black and split, bloody and bruised in the dawn light.

"What?" Heisenberg said. "No kiss?"

She scoffed. "I'd just come back from the dead, Heisenberg. Push your luck and it'll be your turn next."

He took her hand and clasped it, hard. For a moment they regarded one another. Then Teodora winced. She pressed her palm over her stomach, over the place her sister had stabbed her.

"I feel it," she said, after a beat. "The...the gift. It's like a weight inside me. Like another mind, thinking inside my own."

"Yeah, yeah. If you start mutating uncontrollably or melting spoons with your mind, that's normal. It all takes some getting used to."

"What..." She paused again, a slight furrow between her brows. "What am I, now?"

"Whatever you want to be," he told her. "You can be like me, start doing whatever you want to these people in the name of holy right. Or..."

"Or?"

Heisenberg shrugged. "Maybe this town needs a new saint of warding to keep away all the hungry demons."

[maytheoddshq]

Sawyer Bell (she/her). D6 Tribute. 109 Victor. 25. Sophia Ali.

Tw: drugs, violence

  There was a group of them. Train hoppers, people who lived in the liminal spaces of the tracks, who moved through the vast expanses of District Six, lulled to sleep by the constant motion and shuttering of train cars. Sawyer was born in these liminal spaces, her mother caring for her deeply, though without many resources to give her the things she wanted to. Still, the bond between mother and daughter was strong, and the two of them were thick as thieves throughout Sawyer’s childhood. Sometimes they stayed in one place for a season or two, but never longer than that. Sawyer never had a second parental figure, never wanted one. She never fully learned to read or write, either, as this was not important in a world where oral storytelling ruled, a world where running from Peacekeepers and picking locks was more important than learning the history of Panem. Sawyer was smart, though, and picked up on everything fast. She was athletic and enjoyed the mobile lifestyle she and her mother lived.

She was Reaped in the summer of 92, Games 109, when she was 13 years old. The train to the Capitol was so much nicer than the ones that she, her mother, and the people they called family camped out in. The food was rich and full of taste, easy to come by. No stealing, no sneaking. It made itself available to her on silver platters.

  In training, she excelled at plant identification, learning the unfamiliar ones quickly, learning, too, the runes that spelled out their names. She also found that she did well with some of the weapons. Archery was impossible but knife training proved fun. She was short and lithe and a kind trainer helped her learn how to use that to her advantage. She didn’t do as well in the interview, freezing up in front of the cameras and all those faces in the audience. But no matter.

  Her district partner was 17, a boy as rough around the edges as she was. Mercury made a promise that they’d stick with each other until the end, though he would never answer her questions about what would happen then, if they were the last two standing. Most likely, they both knew, it would never come to that. Mercury was stronger and bigger than her, and would fare better than she would.

  The tributes were launched in a semicircle onto a thin wooden boardwalk, three feet wide, that stretched around a large, brilliantly blue pool of water. They were all clustered on one side, while the boardwalk on the other side of the water was empty. The cornucopia rested in the middle of it, boasting packs, food, water, weapons — but there was just one path to get to it, one wooden path that led to the center of the lake, and it was on the opposite side.

  During the countdown, Sawyer saw several of her fellow tributes preparing to jump into the water. It looked inviting, as blue and beautiful as it was, but it was also steaming. A thin layer of fog lay just above it, indicating that it was hot, very hot. She didn’t need to dip her toe in to know that. So when the countdown ended, she stood where she was, watching three, then four, then five tributes dive into the water, those with the fastest reflexes, and instantly begin to trash, scream, their bodies boiling.

  She chose not to stick around to find out what would happen next, instead catching Mercury’s eye and jumping off the back of the boardwalk, falling into a dead sprint away from the water, the cornucopia, and all of its promises.

  The land was sparse, red nearest the water and then brown as it stretched further away. She and Mercury found a river whose waters flowed quickly, and after waiting in the shrubs for an animal to come along and test the water, they deemed it safe enough. Mercury fashioned a spear and after a few hours, managed to catch a fish. Sawyer started a fire after a few false starts and a lot of cursing, and the two ate and drank.

  Over the next few days, she and Mercury stuck close to the river which seemed a bountiful source of food and water. They weren’t the only ones who thought so, though, and were joined by mutts of all shapes and sizes, as well as some of their fellow tributes. On the third day, Mercury took on another tribute, one from Eleven, and killed him, bashing his head in with a rock. It was the first violent death that Sawyer had seen, and she knelt to the ground, sobbing, unable to control herself despite Mercury’s best efforts at calming her.

  The next tribute they came across was one from Three. This time, she assisted in the fight, though the final blow came from Mercury, who dug a knife he’d gotten from a sponsor into the tribute’s chest. On the fourth day, resting by a lake, Sawyer felt a sharp pain in her leg. Pulling up her pant leg, she saw a very small black tick. Being trained from childhood to avoid ticks, knowing the dangers they could cause, she used her fingernails to pry it from her skin before it dug too deep into it. She then drowned the tick in the lake, wiping her hands and thinking how proud her mother would be of her smarts. But after a few hours, it became clear that she hadn’t removed the tick fast enough, as her leg began to swell. The pain was immense, and she spent the night crying, intermittently soaking her leg in the cold lake water, but it did nothing. In the morning, the gentle beeping of a gift came down from the sky. Antibiotics, which she took immediately, gratefully.

  In the afternoon, a large beast trapped them between it and the lake. The bison-mutt was angry, approaching as if they’d encroached on its territory, which perhaps they had. They had no choice but to jump in the lake, swim away as fast as they could. Only Mercury managed to grab something — the knife that had kept them safe so far. The rest of her medicine and their canteens were left behind.

  Without the rest of the antibiotics, her leg began to swell again, red and tender and painful, and walking became impossible. On the sixth day, there were only four tributes left — the two of them, and the pair from One. Her leg pained her so greatly, and no more medicine was coming, so she had to often stop to rest as they walked. They moved aimlessly, not sure where they were going or what they were doing. Both aware that the end was approaching, and they were both still alive. The terms of their promise soon to expire.

  During one such rest, in a large empty basin of dirt and mud, she closed her eyes for only a moment while Mercury stepped away to pee. When she opened them again, there the Careers were, looming over her, both smiling, blood smeared on their cheeks. She screamed, scrambling up and beginning to run, though her leg gave out on her after only a few yards and she fell. Certain death was coming any moment, she hid her face in the dirt, not wanting to see what would happen next — but nothing did, except a very loud noise behind her, which caused her to sit up and turn. Water was shooting out of the ground, sweeping up the two Careers with its force. The sound of the cannons were drowned out by the noise of the water, and their bodies were thrown dozens of yards away.

  Mercury returned, asking what the noise was. He hadn’t heard the cannons, hadn’t seen the bodies, immersed in the water as they had quickly become. She didn’t tell him, afraid of what he’d do when he found out they were the last two.

  In mid-afternoon, the earthquakes began. They escalated over the course of a few hours, and in the evening, just before the sky would darken and show the faces of the two dead Careers, revealing to Mercury the they were the final two, the biggest earthquake yet came, knocking them both off their feet. Mercury dropped the knife; it landed next to Sawyer’s hand. Before she could do anything, the earth cracked open before them, and red-hot lava started to spill from it. It made its way towards them quickly.

  “We have to run,” Mercury yelled, getting up, but Sawyer knew two things immediately:

  They were the last two. If one of them died, it would be over. There would have to be no running.

If they ran, he would be fast enough, and she would not. She would succumb to the lava flow and die.

  In the end it was the thought of her mother that drove the knife into Mercury’s leg. He turned around, shocked, the moving earth causing him to fall. She crawled on top of him and dug it into his chest, just as he had done to the boy from Three. The final cannon sounded as the lava reached her heels.

  At first, Sawyer returned home, living in her new mansion with her mother. But her mother didn’t like it, and she increasingly began to speak to the shadows, telling them that Sawyer was not the daughter she’d known. Sawyer couldn’t stop her mother from succumbing to madness, having been driven insane by watching her daughter fight for her life in the Games, after a life of instability and uncertainty.

  When her mother ran into the Wilds, Sawyer didn’t follow. She knew that she wasn’t the daughter her mother had known before, anyway. She wasn’t who her mother would want with her. Her comfort meant nothing.

  The house became too big and empty, so at seventeen, Sawyer moved to the Capitol. There, she bought a sun-filled Loft, and the glamor of the city lifestyle caught up with her. She made friends with Capitolites who introduced her to all of the best things — clubs and dancing and drugs and men. She was swept up in it all, wanting life to feel as far away from the Arena as it possibly could. Sometimes when she drank something strong, took an even stronger pill, she saw Mercury’s face on the men at the club. That was always when she knew it was time to go home.

  She was first called up to be a mentor, replacing her own, who had died, in 100, for the 124th Games. It was summer, everything was hot and sticky, and she was 21 years old. Those first few Games, her tributes fared okay, but not great. She spent most of the time drinking, escaping the Tower to party, escaping the demons that followed her everywhere there.

  And then Cat Miller won. She had done it. She’d brought home a tribute. And as glad as she was to have Cat alive, to have any of her tributes alive, she didn’t know if she’d had much of a hand in it.

  While she’s slowed down a bit with partying, mostly because the hangovers have gotten worse as she’s neared her twenty-sixth birthday, she hasn’t lost her ways entirely. She enjoys spending the night in someone else’s bed, enjoys drinking and some of the more exciting pills. She has little direction, little focus as a mentor. Her mother was right: the girl she used to be is gone, probably forever.

  So the morning of the 132nd Reaping, her last ever, she is surprised to meet that little girl. The fourteen year old crying into the dirt. But meet her she does, complete with a pain in her leg that has gone mostly phantom over the years, when her name is called and the escort turns around to look at Sawyer, standing behind her, already on the stage.

  + : resourceful, quick learner, charming

- : rash, unfocused, acts shallow

[911described]

[Image description: 1 minute 30 second trailer for 9-1-1 season 7

Athena is wearing a white v-neck t-shirt under a white linen shirt with large red picture prints of palm trees, surfboard, a dock and a VW camper van. She sits on a table by the pool, holding up a mug with a tea bag label sticking out. She leans forward to rest her elbow on the table, raising her eyebrows towards Bobby.

Bobby wears a light teal green button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The bar is behind him, with bottles and flowers. He raises his hand to his left, eyebrows raises too as he insists, “let’s go lay by the pool”

Athena frowns slightly, lips pressed, still in two minds as Bobby continues, shaking his head as he says “and enjoy our beautiful honeymoon cruise”

Bobby finishes the sentence with “together” as we see Bobby with his hands clasped on the table, behind an elaborate tropical flower centerpiece.

Athena looks down as she gathers up her things and says, “I’ll get my bathing suit” She looks up, wiggling her head playfully as she says, “and I’ll meet you there in 10 minutes.”

Bobby turns to his right, saying “Okay, alright” as Athena approaches. She holds his shoulder and he presents his cheek, pursing his lips with a “mwah” as she kisses his cheek.

There are slow resonating beeps and rhythmic ticking. Three speed boats race across the open ocean, seen from the front, with red text “Thursday March 14” on top. We hear Athena say “life is a whirlwind.” We see two of the boats from the back.

An overhead shot of the pool, panning across at pace to show a few people swimming and deck chairs lining each side. A grappling hook flies over the edge of the cruise ship, bouncing on the ground before latching onto the railing. A white man with curly brown hair and a mustache climbs over the railing. He is wearing a black long-sleeved top, black trousers, and a green camouflage bulletproof utility vest, with an assortment of guns and associated items.

At the top of the screen, two people with guns approach one side of the pool, while another walks round the other side of the pool, and passengers run screaming to hide behind the chairs or get out of the pool. We hear a deep voice with an Eastern-European accent call out, “stay calm”.

A white man with short brown hair stands under a sign for the Food House, with a container of pool noodles behind him. He is wearing grey trousers, a dark-grey short-sleeved t-shirt, a black bulletproof vest, a utility belt with thigh gun holster, black fingerless gloves. He is carrying an assault rifle. He looks around with a smile and continues, “and nobody will be hurt”, as two women are curled up on the floor next to him, one with her head down and the other holding her own head as she peers up.

Bobby sits on a deck chair, and looks up and to his side with a deep frown, one eyebrow arched in annoyance. He turns quickly and looks ahead, eyes unfocussed as he thinks for a moment, before he turns to look back towards his right.

A female hijacker with long open hair kicks the legs of a passenger who is retreating backwards, sending him falling. She is wearing black leggings, a black vest top and a green camouflage bulletproof utility vest.

Athena’s voiceover says “when there’s disaster”, and the hijacker with short brown hair looks up with a slight smile.

Her voiceover continues “to deal with” and we see Athena standing at the pool side, in front of the showers’ entrance. There are two people, including a pilot with a white shirt and 3rd engineer stripes on his shoulders, knelt on one side of her, and a hijacker on the other side. She is wearing a white vest under a lavender button-up linen shirt, white ankle grazer trousers and white sneakers.

The hijacker grits his teeth in a vicious smile and raises the assault rifle to fire up in the air, in a semicircle. We hear Athena say "who are we?"

On a watery deep blue background with red lights bleeding through the bottom, is text reading “9-1-1 comes to abc”. The camera lowers through the clouds as we see the cruise ship sail towards the sunrise.

We hear a different slow ticking. Bobby slowly moves through a dark tunnel on a lower deck, his face rippling with light from water below. He’s wearing a bright red button up shirt with dark jeans and black suede boots.

Athena crouches on the ground, looking behind her, lips parted and eyes wide with fear. She asks, “you hear that?”

Looking up from the floor, we see Bobby shine a torch down and swing up a small hinged door. He looks down and his eyes widen in horror.

Athena is walking down an accommodation corridor, clutching the arm of the cruise director, Julian Enes. He is a white man with long wavy hair that’s blond at the top and brown at the tips. He is wearing a mid-blue button down shirt under a navy blue suit. He sways slightly as he walks, his hands held in front of him.

There’s a flash and a loud explosion. Athena flings Julian to the side and we see his hands are tied in front of him. The corridor explodes in front of them and they both go flying against the walls.

There’s a high pitched whining sound as we see Athena in a pink-tinted corridor that’s lined with steaming pipes and tilted slightly. Athena clutches the pipes and pulls herself forwards, gasping and gritting her teeth with effort.

Jelly Roll’s Save Me starts playing, with guitars strumming. Maddie walks through dispatch, talking on her personal mobile phone. She looks upwards as she with a rising inflection, “Bobby and Athena’s cruise ship”, then looks down as she continues with a deeper voice, “might be missing.”

The camera closes in on the cruise ship as there is a large, loud explosion in the lower deck. It rocks the boat, which is already on slightly choppy waters.

Chim stands in the dark firehouse bay, between the truck and engine, a deep furrow in his brow as he asks, “missing, what do you mean ‘missing’?”

Maddie sounds emotional, shaking her head slightly as she emphasizes, “we can’t find it.”

A raspy man's voice sings, "I'm a lost cause." Eddie and Buck stand next to the fire engine, wearing their LAFD t-shirts. Eddie’s face looks slack, eyes widened in a way that makes him look younger, and Buck frowns deeply behind him. The upright ship bobs up and down, swaying against the crashing waves.

A medium-skinned woman with shoulder length curly hair is sitting on the ground, a bloody gash on her forehead. She wears the same uniform as Julian, and holds up a walkie-talkie as she loudly enunciates, “The ship is taking on water.” The light around her flickers.

We see someone with a bright yellow sleeve reach out a hand and turn a knob on a control panel. Athena stands with her head lowered and her back to the camera, in front of a white metal door that’s illuminated by a fiery glow. We hear her say, “If we’re gonna make it out of here,” as the camera lowers to show her knee-deep in flowing water.

Close-up of Athena looking up, speaking to people off-camera as she continues, “we’ve gotta all work together.”

As the singing continues with "don't waste your time on me." People wearing life-jackets rush and stumble round a corridor corner. The ship is tilted at 45 degrees and slowly slides into the water.

Hen walks through the firehouse, wearing the long-sleeved uniform and black half-frame glasses. Someone walks into frame behind her but she continues looking resolutely ahead, lips parted and eyes focussed.

Buck, Chim and Eddie sit in the back of a helicopter, all wearing their wet weather turn outs and looking out at Hen. Buck looks worried and serious, Chim crosses his arms with an unimpressed frown, and Eddie pouts as he holds out Hen’s turnout coat. Eddie jerks his head and raises his eyebrows towards the front of the helicopter, and says, “let’s go.”

Along with singing of "somebody save me," Hen shuts the LAFD helicopter’s door. The helicopter flies through the night sky, light casting a blueish-purple glow. A drenched Bobby runs through a misty corridor, filled with people in lifejackets and waterproof plastic jackets and caps.

As people move behind him, Bobby looks scared and angry as he shouts, “I’m looking for my wife, where is she?”

The crew-woman and Julian stand in front of Bobby, looking terrified. Julian clutches the woman’s shoulder, teary-eyed as he sadly replies “saving the ship.” In a corridor that’s bright red with the emergency light, Athena walks sideways, palms pressed against the pipes as she edges her way forwards.

Along with dramatic drumming and instrumental music, there is loud screaming as we see the ship on its side, the waters rise up as it sinks, submerging us into the waves. The sky is bright pink around them, as Hen goes from looking out the window to quickly turning to a person behind her, waving her hand frantically as she says “that’s it, go back, go back.”

Chim leans a little forwards to look out of the helicopter, frowning in concern. Behind him, Buck looks at him and then out past him.

Singing of "save me, " and the camera bursts out of the water, revealing the capsized ship in the background, a life buoy in the foreground being buffeted by the waves. We hear the passengers’ screams.

Athena is neck-deep in water, mouth open for a moment before she gasps out, “I love you.”

In front of her, Bobby leans forwards, looking desperately in her eyes as he returns, “I love you.” He moves forwards to kiss her.

Singing of "somebody save me," as Athena presses her palm to the ceiling, head tilted back as she pulls in a breath. The water swirls around her as she is fully submerged.

The screen fades to black, and then shows Bobby holding her hand underwater as the water bubbles around them. From under the helicopter, we approach the ship on its side in the water, at a 45 degree angle, all its lights on. The sun is rising in the background. The 9-1-1 and abc logos are on screen, along with “season premiere Thurs March 14”. We hear a deep male voiceover say “9-1-1, comes to ABC, Thursday March 14th, and stream on Hulu”.

/end ID]

since they made it private

[beauty-styles-2023]

As the sun's rays grow warmer and the days stretch longer, it's time to welcome the vibrant energy of summer 2024. What better way to embrace the season than with a fresh, eye-catching manicure? This year's summer nail trends are all about bold colors, playful designs, and a touch of the unexpected. Whether you're lounging by the pool, attending a beachside wedding, or simply want to add a pop of color to your everyday look, we've got you covered with the hottest summer nail trends of 2024.

In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore 40 stunning nail designs that are set to dominate the fashion scene this summer. From minimalist chic to maximalist glory, there's something for every style preference and skill level. So, grab your favorite cold drink, settle into a comfortable spot, and let's dive into the world of summer nails 2024!

Why Summer Nails Matter:

Before we jump into the trends, let's take a moment to appreciate why summer nails are more than just a frivolous indulgence. Your nails are an extension of your personal style, a canvas for self-expression, and a way to boost your confidence. In the summer months, when we tend to wear less clothing and more accessories, our nails become an even more prominent part of our overall look. A well-executed summer manicure can elevate a simple sundress, complement your favorite sandals, or add that perfect finishing touch to your beach-ready ensemble.

Preparing Your Nails for Summer:

To ensure your summer nails look their best, it's essential to start with a healthy base. Here are some tips to prep your nails for the season:

Hydrate: Drink plenty of water and use a good hand cream to keep your nails and cuticles moisturized.

Trim and shape: Keep your nails at a length that's practical for your lifestyle.

Buff: Gently buff the surface of your nails to create a smooth canvas for polish.

Cuticle care: Push back your cuticles gently and apply cuticle oil regularly.

Base coat: Always use a quality base coat to protect your nails and help your manicure last longer.

Now, let's dive into the hottest summer nail trends for 2024!

Neon Dreams

Vibrant, fluorescent shades

Think electric yellow, hot pink, and lime green

Perfect for making a bold statement at summer festivals

Pastel Paradise

Soft, muted tones like lavender, mint, and peach

Ideal for a more subtle, sophisticated summer look

Tropical Fruits

Nail art featuring watermelons, pineapples, and citrus fruits

Adds a playful, summery touch to your manicure

Ocean Waves

Blue and green ombré effects mimicking the sea

Incorporate glitter or metallic accents for added sparkle

Minimal Negative Space

Geometric designs with clear polish

Creates a modern, airy look perfect for hot summer days

Sunset Ombré

Gradients of orange, pink, and purple

Captures the essence of beautiful summer evenings

Floral Fantasies

Delicate flower designs on a neutral base

Use real pressed flowers for an extra special touch

Holographic Hues

Iridescent polishes that shift colors in the light

Adds a futuristic twist to your summer style

Textured Talons

3D elements like rhinestones, pearls, or raised designs

Creates an eye-catching, tactile effect

Retro Revival

'70s inspired patterns and colors

Think groovy swirls and earthy tones

Mermaid Scales

Overlapping semicircles in shimmery blues and greens

Perfect for channeling your inner sea goddess

Neon French Tips

A modern twist on the classic French manicure

Use bright, contrasting colors for the tips

Tie-Dye Triumph

Swirling, psychedelic patterns

Captures the free-spirited essence of summer

Metallic Magic

Shiny gold, silver, or rose gold polishes

Adds a touch of glamour to any summer outfit

Nautical Nods

Navy blue bases with white stripes or anchors

Perfect for seaside vacations or yacht parties

Crystal Clear

Transparent or jelly polishes in pastel hues

Creates a fresh, clean look for summer

Desert Dreams

Earthy tones with cactus or succulent designs

Ideal for those who prefer a more muted palette

Glow-in-the-Dark Designs

Polishes that light up under UV light

Perfect for summer nights out

Gradient Goodness

Smooth color transitions from one shade to another

Can be done with any color combination

Animal Print Accents

Leopard, zebra, or snake print on one or two nails

Adds a touch of wild to your summer style

Minimalist Stripes

Thin, precise lines on a neutral base

Creates a clean, sophisticated look

Fruit Salad

Each nail featuring a different summer fruit

A fun, whimsical take on summer nail art

Seashell Shimmer

Iridescent polishes reminiscent of seashells

Perfect for beach vacations

Neon Geometry

Bright, bold geometric shapes on a neutral base

A modern, artistic approach to summer nails

Watercolor Wonders

Soft, blended colors mimicking watercolor paintings

Creates a dreamy, artistic effect

Starry Nights

Dark blue base with glittery star designs

Ideal for summer evening events

Citrus Burst

Bright oranges and yellows with fruit slice accents

Adds a zesty pop to your summer look

Boho Chic

Earthy tones with intricate mandala designs

Perfect for festival season

Poolside Pastels

Light blues and greens reminiscent of pool water

Adds a cool, refreshing touch to your style

Butterfly Wings

Delicate butterfly designs or wing-inspired patterns

Symbolizes summer freedom and transformation

Ice Cream Dreams

Soft swirls of color mimicking your favorite frozen treats

A sweet addition to your summer style

Tropical Leaves

Green base with palm leaf or monstera designs

Brings a touch of the tropics to your fingertips

Neon Ombré

Gradients using bright, fluorescent colors

Creates a bold, eye-catching look

Seaside Stripes

Alternating stripes in beach-inspired colors

Perfect for a nautical-themed outfit

Mosaic Marvels

Tiny, colorful squares creating a mosaic effect

Adds an artistic, detailed element to your nails

Surfer Chic

Blue bases with white "wave" accents

Ideal for beach lovers and water sport enthusiasts

Cosmic Creations

Dark bases with glittery "galaxy" effects

Adds a touch of mystery to your summer nights

Neon Negative Space

Clear polish with neon geometric shapes

A modern, bold take on the negative space trend

Tropical Sunsets

Gradients of warm oranges, pinks, and purples

Captures the beauty of summer evenings

Iridescent Illusions

Polishes that shift colors depending on the angle

Creates a magical, ever-changing effect

Tips for Long-Lasting Summer Nails:

Now that you've chosen your perfect summer nail design, you'll want to make sure it lasts through all your summer adventures. Here are some tips to extend the life of your manicure:

Use a high-quality top coat and reapply every few days.

Wear gloves when doing dishes or cleaning to protect your nails.

Apply cuticle oil daily to keep your nails and surrounding skin hydrated.

Avoid prolonged exposure to chlorine or saltwater, which can damage your polish.

Touch up any chips immediately to prevent further peeling.

DIY vs. Professional Summer Nails:

While many of these trendy summer nail designs can be achieved at home with some practice and the right tools, others might require the skilled hand of a professional nail technician. Don't be afraid to try simpler designs yourself, but for intricate patterns or techniques you're not comfortable with, it's worth visiting a salon.

Remember, nail art is all about having fun and expressing yourself. Whether you opt for a DIY approach or professional service, the most important thing is that you love your summer nails!

Matching Your Nails to Your Summer Wardrobe:

Your summer nail design can be the perfect accessory to complement your warm-weather wardrobe. Here are some ideas for pairing your nails with popular summer styles:

Beach Day: Pair your ocean wave nails with a flowy beach cover-up and oversized sunhat.

Summer Wedding: Opt for elegant floral nails to complement a romantic summer dress.

Music Festival: Rock those neon geometric nails with a bohemian-inspired outfit and statement jewelry.

Office Chic: Choose subtle pastel ombré nails to add a touch of summer to your work attire.

Night Out: Let your holographic or glow-in-the-dark nails shine alongside a little black dress.

Remember, these are just suggestions. The beauty of nail art is that it allows you to express your unique style, so don't be afraid to mix and match as you see fit!

Nail Care for Summer:

While focusing on trendy designs is fun, it's crucial not to neglect the health of your nails, especially during the summer months. Here are some additional tips for keeping your nails in top condition:

Stay hydrated: Drinking plenty of water benefits not just your body, but your nails too.

Protect from sun damage: Use a hand cream with SPF to prevent UV damage to your skin and nails.

Take breaks from polish: Give your nails time to breathe between manicures.

Eat a balanced diet: Nutrients like biotin, vitamin E, and protein contribute to nail health.

Be gentle: Avoid using your nails as tools to prevent breakage and splitting.

Summer 2024 is all about embracing bold colors, playful designs, and letting your personality shine through your nail art. Whether you prefer the neon brights, subtle pastels, or intricate patterns, there's a summer nail trend that's perfect for you.

Remember, the key to great summer nails is not just about following trends, but about expressing yourself and having fun. Don't be afraid to mix and match ideas or come up with your own unique designs. After all, your nails are a canvas for your creativity!

So, gather your favorite polishes, put on some summery tunes, and let your imagination run wild. With these 40 sizzling summer nail trends for 2024, you're sure to find the perfect look to elevate your style this season. Happy polishing, and enjoy your fabulous summer nails!