#the urge i had to fight not to use the invisible skin to make the shirt bigger on her. smacking my hand away from things that aren't easy!

[coldshrugs]

glamtober #25 - borrowed clothes

no caption for this one, just self-indulgence :>

items used:

weapon: nidhogg (stained red with the blood of former enemies) body: summer indigo shirt (corpse blue) legs: craftsman's leather trousers (undyed) feet: swallowskin boots (jet black)

[moonlight-prose]

smut prompt #8 for logan 👀💗

forty five minutes in the closet

a/n: not me literally writing this in right where you left me ch4. hilarious and iconic timing, because i was fighting the urge to just have them fuck full on in that closet. so here's my chance to do just that. for funsies i'm shoving it into that universe. do not look at me for using that gif. i literally can't deny myself the sight.

summary: an alternative scene to what really happened in that closet.

OR wade wilson forces logan to play seven minutes in heaven. (it was longer than seven minutes if we're being honest.)

word count: 2.6k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, exhibitionism, dirty talk, logan is filthy af and we love that, spit, fingering sort of, p in v sex, quickie, rough sex, biting, he's down bad for his honey what can i say, panty gag, a formal apology for how fucking horny and unhinged this is.

The closet felt smaller than intended—even as your back was pressed to the wall hard enough to feel the cracks in the drywall that stretched to the ceiling. Laughter filtered through the thin wooden door as Wade told yet another joke about shit you couldn't discern. Even if you asked him to explain, you'd still be confused come morning.

Logan leaned heavily against his side of the closet. Approximately two feet of space between you. The tips of your shoes touched his boots. The faint scent of cigar smoke still lingered from where he ripped it out and tossed it in an ashtray. You wouldn't have cared if he smoked in here. You might have asked for a puff.

He insisted on keeping the air clean in case you had to breathe.

Wade claimed you were playing seven minutes in heaven. Seven minutes of alone time with the man who made your head spin. In a proximity close enough to feel the heat of his body from where you stood. Although you'd been standing there for four minutes (you were keeping count via the watch on Logan's wrist) and the group seemed to have forgotten about the both of you entirely.

"Do you—um—know what usually happens here?"

A smile curved on his lips—eyes scrutinizing you with a look that told you he was teasing you. "Yeah. I do. I'm old, not stupid."

"I just wanted to make sure..." In a swift move you barely saw, he rose to his full height and crossed the invisible line holding the two of you on opposing sides. "Oh–"

"Honey." His voice was low, yet you felt as if he was screaming in your ear.

"Yes?" you breathed—eyes fixed on the way his chest took up your space. His flannel was stretched across it and for a moment you wondered if you started salivating at the sight.

"Are you nervous?"

Another raucous round of laughs broke through the darkness that surrounded you. But you could barely hear them over the echo of your own heart. It hammered loudly against your chest—quickening the closer he got. The more his large frame began to engulf you in a warmth you only dreamed of. You clamored to come up with a response, to flippantly push off his advance with a tease of your own.

His hands pressing on either side of your head to the wall behind you killed every ounce of bravery you had left. All your worries and thoughts about what lay on the other side of that door were extinguished. Logan leaned down, his nose brushed yours, and inhaled deep enough to steal the breath from your lungs.

"I can smell you," he rumbled. "Sweet like honey."

A searing heat built beneath your skin, burning from your cheeks down to the tips of your toes. Your mouth opened—words still fighting to be formed—but he didn't need an answer. Not when he could smell the arousal that pooled between your thighs. How you subtly shifted to find a bit of friction in the hopes of something more.

"You mind if I kiss you bub?"

A piece of you fractured in the darkness of that closet—settling comfortably in his own chest. You might ask for it back after all of this, but Logan felt his chances of you walking out as his were growing the longer this went on.

Glancing up—eyes wide and darkened with lust—you bit back the whine that crawled up the back of your throat. "They'll hear us."

He shrugged, shifting close enough for you to almost taste the whiskey off his lips. "Good."

"Logan–"

Lips pressed to your cheek, drawing a soft sigh from your parted mouth. "Somethin' tells me they're just waiting for it." His hand left the wall to trail along your waist, dipping slowly with a kiss to the corner of your lips. "And somethin' also tells me...you like that idea."

It's not as if you were entirely opposed to the idea. Actually most nights (if not every night) was spent with you imagining what it would be like to feel him this way. To be stretched with his cock so much you would feel a delicious burn.

You craved it.

He knew solely from the wanton look on your face. The way your eyes fluttered the further his hand went.

"You gonna let me in or what honey?" he cooed, fingers dipping beneath your skirt to seek out the slick that soaked the lace of your underwear.

Surely the seven minutes had run out, leaving the both of you to make a choice. Stay here and keep going for everyone to catch you. Or walk out, find a room, and continue this in private.

The thought of waiting a second longer snapped at your heels with an air of impatience you let consume you. What the fuck did it matter if they heard you getting fucked against the wall? What did it matter if you'd never live this down as long as you lived?

How could you actually think about shame when Logan's fingers were pressed against your dripping cunt, seeking out your clit through the thin fabric that divided you.

Sagging against the wall with a soft moan, you gripped his flannel in your fist and yanked his lips to yours. He groaned, falling into your body and effectively pinning you to the wall, as his tongue met yours. And suddenly you realized...you liked how whiskey tasted off of his tongue.

He devoured you with the kiss, swallowing each moan and stunted whine as his fingers made quick work of finding your clit. Rubbing quick circles, he plunged his tongue into your mouth - licking at your teeth with a fervor that seeped down into your stomach. It was messy. His spit mixed with yours, staining the skin of your cheek. Your slick coated the inside of your thighs as he pushed the fabric into you roughly.

Yet none of it felt enough to ease the ache that spread rapidly down to the tips of your fingers. Your heart twisted as he gripped the back of your neck—leading you in a kiss that divulged down to nothing but teeth and spit.

You wrapped an arm around his shoulders, your leg hooking around his hip, in the hopes of dragging him closer. To feel the hard bulge against the rough denim of his jeans.

"Look at you," he mumbled against your cheek. "All pretty and leakin' for me."

A sharp burst of need pulled tight at your stomach—the breath torn from your lungs. "Inside–"

He smiled. "C'mon honey. Use that smart head of yours. Gimme some words."

His words were a brutal tease that scraped against your skin. Yet that coupled with his fingers that seemed to hold an edge of desperation, left you gasping for air. Fingers dug into his shirt, lips found his in the hollow darkness, and you begged for mercy. This was your penance. The altar he intended to bend you across.

Oh how you longed for him to follow through.

"Fuck me," you managed to get out between sharp intakes of breath and heady kisses. "Please Logan. It hurts.

The sound that emanated from deep in his chest could only be described as feral. You'd never heard him like that before. Bordering on the line of unhinged and sanity. A flare of want pulled at your body, echoing loudly in your chest.

You wanted to hear it again. To feel him break beneath your palms as he rutted into you with need. You ached to watch him whittle himself down to the barest of his senses. The animalistic urge of lust he kept hidden for weeks on end.

"Yeah?" His words were a snarl against your ear, teeth scraping your jaw as he ripped his hand away. "'M gonna make it better. Gonna take away the pain."

Nails scratched at the back of his neck when you heard his claws slide out—cutting through the fabric that clung to you. It was sopping wet; proof that you hadn't in fact been lying about your need. Logan felt his cock leak in his jeans at the sight—how your slick clung to his fingers as he swiped along the gusset.

"All for me," he sighed.

"Uh-huh." If you thought you sounded needy before, that was nothing compared to this moment.

He eyed you briefly. The hazel you'd grown fond of now dark and clouded with lust. The plea for more lay on the tip of your tongue—ready to be laved against his skin the longer he took. But then he brought the fabric to his mouth, his tongue running across it with a broken groan. The breath was punched from your lungs—legs shaking as a wave of slick poured out of you.

"Oh fuck–" you gasped, cupping his chin to catch his lips in a kiss.

The clink of his belt buckle echoed like a gunshot in the small space. Your heart began to race. Fingers shaking as you watched him tug his cock free; fisting the red and leaking tip with a throaty moan. Saliva filled your mouth at the mere thought of him sliding between your lips. The image of him feeding you his cock with a smile.

He fanned the flames of your simmering fire, offering you pleasure with ease.

His hand gripped your other leg, positioning it over his hip before pushing you up along the wall. The yelp was muffled by his lips; your hands finding purchase against his hot skin.

"Gotta be real quiet now bub," he mumbled, sliding his cock along your drenched cunt.

The head tapped against your clit once, twice. By the third time your teeth were dug into your bottom lip so hard copper burst on your tongue.

"I promise."

He chuckled, breathless. You joined.

The compact space stretched out before you, expanding with each joined breath and laugh. Passion intertwined in your chest, reaching for him with a tender touch of reverence. And nothing existed but the two of you.

"Hey Logan."

His cock jumped at the sound of your voice so light and airy. "Yeah honey?"

"If I don't tell you after this." Your hips canted into his, grinding towards where he positioned himself. "I had a really nice time tonight."

His heart fluttered as your words settled into his skin—soaking up your warmth. "Me too."

The laughter diminished the second he pushed forward, sliding into you with a slickened thrust that left his body shuddering. You swallowed the sob that wrenched from your chest when he kept going. Stretching you until you felt the burn begin to seep into your body. You weren't prepared for how addicting it felt; how mindless he made you.

Seven minutes had surely blended into fifteen, giving the group no doubt of what you were doing. That only solidified when he bottomed out and you moaned so loud it nearly gave him a heart attack. His fingers clamored for something in his pocket—his lips sliding against yours to silence the endless whimpers. He filled you until you saw white behind your eyes each time they fluttered closed.

"They're gonna hear ya," he muttered. You caught a flash of lace before it was being pressed to your lips—willing you to part them and hold the fabric between your teeth.

Logan gave you one minute to find your brain in the muddled thoughts that filled you, before pulling out. Only to slam back in. Your cry was muffled—eyes rolled back—and he felt a searing triumph begin to form in his chest. At the sight of you in a messy state of bliss.

His hips slapped against yours, the wet slide of your cunt a loud echo. Adding to the symphony of his groans and your whimpered sounds. Your spit soaked into the lace, fingers digging hard along the planes of his back, and he felt you gush at the feel of his teeth sinking into your neck.

"So fuckin' sweet for me," he grunted, cupping your ass to push you back and forth on his cock. A shift in the angle had you going dumb. Eyes wide and glazed with tears. "My pretty girl huh?"

Fuck you wanted to scream. You longed to hear his name bounce off the closet walls and spill into the foyer of Wade's damn apartment. To remind them that time was still passing and their limit had reached the vastness of infinity.

He pounded into you with sharp gasps of praise, words that fell on ears deafened by the rush of blood that ran right to your head. Oxygen felt secondary when his cock kissed the wall of your cunt with such accuracy it left you blinded. Enough to have you sobbing into the spit soaked lace - tears spilling down your cheeks.

"You take it like it was fuckin' made for you yeah?"

You nodded, breasts bouncing as he fucked you along his cock—his other hand pressed to the wall. You took it like it was made for you, because it was made for you. Logan belonged to you. Whether he knew it now or not.

"I can feel you squeezin' me," he gasped. "Gonna cum?"

"Mhm," you mumbled, the squelch of your cunt loud enough to block out the laughter from the outside.

"Then do it honey." His thumb found your clit, swirling it with sharp pointed circles. Your toes curled in your shoes—head falling back to the wall with a soft thud. "That's it. Fuckin' cum for me."

"Mmff–" A sob of what morphed into his name tore from the depths of your body. Rendering you a shaky mess in his arms as you clamped down around his cock.

Slick poured out of you, coating the hair along the base of his stomach in your essence. Logan growled at the sight. His eyes narrowed and teeth bared with each stunted thrust of his hips into yours. Claws punctured the drywall behind you as a way to keep his body level. To ground himself as he came with a hoarse groan he quickly muffled into the top of your breast.

Grinding into you, he emptied himself entirely. Rope after rope of his spend now filling you to the point of dripping down to his balls.

You felt the need to drop to your knees and taste him.

To clean him entirely and place him neatly back in his jeans. But the movement of your body no longer remained an option—your legs numb and back sore from being pounded into the wall.

He removed the gag with a huff, kissing you gently with his thumbs pressed to the tops of your cheeks. A soft caress. A contract to the rough way he manhandled you.

"I can't feel my legs," you sighed into his mouth, tongue swiping along his bottom lip.

"You're not supposed to." The weak slap to his chest had him laughing louder than intended.

"Don't worry. Wade won't notice if you carry me."

He groaned, his teeth scraping at the flesh of your breast. "Don't fuckin’ say his name or I won't be able to fuck you again tonight."

You giggled, running your hands through his mussed hair. "Whiskey dick?"

"Shut up–"

"He's told you–"

Lips sealed over yours, hips pushing yours until the sigh stuttered from your chest. "Don't fuckin' start honey."

You smiled into the kiss. "Or you'll finish?"

A thump rammed against the door, startling the both of you. You half expected it to swing open and expose Logan with his jeans down to his knees and his softened cock still inside you. But all that came through was Wade's laughter—his knuckles rapping on the wood.

"Did he rise babygirl?" he shouted much to the detriment of the group who booed behind him.

"I will cut you open through the door!" Logan snarled. A triumphant laugh rattled the walls as Logan lowered you to the ground. Only for Wade to get the last official word.

"HE ROSE!"

[winged-self-indulgence]

🔞 Ray x GN!Reader, because I have been neglecting my man. sorry sweetie 🔞

“You’re being a terrible kidnapper by the way.”

Ray tilts his head idly, a sardonic smiles tilting the left corner of his lips at your words. His smirk is playful and dangerous. Knowing.

You lift your chin in mocking defiance from the couch where he’d placed you. It’s probably not as intimidating as you’d hoped considering the ropes binding your arms behind your back. Your legs are free, but it’s not like you could go anywhere. Even if you could somehow manage to escape Ray, his lair (“Please don’t call it that, Star.”) was located on the topmost floor of the tallest apartment building for miles around.

He leans against the glass window-walls that look down onto an ocean of shimmering city lights. Flashes of purples, reds, and gold are blanketed by a moonlit black velvet. The colours reflect off the edges of his face, sharpening gorgeous features and softening others. A cigarette dangles loosely from between long fingers, trailing an almost invisible thread of smoke up to his lips.

Lips that are now stretched in the most self-satisfied smirk you've ever seen.

“You’re staring, Star,” Ray taunts. You snap your head to the side, cursing mentally. You’re hyper-aware of Ray’s tall form as he moves closer, not stopping until he’s standing over your seated form. His free hand reaches up to caress your jaw, knuckles brushing the apples of your cheek. The cigarette is gone, but the scent clings to his skin – somehow warm and enticing – and you can’t quite stifle the urge to lean into his touch.

Fingertips trace your skin, rough pads mapping every spot he had claimed and memorized countless times before.

"Explain yourself," he murmurs, tilting your head up so you’re forced to meet those unfathomably dark eyes. "How am I a bad kidnapper, Star?"

You open your mouth to reply, nothing coming to mind for several seconds. It's as if his gaze is a black hole sapping you of your usual sass and wit. "Um, w-well...well what do you think you should do with me?"

Ray kneels in front of you, which does nothing to make you feel any more in control of this situation. Body still tightly bound, you can do nothing other than pout and writhe in place when he leans closer, lips brushing against your heated cheek.

"Oh, that's an easy one," the villain murmurs into your ear before he gently bites your earlobe. You squeak, barely able to hear his next words through the rush of blood in your veins. "I’d keep you all for myself. Lock you away where no one can find you except me."

Huffing, you manage to regain a bit of your mental faculties and lift your chin with a playful scowl. "Hmph, don't villains usually use traps to keep their victims in place? Iron cages, steel chains, etc.? Come on, Mr. No. 1 Most Wanted Villain, where's the showmanship? Did watching Megamind teach you nothing?!"

A laugh escapes Ray at your demand, a burst of mirth that has you fighting back matching snickers. One hand slides up your arm and, and he pulls you closer until your chest is flush with his. The other grabs you by the waist, tipping you off balance and pinning you to the couch.

"How's this for showmanship, Star?" Ray scoffs as he rakes over your prone form with carnal amusement. His hand leaves your hip, dipping beneath your shirt before tracing upwards and taking the fabric with it. Your nipples pebble in the cool air, vulnerable beneath those void-black eyes.

You’ve gotten a taste of Ray’s possessiveness before – several times in fact – but it never fails to stun you, to send heat rushing between your thighs every time you catch a glimpse of that depthless stare. The lengths he’s gone, that he would go to, for you. Especially after having cast off the NAHA’s paper-thin restrictions.

Fear would be the normal response, the expected emotional outcome. Yet when callused fingers pinch your nipples all you can do is moan.

"So whiny, Star,” Ray coos against your chest, teasing and tasting your buds until they’re bruised and sore. You scream when his mouth closes over the right one, tongue laving over swollen stiff peaks. “And so loud. Is this what you want, hm? You want me to ruin you?"

You can’t speak. The only thing that leaves your throat are helpless, wordless sounds. Ray clicks his teeth, and his hand slides up, applying just the slightest bit of pressure on your throat. A warning.

"What’s that Star?” The villain queries, voice dripping with false curiosity. “Isn’t this what you like? To be helpless under me, in my control. All for my own selfish pleasure? Come on sweetheart, speak up."

“Y-You wish!” you kick out your feet, but Ray simply cants his head to the side and catches your flailing ankle. When he wedges himself firmly between your thighs and hooks your legs over his shoulder, you realize what a terrible mistake you’ve made.

"You little brat…" Ray pushes your ankle further up on his shoulder, restricting you even more as he smirks down at you with a gentle yet terrifying arrogance. It is the look of a wolf watching a caged rabbit, a predator contemplating what to do with cornered prey. Pressing his taller frame against you, Ray’s free hand moves to your hip where the pointer finger dips past the edge of your underwear. It’s barely a brush, and yet the sensation makes your head spin. “Do I have to force it out of you, Star?”

You stubbornly bite your bottom lip, and Ray let out a helpless sigh as if to say, you asked for this.

“Mmph, R-Ray!” The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes in the room, desperate screams filling the air as you squirm and struggle to escape the steel-trap of Ray’s arms though you know it’s futile. “P-Please, m’sorry–!”

“If you’re so sorry, then stay still,” he grunts, punctuating his words with a harsh thrust, one hard enough to jolt the couch several inches across the floor. Your neck and chest are a canvas of bruises and bite marks. Drool falls from the corner of your lips, filthy and messy. The sight of you underneath him, teary-eyed and begging for mercy, was intoxicating and the ex-hero can’t stop the dangerous smile that crosses his face.

Your body convulses as another orgasm shakes through you, the fifth in the past hour, and Ray groans when you squeeze around his cock. He pulls out to admire the sticky mess between your thighs, cum glazing your puffy hole in a lewd display.

Just as you’re catching your breath, Ray pinches your chin and drags your gaze back to meet his. “Uh-uh, we’re not done Star,” his grin widens at your stricken expression. “I want a proper apology, sweetheart. Now open your mouth and say ah.”

[soft-persephone]

Summertime Firsts

E // MDNI // WC: 1.9k // smut, oral, semi exhibition kink, nothing too crazy //more Terry // masterlist //

AN: // prequal to my previous Terry fic. A semi origin story of sorts

The first time you got on your knees for Terry, you were anxious. 

Most guys had an expectation of how things would go when girls do this sort of thing and you were somewhat on the more controversial side of things. 

Sometimes there was an opportunity that would prevent itself to talk about it at the beginning of your relationship with a guy, and other times you might hide it for as long as you can or hopefully you could lie and pretend your way through it, especially if you knew from the jump you weren’t going to be spending any lengthy memorable time with them.

But Terry was your maybe forever guy. You could feel it in your toes all the way to the tips of your ears. 

It’s barely been a month, but you want him around as long as possible. 

“You sure you wanna do this?” He hummed rich and lowly at you. His stormy multicolored eyes swirled into dark hues of grey as he regarded you with an unrelenting gaze.

There was only so much time. 

You both were secluded to the semi private corner of shade in your best friend's backyard, Hiding from the cruel unbearing judgment  of the sun as  its invisible heat carried out its silent punishment. The evidence of it was making your clothes stick to your skin, and the dark ring of perspiration that steadily grew on Terry’s shirt around his neck, trickling down his chest as the heat urged to swallow you in the guilt of your malfeasance. 

You clenched your thighs together and suppressed a moan from bubbling its way up your throat, fighting to stay still and quiet, desperate to be good. 

You didn’t know which was worse, the absolute damning way he was looking at you or the sight of his long thick dick in his equally as large hands. 

“Ye–”

“I didn’t say you could speak.”

Your tongue darted along your parted lips, the bear was heavy on  your pores. Beads of sweat trickled down your brow, you could feel a drop threatening to fall into your eyes. 

You wanted to wipe a hand across your forehead, but you were frozen. 

Who’s wrath would you succumb to first, the sun’s or Terry’s?

“I’m kidding.” He smirked, flashing his teeth in a  big gummy smile. The action flooded you with a scorching desire adding to the heat  in the air that willed consume you. What smile that used to fill you with a comforting warmth, now fanned the flames of the unbearable heat that seared every fiber of your mortal being. 

“Come here,” he murmured, sliding his hand to the back of your neck, but you were ahead of him. 

Fighting back against your nerves, the unbearable heat, Terry’s gaze, you flatten your tongue, taking as much of him as you can in your mouth. You let your hand wrap around the rest, slowly pumping him up and down as you lathe your tongue at the underside of his dick before hollowing your cheeks.

Your glasses fogged, a travesty. 

He was thick and pretty, and you wanted to see all of it.

You bobbed your head slowly, trying to find a way to temper the heat between you, but between how hot his dick was and the heat of your own mouth adding to the budding flame you both were igiting, they fogged worse. 

“Fuck, baby.” His grip on you slackened and he slumped in his seat, causing the tip to hit the back of your throat. 

You made a muffled throaty sound, and he moaned.

You moved your head back, attempting to slide off after the shock, but Terry’s hand tightened on your neck. 

When did he put his hand back on your neck?

“No,” it was a mix between a demand and a plea, “keep goin.”

Breathing through your nose, you sucked more of him in, so his tip could hit the back of your throat this time You bobbed your head slowly. His dick felt heavenly as it slid up and down your throat. Drool, pooled in your mouth, sliding past your lips and down your face, getting all over his dick, his precum not too far behind, putting gup quite the competition with your spit.

The sounds of your mouth on his dick grew sloppier and sloppier, but you didn't stop.

“Ah ah. . .” Terry Hissed, “fuck, wait. . .”

You slid off of him with a drawn out slip, unintentional, but he was in too much of a trance to notice. 

“Why you stop?” he attempted to scold you, but it came off petulant. 

One hand was strewn across his chest, the other hanging lazily off the edge of the porch chair he was sitting in. His dicked bobbed against hislowly belly, leaking with precum and tinged an angry desperate red. 

You put your glasses on your forehead.

“I couldn't see how pretty you are.”

He rolled his jaw before tightening it and smacking his teeth.

He muttered. It was too low for you to understand. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you leaned in closer, batting your lashes at him innocently as you let your words brush against the sensitive sin of his dick. It bobbed underneath your ministrations.

His gaze didn't change, but you noticed how he dragged a tongue across his lips and swallowed. 

“Put them,” he leaned forward, brushing his hand against your cheek, carressing your skin softly with his thumb, “back on.”

He placed his hand underneath your chin, squeezing hard to make his point. 

Your chest rose and fell heavily as you brought your hands to the handles of your frames and slipped them back onto your face.

“Now, open that mouth back up.” He grabbed himself at the base and tapped the side of your face with it.

You were already opening your mouth for him, but apparently that  wasn’t enough for him. He tightened his grip on your jaw even more as he pushed himself past your lips, pulling your face against him until your nose tickled the hair at the base of his dick. 

He set a rigid pace as he fucked your face. 

“Why’d you go and have to make things hard?” he chided lowly. 

You looked up, whining around his dick because you couldn’t see his face. You couldn’t get a glimpse of his eyes as they surged through a storm of different colors, clouded with the heat of his desire. 

“You pretend to be a brat , but you couldn’t be more of the opposite.” he hummed.

You moaned, breathing through your nose as he wouldn't let up.

“You take. me. so. Well.” he punctuated his words with a harsh thrust into your throat. You squeezed around him, lightly gagging with each one.

“Fuck, I’m close.”

He pulled off, The sound was loud and wet as he dragged himself out of your throat and back to whatever could fit in your mouth. 

With one low drone out moan, he was spilling into your mouth. 

Burning, hot, thick, and wet.

“You did so good for me. You're amazing. Such a good girl.” Terry washed you with praise, but you couldn’t really hear him. 

Too confused on what to do with the cum in your mouth. The sun is overwhelming, and the taste on your tongue foreign. 

You were at the housewarming of your bestfriend and her husband. Not, her boo thang as he was once formerly dubbed. 

With a quick thought, you  stretched your body over the edge of the porch and let the hot sticky substance fall from your mouth, spitting out as much as you could,

You rolled your tongue around your mouth, fighting down the taste of the rest of it that lingered on your tongue and the corners of your cheeks.

Maybe you’ll get used to it, but today was not one of those days. 

Taking off your glasses, you attempted to clean them with your shirt with the parts that weren’t damp from the heat.

Now clean you turned your attention back to Terry who was suspiciously quiet. 

His usual confident swagger was nowhere to be found.

His eyebrows were wound tight on his forehead, his bottom lip poking out at a dangerously pouty level, his eyes a green and wide with shock that border lined horror.

“Is there something wrong with it? Do I need to go see a doctor?” He started worriedly, “does it taste weird?”

“Oh, Terry!” You rushed up to sit beside him. “No. . . no. . ., No,” you paused searching for the right words, but the longer you sat in silence the more he seemed to freak out.”

You wanted to avoid this conversation for as long as possible, so you’d know what to say once the time comes, but the truth is you were never going to figure out what to say. 

“I just. . don’t really. . do, that.”

“You mean swallow?!” He looked at you incredulously.

You cringed at hearing him say it out loud.

You exhaled. “I haven't done this for that many guys and a few times I can spit it out without them looking, and then the other’s didn’t really care. Those relationships didn’t last that long either, so its not something that’t high on the list of things to change or get over or whatever the fuck.” You sighed again, “it's not a big deal.”

“Well. . .” Terry started in his low velvet tone, “it's important to me.” he ended surely, looking you in the eye.

“It's important!” 

“Yes, it is.” he said seriously, not at all put off by your outburst as he apparently opened up to you about something important to him and how you were being somewhat dismissive of his vulnerability.

“He pulled a handkerchief out of long forgotten and  since thrown off, linen suit jacket and wiped at your face, occasionally dipping it into a glass of water as he cleaned you up.

“I respect your. . .feelings and. . . experience,” He said tactfully, but there are better ways to bring it up than to spit it out in front of me like you did.” he sighed and adjusted your glasses back properly once your face was clean, “ir hurts my feelings.”

You closed your eyes. 

This could not be real.

“I’m. . sorry if I hurt your feelings.” you opened our eyes, ignoring the anxious urge to roll them and make a joke because it wouldn’t get rid of the tension in any way and just make things worse.

You mutter under your breath how it's usually a dark room in your room for the  first time and he probably never would have noticed if he would have just waited until you were home. 

Terry narrowed his eyes, letting the comment slide. 

“Look, it's fine.” He said with finality, giving you pause.

You look at him, really look at him.

He brought a hand to your face, caressing your cheek randomly,letting his thumb nick at the corner of your mouth.

“I’ll get you to do it one day.” he said it wistfully, his eyes swirling into hues of a blue grey as he looked at you, but not really at you. 

“Terry?” you squinted, blinking. 

“. . .whether you like it or not.” his voice trailed off as he stared off  in thought. .  

[clonerightsenthusiast]

Kiss The Homie Straight On The Mouth

[Life Series, Skizz/Tango, 1.6kt words]

Tango doesn't even have time to get an entire lungful of new air before Skizz's voice is booming his name.

He's standing across the circle, hands on his hips, easy smile on his lips and eyes laser focused on Tango. "Walk with me, buddy."

Snickers and eye rolls from the others, but Tango ignores them. He gladly follows the tugging in his chest like an invisible string towards Skizz - he'd done it, he'd already had a game to prove to everyone (and himself, more like) that he doesn't need to follow Skizz, that he can strike out on his own and succeed doing it, even, but it's a new game now. He doesn't need Skizz, but he wants him.

Skizz turns on his heel and marches into the woods without checking that he's following. Tango loyally dogs his steps, excitement building in his belly the way it always does when Skizz is up to something. It means that soon enough, they'll be up to something. And he's missed being up to something with Skizz.

[read on ao3]

Skizz leads them far enough away that the sounds of their friends fades into the distance, and then rounds on him. "Tango Top," he says meaningfully.

"Skizzleface," Tango shoots back cheerfully, posting up against a tree. He has a stupid grin on his face and he knows it, but he doesn't care - especially when Skizz has the same one valiantly fighting its way through his serious business facade.

Skizz steps into his space like he belongs there and Tango's stomach flutters because he does. Skizz has a good foot of height on Tango, and he uses it to loom over him, caging him in against the tree with the warm line of his body. Tango slouches harder against the rough bark, tilting his head up to meet those bright blue eyes, sparkling with mirth and affection. He basks in Skizz's full attention. There's a warm buzzing under his skin and he squirms in place, unable to stand still.

Skizz schools his face into a stern expression that doesn't fool Tango for a second. "Are you gonna murder me again this season, Top?" he asks.

Tango's grin cracks even wider. "Maaaaybe," he drawls, just to see Skizz scowl. "I guess we'll have to see."

"No," Skizz reprimands him. "You love me this season, I can tell."

"Well that's a different question," Tango laughs, because it's true. He'd loved Skizz the entire time they were enemies, loved him like a wildfire loves the trees.

"Nuh uh, homie," Skizz shoots back, sticking his tongue out like a child. Tango laughs harder. Skizz leans in closer, nose to nose with him. "We're friends again now."

Tango resists the urge to bite him just to hear him squawk, and instead says, pointedly ignoring him inches from his face to study his nails, "I don't know, I might get a better offer. I did pretty good without you, you know."

Skizz's eyes fly open in outrage. "Whu - buh - " His bushy eyebrows draw together in consternation. "You haven't even heard my offer yet!"

"So what're you waiting for?" Tango teases him, meeting his eyes again and tilting his chin up. "Lay it on me, Skippy!"

He sees the glint in Skizz's eyes the split second before he moves so he's already pushing up to meet him as Skizz crushes their lips together. One broad hand snakes around his waist to lay flat against Tango's lower back, pulling him up and into Skizz's warm bulk. The other takes a firm grip on the back of his head, thumb pressed into the hollow behind his ear, easily angling Tango's head right where he wants him.

Skizz kisses with laser-focused intensity. He kisses like he's on one of his ridiculous missions: reduce Tango to a quivering mess in five minutes or less. Tango throws his arms around Skizz's neck and digs his nails into his broad shoulders and kisses back to make it as difficult for him as possible, because he knows Skizz doesn't want to do anything that's easy.

When they finally separate, Tango is pleasantly lightheaded and warm all over. Skizz's hand has worked its way under his shirt, a brand of heat against his spine that's impossible to ignore. His thumb sweeps in tight arcs in the hollow under his ear and Tango makes a noise that would be embarrassing if there was anybody else around to hear it.

"It's a compelling offer, to be sure," he teases Skizz, drawing a short huff of laughter out of him. His breath fans out hot over Tango's cheek and resummons his broad grin.

"Let's see Bdubs top that, dude," Skizz says, playfully biting at Tango's jaw. Tango helpfully tilts his head to give him more room to work while he hums thoughtfully.

"You don't know what we got up to in those towers," he says, and cackles when Skizz bites him harder in retribution. "All right, all right, already," he says, rolling his eyes and tweaking one of Skizz's ears between his fingers. "Twist my arm. We can team up again."

"Yeah, that's what I'm talking about, homie!" Skizz cheers, beaming a triumphant grin. Tango laughs and runs his fingers through the short hairs on the back of Skizz's neck. Everyone's going to make fun of them - if not everyone, then at least Cleo, and probably Etho and Bdubs, too. Maybe Impulse. Scar, even… But it's so nice having Skizz close enough to touch again. His whole body is buzzing with it. Skizz's fingers, unable to keep still, drum a happy beat against his lower back, and every touch sends a frisson of electricity up his spine. Who cares what everyone else thinks? He knows what he wants, and it's his for the taking.

Skizz's face softens into a dopey, affectionate smile. He leans in until their foreheads are pressed together, noses digging into cheeks and breath mingling in the scant inches between their lips. "I missed you, buddy," he confesses warmly.

Tango sighs, a soft, happy sound, then giggles, because it's impossible to keep the laughter from bubbling up around Skizz. "I maybe missed you, too, and stuff," he says, tightening his grip on Skizz's shoulders. "You know, a little."

"From you, Top, that's a love poem," Skizz drawls. Tango throws his head back and laughs, because yeah, maybe it is, a little. Skizz chases him and kisses him again while he's laughing, messy and off-center. He keeps trying, and Tango keeps laughing, until Skizz finally huffs in frustration, grabs his face in both hands, and holds him still long enough to land one. And then Tango forgets about laughing in favor of opening up to the warm press of Skizz's mouth on his. It's slower this time, softer, as Skizz pours his love and affection into every movement and Tango soaks it up like parched earth after rain.

When he finally pulls away, it's slowly, reluctantly, and he presses a last lingering kiss to the corner of Tango's mouth. "We should probably, you know, start getting tools and stuff."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Skippy," Tango says, refusing to relinquish his hold on him. "I got a tool right here."

"Terrible," Skizz deadpans. "You should be ashamed."

"Never," Tango declares. "No shame." He knows Skizz is right, and they need to get about the business of surviving, now that they've - ahem - sealed their alliance. But he can't even imagine taking his hands off of Skizz right now. "C'mon, we have at least until the creepers come out before we have to get underground."

"You're a bad influence," Skizz says in despair, but he also ducks his head to press a kiss under Tango's jaw, so Tango wins the argument. "I'm trying to keep us alive, here," he grumbles against Tango's neck, and makes no move to disengage.

"Oh, we're definitely dying first," Tango says cheerfully, letting his eyes slide closed. "It'll be just like old times."

Skizz rebukes him with a sharp nip, drawing out a squeak of protest. "It's your relentless optimism that really does it for me," he says dryly. "C'mon, we could do it. We could go the distance, dude."

Tango snorts. "Sure, the distance," he says. "All six feet of it."

Skizz huffs in frustration, and Tango rolls his eyes and then takes his face in both hands and reluctantly pulls him away from his neck to look him in the eyes. "Skizz," he says, with straightforward honesty. "I don't care if we die first. Let the sweats fight it out amongst themselves. I'm just here for a good time with my buddy. That work for you?"

Skizz's eyes once again soften and he turns his head, stubble scratching pleasantly against Tango's skin, to press a kiss to his palm. "Works for me, dude," he says warmly. "I'd rather die with you than live with somebody else."

"Sap," Tango accuses, to cover for the way his face flushes and his chest flutters.

Skizz winks at him. "But," he says, taking hold of Tango's hands and gently prying them off of his face, stepping back out of Tango's space and leaving him bereft and suddenly chilly. "That doesn't mean I'm not trying! And in the interest of both of us living a little longer, we're gonna go find somewhere to build a house."

"Ugh," Tango complains dramatically, allowing himself to be dragged after Skizz by one hand. "I'm not building it!"

Skizz gives his hand a yank and reels him in so he can wrap one burly arm around his neck, hauling him in sideways so Tango's shoulder is wedged into his ribs. "We'll see about that," he says, pressing his smile into Tango's wild yellow hair.

Tango grumbles loudly and at the same time leans into him further, snaking an arm beneath Skizz's suit jacket to curl around his waist. They stagger into the woods, tangled up together, squabbling affectionately, once again exactly where they're supposed to be.

[sideshow-cellophane-blog]

Flirting With Pranks

Because I wanted these two to laugh and be happy together

"Gale!" 

"Astarion!"

The pale elf doubled over in his bout of hysterical laughter. He dropped his book on the ground in favor of holding his abdomen, which was tingling as his nerves were toyed with. He tried to fight the bubbling laughter before giving in to the urge - it was too strong. The tingling was turning into invisible yet solid touches, pinching up his hips and sides. 

Astarion collapsed to his knees. "Whahat the FUCK Gahahale?! It tihihickles!"

"It does? Good! It's supposed to."

Astarion slapped a hand over his ear as some invisible soft instrument flicked over it. "Whyhyhy?!"

"I wanted to hear you laugh, darling. And I wanted it to be fun for you." He put his hands on his hips with a satisfied grin. He had never seen Astarion so out of control - the elf had flopped face-first to the ground and was writhing. "It lasts about as long as that laughing curse you keep casting on us in camp."

"Yohou're awful!" Astarion squealed as the tickling moved into his armpits, and his legs kicked out in wheels. 

"I can't help but notice you aren't begging for it to stop, darling. Where does it tickle most? I want to know so I can focus the magic there."

Astarion was not about to tell Gale the magic all seemed to jump around his worst spots, making him spasm and twist in his giggle bouts. He couldn't, and didn't dare, imagine what it would be like for all of his worst spots to be tickled at once. His arms went up and down as his hands tried to soothe his tingling skin. "Fuhuck you!"

"More experimentation it is. I don't mind! You had me cackling like a damn loon yesterday, you know? Wyll and Karlach got the best cuts of meat for dinner and I got bone broth. Clear. Bone. Broth."

"I'm sohohorry!"

"Well yeah, you are now."

"Aha! Heh. Heheh…" The tickling slowed and disappeared, leaving Astarion panting hard on the ground. He was not left alone for long though - Gale sat himself down on the other's thighs and wriggled his fingers into the exposed stomach lying before him. "GAHAHALE!"

"I had no idea you were actually ticklish dear, I simply must try this for myself."

"Oho no you dohohon't!" A struggle ensued, or started to, because Astarion was still a panting mess from the magic tickle attack. He tried to grab Gale's hands as they snaked up his sides and to that bottom rib, but he was too clumsy and panicked to stop the wizard from making him cackle. He squeezed his eyes shut and caved as the other played his ribs like some instrument. "Nohohoho! Gale, haha, GAHALE, stahp! NAHAT THERE! THAT! HAHA! FAHACK! Yes, yehehes, gohoho bahahack dohown! Get awahay FROM OHAHAHA! THEHERE!"

Pinches turned into loops and swipes, then stopped, and Astarion's cackling slowed to gasping giggles. He managed to open his eyes and give Gale a pleading look. 

"Your real laugh is adorable, you know that?" He said fondly. 

"Yohou're an insufferable asshole."

"Are you going to stop casting that laughing spell on us around camp now that I perfected one of my own? Because I can tickle you all day long, darling."

"I…" His smile faltered as he thought, and it returned as a playful and practiced smirk. "As awful as that was, darling, I think it is awfully strange that you created such a playful spell just for me. That wasn't designed to be a one time use, was it? I mean, here you are, on top of me-"

"Oh my gods Astarion."

"And you know? I rather like the attention. And I think you want to make me laugh. Keep making your teasing, playful spells for me Gale, it makes me feel special. Now get off of me so I can exact my revenge when you least expect it."

"It makes you feel- oh you do want another round is what it is? Projecting your feelings onto me, like you aren't the one making us laugh first, I see right through you," His hands began to glow, but the vampire had time to recover. Astarion twisted and threw Gale off, and they wrestled for control. "I'm not giving in!…NO!" Giddy giggles filled the air as they jabbed at each other, and Gale found himself weakening to protect his sensitive stomach. "I'll blow you up you ass, you get that finger OUT of my AHA! SHIRT! "

"Found the tickle button," Astarion had gained the upper hand, literally, and kept wiggling his finger in Gale's navel. The wizard's hands fell to protect himself. "Now we…are…on…the saaaame page. I may be ticklish, but you seem to be far worse off than I. Is that why you felt the need to cheat with magic?"

Gale was giggling too hard to answer. The tables had turned and he was drained from his earlier magic use.

"This is fun dear, and now that I know you're enjoying yourself here too," Astarion paused to admire the man below him. He ran his hands over Gale's stomach to soothe his nerves. "Well," he chuckled. "I prefer being the one to make you laugh. Remember that next time you start a fight I will always finish." He collapsed beside Gale on the ground. They caught their breath together, and Astarion broke the silence once they were quiet again. "So can you teach me that spell? I want to see if Lae'Zel is-"

"No."

"But-!"

"I hate wasting a revival scroll, dear. If that power were in your hands this whole camp would either be at your mercy or I would have to keep bringing you back after they kill you."

"What if I only use it on you?"

"Even worse. If you want to tickle me you have to be brave about it."

"A challenge…I accept. Now cuddle me, if the group isn't back by sundown we can keep playing."

"Gladly, darling."

[lovesick-girly]

the virgin suicides book review

author: jeffrey eugenides

genre: literary fiction, psychological drama

published: 5th april 1993

stars: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

synopsis: the lisbon sisters, five enigmatic girls, live under the strict control of their overprotective parents. their tragic beauty and mystique become an obsession for the neighbourhood boys, as the sisters' suicides loom over the town, unraveling the quiet suburban facade.

themes: isolation, the fragility of adolescence, obsession, suburban decay, the american dream, memory and nostalgia, death and innocence

fav quotes:

“That girl didn't want to die. She just wanted out of that house.”

“We could never understand why the girls cared so much about being mature, or why they felt compelled to compliment each other, but sometimes, after one of us had read a long portion of the diary out loud, we had to fight back the urge to hug one another or tell each other how pretty we were. We felt the imprisonment of being a girl, the way it made your mind active and dreamy, and how you ended up knowing which colors went together. We knew that the girls were our twins, that we allexisted in space like animals with identical skins, and that they knew everything about us though we couldn'y fathom them at all. We knew finally that the girls were really woman in diquise, that they understood love even death, and that our job was merely to create the noise that seemed to fascinate them.”

“It didn't matter in the end how old they had been, or that they were girls, but only that we had loved them, and that they hadn't heard us calling, still do not hear us, up here in the tree house, with our thinning hair and soft bellies, calling them out of those rooms where they went to be alone for all time, alone in suicide, which is deeper than death, and where we will never find the pieces to put them back together.”

“What lingered after them was not life, which always overcomes natural death, but the most trivial list of mundane facts: a clock ticking on a wall, a room dim at noon, and the outrageousness of a human being thinking only of herself.”

“We knew that Cecilia had killed herself because she was a misfit, because the beyond called to her, and we knew that her sisters, once abandoned, felt her calling from that place, too. ”

my thoughts/review:

the virgin suicides by jeffrey eugenides is, to me, the tragedy of being female. the novel explores how the lisbon sisters are misunderstood and objectified by the boys in their neighbourhood, who reduce them to mere sexual fantasies, failing to recognise them as human. this inability to see the sisters as complex individuals highlights the disconnect that ultimately leads to their death and why we, as the readers, will never truly know why they did it. despite the boys' attempts to understand—reading cecilia's diary, observing their lives, and even communicating with them—they remain incapable of seeing the sisters as anything more than sexual objects. their experiences and emotions are ultimately rendered invisible by the boys' objectification.

what i found most powerful about the novel is the way this detachment isn’t just something the boys experience; it’s something we, as readers, experience too. it’s tragic that we will never truly know the sisters, and that adds to the sense of mystery and sorrow throughout the novel. i really loved eugenides’ prose—his style is beautiful and haunting, which makes the tragedy even more striking. the themes of female invisibility and objectification are so layered, and despite how sad and dark it is, the novel still has an eerie beauty to it.

[the-fandom-abyss]

Greenhouse Messes

Cordelia Goode x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst ❀

Word Count: 1,305 words

A/N: I hope you enjoy this new injection for Cordelia @lexi1109 🥰

The air around the academy, shifted from fresh to stale as you working inside the greenhouse. The lively plants whispering amongst themselves, debating on whether a danger resides outside. A few twigs cracked under a weight of an invisible source, just outside the door. This drew your attention from the garden bed you were preparing.

"What are you not telling me?" To any normal person, you would be certifiably insane with the way you spoke to yourself. For you, nature always responded, they held the answers to more questions than you could possibly ask. Wind seeped through the bottom of the door, bringing in a cold draft. The action sent shivers down your spine. "Witch hunters" you whispered, responding to the message. "Do I have time?" The flowers sagged like one would when they dropped their head in sadness. That caused the panic to vibrate within your bones. You were too far from the house to alert the others, too close to the danger to escape alive. All you could do was protect the ones you loved, even if their focus was gravitated elsewhere.

Cautious steps were taken towards the exotic eyes flitting from shadow to shadow. With a shaky breath, you entered the gloomy outdoors, filled with monsters. Bare feet made contact with the soft grass below, sensing the vibrations within the soil. You walked with conviction towards the front entrance of the academy, hoping you could make it to at least the front step. The ground shook below you, alerting to a threat. They were running hard and fast towards you, which meant they all had eyes on you. Leaning down, you connected your hands to the life below, communicating through touch. The wind began to blow, the trees began to rustle and nature was ready to harnessed. Vines stretched through the cracks of the soil, whipping into view. They wrapped around the legs of the hunter that was fast approaching, pulling him into the air.

"You bitch" he said through gritted teeth as he fought against the vine. Thorns protruded through the greenery, piercing the body of the man. He screamed in pain as the thorns continued to grow, ultimately sealing his fate. The vibe threw him to the side, searching for its next victim. When a team of ten came into view, you were quick to realise just how outnumbered you were. Tree branches snapped and bent into shape, creating makeshift arms. They reached for bodies that were close, collecting as many as they could. That didn't stop a small group from invading, slashing your back in the process. A wail ripped through your throat at the sudden sensation. The branches faulted for only a moment before regaining its strength. It was enough for some men to slip through, charging at you. In a blink of an eye, those men were lunging for you, tackling you to the floor. They plunged a knife in each hand, twisting them for extra damage. In that moment, all you could think of was one person, one name on the tip of your tongue.

"Cordelia!" You screamed, as they continued to slice your skin. It was an extension of your power, a sense that could no longer be used. A light was turned on upstairs, a silhouette of Cordelia painted on the curtain. Hope twinkled in your eyes at the thought that she could hear you. "Cordelia" another scream left you lips, losing it strength as the blood spilled from your cuts. Another silhouette joined Cordelia within the room. It could only be described as Misty, Cordelia's newest obsession. That was what was given to you in your last moments. The sight of your love, entertaining another woman while witch hunters hunted you for sport.

Blood coated the floor below like a crimson sunset that graced the horizon. The earth fluttered underneath you, urging you to fight back, use all the strength you had left. Yet, all you could do was whisper Cordelia's name and succumb to the pain that radiates through your body. The men laughed above you, enjoying the thrill of the hunt and how they could bring a witch to her untimely demise.

"Y/N!" Nan shouted, drawing the witch hunters attention. They tossed your drained essence to the ground, setting their sights on the young girl. Something inside you crackled, sparks firing through your very being. The idea of Misty with Cordelia, Nan being brutally attacked by witch hunters, fuelled the fire within. Thunder began to roll through the sky, dark clouds followed closely behind. The hunters stopped in their tracks, searching the area for the next surprise. What they didn't expect was a bolt of lightning to strike the body they had left for dead. The charges flowed through your veins, body lifting from the ground. Electrical charges swirled around you as your eyes glowed a bright golden. With a pained scream from your lips, branches from the trees shifted and snapped, shooting out like barbs. The branches finding home in each of the hunters chests, rendering them motionless.

The energy softly floated you to the ground, where Nan was able to reach you. With all her strength, she reached under your body and pulled you towards the house. The entrance foyer was newly decorated with the blood that continued to flow from your wounds. The force within the house shifted when Nan crossed the threshold. It was sensed amongst the coven, grabbing at their attention. The first to descend the stairs was Cordelia, eyes fixated on the scene in front of her.

"Y/N" she gasped, falling to her knees next to you. Her hands reached out to pull you into her lap, wanting nothing but to heal you. When you flinched at her movement, moving closer into Nan, her heart fell to her stomach. "Let me help you, please" she pleaded, unsure of what caused the turn of your emotions.

"She doesn't want your help"

"Stop being stubborn, I need to heal you or you'll die"

"You were supposed to be with her tonight"

"What?"

"A date in the greenhouse and you never showed"

"Oh Y/N, I'm so sorry" tears silently travelled down the rosy cheeks of Cordelia. The sting in her heart, knowing that she could have prevented this, if she had just paid more attention.

"Misty was more important" Cordelia was taken aback by the comment, trying to understand how you knew. "She saw you in your room, she called out for you but you couldn't hear her"

"Honey, I am so so sorry. I lost sight of what was important and in turn lost sight of you. This is all my fault" she should have been with you, she should have been able to protect you. All her focus had been directed to the newcomer Misty and had ignored her connection with you. This small distraction cause her to break the link she had with you. In doing so, she left you defenceless to the world around you, if only she could go back in time.

Regret and guilt swirled inside Cordelia as they battled one another. It trapped her in silence, so frozen that she was unable to claw herself out.“It’s so quiet” Nan’s voice broke through her haze, Cordelia’s eyes snapping towards the young girl.

“Y/N let me help!” Her hands twitched with urgency, she wanted nothing more than to channel her energy through you.

“I love you” slipped from Nans lips, the final thoughts and words of the woman that saved the school. Cordelia may have broken the connection, but she felt every last ache that you had felt. She absorbed the hurt and anguish and carried it upon her shoulders. All she had left were the memories that you shared and even then, they couldn’t compare to you.

[bumpkinspice0]

Parallels Chapter 16: Empty

Miguel O'Hara x Spider!FemReader

No use of y/n

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: A month in and neither of you have worked up the courage to take the cure. The days seeming go longer as you prolong the inevitable.

Warnings: Jesus Christ the Angst, heartbreak, longing, sexual frustration, unhealthy coping mechanisms, obsessive/ possessive behavior, like WFT am I doing??

A/N:  An update in just over a week?! Yeah, I'm surprised too. This is going to make everything worse and I'm so sorry.

Previous. - Next

Series Masterlist

AO3

_______________

Chapter 16

Empty

There’s a deep aching in your chest that won’t go away. Something physical just to remind you how much life sucked right now. You used to think the term heartbreak was completely metaphorical. Turns out there’s some truth behind it. How can a heart break? Maybe not break completely, but you think it can crack. It can fracture and bleed. I vital part of your being was working at half capacity with no time to fix it.

Maybe that’s what you were feeling, you were bleeding out. Eventually, there’d be nothing left. 

It’d been a month since you’d seen him, but seemingly not a moment goes by that you don’t think of him. It felt stupid. Dramatic like in the movies. You and your lover can’t be together so now you spend your days wallowing, fighting, and eating too many cheeze itz. This is what the pinnacle of a hero’s sacrifice looks like, ladies and gentlemen. All done for the greater good of the universe. 

Your chest ached since you got home and your ears started ringing yesterday and haven’t stopped. The spider-sense won’t let you forget how miserable you are either. The buzzing is almost deafening, the carnal urges unsatiated by your own hands. You cry out his name whenever another unfulfilling orgasm shakes you, only precious seconds of faint relief. 

You could have put a stop to this weeks ago. The key to your salvation sat idly on your kitchen counter, waiting to be used. 

The cure. 

You’d pick it up every night thinking tonight will be the night, then as you hold the needle to your skin dread overtakes you. Like you’re going to burst into the flames if a drop of that poison gets into your body. It felt… wrong. Like cutting out a perfectly healthy organ. You just couldn’t do it. Not yet. 

Or maybe you were just trying to cling to some part of him— grasping at whatever pieces of Miguel you had left. 

You couldn’t let him go. Not yet.

Is he suffering as much as you are? A spiteful part of you hopes so, if it would only mean you’re not suffering alone. Misery loves company after all. Not that you really had company lately… 

You’d stopped yourself from calling him a few times when the urges got too painful. It would be so easy. Just seeing him would be enough, you’re sure of it. Would he even come? The tugging on the other end of your invisible chain tells you yes. Then you open the watch to see Lyla hoving there, disappointment tugging at her artificial features, and you instantly feel like a scolded child.

You’d barely been to the citadel because of it, worming your way out of any missions you can. Just being in the same building as him was borderline unbearable. Jess and Peter asked you a few times if you were okay. Apparently, you weren’t hiding it well. 

So instead you bury yourself in your work here, in your dimension where things made sense— and somewhere Miguel O’Hara was far, far away from. 

If you kept yourself busy with hero work then what time would there be left to grieve? An absolutely rock-solid plan that always worked when someone is in crisis. And the very thing you’d scolded Gwen for when she’d first come. Much harder to stop in practice, it turns out. 

Your late/ early hours in the city didn’t go unnoticed, Jack was checking up on you near constantly. It was sweet of him to be worried but there was nothing he could do. Even if he tried to be a voice of reason, you wouldn’t listen anyway. Maybe you just wanted to brood. Stew in your misery until it eats you up completely. It was so much easier to do that than to move on. Moving on required work. It required you to finally let go.

So dramatic. That’s your life now, you suppose. 

You lie awake in your bed, another sleepless night. The buzzing too powerful to ignore— because it was never supposed to be ignored. That’s what a spider-sense is for! To tell you something is wrong. He wasn’t here and it was wrong. 

You kick the sweat-soaked sheets off with a frustrated groan. You can't keep going on like this. It had to end. You march down to the kitchen, for the millionth time, with every intention in the world to end this cycle. 

The plastic of the injector gun groans in protest under your grasp as you hold it over your left wrist. It was right there. It was right there. You notice the pale liquid in the vial shaking. Your hand was trembling. 

“Come on!” you scream at yourself, “Just do it! Just do it!” 

You slide the gun away and bury your face in your hands.

Coward. 

The sun is coming up. Jack will be here in a few hours to use the studio. This house was more his than yours now, anyway. You’ll be gone when he gets here, not wanting to sit through another lecture about self-love and moving on. 

You slide your suit on and leave for the city that awaits outside. At least that still made sense to you. 

___________________

Miguel had found anger was a good substitution for feeling nothing. Not that it was really a continuous decision. He’d always been quick to anger, but now it was just easier. 

“You know you're supposed to bring them in alive, right?” Gabe had scolded him a few weeks ago when he brought in another Kraven anomaly, bloodied and battered with two broken arms. Not dead though. He seemingly couldn’t help himself, the hunter's face reminding him of that final mission he had with you all those weeks ago.

“He is alive,” Miguel mumbled back before disappearing into another portal. He spends more time in realities other than his own these days.

He wasn’t a killer, but he also didn’t have any pity for those who chose evil as a career path. Villains are no more than a distraction lately. Normally he’d bury himself in his science work when moods like this popped up. Countless engineering projects gather dust, just waiting for his skillful touch. He’d barely been in his lab the last month.

He could still smell you there. In his sheets, on his suit— your taste still lingering on his lips. You followed him everywhere and he couldn’t outrun it. Still, it didn’t stop him from trying. He’d cleared a record number of anomalies this month. 

He was burying himself in his work… in a way. 

Seemingly endless nights lying awake with the sense ringing in his ears. Hollow feeling jerk-offs in the shower, just to get any inkling of relief. They never did. He thinks he feels you too, sometimes— through the link. Doing the same shameful things as he did. It didn’t help to know you were suffering too. Suffering because of him. 

He hadn’t even touched it— the cure. 

You were right to be afraid of it, he was too. Every instinct in his mind was begging him to dump it down the drain. To get rid of it and never think about it again. He knew he couldn’t. It had to be done… eventually. 

He’d seen you only once. Passing by from a distance in the tower. You were exiting the lobby with Jess and Peter and he was on a walkway at least 5 stories up. He felt the tug and spotted you instantly. Sometimes advanced senses were a curse. That familiar urge stirred in him at just the sight of you, his cock instantly shamefully bulging in his pants. 

He saw you pause, undoubtedly feeling the desire too— the unbearable longing. If you felt him, then you hadn’t taken the cure either. A part of him wanted to rejoice and the other part wanted to scream. Neither of you could do it. But if just one of you broke that barrier then it surely would be easier for the other, right? To end this suffering. So far, it seems like neither of you were brave enough.

You didn’t seem to come to the tower much anymore. He can’t blame you. Still, it didn’t stop him from checking in on you any way he could. Channeling in on your dimensions news, watching you fight from across the vast multiverse. It felt dirty, spying on you this way. Yet by the time the disgust and guilt for his actions registered, a screen with you on it had already been playing for hours. 

You never seemed to stop, constantly on the prowl day and night. Either your city was under such a criminal siege that you had no time to rest… or you were distracting yourself just like he was.

Why did he torture himself this way? He tried to justify it by convincing himself it was for your safety. To make sure you were alright, ignoring the fact that you were just as capable of a spider as he was. You weren’t some damsel that needed saving or a lover that could be used as leverage. You were strong. A hero. Just like him. 

So why did he really keep up this dangerous game? Why didn’t he just bite the bullet and take the cure, making yet another ultimate sacrifice like he had so many times before?

Because Miguel was completely in love with you. 

He was in love again and he simply could not let that go so easily. Even just thinking beyond the spider-sense, he’s sure he’d loved you for months. He couldn’t even say it started out innocent because it definitely didn’t. Two spiders acting on their most primal of urges, devouring one another until they found the person on the other side of this desire. A beautiful, perfect, captivating person. A bond turned to an agreement out of necessity— now ending in the greatest heartbreak. 

Another thing he couldn’t have dangled in front of him and swiftly ripped away. Fuck the universe and all its cruelty. Fuck this job. Fuck you for even having the audacity to exist. Just fuck… everything.

Miguel rips through a portal into his lab, dragging a caged Sandman behind him. 

“From universe-694, take him down to Byte,” he commands into the ambient space. Instantly the ever diligent spider-bots emerge from the shadows, taking the caged villain down to sector two to be shipped back home. A constant ritual. Constant work. 

“Lyla,” he commands again, “Find me another one.”

“There isn’t another one,” the AI illuminates in front of him, “Everything’s being handled.”

“By who?” He bites out.

“I don’t know, the countless other spiders you hired to do this job exactly.” She glitches closer to him, doing her best to properly scold the seemingly emotionless Spider-man. 

“There’s always more.”

“Take. A. Break.”

He growls in frustration, swatting away her pixelated form. Fine, he could take a breather, just for a little bit. 

He jumps up to his desk, the various monitors illuminating in an instant. He wanted to see you, just for a little bit. He types in the coordinates to your universe, Earth-727.  The video feed illuminates for just a moment before it’s zapped back to black. 

“Lyla!” he barks, “Turn it on.”

She blips to the desk in front of him, “No. This isn’t healthy, Miguel.”

He rages, clawing through the projected monitors and pushing the mess off his desk. He’s not proud of it, but it doesn’t stop him from throwing a tantrum anyway. 

He takes a moment to gather himself, to just calm down, “Lyla please.”

Her yellow form stands there unmoving, sympathy drooping her artificial features.

“I… don’t think you should.”

Her tone makes him perk up. There was something to it. Something more than just pity.

“Why?” he asks cautiously. 

“I… told you, it’s not health—”

“You never tried to stop me before though. Not with her, not with my family.” He steps closer to the AI, as if he could actually intimidate her, “Why now?”

“Miguel—”

“You’re hiding something,” the acquisition is fueled by paranoia, yet he sees a shift in the small projections demeanor that shows truth behind it. She was made to mimic human mannerisms almost exactly. For all intents and purposes, Lyla basically was human—in the ways that mattered. Even she couldn’t hide things from him. 

She sighs, turning her gaze away from him. 

“I was overlooking some cannon and I came across something,” she starts, “Something in Earth-727.”

Your universe. He feels his heart clench in anticipation. 

“And?”

Though Lyla could show the entire range of human emotions he’d never seen her look so… sad. 

“Miguel… She's going to die. She’s going to be killed. Tonight.”

________

Taglist:

@ineedgarlicbread @pinkiemme @thesilenthill @bontensbabygirl @fallenangelsongwolf @raerorigel @littlefreakymunson @viriexo

@w33ni3 @del-ightfulling

Taglist post here!!!

[baldursfate]

Reimagining: A Durgetash Fic

An AU in which Gortash and Ketheric join forces with Durge and Co. against Orin, who has gained possession of 2/3 netherstones.

Part 1. Updates Thursdays.

There they stood, the masterminds behind the Absolute. Tav looked on curiously from where they were crouched behind a fleshy wall. She hadn't expected this fight to drag on, much less send them gallivanting through an illithid colony. She most certainly did not predict the arrival of the other chosen of the Dead Three. They stood, conversing familiarly, though Tav could not register what was being said. She wished for nothing more in that moment than to be an elf, the superior hearing would have been most handy.

As she pondered this, Ketheric suddenly raised a fist to the man next to him, a tiresome looking fellow garbed in exquisite finery. He had a presumptuous presence, and Tav's head ached with another repressed memory, drawn to him in a way that was both discomfited and comfortable. She had seen this man before, though she wasn't certain as to where. She contemplated the attraction, focusing hard on the memory, yet it would not come to fruition. As Tav focused on her mind, a pale woman, plated in the skins of a yuan-ti, intevened, and Tav felt her innards burn with disrelish. Dark urges surged to her mind's surface. This woman, this abomination, had no right to threaten what was her's.

Tav blinked once, then again, the urge fading as she processed the thought. Her's. Lost in thought and daydream, she nearly missed the moment the pale woman wielded her blade and pried a bright stone from Ketheric's armor. It was over in a moment, the woman a blur of crimson and bone white. Tav would have missed the exchange if it weren't for her victorious cackle. She grinned maniacally, before sweeping towards the other man, grasping for his gauntleted fist. When she was unable to grasp his stone, she resorted instead to swinging her blade haphazardly, clearly hoping to slice it from his arm. The man smugly caught her forearm, and as her blade stilled, Tav noticed another stone embedded in the handle. She wondered what value they held to warrant such a reaction from this woman. As the man reached for his crossbow, the woman placed a swift kick to his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs. The move bought her enough time to conjur a portal and slip away.

Tav took this confusion as her chance to get closer. She motioned to her companions to stay still and quiet, before downing an invisibility potion. She silently stalked to the platform, where the two men were now shouting. The younger man gestured wildly, the golden gauntlet and bright gem flashing in the dim lights of the fleshy cavern. She could make out his voice, raised and rageous, though Tav found a subtle security in the tone.

"It does not come as a surprise that Orin would turn against us. She is unstable at best, and at worst..." The man shook his head, "We are lucky, that she is as unrefined as she is. Bhaal's disciples rarely leave without bloodshed. However, that does not excuse your imprudence. Your reactions were that of a drunken fool." At this, the man thrust his finger at Ketheric, pressing in the hole where the stone once resided. "Might I remind you what will come to be if we fail..."

Ketheric scoffed, smacking the man's hand away, before turning to pace the platform. "It was not in my control. A group of vagrants arrived a fortnight ago, found and freed the Nightsong, and began an attack on the towers. I had just ordered the bulk of the forces forward to Baldur's Gate, else I would have already vanquished the scum." At this, the man seemed intrigued, "A group of vagrants? You make it out as if they were common mercenaries, yet they have somehow managed to disrupt a man of your..." He gestured vaguely to Ketheric, "...vitality." Ketheric stopped pacing for a moment, and turned to make scolding eye contact with his colleague. "It brings me no pleasure to confide in you that the artifact was found, nor does it amuse me to confirm that it indeed prohibits any form of influence from the elder brain."

At the mention of an elderbrain, Tav gasped before quickly throwing a hand over her mouth. The movement caused the illusion to flicker, momentarily rendering her visible. The younger man's back was to her, he had been staring into the cavern in the middle of the platform, lost in thought. Ketheric, however, was faced in her direction, and caught her gaze with a look of disinterest. He cleared his throat, alerting his colleague, who waved him off absentmindedly. "Not now, I am trying to think."

Ketheric rolled his eyes, "Think all you will, I'm sure our guests will find great pleasure stabbing you through the back." At his words, the man spun around, postured anger and annoyance oozed from his features. His eyes dark eyes scoped out the cavern before falling to Tav, and the visage of anger melted into a myriad of suprise, confusion, relief, and finally, excitement.

[angie-long-legs]

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄!

whether it be melodies that give you inspiration for your muse or songs that get you into the writing mood — pick 10 songs you find to give you the urge, the drive, or the creativity to write for your muse!

Kill V. Maim by Grimes

I got in a fight, I was indisposed, I was in despite all the wicked prose, but I'm only a man, and I do what I can [...] B-E-H-A-V-E, arrest us! Italiana mobster looking so precious, B-E-H-A-V-E, never more, you gave up being good when you declared a state of war! I don't behave, I don't behave, oh eh, are you going to the party? Are you going to the show? [...] Oh, the fire hurts alright... the people touch it, I can't touch it, even though it's mine

Butterflies... by Slayyyter

Crystal blue in my head, butterflies, now all dead. Tears for you, crack the whip, heart in two (heart in two), in your bed... Candy hearts in my eyes, you brought me back to life, star crossed love in the nighttime, then you pushed me aside again (Ow!)... I feel sick 'bout the things you put me through, once again I'm not holdin' out for you, I won't watch, now your life is invisible, what the fuck ever made you so miserable?

Born Slippy (Nuxx) by Underworld

Drive boy, dive boy, dirty numb angel boy, in the doorway boy, she was a lipstick boy, she was a beautiful boy, and tears boy, and all in your inner space boy, you had hand girls boy and steel boy, you had chemicals boy, I've grown so close to you [...] Let your feelings slip boy, but never your mask boy

Circus by Britney Spears

There's only two types of people in the world, the ones that entertain and the ones that observe... well, I'm a put-on-a-show kinda girl [...] I feel the adrenaline moving through my veins, spotlight on me and I'm ready to break, I'm like a performer, the dance floor is my stage, better be ready, hope that you feel the same, all eyes on me in the center of the ring just like a circus

Celebrity Skin by Hole

Oh, make me over, I'm all I wanna be, a walking study in demonology [...] No second billing 'cause you're a star now, oh, Cinderella, they aren't sluts like you... Beautiful garbage, beautiful dresses, can you stand up or will you just fall down? [...] When I wake up in my makeup, have you ever felt so used up as this? It's all so sugarless, hooker, waitress, model, actress, oh, just go nameless! Honeysuckle, she's full of poison, she obliterated everything she kissed, now she's fading somewhere in Hollywood, I'm glad I came here with your pound of flesh... You want a part of me? Well, I'm not selling cheap

Drunk Walk Home by Mitski

I will retire to the Salton Sea at the age of 23, for I'm starting to learn I may never be free, but though I may never be free, fuck you and your money, I'm tired of your money... And I sit on the curb 'cause it's the prettiest night, with no one else in sight... You know I wore this dress for you, these killer heels for you... See the dark, it moves with every breath of the breeze

Panic Attacks in Paradise by Ashnikko

Panic attacks in paradise, piña coladas, I'm terrified, I swear I'm not cryin', the sun's just bright, I'm havin' the best time of my life! Panic attacks in paradise, hyperventilating under candy skies, tellin' myself that this is fine, I'm havin' the best time of my life... It's a big joke, ha ha, I love laughin', it's a big hoax, your self-help happy, 'cause I'm okay, I'm pure propane on an open flame, watch me blow up

Addiction by Doja Cat

I am addicted (a little), under the influence (a little), and it makes me want to dance (a little), an itch I just can't scratch, addiction... I've got such a pretty body, looks prettier when I'm a mess, and I just like to call him daddy 'cause the first one he up and left, and you can relate to broken girls, I've been a day without it, I'm proud of myself, baby can you break the curse? I'm so gone I believe in magic

Judas by Lady Gaga

When he calls to me, I am ready, I'll wash his feet with my hair if he needs, forgive him when his tongue lies through his brain, even after three times, he betrays me [...] I couldn't love a man so purely, even prophets forgave his goofy way, I've learned love is like a brick, you can build a house or sink a dead body [...] Ew! In the most Biblical sense, I am beyond repentance; fame hooker, prostitute, wench vomits her mind!

Bag of Bones by Mitski

I'm all used up, pretty boy, over and over again, my nail colors are wearing off... See my hands, pretty boy, what do they tell you? 'Cause I've looked down at them not knowing why, and after everything's done and I'm all undone, you can hear my high heels walking on, clickity-clacking through the night; I'm carrying my bag of bones [...] I know my room is a mess, over and over again I tell myself I'll clean tomorrow; just move the stuff up off the bed and do what you came here to do, but first open up a window for me and let the cool air in, feel the night slip in as it softly glides along your back, and I hope you leave right before the sun comes up so I can watch it alone

tagged by: @hazbinned tyty this was so much fun!!

tagging: @top-shelf-tender @arcanepactguile @sirserpentine

[the-stars-in-between]

DAY 10: Did It Hurt When You Fell From Heaven? (Like A Bitch)

Castiel is learning to be human. It hurts. In more ways than one.

Why is Castiel so hard to write? I have a lot to say about him and his character but he's so self-unaware that it's impossible to write. I love him but he's very frustrating. Fandom: Supernatural Character(s): Castiel Words Count: 1,317 Triggers Warnings: - Glaring Self-Esteem Issues - Minor Blood and Injuries (at the end) No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

The cashier sighed heavily and Castiel looked up long enough to offer a small, embarrassed smile before continuing to count the coins in his hand. The credit card Dean had given him had stopped working and was requiring Castiel to enter the PIN. But Castiel didn’t know the PIN, it was written on a post-it note and hidden in a book in his locker. He hadn’t had to enter the PIN in the few weeks since he’d left the Bunker and had simply used the “contactless payment” but now the “contactless payment” wasn’t working.

Embarrassed, Castiel set the money down in front of the cashier, the coins falling from his open hands like a waterfall and clanging against the metal counter. Behind him, the line continued to grow as the supermarket’s customers grew impatient in hushed tones.

“Is that enough?” Castiel asked.

“Dude, seriously?” complained the cashier.

With a glare, the cashier began counting the coins, much faster than Castiel could have. He was an angel (not anymore) , he had been an angel with all the knowledge of the world, past and present, but he couldn’t count a few coins.

Being human was much harder than he could have imagined. The world was both brighter and dimmer than it had been. He no longer heard the prayers of Humanity but heard the birds singing when dawn broke; he no longer saw the invisible forces of this world but saw animals forming in the clouds.

He also had to sleep and eat and wash and relieve himself and it never ended. It was exhausting .

The experience gave him a whole new appreciation for humanity—for Dean and Sam.

(Castiel didn’t know if he could do it.)

(Castiel didn’t know if he wanted to do it.)

A feminine hand rested gently on his shoulder and Castiel resisted the urge to fight or flee as his skin quivered from his shoulder to his heart (a blade cutting into his flesh, the buzz of a drill approaching his eye, the cracking of his bones under a punch) . Castiel calmed his pounding heart and turned, staring into deep green eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the stranger smiled. “Do you need help?”

“Oh no, it’s fine—”

“There’s not enough,” the cashier cut in impatiently. “Twenty dollars short.”

Humans only had two eyes, but Castiel could feel the weight of dozens of eyes on him, as heavy and terrible as the forces of Heaven. Castiel didn’t know until then that he could be embarrassed.

“Oh, I’ll go put some items back in then,” Castiel replied.

“I can take care of the difference,” the stranger intervened behind him.

Castiel didn’t have the chance to refuse, the cashier practically snatched the bill from the stranger’s hands and signaled Castiel to make room for the next customer. Castiel put his groceries in his bag and waited for the stranger, wanting to thank her and reimburse her.

“Thank you for your generosity, I can reimburse you if you so wish,” Castiel offered.

“It won't be necessary,” the stranger replied kindly. “You needed help and I was able to give it to you.  A little help and kindness can go a long way.”

(Castiel couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t had blood—that of his enemies and that of his friends —on his hands.)

(Castiel couldn’t remember a time when he’d been kind .)

“But if you want, you can help me carry my groceries to my car. I hurt my wrist last week,” the stranger explained. “My girlfriend’s going to scold me again for moving heavy loads.”

“Of course,” Castiel replied, carefully taking the bags from the stranger’s hands.

“Thank you very much,” the stranger smiled. “My name is Claire, I’d shake your hand, but it looks like your hands are full.”

“Steve, nice to meet you,” Castiel said, his throat tightening inexplicably.

But the hardest thing about his new humanity was the guilt , the memory of all the people he’d hurt. How did humans function when they felt so much? On the best days, Castiel felt like he was going to shatter under the weight of his emotions.

“Are you new around here?” Claire asked. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“It’s only temporary,” Castiel replied, knowing he was lying to himself.

(A part of him hoped Dean would change his mind, that he could go back to the Winchesters. But now that he was no longer an angel, he was nothing more than a burden, someone they had to protect and who would slow them down.)

(He didn't want to cause them any more trouble than he already had.)

(Dean had already been kind enough to give him enough money for the first few months.)

"I hope you like it here then," Claire said pleasantly, opening the trunk of her car. "It's a quiet but nice town."

"Thanks," Castiel replied, putting the groceries in Claire's car. "Have a pleasant day."

"You too Steve,” Claire returned the sentiment. “It was nice meeting you."

Castiel greeted Claire and left the parking lot towards the gas station. He still had time before his shift but he didn't want to be late. This job was the last thing he had in addition to being his place to live. He couldn't afford to lose it.

The sun was warm against his skin and a cat was lounging on the hot tarmac outside the supermarket. Castiel crouched down to pet it, a small smile forming on his face. The cat was grumpy, not appreciative of being woken up, and its scowl reminded him of Dean. Castiel pulled out his phone to send Dean a picture but changed his mind at the last moment. He didn’t want to bother him.

(He didn’t want to know if Dean would answer him or not. Probably because he already knew the answer.)

Castiel straightened up, the heel of his shoe digging into his damaged skin. Even walking hurted and Castiel didn’t want to spend too much money on bandages to cover his blisters. He just hoped he hadn’t bled through his socks again. He couldn’t vanish the blood off his clothes with a wave of his hand anymore. 

(Humans were so fragile. Castiel wondered how they didn't die immediately.)

“Have a pleasant day,” Castiel said to the cat who curled up to resume its nap.

Castiel continued on his way, quickening his pace, and more than ever missed his wings. Not necessarily because he could cross the globe in a second if he wanted to—although that was very convenient—but because he couldn’t remember the last time he had flown just because he could.

(His wings had been clipped—by Heaven, by the Winchesters , by himself—long before his Fall.)

(His feet had not left the ground these days, not even in his dreams.)

(He had only himself to blame.)

.

He wasn’t the only one who thought that.

A sharp pain spread through his skull as a metal bar came down hard on the back of his head. Ears ringing in shock, Castiel dropped his groceries, his carton of tomato soup exploding as it hit the ground.

Castiel staggered, leaning on the wall to keep himself from falling. His head spun uncontrollably around him. He felt like he was falling off a building. But no one was there to catch him.

A warm liquid flowed from the back of his head to the back of his neck, his blood pulsing mercilessly in his temples. Silent tears ran down his cheeks as he fought back vomiting from the pain.

He couldn’t hear anything, he couldn’t see anything.

The pain clouded his vision, turning the world into a series of blurry, indistinct shapes. Every sound seemed distorted, like a distant echo, as terror began to overtake the pain.

Green eyes glowing menacingly were the last thing Castiel saw before he lost consciousness.

Dean.

Fun fact, the story with the credit card at the beginning happened to me when I was eighteen and got my first credit card (the part where I forget my PIN after only using contactless payment for weeks, not the part where someone pays for my groceries). So Castiel is going to experience my embarrassment too. Poor Castiel, he discovers that being human sucks. You have to sleep and eat and even worse you Feel Emotions. And that's not the worst thing that will happen to him later. Speaking of later, I have ideas in mind but given the number of stories I have to write, I think I'll only write it if you're interested. (Or in several months but it's not sure.) Let me know what you think.

[thesorcererspen]

Welcome to Tartaria

@flashfictionfridayofficial FFF194 "Tree of Life"

Excerpt from Dragon Slayers!

CW: Gore

The tree of life was made from the bones and skulls of many humans. Its branches spread out like a massive crown that reached the heavens. It had been carved into the shape of a human skeleton, with its arms crossed on top and its legs folded underneath it in a kneeling position. But unlike the other trees in the surrounding area—this one was made entirely from human remains. The dead were used as tools for carving the tree and then piled atop each other to form the branches. The roots were long and twisted around themselves, making it seem like they were trying to escape from the ground. It looked like a single giant bone, only this time, there were no scraps of flesh left clinging to it—only dried-up blood staining the soil beneath it.

Casimir's soul was drawn to it by an invisible force. His head throbbed, and his body felt heavy, but he could still move. A tingling sensation ran across his skin, and he knew the Tree of Life was drawing him toward it. He tried to resist, but he couldn't help himself anymore. The tree seemed to call to him, calling his name over and over again.

A hand gripped his forearm, preventing him from moving forward. He glanced behind him at Florian, who stared into his eyes. They were wide with fear, and his face paled. He shook his head, urging him not to go near the tree.

“They’re calling to me,” Casimir said in a low voice, fighting against the tree’s pull. “The dead want to speak with me.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Florian replied in a trembling voice as though he were struggling to control himself. “Speaking to his victims may only anger him.”

His victims. The God of Judgment.

Casimir rounded on him, unsure if fear or fury would overtake him. “You told me he was merciful.”

“He can be,” Florian answered, his eyes never leaving Casimir's face. “It’s only if he finds you useful, though.”

“Not sure I want to be used by the God of Judgment,” Casimir spat out.

At the mention of the name, the tree shook. Its branches creaked loudly, and its massive root system rippled through the earth as it stretched out toward him. The dead groaned and wailed, their voices nearly deafening. There was such an overwhelming sense of despair and desperation emanating from them that it almost hurt to listen.

"This isn't your purpose here." Florian grabbed hold of his arm again and pulled him further away from the tree. He gave Casimir a slight shake. “Do not allow yourself to be taken in.”

Casimir fought against his own instincts and resisted the urge to walk back toward the tree.

“We should leave this place.”

Florian shook his head, breaking eye contact with him. “If we turn back, you know Izumi will cut you down.”

“And if we continue on, the God of Judgment will kill me,” Casimir countered. “I think I have the right to choose how I die.”

“We don’t know that he will,” Florian said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You know the law.” Casimir’s head drooped, and his bottom lip quivered slightly. “My kind is supposed to be killed on sight.” A shallow breath escaped his throat. “I’m just sorry you got pulled into this shit for saving me that day.”

“I’m not.” There was a rise of confidence in Florian’s voice, and his lips pulled into a small smile. “If I could go back, I wouldn’t do anything differently.”

Casimir’s heart ached at the words. He had been isolated for his entire life, forced to hide away because of what he was. He didn’t know what it meant to have someone who truly cared. Is this what it means to have a friend? Is that what we are? ‘Friends?’ Florian was a Zegoshi. His natural enemy, and yet, he not only saved him but also stuck by him. He was here, prepared to face the God of Judgment with him. I think I understand now.

He grabbed Florian’s shoulder and squeezed it. “I guess we shouldn’t keep him waiting then.”

Florian nodded, and together they turned their backs on the tree of life and headed toward the gates of Tartaria.

[sasquapossum]

How to Cut Your Own Hair

One of my favorite relatively-new skills is cutting my own hair. For years I had gone to a local barber which had been there so long it was practically an institution. Then I realized that all the old guys had been retiring, and the younger guys just weren’t doing as good a job (reasons for which I’ll get to later). Might as well go to Supercuts, I thought, so I did that for a few years. Then the pandemic hit. While all of my friends were getting every shaggier, I decided to try cutting my own. And if I can do it, I figure anyone with short straight hair can too. (I’d love to help people with longer or curlier/kinkier hair, but I’m afraid I just lack the experience to do so.) Anyway, here’s what you’ll need.

A set of regular clippers, with guards at various lengths.

A set of edging clippers (”T-bar”).

A good set of really sharp scissors that you don’t use for cutting other things - especially paper. The extra half-loop for a second finger is nice, but not required. And do not borrow your spouse’s fabric scissors. For one thing they’re the wrong shape (too heavy) and for another you’re likely to get yourself killed.

A hand mirror. I’m still using a little compact mirror that was originally my daughter’s, but that’s really not ideal. I keep reminding myself and then forgetting to buy a proper 6″ or so hand mirror.

A barber’s cape, to help keep the hair off your skin as much as possible. Also potentially useful on Halloween.

A hand vacuum, because the clippings will go everywhere no matter how hard you try.

Step 1: clear the area You’ll want to start by getting everything off your sink area - toothbrush, soap, shaving or beauty supplies, etc. Just put them in another room. Also, put on your cape.

Step 2: regular clippers Figure out how long you want your hair to be. You will almost certainly want a range of lengths, from the bottom in the back all the way to your part line and possibly beyond, For example, my style is not quite military but still pretty traditional “short back and sides”. Therefore, I start with a short #3 (7.5mm) in the back, then a bit of long #3 (9.5mm), then short #4 (10.5mm) on the temples and all around up to the part, and finally a long #4 (12.5mm) over the cowlicks at the very crown in the back. As long as you keep the steps small, you won’t need any scissor work to hide the transitions. Also, clear the clippers frequently. You don’t have to brush every last hair out - just a good shake will do - but if you let too much accumulate it will make it harder to maintain straight lines.

Before you put those clippers away, you can use them very carefully without a guard to reinforce the part line (assuming you have one). This is one of the trickiest parts, because getting the alignment right in the mirror feels very counterintuitive. Even after two years of doing this every month or so, I still have to fight the urge to turn the wrong way. Once I’m getting it, I go very lightly once with the handle pointing down (over my ears) and then a second time with the handle pointing up (over my head). The goal is to remove very little hair, just make the line a bit clearer.

Step 3: edging clippers This is just for the back. Again, figure out where you want your line to be. High or low? Square or rounded? For me it’s rounded, starting just a bit below the ears and “hanging” down a bit toward the middle. Again, getting the orientation right is tricky in the mirror, so take your time. Also, as you’re defining that line, make sure you bring the clippers quite a bit below the lines as well to get those hairs that are almost invisible now but will grow out within a week.

Step 4: scissors To be quite honest, I try to minimize scissor work during my actual once-a-month haircut. Mainly I just do enough to knock down any visible line between the top of where the clippers went and the still-bushier hair above that. The rest I do “as needed” in between cuts. Every week or so I look for places on the top or front that have grown most disproportional to the overall look, and cut them down just a bit to match. That makes the full cut a bit less jarring. In any case, whether you do it all at once or continuously, the principles are the same.

The most important thing here is patience. You can always do another pass to take a bit more off, but you can’t put it back right away. Make small cuts, both in terms of how many hairs you’re cutting and how much you’re shortening them by. Also, when you’ve picked up a lock of hair in your fingers, it’s better to cut along their natural lie instead of across. Even on my hair, which everyone who has cut it says is terrible for showing every cut mark, this makes the individual cuts all but invisible. Just take your time, be careful, and don’t be afraid to walk away if you’re uncertain. Also keep in mind that how your hair looks right now might not be quite the same as after your next shower, so be very conservative at this point. You can come back later.

BTW, this is where my barbers were failing me. The old guys know how to use comb and scissors to get closer than finger and scissors would allow. The younger ones don’t. Turns out that’s not even taught in hairstyling or cosmetology schools. One young woman at Supercuts told me that she wanted to go to barber school just to learn than, and good for her. Unfortunately, barbers are becoming rarer and barber schools might not be around much longer, so this is a dying art. I sure as hell never got the hang of it.

Step 5: cleanup No joke, this is likely to take longer than the cut itself. Hair - especially wet hair - is amazingly tenacious and hard to get all the way into the trash or down the drain. I’ve gained a lot of respect for barbers and hairdressers just for keeping their places clean, never mind the actual styling or barbering. First you want to collect as much hair as you can while it’s dry and throw it in the trash. Then take your mini vacuum and go top to bottom getting as much as you can. Finally, do the same with a sponge, again top to bottom. It’s tedious as hell, but it’s a necessary part of the job.

Next, go clean your body. Personally I like to take a shower immediately afterward, with plenty of shampoo, and I even “schedule” my cuts for days when I’m not already taking two showers because of exercise. This helps cut down on the amount of loose hair falling out for the next few hours, or getting on your pillow at night. It helps a lot. If you don’t do it this way, you’re going to be sweeping or vacuuming repeatedly over the next day at least.

Step 6: finishing After your shower, assuming you took my advice, go back and take another look. You will almost certainly find that things have “shifted” a bit, so use the scissors to clean up any newly appearing lines. Whether you do this or not, you’ll probably want to re-do some of your earlier cleaning as well.

At this point there are only two tasks remaining. First is to give your clippers and scissors a real cleaning (they usually come with little brushes for this) and possibly a dab of oil as well, before you put them away. And lastly, move all of your other stuff back to the sink. Congratulations, you’re done. Enjoy your new zero-dollar cut.

[scarasun]

pinky promise (that you'll do as i say?)

{ pairing } scaramouche x gn!reader

{ a/n } from yesterday being the first day of school for me to the excitement of the 3.1 livestream today, i was inspired and decided to write a little something. p.s. this piece is part of my writing practice, but i decided to post it to see if my tags are working.

{ warnings } fluff. high school/college au. scara's real name is used.

“You know, from the way you keep staring, it’s not hard to guess that you find me attractive.”

You snapped out of your daze, the clear cadence of Kunikuzushi’s voice cutting through your foggy thoughts. His eyes hadn’t left the textbook in front of him, but you could feel the air still as he awaited your response. 

You scoffed, lightly kicking his shin under the table. You had no idea how he could sit with a book for hours and simply do nothing, but it seemed to pay off for him. Although he might not look like it, he studied frequently, and he had the grades to prove it.

Unlike Kuni, your studies were going…less than optimal. Your vision would blur whenever you glanced at the dense text, and the deafening silence of the library didn’t help your restlessness. So you took his remark in stride, happy for a distraction from the mundane.

Cupping your chin in your hands, you inched closer to him, mischievous intent behind your next words. “And what if I told you that that was the truth? That I would never take my eyes off of you because you look like a god? What would you say then?”

He grunted in response, but you didn’t miss the way his cheeks flushed, the color of his skin similar to that of sakura blooms. Your convictions were light-hearted, but they were true; his attitude might be disgusting, but you had long since admitted to yourself that he was devastatingly handsome.

“Focus. Unless you want to fail your exams and embarrass yourself again this semester?” He flipped a page from his textbook, and you could tell his attention had begun to drift away from you once again.

You released a long sigh, your posture slumped with defeat. You admired his discipline, but it was quickly getting on your nerves. Why did he even ask you to accompany him to the library if he was just going to ignore you?

Noticing your agitation, Kunikuzushi finally looked up from his book, beautiful indigo eyes glinting in the afternoon sunlight. He hummed thoughtfully (it appeared that he was thinking), before leaning forward. He was so close that you could see the kaleidoscope of his irises, as mesmerizing and luminous as the night sky.

“How about we make a deal then? If you study a chapter right now, I’ll take you out for a treat later,” he whispered, holding his pinky finger out to you. 

The sight before you was enthralling: the usually menacing young man suddenly reduced to a playful child, holding out his pinky to secure an invisible contract. Suddenly, the idea of studying didn’t seem so malevolent, and you had to fight the urge to look too interested. 

You pretended to give it some thought, before wrapping your own finger around his, relishing in the rare instance of physical contact. It was electrifying, and the place where his skin touched yours buzzed, releasing a cage of butterflies in your stomach (you briefly wondered if he felt the same way you did).

“We have a deal.” 

reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated!

[avvail]

Hello~ may I request , villain bailing/selling his teammate to the cops and not saving them but the teammate has to figure a way out as soon as possible to not get caught by either the cops or the heroes.

♡

tw: guns, betrayal

“Villain,” Teammate breathed, their heart ticking rapidly. “Help me up.”

After giving them a boost, Villain had clambered to the top of their meticulously planned getaway route, swinging their legs over the side and hefting themselves upright. Their forehead was slick with sweat, panting hard, matching Teammate.

It was one of their most elaborate heists yet, and the shrill screams of the sirens were closing in all around them.

Teammate reached their hand out, prompting the villain to take it. They eyed them, eyes flashing with something unreadable, and the teammate shuffled anxiously on their feet as they tossed a brief glance behind them.

“Come on, Villain,” they urged, standing on their tiptoes. “They’ll see us. Hurry up and help me over.”

Villain’s hand fumbled at the strap of the bag over their shoulder, their eyes falling to the ground on the other side of the wall, before back down at Teammate. They could feel licks of heat pressing against their back.

Something wasn’t right.

“Villain?” they croaked, their voice piqued in a slither of panic. Their name hung heavy in the air, but the weight only fell on Teammate’s shoulders. All at once, their heart dropped as they saw the twitch of a smirk dance on their lips.

“Sorry, darling,” they whispered, no ounce of sincerity in their tone. “Someone’s gotta take the fall.”

Teammate scrambled against the wall as they watched the villain swing their legs over, involuntary shriek tearing from their throat. Villain disappeared in one smooth movement, their footsteps fading towards safety as Teammate pounded their fists against the wall, scraping their skin.

“Villain, stop!” they cried, desperation and sheer panic gripping them in foul claws. “Villain, please. Please, stop!”

Loud shouts could be heard from behind them.

Frantically whipping round, Teammate felt heavy with betrayal as they darted back the way they came, almost blinded by the red and blue flashing lights along the central building. Their boots stomped against the concrete ground as they made a run for it, hearing the bellows of police spotting them and the scramble to follow them.

A loud, resounding gunshot popped their left ear, scattering just feet away from them.

Their lungs burned with fire as they lurched around the corner, hearing the shrieks of tires and the roar of engines following along after them. At the same time, their eyes burned with tears, flooding down their cheeks. The salty taste assaulted their senses, accompanied by the taste of copper in their dry mouth.

They’d done everything for Villain. How could they betray them so easily, right at the last moment?

Hurt bloomed in their heart. This wasn’t fair.

In their grief, Teammate crashed straight into a hard object in the middle of the path. They slammed backwards, the wind blowing from their lungs, smacking the back of their skull on the concrete.

They gasped, dazed, eyes popping with stars and blood rushing through their ears.

When they looked up, they saw Hero.

Gripped by terror, they scrambled to their feet in an attempt to get away, but the hero regained their senses and lifted their hand, yanking it back. At the same time, something gripped Teammate’s ankle and sent them colliding with the ground again, making a terrified squeak leave their lips.

They desperately scrambled and thrashed as they were jerked backwards by the invisible force, right into the hero’s awaiting hands. They seized their shoulders and hefted them against an alleyway wall, hidden in the darkness.

Teammate was blinded by pain and rage, doing everything in their power to fight back. Hero bristled, squeezing their hand into a loose fist. The teammate felt something around their torso, pinning their arms to their sides, squeezing them uncomfortably.

Tears and sobs wracked their battered body, too constricted to writhe in their transparent restraints.

This was it. They were going to jail.

“I saw everything.”

The words made their breath hitch sharply. They tried to find Hero’s face, which was blurry through their tears, but full of pity.

“They betrayed you,” the hero murmured thickly, eyes sweeping over their figure languidly. “Villain does this. They manipulate people and they use them. You’re not the first.”

“I helped them of my own volition,” the teammate hissed, voice wobbling through their pain. “I am not a coward that will hide behind others wrongdoings. I helped them—stop trying to make me some poor victim.”

Hero stared at them with a hard gaze. They breathed out through their nose, slightly amused by their answer.

“I know, but here you are,” they shrugged lightly, tone light. “So, how about we make a deal?”