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wynnyfryd · 1 year ago

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Trailer park Steve AU part 17

part 1 | part 16 | ao3

Heat rolls through Steve’s gut; low and quick, a vicious flare, and then he coughs and looks away. “Jesus, man," he splutters, "learn to take a joke.”

“Mmm-hm.” Eddie's smug smirk spreads wide, grows teeth; gotcha bitch, and Steve’s about to tell him to fuck off when he claps his hands to his thighs and abruptly stands up. Does a big stretch, swinging his arms out side to side, reaching overhead until his back makes a noise like a twisted sheet of bubble wrap.

“Holy shit!” Steve frowns. “You’re gonna break your spine.”

Eddie gives him a flippant smile. “That's the idea. Anyway...” He pretzels himself up again, groaning as his neck and shoulders pop. “Seeing as we’re trapped in here for the foreseeable future, you wanna do what the little psychos asked? Play twenty questions or have a heart-to-heart or whatever?”

“Seriously? And just give them what they want?”

Eddie shrugs. “Seems like the fastest way out of here, so yeah.”

“We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“Please. You negotiate with them all the time." He folds forward at the hips, looking at Steve upside down between his legs, and twists a curl around his pinky. "Those kids have you wrapped around their grubby little fingers."

"They do not!"

"They totally do. Besides," he swings back upright, "I’ll negotiate with anyone if it gets me back home to my girl.”

"Oh." Steve stumbles at that. "Didn't know you had a girlfriend.”

Eddie laughs big and bright, shaking his hair all over the place. “Yeah, Harrington, I have a girlfriend. You're funny. Y'know, Henderson could have saved us a lot of time here if he'd just told me you were fun—”

“Okay, then who’s your girl?” Steve interrupts with a huff, because Eddie’s just hopping around in circles while he laughs like Steve's a fucking moron for making a totally reasonable assumption, and he doesn't understand what's so goddamn funny about it.

“My girl, Harrington,” he all but coos when he collects himself, “is my guitar.” He bites his lip and mimes playing a riff; Steve doesn’t know shit about guitar, but he knows that Eddie’s fingers are quick, nimble and impressive as they jitter through the air. “We’ve got a show this weekend. Like, a real one this time, not just playing to three drunks at the Hideout.”

“Cool,” Steve says, looking away from his rings. “Congrats, man. You any good?”

“You could say that.” Eddie’s mouth goes smug and pleased, genuine pride shining in his big eyes when he rocks back on his heels. “The frat that booked us seems to think so, anyway.”

“Oh, shit!" Now Steve's impressed, because it's the weekend before Halloween, and that means, "College costume party.”

“Of course you’d be excited about that.”

“Hey, great place to get laid,” Steve shrugs.

Eddie chokes on his own spit. “You’re kind of a slut, you know that?”

“Rude,” Steve says mildly. He's not a slut; he's an opportunist.

The ground's starting to hurt his ass, so he stands up to join Eddie's impromptu yoga session. Eddie leans a hip against the workbench, folding his arms over his chest and giving Steve room to move.

His eyes flit to his hemline when it rides up on a stretch. "Would you..." he clears his throat. "Would you want to come?"

"Huh?" Steve twists around.

"To the show," Eddie adds, ducking his head to hide his face behind his hair. "You'd have to cram into the back with Frankie and the drum kit, but uh..."

Steve lets himself picture it for a moment, some alternate dimension where he's allowed to say yes: the winding highway to Indy, a van full of dudes cracking jokes and fighting over who gets to pick the music next, losing himself in the thrum of a crowd while he drinks and dances and watches Eddie on stage.

His throat feels tight, suddenly. He reaches for the flask and takes another sip of whiskey. "Don't all your bandmates hate me?"

"I mean... not any more than I do." Eddie's answer is quiet, his eyes swimming with candlelight; Steve doesn't know when they moved closer, when a hush settled over the room, but it feels like...

"Yeah?" he hedges, his voice barely above a whisper. Then he steps out onto the ledge; icy cliffside, slippery holds. The mountains are so much scarier than the deep sea. "And how... How much is that?"

His pulse kicks in his chest. Echoes down to his wrist, a nervous current beneath his skin. Eddie's eyes are so soft. Big and brown and dark. Dark like the deep woods; endless; sort of mesmerizing.

"Steve, I—"

The cellar doors shriek on their hinges.

—

part 18

part of the tag list below the cut comment if you want to be added (comment twice if you wanna be my tag manager lol i’m dyin)

@heartsong18 @hellion-child @hiimlevi @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @jaytriesstuff @littlebluejane @lololol-1234 @marklee-blackmore @melonmochi @messrs-weasley @mrsjellymunson @mugloversonly @nburkhardt @nerdyglassescheeseychick @noodle-shenaniganery @notsopersonalcharlie @novelnovella @nuggies4life @pending-dope-username @perseus-notjackson @ppunkpuppyy @questionablequeeries @remosdeerica @runninriot @sadcanadianwinter @shamelesspatrolshepherdcowboy @silver-snaffles @singmeyoursimpsong @slowandsteddie @slutforcoffein @solalasoforth @spookednsaucy @steddieas-shegoes @steddie-island @stevesbipanic @steves-strapcollection @taleah-bonnick @teatimeeverybody @th30ra3k3n @thealwithnoname @thespaceantwhowrites @thestarslittleking @thesuninyaface @trensu @violetsteve @wormdebut @yourmom-isgay @zoeweee @zombiecreatures

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #my writing #my fic

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ghost-in-the-hall · 2 months ago

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Spit (Chris Fehn x Fem! Reader) SMUT

My hand slipped...

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, MDNI, ADULT CONTENT, very little plot pretty much only porn, spit, rough sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, spanking, thigh riding, oral (m receiving), face fucking, choking, gagging, degradation (in a hot way) but also praise, face grabbing, throat grabbing, spitting in mouth, hair pulling, biting, scratching, the mask stays on (kind of a heavy focus on it at some points), semi-public sex I guess? Size kink, Chris is really strong and likes to manhandle you a lot, whoops.

My Masterlist! ~ Tip Jar! ~ AO3 Link!

Divider credits: @adornedwithlight

Your hands gripped painfully tight onto the barrier in front of you. By some miracle you and your friend had managed to fight your way to the front of the pit during the opener. You nearly screamed at the sight in front of you, you had managed to place yourself right in front of Chris's drums. You had made it your mission when you first left your house to catch the percussionist’s attention, desperately wanting the chance to flirt with your favorite band member. You screamed as the venue was plunged into darkness, the silhouette's of the band taking their positions filled the stage. The first chord ripped from the speakers, your chest rattling with the vibrations. Chris noticed you instantly, you were so pretty how could he not? The moment your eyes met his, he knew he had to do everything possible to make tonight the best night of your life. He can't help but smile under his mask as he watches you scream and thrash along to the music with your friend. “Hey!” He yells in an attempt to get one of the security guards attention. It would be too dangerous to try and slip you a pass while you were in the crowd, you would be mobbed for it. But, bringing the pretty girl up on stage to have her favorite band serenade her, well who would argue with that. He tries again, shouting and waving his arm at the guard. A few of the fans had started pointing in an attempt to help, but he simply didn't care. Chris picks up one of his drumsticks and throws it at the security guards head. “Hey asshole!” The guard whips around angrily, freezing when he’s met with the annoyed expression in Chris's eyes. “Get her the fuck up here!” He growls, nodding in your direction. The guard hurries over to you, lifting you easily over the barrier and dragging you behind him to the stage.

Chris kneels down in front of you, your cheeks grow warm as you watch his eyes trace over your curves. “He asked for you!” The guard explains. Chris holds out his hand for you, motioning for you to come up on the stage. Seeing that the security guard was making no move to help you up, Chris decided to take matters into his own hands. He jumps down off the stage, pushing into the guard roughly with his shoulder, placing himself directly in front of you. You can't help but scream as you're swept off the ground in one swift movement. He sets you on the edge of the stage before hosting himself up beside you. He pulls you up, his hand staying firmly wrapped around yours as he leads you to the center of the stage. He makes a performance of showing you off, sizing you up like a predator looking at its prey. The screams from the crowd were almost overwhelming and the fact he looked ready to eat you alive at any moment definitely wasn't helping.

“What's your name, beautiful?” You can't help but shiver as you feel his hot breath bounce off your ear. You squeak out your name as he wraps an arm around your waist, leading you towards his kit before any of the others have a chance to approach you. You weren't entirely sure because of how loud the venue was, but you were pretty sure you heard him bark at Jim as he passed by with you.

“Why'd you bring me up?” You ask him curiously. You feel the way his chest shakes with laughter as it presses into your back. He places a hand on either side of your waist, trapping your body in between him and his kit.

“You're just having so much fun, I can't keep my eyes off you… plus, I wanted to see if your body feels as good in my hands as I thought it would.” He grabs his drumsticks as they start to que up for the next song, instructing you to stay pressed against him. “Hope you're ready for a show, sweetheart.” He chuckles. Having you standing in front of him was definitely a hindrance to his playing, but he couldn't find it in him to care. The jealous looks towards both you and him alike made him smirk. You were having the time of your life, screaming along with the song, getting to watch your favorite performer up close. The stage lights made the sweat that coated your skin glow. Chris chuckles as he wonders how you would taste. Your knees nearly give out as you feel his hot tongue drag up your neck, a strangled moan fighting to stay in your body. The zipper on his mask was ice cold against the hot trail of saliva that coated your skin. Watching the way your body responded to him made him ravenous. He wraps a hand around your throat, a dangerous smile spreading across your lips as you easily give yourself up to him. You shiver as he glares down at you, growling and screaming into your face like a feral animal. His fingers trail over your pulse as his hand leaves your neck, grabbing your cheeks roughly to force you to keep looking at him. “Open your fucking mouth.” He growls. You do as he asks without question, your eyes never leaving his. Your heart pounds in time with the steady rhythm of the drums. Chris chuckles at your desperate expression. “So fucking pretty.” He praises, giving your face another harsh squeeze before he winds up and spits directly into your mouth. He keeps an arm wrapped around you for the rest of the song, enjoying the feeling of your body pressing into him as you dance. He motioned for one of the crew members that was just off stage. “Go around to the door on the side of the building after the concert’s over, I want you all to my fucking self for the rest of the night.” He helped you back to the pit after tucking the backstage pass into the waistband of your pants, leaving you in a daze as you struggled to explain to your friend just what the hell happened up there.

Being led through the sterile white hallways made you nervous, knowing that your final destination was going to leave you with a man you had fantasized about meeting for years. The security guard knocks on the door, announcing that his guest had arrived. You can't think of a single thing to say as he opens the door, his massive form towering over you, his eyes instantly landing on you from their position behind his mask. He had removed the top half of his jumpsuit, tying the sleeves around his waist in a sort of belt. “I'm glad you showed up.” He chuckles. “Tell the others not to wait up. I won't be back for a while, and even when I am, hopefully I won't be alone.” Heat immediately pools in your core at his seductive tone. He takes you by the hand, pulling you into the dressing room. He pushes you back into the door, causing it to slam shut behind you. The nose of his mask presses against yours, keeping him a good distance away from you, allowing him to easily study your expression. “It's a shame I won't be able to kiss you properly with this thing on, but I think fucking a man in a mask is part of the appeal for you, isn't it baby?” He can't help but chuckle as he watches you shudder under his intense gaze. Goosebumps erupt across your skin as his fingers dip below the hem of your shirt. “My safe word is red, does that work for you?” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you nod, watching his skilled hands slowly remove your clothes. When you don't give him a verbal answer he grabs you roughly by the face, tapping your cheek with your finger. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Yes.” You respond breathlessly.

“Yes, what?” He snaps back immediately.

“Yes, sir.” Your cheeks burn as you let the horrific tumble from your lips. He gently pats your cheek.

“Good girl.” He chuckles. The rough pads of his fingers run over the now exposed skin of your stomach. He pushes the nose of his mask against your throat. He breathes out a groan, “I've been waiting to hear you scream my name all night.” He grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head.

“I doubt you'll have any problems accomplishing that.” He knocks the breath from your lungs as he pushes his full weight into you.

“I was so shocked to see such a pretty little thing right in front.” He murmurs next to your ear. “I just knew I needed to have you all to myself.” You shiver at the rough feeling of his mask's zipper dragging along your throat. You gasp as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, slipping a leg in between yours in order to keep you standing. His breath was hot against your skin, his massive hands engulfing your waist as he finally released his hold on your wrists. You grip tightly into his strong shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as the assault of metal and teeth continued to mark you up until he was content with the sight. He hisses as the sweat on his skin causes your hands to slip, your nails clawing down his back. He chuckles into the crook of your neck, cursing under his breath as the stinging settles into his skin. He wraps his hands around your thighs, lifting you effortlessly from the floor. He guides your legs around his waist, pinning you in between him and the door as metal presses harshly into your lips. “I'm going to fucking ruin you.” He growls into your mouth.

He carries you across the room, setting you down in order to help free you from the confines of your remaining clothes. You were just desperate to get your hands on him. You feel his muscles twitch under your fingers as they ghost over his chest. Your hands trail down his torso until they eventually and on the knotted sleeves of his jumpsuit, silently asking for permission to remove it. Chris takes you by the hand, smirking under his mask as he leads you towards the couch in the room. “I plan on having some fun with you first.” He sits back into the cushions, patting his thigh. “Come have a seat, baby.” You whimper as his hands find their way to your waist, pressing your already soaked core against the rough material of his jumpsuit. You can't stop the moan he tears free from your throat as he guides your hips in a steady rhythm back and forth across his thigh. He reclines with a sigh, one hand remaining wrapped around your waist, the other resting behind his head as he casually watches you. Your sounds become louder and more frequent the longer he lets you go, the friction from riding his thigh paired with his intense gaze threatening to send you over the edge with every small movement.

“Don't you dare fucking stop.” He growls, you yelp as he delivers a harsh smack to your ass. Your hips begin to stutter, a strangled whine leaving your lips as you struggle to keep up your pace. Chris chuckles as he watches your pathetic attempts at getting yourself off. He hums as he grabs your waist, his thumbs pushing into your hips as he helps you move. You curse, crying out his name as you lurch forward, your hands coming to rest on his chest in an attempt to keep you upright. Your thighs tremble as he suddenly brings you to a complete stop, pleading with him to keep going. “I think I deserve a turn, baby, don't you?” He chuckles at your desperate expression. He stands you up, your legs barely able to support your weight. “Don't worry, you'll get your turn. When I'm ready I'm going to fuck you stupid, you won't remember your name by the time I'm done with you.”

He guides your hands to the knot at his waist, letting you untie his jumpsuit and having it fall around his ankles along with his boxers before collapsing back into the couch. His eyes stay locked on you as you drop to your knees, settling yourself in between his legs. “Spit.” He commands, holding out his hand. You do as he asks, spitting into his palm in order for him to prep himself with a few slow pumps of his half hard cock. He tangles his fingers into your hair, guiding you forward until your lips wrap around his tip. He hisses, his head thudding against the wall. He guides your mouth over his length, setting a near animalistic pace from the start. Drool dripped from the corners of your lips, pooling at the base of his cock. You gagged as he slammed into the back of your throat, cutting off your air as he held you as far down as your mouth would allow before releasing you entirely. You cough when you're finally able to breathe again. “Such a dirty fucking whore… doing such a good job.” You let out a soft moan as he grabs you by the throat. “Who would have thought that such a pretty girl would have such a filthy fucking mouth.” He takes a firstful of your hair again, guiding you back down to his cock. You gag and sputter as he fucks harshly into your throat, tears collecting a long your lashes and eventually dripping down into your cheeks. “Fucking crybaby.” He chuckles, pulling you off his length in one swift movement. He places a hand under your chin, guiding you to stand. He pulls you into his lap, holding you against his chest in order to line his member up with your entrance. You moan, cursing and grabbing desperately into his shoulders as he slowly lowers you down onto his length. He groans as he bottoms out inside of you, feeling you settle fully into his lap. “You feel so fucking good.” He groans.

He grits his teeth as he struggles not to instantly start fucking into you mercilessly. Your hazy, far off look telling him he wasn't far from breaking you already. His head drops back as he holds back a growl, lazily rolling his hips in order to make any sort of movement. He presses into a spot inside of you that has you seeing stars, he pulls you into him, dragging his tongue over the collage of bruises he had left behind on your neck. You moan his name, attempting to roll your hips in time with his thrusts, a battle you quickly lost as he increased his tempo. His fingers dig painfully into the plushness of your ass, holding you in place as he pounds into you from below. “Dirty fucking whore, you like being fucked by some freak in a mask don't you?” You yelp as he delivers another harsh smack to your ass. You sob, your thighs trembling as your climax sneaks up on you. “Good girl.” He praises with an amused chuckle. He grabs your face in one hand, forcing your eyes on him. “I make you feel that fucking good, huh?” You scream as his free hand dips between your legs, mercilessly rubbing circles at your sensitive clit, sending a second orgasm crashing over you.

He pauses for a moment in order to let you come down from your high. He chuckles when you can't get your legs to stop shaking. “Poor baby, I made you feel that good just from bouncing on my cock.” He teases, making your cheeks burn. “Hopefully those legs of yours still work at least a little bit, I'm not done with you yet.” He tips you back into the couch. You whine at the sudden emptiness as he pulls out of you. He grabs you by your waist, flipping you over onto your hands and knees. He wastes no time lining himself up with your entrance, slamming back into you at a feral speed. You scream, your legs immediately trying to give out underneath you. Chris keeps a tight hold on you, animalistically fucking into you. His hands wander wherever they can reach, mapping every inch of your body and how you responded to his touch. He delivers another harsh smack to your ass, afterwards rubbing soothing circles into the spot. “Doing such a good fucking job.” He groans. “My dirty fucking whore.” He lays himself over you, his muscular body completely blanketing your smaller form. You press your face into the cushions in an attempt to muffle your screams of pleasure. Every smack he delivered made you whine with need, every impossibly deep thrust threatening to break you.

“Chris,” you whimper. He wraps a hand on your throat, thumb pressing into your jaw to turn your gaze onto him.

“What is it, pretty girl?” He groans, his thrusts noticeably beginning to lose their rhythm.

“Please, don't stop.” He lets out a sound somewhere between a growl and a chuckle.

“If I don't pull out soon, I'm going to end up cumming in that pretty pussy of yours.” You can't help but jolt as the cold feeling of metal presses into your skin.

“I don't care… need you.” You manage to stutter out through the thick fog that clouded your mind.

“If that's what you want, baby.” You pull your lip between your teeth as you feel him slip his fingers back into your hair. “Who am I to deny an angel their request?” He nips at your neck, his fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit as he fucks into your at an animalistic pace. He buries his face in between your shoulder blades, the silicone of his mask sticking to your sweaty skin. He removed his hand from your throat, gripping tightly onto your hips as he guided you over his length. You felt his thighs tremble every time they connected with your ass. Your name and curses spilled from his lips like a prayer. You scream his name as you finish, your thighs trembling as they struggle to support your weight. Chris curses loudly as he finishes, shooting hot ropes of cum inside of you as his hips stutter to a stop, every so often and uncontrollable jolt ripping through him.

He soothingly strokes your sides with his thumbs as he eased himself out of you. “Just relax, okay? I'll take care of you.” He whispers in a soothing tone, guiding you to lay down. You jump as he starts to clean you up. “Sorry, should've warned you.” He chuckles.

He sighs as he collapsed into the couch, pulling you into his lap. You could barely keep your eyes open, you found yourself leaning into his warmth. “My hotel isn't just down the street… you could always come spend the night if you wanted to.”

#ghost writes #3 slipknot #chris fehn slipknot #slipknot #slipknot x reader #chris fehn #chris fehn x reader #chris fehn x reader smut #slipknot smut #slipknot x reader smut

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rippleclan · 19 days ago

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RippleClan: Moon 91, Part 1

As Wildclaw moves on from grieving Clammask, she and Rattlepelt go for a walk together.

[Image ID: Rattlepelt and Wildclaw approach two black newborns. Under the leftmost kit, it reads NEW PLAYER: VALLEYKIT, 0, MALE, QUIET. Under the rightmost, smoky kit, it reads NEW PLAYER: MIDNIGHTKIT, 0, MALE, POLITE. Under Wildclaw, it reads - CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

Rattlepelt typically despised winter. The snow was beautiful, Longest Night was lovely, and she always purred when kits played in the snow. But her Clanmates had fur. They could handle the cold. The winter wind didn't sting their bodies and quickly numb their limbs. They could safely leave camp! Meanwhile, Rattlepelt stayed huddled in the artisan's den, tucked under extra leather pelts while she, Rabbitjoy, and Frostpaw fixed baskets.

The artisan's den was packed with supplies and tools; leather wraps for managing hot stoves, drums, dry ferns and grass for basket weaving, and more. All those supplies trapped heat within the rocks and brambles. There was just enough work for the three artisans to sit and do their work.

"Trust your claws," Rabbitjoy said as Frostpaw pulled twine through the stakes of her basket, weaving it back and forth. "Your claws are made to snag material like this. Let them hook the twine and treat it as an extension of your paw."

"My wrist keeps getting stuck," Frostpaw muttered. She tried to hook her paw around the next stake, but since she was repairing a hole in the side of the basket, her paw had little room to move. The twine kept slipping off Frostpaw's claws in her effort to pull it through without breaking the basket further.

"Repairing a basket is harder than weaving it from scratch," Rabbitjoy assured her. "Don't worry if you can't make it tight. Try your best."

"How do humans do this?" Frostpaw groaned as she finally pulled her thread back around.

"Malformed paws," Rattlepelt explained with a chuckle, tying off the broken base of her basket. She waved her paw, flexing her pads. "Their paws are flexible and good at crafts, but they barely feel a thing."

"They also don't have claws!" Gingerpaw suddenly stuck his big fluffy head into the aritsan's den, his maple seed necklace bouncing on his chest. Estherfern lingered behind him with a bundle of bark, but her apprentice was ignorant to his mentor's shoving. "They just have hard rocks on top of their paws!"

"Gingerpaw, go away!" Frostpaw whined. "We're working! Don't eavesdrop!" Estherfern finally knocked Gingerpaw away from the artisan's den and back to his chores. As Gingerpaw walked off, laughing, Frostpaw groaned and threw her paws over her ears. "I hate him sometimes!"

"He's just being silly," Rabbitjoy said, patting Frostpaw's back. Rattlepelt placed her repaired basket against the den wall. As she stretched her front legs, Wildclaw peeked into the den. Her amber eyes seemed brighter than they had in a few moons.

"Rattlepelt, come outside!" Wildclaw chirped. "It's finally a bit warm. I want to go on a walk."

"I should really help Rabbitjoy finish the basket repairs," Rattlepelt chuckled, snatching loose twine in her claws.

"You've been trapped in camp for ages," Rabbitjoy scoffed. "If it's warm, go outside! We only have one other basket to repair. Frostpaw and I can fix it." Rabbitjoy rolled the remnants of a broken basket toward her. Wildclaw kneaded the sand, eyes glowing. Rattlepelt purred. It was hard to resist that face.

"Let's go, then," Rattlepelt sighed, fixing her lavender-lined fox pelt onto her back. Frostpaw grumbled under her breath as she searched for fresh twine and Rattlepelt joined Wildclaw outside of the artisan's den.

Wildclaw was right; it was so unseasonably warm that the Clan didn't need a bonfire in the center of camp. Snow clung in piles along the dark and cool corners of the rocks and wood, but RippleClan could once again relax against the cool sand of their home. The land beyond camp was no longer white and brown, but a strange, gray-tinted mixture of tan and green. Though Rattlepelt's skin still danced under the soft chill, it was a pleasurable chill. It was a fool's spring, the sort that RippleClan would usually take full advantage of.

But RippleClan was not, in fact, taking advantage of the good weather. Instead, Wolfgaze, Weevilsight, Ravenweaver, and Trumpetspore hovered around the medicine den. They quietly shared tongues and muttered soft encouragement. Some of their friends and mates (Billowhaze, Anchovystrike, Brightreed, Scaleripple) comforted them, glancing into the shadows of the medicine den and quickly looking away.

"It's Mosspounce," Wildclaw sighed when she noticed her mate's confused look. "Honeybuzz just told his daughters. The infection is getting bad. They aren't sure how much longer he has."

"Should we visit?" Rattlepelt gulped.

"Later," Wildclaw quietly promised, heading for the camp exit. "The walk might give me time to think of what to say." Rattlepelt watched as Honeybuzz trailed out of the medicine den, merging into the small crowd. Trumpetspore scrambled into the medicine den as Honeybuzz spoke softly to Wolfgaze, Weevilsight, and Ravenweaver. Rattlepelt dipped her head, allowing her fox pelt to cover her eyes. She ignored the rest of the Clan and pressed into the false spring.

The birds hesistantly tested the warm weather, chirping their questions to one another, as though their fellow feathered friends could provide an answer. The mid-morning light offered the land a chance to stretch and feed itself before the explosion of frost and snow that would mark the remainder of the year. Twigs and branches, reminders of summer's rich foliage, rubbed against Rattlepelt's fox pelt. Her paws sank into the wet earth. Wildclaw strolled beside her, quiet, her ever-present guardian.

The silence stretched on for longer than Rattlepelt expected. The pair journeyed deeper into the forest, simply basking in the light. At one point, they spotted Tallowheart and Splashtuft, going over a few tales. Wildclaw raised her tail in greeting and passed them by. The two mates wandered over boulders and roots. All the while, Rattlepelt thought and thought and thought.

A twig snapped deep within the trees. Rattlepelt froze, eyes locking on the sound. A great buck stared at Rattlepelt and Wildclaw. Its magnificent crown of antlers snagged leaves that refused to fall from their trees despite the pressure of snow and time. Its brown coat blended into the forest. It flicked a round ear at Rattlepelt, blinking thoughtlessly.

"Wonder if it thinks you're a cat or a fox," Wildclaw hummed. The buck slowly lost interest in the two cats. It bent back down and chewed on a twig just beginning to bud, tricked by the heatwave. Rattlepelt took a deep breath. Her chest still hurt from the shock.

"We should go home," Rattlepelt suddenly said.

"What?" Wildclaw scoffed. "We're barely past mid-morning. Why turn back now?" Rattlepelt couldn't answer her mate. Did she even have an answer?

"Do you ever have a feeling that something bad is about to happen?" Rattlepelt asked. She jumped onto a large, mossy rock and spun in circles, trying to get comfortable among the limp leaves.

"Define 'something bad' for me," Wildclaw said. She joined Rattlepelt on top of the rock.

"We've had a lot of good in our lives lately," Rattlepelt groaned. "You've been a great mother to the toms."

"Now that I don't have a death wish anymore?" Wildclaw chuckled.

"You still get into some good scraps," Rattlepelt hummed, gently bunting her mate. "No, I just mean that even with… what happened with Lemmy, the two of us, we've been alright."

"Don't tell the rest of the Clan this," Wildclaw muttered, batting at the wet leaves under her, "but I get where Lemmy came from with killing Achilles and everything. It all spun out of control for her. I feel bad for her, even if she killed our Clanmates."

"It just makes me think," Rattlepelt groaned, "is it our turn next? When am I going to suffer some major loss again?"

"What do you mean?"

"When will tragedy strike the ones I love? Will one of my moms die? Will something happen to Shrewflame, or Whitepaw?" Rattlepelt pulled her fox pelt off. She was almost panting under its heat. "I feel like something's standing right behind me. Like I'm going to ruin everything."

"Is this about the Shardling? We keep telling you that wasn't your fault. It's not like you wanted to be possessed."

"It still happened, Wildclaw. It nearly broke me. Something's telling me that it will happen again. I know I sound crazy—"

"You don't sound crazy." Wildclaw leaned against Rattlepelt. "It's been a hard few moons. You've been stuck in camp. You're stressed. Why do you think I wanted to go on a walk with you?" Rattlepelt sighed. She forced the ripping, anxious itch in her chest out with her breath.

"You're right, you're right," Rattlepelt groaned.

"I always am," Wildclaw chirped.

"Don't gloat," Rattlepelt chuckled, shoving Wildclaw's muzzle down. Rattlepelt dragged her fox pelt back over her sensitive skin as a breeze made the bare branches dance. Rattlepelt could still smell the deer on the wind, but she smelled something else too, something pungent and stranger than any deer.

"Humans?" Wildclaw muttered, tasting the air. "Oh, those are definetely humans. Yuck." Wildclaw sneered at the smell.

"I hope they aren't setting more traps," Rattlepelt gulped. "Frostpaw almost stepped in one last moon!"

"Let's see if they are," Wildclaw suggested, hopping off the rock. "Keep low, alright?" Rattlepelt nodded. She and Wildclaw crept through the twigs and leaves, letting their noses lead them closer to where the WheatClan and AshClan borders met. As they pushed deeper into the forest, the humans soon became audible. There were two of them, with gangly meows that wavered in pitch. Rattlepelt kept low, the tail of her fox pelt dragging on the undergrowth. Wildclaw, nimble as ever, slipped silently closer to the noisy humans.

The two humans stomped around the corner of the three Clans. They were young from their size, with the tight-fitting leathers that typically marked males. Rattlepelt marveled at the leather's bright colors and strange patterns, unlike anything artisans could achieve. The smaller of the two held his front limbs close to his chest, keeping two small forms steady while his taller friend followed and yowled.

"I've never seen humans fight each other," Wildclaw muttered as the smaller human hissed at his companion. The black masses resting in the human's embrace shifted. Tiny mews broke through the human screeching. Rattlepelt held her breath when two sets of baby blue eyes peeled over the leather. The small human had two black kits!

The storyteller in Rattlepelt imagined what the humans could be doing. Were they yowling about the kits? Who were the kits? Did the humans take them from their mother? Did they even know their mother? Rattlepelt's anxieties slipped away, overshadowed by overwhelming curiosity focused on the strange unknowable creatures called humans.

The small human suddenly made a quick, snappy hiss at his companion. His strange eyes focused on the undergrowth… the undergrowth where Rattlepelt and Wildclaw lurked. The pair stayed utterly still, eyes locked on the smaller human. The small human slowly crouched, still staring at the two mollies. He made a soft, mouse-like chirp that drew all of Rattlepelt's attention. It made her stomach growl, as though she spotted a mouse shuffling through the leaves. Her ears turned straight on to the human. Rattlepelt caught herself before she slipped a paw out of her hiding spot. Whatever strange magic the human was wielding, Rattlepelt could not give in!

The human continued making that alluring sound as he carefully placed the two kittens on the ground. They couldn't have been more than half a moon old. The kits crawled on top of each other, stunned by the sudden lack of warmth. The human crept back like a hunter. He crouched at the side of a tree fox-lengths away from the kits.

"Is this some type of trap?" Rattlepelt asked.

"What kind of trap uses kits?" Wildclaw muttered. "I think… they want us to take the kits."

"I thought humans loved kittens."

"Maybe they don't want to take care of them."

"So they leave them in the forest? How cruel."

"But they aren't, they see us. I think they're looking for Clan cats." Did the humans know about the Clans? Did they know about RippleClan?

The tall human snapped at his smaller friend and grabbed his shoulder. The human spun and shoved him off, sneering. They yipped and growled at each other, with their mangled paws waving wildly at the kits. Rattlepelt steadied her jaw. She crept out of the undergrowth. The nose of her fox pelt touched the light first. Wildclaw snuck alongside her. The humans no longer noticed them.

Rattlepelt snatched the scruff of the bulkier kit, a tom with a slight smoky pattern across his pelt. Wildclaw grabbed his brother, who looked nearly identical. As soon as they had a good hold of the kits, Wildclaw and Rattlepelt ran. The two humans startled, finally aware of what the cats were up to, but they had no chance of catching them.

Rattlepelt and Wildclaw only slowed down when the ocean peeked between the trees. They skidded up to a sandy beach and dropped the kits. Both toms were shockingly quiet, merely huffing at the sudden stop and trying to get their bearings. Rattlepelt panted hard. Wildclaw groaned, stretching her hind legs.

"Well," Wildclaw huffed, "I think we found your bad feeling." She waved a paw at the kits.

"You know this isn't what I meant," Rattlepelt muttered. She sat beside the two black kits. Her fox pelt slipped off from all that running. The tail floated on top of the kittens' heads. The bulky tom's permanently unsheathed claws snagged one of the dried lavender petals woven into the fur. So much like Shrewflame.

"I don't know about you," Wildclaw hummed, slipping next to her mate, "but this feels like one of those moments StarClan designs just for us." Wildclaw dipped her paw in front of the smaller black tom, who instinctively crawled to it. He latched his tiny muzzle onto Wildclaw's toe. "The next step seems pretty clear to me. Ready to be a mom again, Rattle?"

Wildclaw was right. The next step was very clear.

(Rattlepelt: 74, female, artisan, thoughtful, leather artist)

(Rabbitjoy: 127, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

(Frostpaw: 7, female, artisan apprentice, strict, lover of stories)

(Gingerpaw: 7, male, cleric apprentice, childish, curious about humans, moss-ball hunter)

(Wildclaw: 83, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

(Midnightkit: 0, male, kit, polite)

(Valleykit: 0, male, kit, quiet)

Mosspounce died of an infected wound.

[Image ID: Ravenweaver, Trumpetspore, Washington, Wolfgaze, and Weevilsiht crowd around Mosspounce.]

---

"Lemmy better get here soon," Mosspounce muttered. His bandaged, sightless eyes gazed out of the medicine den. "She'll be… very upset if she misses this."

Mosspounce laid in the back of the medicine den, surrounded by his daughters and Trumpetspore. The other clerics all left the den, giving the family their privacy. Washington was still there, though; Mosspounce had insisted the old tom not leave. The glow of a yellow sunset dripped between the thin gaps in the wood, dappling Mosspounce's pelt. Trumpetspore practically laid in the nest with Mosspounce, curling around him. She whimpered as though he had already died. Whenever her voice rose to a cry, Weevilsight had to close her eyes and push back her sudden rage. She couldn't even think about her father. All she wanted was for her aunt to shut up.

When Mosspounce made his comment, Ravenweaver looked ready to join Trumpetspore in her pre-mature vigil. Wolfgaze's hazel eyes tightened. Weevilsight stuck her nose into Mosspounce's ear. For a moment, she was just a cleric again, checking on her sick patient. Mosspounce's ear burned.

"If she wanted to be here she wouldn't have…" Wolfgaze growled.

Wolfgaze bit her tongue, however, when Ravenweaver quietly snapped "She's still our mom, Wolf." Wolfgaze paced around the empty nests of the medicine den, keeping her supernatural gaze off her father. Ravenweaver crawled to the edge of Mosspounce's nest and rested her head by his sickly-smelling wounds. Her lavender crown fell onto Mosspounce's head. Mosspounce shifted just enough to nose Ravenweaver's forehead.

"Your old molly's just off hunting, Mossy," Washington suddenly coughed from his nest. "She's on her way." Mosspounce purred softly and groomed his daughter's head, unable to lift his own and properly share tongues. All the mollies in the den stared at the old gray tom.

"I don't know if we should lie to him, Washington," Wolfgaze muttered, squirming under Washington's wizened eye.

"He can't understand what's happening anymore," Weevilsight quietly explained. "He's too far gone."

"Don't say that, stop saying that," Trumpetspore whimpered. She buried her face in Mosspounce's back.

"It's happening, Trumpetspore!" Weevilsight suddenly hissed, the petals in her fur fluttering out as she turned to her grieving aunt. "And… and there's nothing else we can do for him." Weevilsight stepped back, forcing her sneer off her face as Trumpetspore wailed again. Trumpetspore clawed at the edge of Mosspounce's nest and shook so hard that Mosspounce moved as well. A painful buzz filled Weevilsight's chest and made her limbs ache. Her head burned with too many thoughts. There was nothing she could do. Not for Mosspounce, not for Lemmy. She was losing both of them in less than a moon.

"I'm not trying to intrude," Washington croaked, shaky paws pushing out from his nest, "but could you help me close to him?" Weevilsight took a while to move, even as Washington groaned under the simple yet mountainous effort of standing. Washington's groaning mixed with Trumpetspore's moans in a painful chorus that threatened to undo Weevilsight's remaining sanity. The tortoiseshell cleric slipped beside Washington and supported his large weight. With Weevilsight under him and his broken leg stiff and splinted at his side, Washington limped to Mosspounce's nest.

"You're a funny old flea-feast," Mosspounce whimpered as Washington fell next to him.

"I'm glad I could make you laugh," Washington purred, "even if we haven't known one another long." Washington set his paw against Mosspounce's shoulder. "I'm sorry to see you go. But this is a good death, in my eyes."

"A good death?" Wolfgaze huffed, marching in front of Washington. "What would be 'good' is if my father wasn't dying at all!"

"But he's dying with his family around him," Washington groaned, waving at the mollies crowded around Mosspounce. "That's more than many get."

"Hi again, Tempest," Mosspounce muttered, lifting his head slightly. "Have you met my mollies? They're good kits." Weevilsight's paws inched toward the exit. She needed to stay, she had to stay, yet her body pushed her outside. Still, she stayed long enough to catch her father's last words.

"Lemmy and I made some good, good kits…"

(Mosspounce: 52, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Trumpetspore: 52, female, warrior, nervous, makes the best pottery, good storyteller)

(Weevilsight: 26, female, cleric, daring, deep StarClan bond)

(Wolfgaze: 26, female, codekeeper, thoughtful, connection to StarClan, great speaker)

(Ravenweaver: 26, female, artisan, den builder, very clever)

(Washington: 219, male, elder, nervous, good mediator)

Mitespark and Wolverineheart have grown closer over time, relying on one another through the recent chaos. They decide to become mates. Wolverineheart’s littermates celebrate with the pair.

[Image ID: Mitespark speaks with Wolverineheart while Boughfur, Thundergale, and Brightreed stand behind their sister in support. Under Mitespark, it says + MATE: WOLVERINEHEART. Under Wolverineheart, it says + MATE: MITESPARK.]

(Mitespark: 33, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)

(Wolverineheart: 23, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)

(Boughfur: 23, female, historian, righteous, great climber)

(Thundergale: 23, female, teacher, adventurous, great hunter, good speaker)

(Brightreed: 23, female, warrior, righteous, student of art)

Moontide and Cobaltchaser don't move in time to avoid a large fir tree falling right on top of them. A patrol doesn't find them until they've both moved on to StarClan.

[Image ID: Moontide and Cobaltchaser are both StarClan spirits. Moontide says, "We need to see our sisters."]

(Moontide: 26, female, teacher, playful, excellent teacher)

(Cobaltchaser: 21, female, codekeeper, righteous, good cook, prey cleaner)

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trivialbob · 3 months ago

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Oooh, that felt good.

I take care of my appliances. The washing machine has a cleaning cycle I run on the first day of every month. My Outlook calendar reminds me to do this. How amusing that something which cleans things sometimes needs a little cleaning of its own.

My clothes dryer is aging but hanging in there. Before I start her I thoughtfully choose temperature and time settings so she doesn't run unnecessarily long nor does she roast my clothes. Not everyone who lives in this house is so thoughtful. This dryer is more than a door, a drum and one button. There are other buttons to correctly press to make her happy.

I check the lint trap, before and after each load of clothes. The outside vent is also cleaned often. This sort of maintenance means my clothes dry quickly and efficiently. Gaia smiles.

On Black Friday I ordered this drying vent cleaner kit. I just tried it and was surprised how much lint and dust I scraped free of the vent tube. I love getting things clean, and this did not disappoint me, other than making me think I should have had one of these years ago.

I bet my clothes will dry even more quickly now.

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sosouthernbeats · 1 day ago

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velarisdusk · 8 months ago

Text

Rushing or Dragging

Drummer! Azriel | Angst

word count: 317 content: | self harm, mental health issues, self-hatred, blood | summary: Consumed by self-doubt, a driven Azriel pushes himself to the brink in a relentless pursuit of perfection, trapped in an endless cycle of practice and pain. author's note: I've never written angst before so any and all critiques are welcome. Inspired by my rewatch of Whiplash (2014), watch it if you haven't, I think it's a great movie. ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The drum kit loomed before Azriel in the cramped practice room, a monument to his obsession. The drums beckoned, a siren's call of self-destruction. With each step closer, their siren song twisted, distorted, until what once was melody became cacophony. By the time he sat before them, they no longer sang; they screamed.

Each strike echoed off the soundproofed walls, a confession bouncing back at him. Every rhythm was an indictment of his inadequacy, amplified in the claustrophobic space. The music��once his salvation—had become his prison, bars forged from broken dreams and shattered confidence.

His mind spiraled, a tempest louder than any beat he could produce. Worthless. Fraud. Failure. The words pulsed in time with the metronome's unforgiving tick, a relentless mantra of self-loathing.

Memories assaulted him: his father's disgust, his brothers' pity, the crushing silence after his greatest performance. No applause. No recognition. Just the deafening roar of his own inadequacy.

Blood slicked the sticks, each impact a punishment for daring to dream. The pain was a reminder—of his limits, his flaws, his eternal shortcomings. Azriel embraced it, craved it. In agony, he found purpose.

As darkness crept at the edges of his vision, Azriel wondered if this would be the day the music finally consumed him whole. Part of him hoped it would.

Tears mingled with sweat, blurring his vision. The world faded, leaving only the punishing rhythm and the void in his chest where hope used to reside.

In this purgatory of endless, meaningless repetition, Azriel realized a terrifying truth: the music would never let him go, and he would never be enough.

The last note faded. Without pause, Azriel reset the metronome. Again. And again. And again. Hours stretched before him, an eternity of self-inflicted torment. In this windowless room, time lost all meaning. There was only the next repetition, the next chance to fail, the next punishment.

And Azriel played on.

#acotar #azriel #azriel acotar #drummer au #drummer azriel #drabble #acotar drabble #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #angst #acotar angst #azriel angst #azriel drabble

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sosouthernsoundkits · 4 months ago

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forgetmenauts · 2 years ago

Note

Howdy! Could we get a member introduction? I’d love to get to know y’all’s names and pronouns ^^

We actually did an essay and interview for the queer horror zine The Quiet Ones last year where we shared some fun intros! I've included screenshots of our intros here, but if you have a chance, you should check out the zine as well: it's run by a delightful group of queer authors and editors.

Here's the link to the issue with the Forgetmenauts feature: our bit starts on page 47.

(Fun fact: Kit is also an author and has had a couple of their short stories published in other issues of the zine, under their full name of Katharine Gripp. They're here and here if you want to check them out!)

Image text below the cut:

Walker Staples (they/them) Instrument(s): Guitar/Banjo/Vocals

Favorite scary movie or book: Let the Right One In.

Favorite cryptid: Jackalope. Who in the band is most likely to survive a horror movie, and why?: I think it's gonna be Tyler; most resources, best equipped for building booby traps.

Tyler Gary (he/him) Instrument(s): Clarinet, Saxophone, Trombone, Keys. Favorite scary movie or book: Recently I read Mexican Gothic and while it wasn't my all time favorite, it definitely captured some good haunting creepy vibes. Would recommend for the mushroom horror.

Favorite cryptid: The chupacabra. Who in the band is most likely to survive a horror movie, and why?: I'd be the second or third to die. “Quick everybody, I have a plan! All we have to do is...“ *Dies in a horrible dramatic way*. I think Abe would be last to die. He would disappear early on and we would think he's dead but he actually just went on a hike and came back at the end.

Abe Finkelstein (he/him) Instrument(s): Cello, un-mic'd backup vocals and banter, howling. Favorite scary movie or book: Oryx and Crake. And I listened to a great podcast about Midsommar but will probably never have the guts to watch it.

Favorite cryptid: The Baba Yaga house. Who in the band is most likely to survive a horror movie, and why?: Definitely Emma. She lives on a sailboat and is a great problem solver, and good at engineering. You might think I was on a hike but I was actually dead the WHOLE time.

Danielle (she/her) Instrument(s): Drums!

Favorite scary movie or book: I am scared easily and don't really watch horror movies! You

didn't ask about this, but my favorite scary-ish video games are The Last of Us and Dead Space.

Favorite cryptid: Loveland frog. Who in the band is most likely to survive a horror movie, and why?: Walker, they would out-maneuver the attacker/swarm/ pathogen/whatever the horror of the horror movie is.

Kit Gripp (they/she) Instrument(s): Mandolin, vocals.

Favorite scary movie or book: Sunshine by Robin McKinley (ok so it’s not that scary but there’s lots of blood and vampires, so it counts).

Favorite cryptid: Nessie. Who in the band is most likely to survive a horror movie, and why?: Probably Collin. If it were something corporeal, he'd knock it out with a baseball bat. If it were an angry ghost, he'd talk to it and de-escalate the situation.

Emma Williams Instrument(s): Bass.

Favorite scary movie or book: House of Leaves.

Favorite cryptid: Selkie. Who in the band is most likely to survive a horror movie, and why?: I think Walker would be the most likely to survive because they are very nimble and quick.

Collin (he/him) Instrument(s): Drums!

Favorite scary movie or book: Hard to pick a favorite scary movie! Maybe Let the Right One In (the original one). It's rare that horror films are at once so beautiful, disturbing, and sympathetic to the villain.

Favorite cryptid: Michigan Dogman. Who in the band is most likely to survive a horror movie, and why?: Kit survives the horror movie, for sure. Zombie flick? Kit decapitates the shambling hordes with lethal pirouettes. Teen slasher film? Kit distracts the villain with some concocted-on-the- spot YA fiction just long enough that he doesn't even notice he's walking right into his own poetic and ironic death. Vampire horror show? Please. Kit was the vampire. Kit was always the vampire.

#the forgetmenauts #get to know the band #the quiet ones #queer music

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