#wednesday dividers

[dreamland-gallery]

Wednesday dividers

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[draculasdaughterrr]

⭒ ⋆🕷️jenna ortega as wednesday addams⋆ฺ࿐🦇 ࣪⁎˚

[voxofthevoid]

Shibuya Swap Wednesday #1. Let me start by putting on my clown makeup 🤡

My plan was a few chapters of fun, filthy porn, with the dimension travel adding a particular kind of spice. One chapter each for Canon!Satoru/Alt!Yuuji, Alt!Satoru/Canon!Yuuji, Alt!Satoru/Alt/Yuuji, and Canon!Satoru/Canon!Yuuji.

I'm 6.5k in, and not only has there not been a single dick in sight, but I've also somehow outlined a scene where Nanami, Shouko, Megumi, and Nobara meet alt!Yuuji. I haven't reached that scene either.

This is going to be more than four chapters. Titled this (this is also part of the story) how the story changes, and well, the story sure is changing on me.

But I'm having fun! Click through to find around 1.6k of SFW Yuuji porn, ft. all my favorite JJK characters—Yuuji, Gojou, and Kenjaku.

“Good night, Gojou Satoru. Let us meet again in the—”

The parasite in Suguru’s body falls abruptly quiet, familiar eyes widening in an expression that should be familiar, is familiar, except Satoru’s mind keeps rejecting it, desperate to divorce everything about the creature in front of him from the long-gone reality of his best friend.

It’s distracting.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice the other person until there are hands on his shoulders and legs pressed against his back, somehow evading the uncomfortably warm, fleshy grip of the cursed object restraining him to bracket him in human warmth.

“What are you doing to my cute little student, Mum?” says a semi-familiar, impossible voice. “And why are you wearing Suguru-kun?”

The parasite’s face is frozen in an expression that’s half shock, half rapture.

“Oh?” they say, little of their evident shock showing in their voice. “What is this?”

“Why is the wrong question, I guess,” the newcomer says, and it’s there again, a pervasive sense of wrongness at the sound of that familiar–unfamiliar voice. “How? When, maybe.”

The parasite’s grin widens, exposing a revolting amount of teeth. It’s an expression of pure delight, utterly deranged.

Satoru’s self-aware enough to know he shouldn’t judge, but that’s never stopped him.

“Not quite,” the parasite tells the newcomer. “When isn’t enough either. Gojou Satoru is your student, you said? That doesn’t sound right to me.”

“That so?” the newcomer says mildly, their voice still making the insides of Satoru’s skull ache. One of the hands on Satoru’s shoulder slides along the slope of it, gently skimming up the side of his neck to fist tightly in his hair. His head is yanked back, the world briefly a blur. “He has grown a bit. What have you gotten yourself into now, Satoru?”

Even upside down, the newcomer’s face is distinctive, unmistakable, even as it makes Satoru’s mind writhe with the same eerie dissonance of his voice. Pink hair, warm eyes—familiar. Scarred flesh, four eyes—unfamiliar.

“Huh,” Satoru says intelligently.

The Six Eyes are just eyes now, the blockade on Satoru’s cursed energy stripping them of their extraordinary perception, but even with this disconcertingly pared-down vision, Satoru knows what he’s looking at—who he’s looking at.

Familiar lips with an unfamiliar scar on one corner curl into a kind smile. “You still get into the worst situations, don’t you? Some things just don’t change.”

That’s unfair. Satoru hasn’t been in situations in years. He is the situation.

But all that is stuck in his throat, every second he spends looking at this person cementing the reality of him in all of Satoru’s remaining senses.

“Yuuji,” he breathes.

It is and it isn’t. This is Yuuji’s face and Yuuji’s voice and Yuuji’s smile, but the man looking down at Satoru has unfamiliar scars and four active eyes on a face as old as his own, maybe older.

Man, not boy.

Yuuji, not his Yuuji.

“Me,” Yuuji agrees calmly. He’s still smiling, and it reaches his eyes too—all four of them, all that warm brown. “Don’t look so worried, Satoru. I’m here. Everything will be alright.”

No one’s said that to Satoru in a long time. No one’s needed to.

He’s not enjoying the role reversal.

The way this drastically different Yuuji is touching him doesn’t help. The hand fisted in Satoru’s hair is still there, pulling at his scalp as it keeps his head tilted back. An experimental attempt to straighten his head yields nothing. If Yuuji notices the resistance, he doesn’t show it, continuing to hold Satoru by the hair and peer down at him with that eerily serene smile.

And his other hand has crept from Satoru’s shoulder to his face, cupping the side of it. The fingers are curled under his chin, digging delicately into the underside of his jaw. The thumb is moving, butterfly-soft strokes along Satoru’s cheekbone. There’s an unconscious ease to the motions that makes Satoru’s skin grow hot and electric under them.

It’s not a reassuring touch. It’s possessive.

It’s certainly not the way his Yuuji has ever touched him.

This one looks and acts like he’s never known anything else.

“I hate to interrupt this…moment,” the parasite says, not a hint of apology in their dry voice—Suguru’s voice, even his tone, and it strikes Satoru that their desecration of his friend’s corpse, while revolting, doesn’t make his head hurt the way this older, darker Yuuji does. “But would you terribly mind telling me precisely how you got here, Itadori Yuuji? You’re making a bit of a mess, you see.”

There’s a low thud from the side, and another voice calls out, “Getou?”

Yuuji’s eyes shift to the left, all four narrowed. “Oh. It’s still alive here.”

The patchwork curse steps into Satoru’s limited line of vision—normal enough, human enough, he’s sure, but his eyes have been more since he was born.

It says, “Hey, what’s this? Itadori—”

It dies.

One moment, it’s there, tall and manic. The next, there’s just blood splatter on the floor, unusually red for a curse.

“Now I’ve made a mess,” Yuuji says. “In my view, it’s a cleanup, but I’m pretty sure you won’t agree, Mum.”

Mum.

Yuuji called them that earlier too. Satoru didn’t not notice, but he was understandably preoccupied with cute little student and Suguru-kun and the fucking dissonant voice.

“Why are you calling them that?” Satoru asks, and the angle of his throat doesn’t allow for easy speaking, his voice coming out strained, but Yuuji makes no move to release his grip on Satoru’s hair, and another attempt to wrench free of that grasp only earns him a tighter, differently angled grip and a frown that looks more confused than anything.

“Because—”

“Years of planning,” the parasite cuts in, and their voice is quiet, even soft, but Satoru recognizes very well the way Suguru’s voice would get when he was furious. “Centuries. Do you know what you’ve done?”

Two of Yuuji’s eyes flicker up; the others stay on Satoru.

And Satoru’s eyes are immeasurably weaker in this state, but he’s dead certain he’s not imagining the flash of red in the eyes Yuuji’s trained on the parasite.

“You used to say a wrench in the plans was an opportunity,” Yuuji says, and his smile is finally gone, but the considering expression on his face is just as alien. “You can’t have changed that much. What year is it anyway?”

“Twenty-eighteen,” Satoru answers, an automatic response. It’s not even the grip on his hair that’s keeping him staring at Yuuji now; he can’t look away.

“Thank you, Satoru,” Yuuji says warmly. His voice is far less warm when he adds, “You’ve lived too long, Mum.”

“What a cruel thing to hear from one’s son.”

That’s what snaps Satoru out of it.

He wrenches his head to the side, a hell of a lot more violent than the half-hearted attempts earlier, and Yuuji’s fingers do tighten at first, sending sharp pain shuddering through Satoru’s scalp, but then he lets go, even the hand on Satoru’s face falling away. Satoru still struggles to look away, strangely mesmerized by how Yuuji’s familiar face has been shaped into alien lines by the passage of time, but he manages, glaring at Yuuji and then at the parasite.

“Either get this over with or explain yourself. I’m not in the mood for games.”

It takes the parasite a long moment to pry their eyes away from Yuuji to look at Satoru, but Satoru’s briefly disgusted by how well he understands that reluctance.

“I have no explanations for you, Gojou Satoru,” they tell him. “Why don’t you ask your student—except he’s no longer that, is he?”

“Oh.” It comes from behind Satoru. He doesn’t look up. “Is that what I am here? I never thought you’d be a teacher, Satoru.”

“I hear he’s not very good at it,” the parasite provides helpfully. The earlier anger is entirely gone from their demeanor, both their voice and expression sporting the same faux-friendliness with which they were talking to Satoru before Yuuji showed up, but Satoru’s spent a lifetime living in the details, and he doesn’t miss how the whites of their eyes show a little too much, the edges shot with thin red veins. There’s a fervid edge to the way they look at Yuuji—a fascination that borders on hunger.

It flares again, that perverse understanding.

“I’m sure he’s trying,” Yuuji says. He pats Satoru, a light touch at the top of his head like he’s a puppy. It stuns him silent. “You always work hard when it matters, don’t you, Satoru?”

“Of course I do,” Satoru says without thinking.

Yuuji fucking ruffles his hair. “I’m not sure I’d like to be your student though.”

“Hey!”

Yuuji laughs.

And that—

Satoru knows that laugh. It’s Yuuji’s laugh—loud and full-bodied and real.

It’s no revelation. Satoru has seen and accepted a myriad of miracles and horrors over the course of his life. And there have been no explanations yet, no answers, but this surreal conversation has revealed enough.

This isn’t his Yuuji, but it is Yuuji, from a world where Satoru’s the student. And it’s not jujutsu theory that flies through his head, but pure science fiction—the multiverse, mirrored souls in worlds that splinter further and further apart.

The hunger in the parasite’s eyes says they also know.

Satoru hates how they look at Yuuji.

“What did you do to him?” they ask suddenly, in the resounding silence following Yuuji’s laughter. “I can’t sense him at all, but that was his technique you used.”

The hand in Satoru’s hair flexes, nails digging into his scalp. For a moment, they feel unnaturally sharp.

“I ate him,” Yuuji murmurs, barely loud enough to be audible. “Everything he was now belongs to me.”

[allmyey3s]

Wip Wednesday

Well it's been a while since I posted any writing here, huh? I've been dragging on this side chapter thing I'm working on since January. It's already over 4k words and they haven't even really started yet 😭

But after way too long our favorite monster boy is back! Well, not really. But you'll just have to figure it out on your own hehe :)

Anyways this chapter is gonna be extremely fucked up so this is your warning!

Have a little sneak peak as a treat (because you won't hear from me again until October)

"You know pretty girls shouldn't go in the woods all by themselves," the monster purred tauntingly. They suddenly yanked him lower so his now once again hard dick is level with their mouth. Swiss grunts and shakes his head in order to clear his swimming vision. "I'm not a girl," he hisses, baring his teeth when his eyes finally focus on the beast again.

The monster is staring up at him, that content smirk still on their face. "Oh really? And what makes you think that?" they asked in a sarcastic, almost mocking tone, raising an eyebrow.

Swiss scoffs and twists violently in his bindings a few times. "I don't know, maybe the lack of tits and feminine behavior? What makes you think I am one?" he spits and snaps his teeth at them with the last sentence.

The beast laughs loudly with a full chest. Their eyes glint with mischief, but something darker could be seen beneath it. They run their tongue over their fangs bared in a smirk before speaking. "Well, that can be fixed, can't it?"

Before Swiss can question what they mean or come up with something snarky to bite back with, a slightly unpleasant tingling sensation shoots up his thighs and further into his body. His eyes widen with confusion as he looks down only to find a green glow emanating from the creature's hands, where they're wrapped around his thighs. He doesn't really have time to focus on the glow though, because next thing he knows his raging boner disappears.

He doesn't go soft, no, it just vanishes. His entire dick disappears into thin air, well, a trail of quickly dissipating green sparkles. His balls follow suit, and just for a moment his crotch is nothing but a flap of taut skin.

That moment doesn't last very long though. Just before he can really take a good look at the smooth bump that remained, the skin splits into two. Swiss gasps loudly, twitching away yet unable to tear his eyes away from the sight. He doesn't feel any pain, it's all just weirdly numb and tingly, but it's not like he can really pay attention to the sensation while he grows a full vagina before his very own eyes.

He snaps his head back up to look at the beast with a mix of bewilderment, disgust, and borderline panic. "What the actual fuck?" he chokes out, and to his surprise, it comes out high-pitched. His voice sounds higher than it did just a minute ago, not squeaky, but high and girly.

This new discovery only serves to fuel his shock and confusion, and the beast seems to have taken note of the additional reaction. They once again laugh with a full chest, the cackles dripping with amusement and satisfaction, as if they're receiving just what they've been craving for months.

Much to Swiss' dismay however, his transformation is not yet finished. When he finally forces himself to look down again he finds another pair of surprises on his chest.

He's grown tits.

They're not small either, his estimate would be a solid C cup and growing.

His eyes dart from his crotch to his chest repeatedly, brows furrowing and face distorting with disgust. Only then does he register the discomfort in his hips. It's a faint, dull ache, settled deep in his bones. He's felt it before, it's similar to.... growing pains?

His eyes narrow as he focuses his attention to one of his hip bones, and not so unexpectedly, he figures it's moved. His hips have visibly grown, widened and stretched to a typical, perhaps slightly more shapely woman's build.

"What the fuck..." he whispers again, voice breaking a little on the curse, as he slowly raises his head back up to hesitantly meet the beast's gaze. He recoils at the sound of his own voice, all feminine and wrong.

The monster laughs again in return, then leans down and forward slightly, invading the ghoul's personal space. "Well, I think we've taken care of 'lack of tits'," they purr smugly, tone dripping with satisfaction. "What else did you say? Feminine behavior?"

Once again, before Swiss can snark something back, he's being moved, the vines around him shifting and creaking slightly. He's suddenly hanging with his belly exposed to the ground. The position is more uncomfortable than moments ago, the vines digging into his sore hips and his equally tingling stomach.

A clawed hand sneaks into his hair, grips it tightly and forcibly tilts his head down in order to look into the water of the nearby lake - since when is there a lake in this part of the forest?

"I can teach you how to be a good girl, alright."

He stares off into the depths, eyes squinting as he tries to make out whatever the creature wants him to see in the pool of turquoise. "I don't-" he mumbles, then cuts himself off with a gasp upon finally seeing it.

Staring back up at him from the pristine lake surface is his own reflection. Except it looks virtually nothing like him.

With horror he realizes he's wearing the body of a fully developed female. Shoulders narrower than before, two massive tits on his chest, slimmer waist, wide birthing hips and large thighs. His skin is all smooth and soft, only emphasizing the rough texture of the vines holding him captive.

His wide eyes finally travel up to his face and his bewildered expression. He quickly takes notice of his newly moulded face. His mustache and stubble have disappeared, giving way to soft, supple skin. His lips are slightly more puffy and pink-toned than usual, his nose smaller, his face overall more soft and feminine.

Everything is in extremes, there is no subtleness. He looks like a hyper-feminine curvy girl. Once again, as if it's the only thing he can muster up to say, "What the fuck."

Once again, for the hundredth time, the beast gives a booming laugh in reaction. "Like what you see I presume?" they question while making a show of snaking their hands up the ghoul's body. They look so large splayed over his stomach, up on his ribcage, until both wrap around each of his newly grown tits. They grope and knead, causing Swiss to squirm in an attempt to get away from the strange new sensation. They suddenly pinch and pull hard on the nipples, making him flinch and hiss. "Ow- hey!"

The sound of liquid splashing onto the unmoving surface of the lake makes his tightly shut eyes open. At first, he sees nothing, until a faint opaque fleck in the water catches his eye. The beast repeats the action, and with his very own eyes, he can see pearly white droplets drip from his nipples, splashing down into the water.

"Woah- hey! What the-"

"What the fuck," the creature mocks him and tweaks one of his nipples again. "If that's all your pretty little mouth can say I'll put it to a better use."

"Do not dare make me deepthroat a vine again!" Swiss bites, making sure to let all of his frustration bleed into his tone.

The creature hesitates for just a second, and he swears a speck of confusion washes through its expression. But it's gone just as quickly, and just to be more petty, they do exactly that.

"Thank you for the idea, little girl," they purr as they flick their wrist, causing a vine snaking up the ghoul's sternum to plummet straight into his mouth, right past his lips, teeth and tongue.

Swiss feels tears well up in his eyes.

[eridanidreams]

WIP Wednesday

Tagging: @bearlytolerant, @silurisanguine, @aro-pancake, @fangbangerghoul, @atonalginger, @aislingdmdt, @fshenkoescape, @ninjaofnaps, @lisa-and-shadow, @a-cosmic-elf, @thatsgoodsquishy0, @hockeydemon42, @fomagranfalloon, @violenceandviolets, @therealgchu, @staticpallour and @artemis-crimson

Today, I'm putting the final touches on the next chapter of Odysseus Gambit and hammering the next chapter of stars through my fingers like grains of sand into shape, so what I have is a future draft chapter of Odysseus Gambit!

Adam swung the scope back, his finger trembling on the trigger. One more shot and he could end this farce. But Sloane was picking herself up, though her shoulder was bloody and her right arm hung limp.

«I always knew you were a coward,» she spat, the words coming through clear on the infolink. Lermontov darted in, swiping with his knife, and she slapped it away left-handed. «Not so easy when I’m not hanging like a butchered calf, is it?» The Russian stumbled back a few paces, the sneering arrogance finally replaced with fear, and Adam moved his finger back to the trigger guard.

Lermontov took a few more cautious steps backward; by now, he was only a few steps from the sarcophagus wall. Sloane matched him, step for step, a wounded lioness on the prowl. He snarled something—Adam, lip-reading, could only make out the word suka—and flung himself at her in an all-out attack. She swayed back—the knife scored a line of red along her ribs—and drove her fist into his chest in a blow that was all power, no grace. Lermontov had barely started to fold in upon himself when her left foot slammed into his gut hard enough to smash him through the crumbling concrete and metal behind him.

Adam’s brain itched in the way that suggested his cybereyes were picking up something that his visual cortex couldn’t understand. Lermontov struggled to his feet, a pale shadow backlit by a dim Cherenkov-blue radiance that somehow illuminated nothing. He took one faltering step toward daylight… Adam froze, scope riveted on the hole, as black hands coalesced out of the darkness and wrapped around Lermontov’s arms. Lermontov’s mouth opened in a soundless scream. Sloane’s heel caught on the cracked concrete and she fell, and all she did was scrabble backward, desperately away from that. There was something oddly fluid about those hands, blacker-than-black, like a black hole had taken form in flesh, swallowing everything around it. They were pulling Lermontov into the sarcophagus, inexorably, step by step… and then the white blur of his face melted into nothingness and nothing remained but the blue-edged darkness.

Below him, Sloane wavered to her feet. Her harsh breathing, punctuated by static, echoed in his infolink. She glanced down at her wrist, then shook her head and started looking around her. “You need to get out of there,” he rasped. She shook her head again.

“Can’t,” her voice crackled with static. “—patch that up.” As if on cue, the radiation alarms went off, keening like air-raid sirens.

“Shit,” he muttered. A quick scan of the area showed Lermontov’s goons running the hell away—well, he supposed he would too, if his boss had just gotten tossed into a nuclear reactor. He tossed the rifle aside and took the quick way down; he tried not to flinch at the way the Icarus rippled and flared and threw little aurorae around him.

Sloane was wrenching open one of the heavy lockers that dotted the area; she pulled out something that looked like a cross between a flare gun and a grenade launcher. “Get *crackle*ther one,” she said roughly. Adam threw himself into a dead run; ahead of him, Sloane had gotten closer than he liked to the sarcophagus. She braced the gun awkwardly on her left hip—he wondered why her Sentinel hadn’t healed the shoulder wound—and fired. It impacted at the top of the breach, releasing a viscous golden substance that oozed down and hardened quickly. Adam vaguely remembered reading something about that—as the sarcophagus decayed, and with the ongoing problems funding the New Safe Confinement structure, they’d had to find a stop-gap to quickly seal any breaches. He grabbed the second launcher on the run; oddly heavy for its size, its shells contained a boron-doped resin that cured quickly when exposed to hard radiation.

They worked quickly but meticulously, building the patch from the outside in, alert for—“Did you see—?” he muttered, covering a bit that looked just a little too dark.

“Yeah.” Her voice shook. “I don’t know, and I don’t want to know.” She fired a final shot, then tossed her launcher aside. “Out.”

Adam fired off his last shot. “Same. Let’s get the hell out of here.” He barely managed two steps before Sloane pressed an arm to her stomach and doubled over, vomiting helplessly. “Fuck!” He reached for her arm, but she waved him away.

“Radiation. Nothing to be done for it,” she grated. “Sentinel’s holding.” Her lips pulled back in a bloody death’s-head grin. “Not a lot of bone marrow left to poison, so that’s a plus.” She staggered, went down to a knee. “Jensen.” She waved him away a second time. “No time. Go. Exfil plan… B.” She coughed, spitting more bright blood. “I’ll… meet you at the RV point.”

Adam didn’t need his CASIE to know she was lying through her bloodied teeth.

[krembruleed]

[beri-allen]

wip rec: wyler edition - part 1

so, i was going through my bookmark on ao3, and i realized that some of the fics are wips that haven't been updated for a long time. that's why i'm making this list of wip fics that i love and haven't been updated for a long time: wyler edition!

disclaimer: while i do hope that they're not abandoned, i understand if the authors don't feel like continuing their fics or if they don't have time to do so. i didn't make this list to force anyone to write. i just want to share a few stories that i love and hope that other readers will appreciate them as much as i do <3

without further ado:

my unconquerable soul by melpomenemuse summary: an insight into wednesday and tyler’s relationship through the season finale and post season 1. my commentary: probably one of the earliest wyler fics that i read? back when there were only 2-3 pages of fics under the tag lol.

euphoric in some stranger delight by dandybear summary: 30-year-old wednesday and tyler preparing their upcoming nuptial + flashbacks of their relationship throughout the years. my commentary: i LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE this future fic so much; i can never shut up about it. bi4bi wyler and wednesday/bianca enthusiasts should read this.

a girl and her monster of woe by cryinlikecassandra summary: post-s1 wednesday learning how to become hyde's master. tags include: domme wednesday addams. my commentary: enid/bianca enthusiasts should read this.

grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt series (kudzu, draw the cat eye sharp enough to kill a man, the way i wear my noose (like a necklace)) by pansexual_intellectual summary: the series started with pre-s1 tyler, then continued with post-s1 wednesday in the addams manor and tyler's trial. my commentary: another one of my ultimate faves. all 3 parts are finished, but there's no follow-up yet. kudzu (and cat eye) can be very triggering to some. please be advised and read the tags wisely.

haunted heart by mistresswinter summary: another future fic. started with wyler's wedding, followed by a flashback to their tumultuous relationship. my commentary: so clearly, i have a weakness for future and/or domestic wyler fics lol. i don't usually like fics with oc but the author's writing is very engaging, i don't mind the oc in this fic at all.

PART 1 | PART 2

[chairwritexv]

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇʀ | ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛ ɢᴜɪᴅʟɪɴᴇs | ᴡʜᴏ ɪ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ғᴏʀ | ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

☏﹏﹏﹏[ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛ sᴛᴀᴛᴜs

❥ ᴏɴᴇsʜᴏᴛs :: 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 ❥ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴs :: 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 ❥ ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇs/ʙʟᴜʀʙs :: 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 ❥ ᴍᴀᴛᴄʜᴜᴘs :: 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍

[patchworkgargoyle]

wip wednesday ♠

Tagged by @cuoredimuschio, thanks friend!!

This will be... almost entirely OC wips (with two that feature at least one of the Corroded Coffin boys from Stranger Things), sorry folks. But also not sorry. The OC brainrot is strong.

rules: send me the name of one of the wips below, and i'll write and post three new sentences for you! (I encourage anyone to send multiple if they want!)

the wips:

samdom: mic check (pom!verse)

freakdom: the boy whose bass is big and bold (pom!verse)

samdom: dinner n a show (pom!verse)

Songwriting (pom!verse)

rory x river: river rock (fey!au)

non-obligatory tags: @steves-strapcollection @tboybuck (solely just in case you want to see some snippets) and @nullshocked (idk if you do tag games though so feel free to ignore!!) If anyone else wants to join, please do!! You can say I tagged you!

the snippet: mic check

(Note: Tig and Sam belong to Ger!!)

A large hand grabbed him by the shoulder. Tig tucked Dom into his side so he could bend to shout into Dom's ear. “Come on, you flirt,” he teased over the noise.

“Jealous?” Dom shot back, smirking up at Tig and letting him pull them away. Tig laughed fondly. He wasn't jealous. Dom really fucking wished he was.

The roar of the crowd faded, replaced by the buzz of the crew getting ready to pack up their gear. He and Tig handed off their instruments to the roadies waiting for them, and after that Dom was more than content to let Tig guide him back to the green room to decompress, though his energy was still at its peak. He wanted to bounce around, be a nuisance, burn it off in a flash fire.

Dom spotted a familiar figure about to pass them. Sam had that smear of black under his chin still, now smudged a bit down his throat. Dom wanted to bite it and learn what Sam sounded like when he felt the points of his teeth in his skin.

Tilting his own chin up, Dom gestured at it and purred, “Got a little something, darling.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, a small upward tick to his lips. “I know,” was all he said.

They held each other's gaze as they passed. Dom swore there was a palpable tension pulling him in.

“I could help you get it off.”

Sam's gaze was heavy, unhurried, as he looked Dom up and down, and it was driving Dom insane. He slowed down, forcing Tig to match his pace, but Sam didn't stop.

“I bet you could,” he said, a little extra something in his voice.

But then he turned onto the stage and out of sight. Dom wanted to scream, but just gave a heavy, frustrated huff.

“Struck out once again,” Tig said, laughing, and Dom elbowed him in the ribs for it, making him grunt.

[wednesday-the-writer]

(not) Okay

Stranger Things | Steddie | One-shot, Hurt/Comfort | 960

@ wednesday-the-lover 2023, do not repost, modify or translate my work, carrd link

summary: Steve vists Eddie in the hospital, yearning ensues<3

requests/inspo: 'i just wanted to make sure you're okay.'

warnings: Wounds, swearing, mild sexual humour

a/n: ooooh the pressure, first fic posted on this account /hj

Okay was probably the last word Eddie Munson would use to describe his situation right now. He was hooked up to a bunch of wires and machines he didn’t even know the names of, his stomach hurt like a bitch and he was handcuffed to his hospital bed, and not in a fun way. A cop had been stationed at his door since he’d arrived, and how he’d arrived? He had no idea. The last thing he remembered was throbbing pain, demobats and blacking out in Dustin’s arms. 

“Hey, would you just let me through, man?” The sound of a scuffle sounded outside, it sounded like someone had been pushed against his door. 

“Only close relatives can go in at this time, sir,” the police officer said tiredly. 

“Would you just-”

“God, just let him in?” Eddie called out to the two. 

“Sorry sir, that’s not allowed,” the officer called back. 

“You have my permission, man, give him a break.”

“It’s protocol, sir. An permission from a murderer isn’t exactly reassuring.”

“SUSPECTED!” The voice on the other side yelled. “Suspected murderer.”

“Harrington,” Eddie muttered under his breath. “Sorry about that officer,” Eddie raised his voice again. “My uncle must have forgotten to tell you, he wanted to send Steve in to check up on me while he’s at work. He misses the visiting hours sometimes.”

“Is this true, sir?” 

“Yeah, yeah that’s true,” the panic sapped out of Steve’s voice.

The officer was silent for a few moments, “I suppose I could give you a few minutes.” 

There was a click as the door unlocked and a creak when it opened, and there stood the man himself - Steve Harrington. His hair was ruffled, greasy and unkempt - which was strange considering the amount of pride he took in it - and his outfit was far from his normal style; a black sweatshirt and dark grey jeans. To put it nicely, he was a mess. 

“What’s up, man?” Eddie was the first to break the awkward silence that had settled over the hospital room. 

“I… uh, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he shuffled awkwardly, eyeing the camera in the corner of the hospital room. 

“Never better!” The curly-haired man replied sarcastically. 

“What’s with those?” Steve motioned to the handcuffs that tied Eddie down to the bed. 

“Oh these?” Eddie shook his hands a little, making the metal clang against the bed frame. “I’m a felon, Harrington, they’re not exactly gonna let me run free. Just wish I was wearing them under better circumstances,” he lusted jokingly. 

“Keep it in your pants, Munson,” Steve dragged a plastic chair from the side of the room over to the bed. “So…” 

“So?”

The two held eye contact for a few drawn-out moments. Eddie’s mind went blank, focused on every detail of the eyes of the man in front of him. The intricate lines, the peanut brown colour with a ghostly pale green tinge to it, the way he squinted under the harsh hospital lighting. Eddie’s eyes darted around the room, looking for something else to focus on, the flutter of butterflies in his torn-up stomach filling him with anxious dread. 

“So, what have you been up to, man?” The bed-ridden boy asked blandly. 

“Oh, um, not much really,” Steve’s gaze turned to the floor. “Just helping out around town, lots of people are homeless from the, uh.. Earthquake.”

“That’s sweet man, that’s… real good of ya.” 

“Is it bad?” Steve cut to the chase, his eyes looking up at Eddie’s and then down to the man’s bandaged stomach, loosely covered by a black singlet. 

“Wish I knew,” he sighed. “Hurts like hell, but I haven’t seen it since.. Well, I haven’t seen it at all, really.” 

Steve scooted forward, his hands hovering over Eddie’s hips at the hem of his singlet, “May I?” 

“By all means.” 

Eddie’s heart jolted when he felt Steve’s fingers brush against his hips and lift up his shirt, folding it up over his chest. His fingertips traced over the bandages, finding the spot where the nurses had tucked in the end to stop it from unraveling and tugging it out, slowly undoing the bandage. He slid his hand under Eddie’s back and lifted him slightly, pulling the bandage out from underneath him and finally lifting up the bloodied dressing to reveal two large, nasty gashes. Steve’s mouth opened slightly, speechless.

“There’s some around my chest too, I can feel it,” Eddie stared up at the roof as he felt Steve lift his shirt a little more, tracing over the bandages there too but not removing them. 

Steve was silent as he took in the extent of Eddie’s wounds. Shallow scrapes on his face, paired with deeper ones that trickled down his neck, more scrapes and gashes over his arms, whatever the hell had happened to his chest and the two deep gashes on his stomach, plus whatever else there might be over the rest of his body. All the wounds still looked bloodied and wet, despite the few days since the incident.  

“Jesus christ…” Steve’s fingers ghosted over the wounds, not daring to touch them, just observing.

“Yeah,” Eddie bitterly stared up at the roof. “Not too hot now, huh?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Steve said absent-mindedly. 

Eddie quietly examined Steve’s face to see if he was joking, but there was no lie in the man’s concentrated expression. Eddie’s heart softened a little, surprised that his childhood enemy was now turning into, well… something else. Steve’s hand landed on the bed, inches away from Eddie’s waist as the injured boy sucked in air fast, wishing Steve would move his hand even a centimeter closer. Maybe if he did, the boys would both feel a little more okay.

[h-i-raeth]

Hello I forgot how to be human for a while but I am back to microdose a Shadow of Dust please :)

(WIP Wednesday) (a week late but here you are. feel free to ask for one for this week as well)

Even after they clear off to give her some space to eat, she doesn’t talk. Doesn’t murmur assurances or debate the situation with her daemon, who stays wrapped around her neck and whose name Miriam still doesn’t know, for all that Benny got the girl to identify herself as “Eleven.”

[auburnlaughter]

Hi! Please work on The White Tayra Stellaka Aiylla for WIP Wednesday.

This is one I definitely need kicking to work on lately so thank you!

WIP Wednesday The White Tayra (original story)

"Yes, ma'am. Anything I can do here?"

"For starters, you can stop calling me ma'am," Olivia said, laughing as Knapp flushed slightly. "This is a pretty informal engine room and most everyone else calls me Olivia. You can stick with Castillo Rodriguez if first name feels too weird and I'll also answer to CR or even "engine boss lady" which, yes, that has happened."

More than once in fact, but then that was Gabe for you.

[voxofthevoid]

New Wednesday, new mefic! Nicknaming this one Demon/Hunter Horror Wednesday #1—you'll be shocked to hear it has demons and demon hunters and horror. It's sukuita+goyuu, but the first several chapters will be solely sukuita. Gojou won't show up till around halfway through.

On top of this being my first (modern) fantasy AU for JJK, I'm taking a stab at tropey horror. It'll shift into erotic horror and assorted fuckery quickly enough, but the first chapter is mostly scene-setting and foreshadowing. I'm trying to get better at creating a sense of place; it's something I enjoy a lot when reading but don't really focus on when writing.

Enjoy? Enjoy!

CWs for creepy churches and blasphemy.

He has the passing thought that Sasaki and Iguchi would have loved this shit, and then he’s pushing the door open, stepping into the church—and freezing, immediately.

“…Creepy.”

It’s not worse than the outside. Mostly because the outside makes this look like the kind of place where some of the weirder, bloodier stuff Yuuji’s seen in all those horror movie churches would actually happen. There’s no blood or bodies—at least not where he can see. But what’s there isn’t much better either.

There’s a long, narrow aisle leading to the altar, lined on both sides with lit candles.

Candle after candle after candle, with flickering flames that cast strange shadows on the walls. There are candles mounted there too, thicker ones with globs of wax both dried and dripping down the sides. They’re the only sources of light in the room, except for the moonlight pouring in through the large, uncovered glass windows behind the altar. And where the candles’ lighting is violently warm, the moonlight is cool and soothing. But their combined effect is just eerie, light and shadow twisting together strangely everywhere Yuuji looks—the walls, the floor, his own arms.

There are rows and rows of wooden pews on each side, all empty.

Yuuji squints at them, checking extra carefully to make sure they actually are empty. He can’t see anyone. And he sure can’t imagine why anyone would want to be here at this hour. This place is just—

“Brat.”

Yuuji yelps, jumping a foot in the air. He backs off the moment his feet touch the ground, except he just rams his back into the half-open front door, shutting it behind him with a resounding crack.

“Shit,” Yuuji gasps, pawing blindly at the wood till his hand finds and clutches metal. “Who the hell’s there?”

“You,” says the same voice as before, coming from a thick layer of darkness near the altar, where neither candlelight nor moonlight penetrates, “came into my church.”

“H-huh?”

A figure melts out of the shadows—a man, tall and broadly built, his face a sharp-angled thing with strange shapes on it.

It takes Yuuji a very long moment to realize that the shapes are tattoos, not just shadows.

The man comes closer—and closer and closer, till he’s filling out the aisle, the hem of his dark, flowing outfit dangerously close to the flickering flames of candles.

Yuuji’s tempted to hold up an arm, ward him off from coming any closer, but he’s just as tempted to throw the door behind him open and book it. He can’t help scanning the man either, assessing his build and the way he holds himself and the space between them, and his own body winds tighter in response, the tension in it changing shapes.  

As if sensing it, the man’s face twists into a sneer; there’s ink under his mouth too, dark lines that slope along his jaw to end in crescent curves under his eyes.

“Who are you?” Yuuji asks, more mystified than anything now.

“Are you stupid?” the man asks, giving Yuuji a look that makes it clear what he thinks the answer is. “You’re in a church, brat. What do you think I am?”

Yuuji blinks at him. Then he looks, really looks, taking in everything he tuned out in his shock earlier. The man’s clothes are dark all over—black, for sure. The upper half is practically molded to his torso, showing off shoulders and pecs that threaten to burst out of the restraining fabric. There’s a high collar too, covering his neck almost entirely. But the lower half is loose like a skirt, the hem almost touching the floor, and Yuuji doesn’t know what this thing is called, but he definitely recognizes it.

“I didn’t know priests could have tattoos,” he says dubiously. “Or swear. Is that allowed?”

The man’s mouth curls up at one corner, the expression anything but pleasant. “And if it’s not? Who the fuck are you gonna complain to?”

“God?” Yuuji ventures.

“You see any god here, brat?”

“It’s a church.”

“And?”

Yuuji opens his mouth and closes it. What the hell can he say to that? Plus, the guy’s right in the most literal sense too. He can’t actually see anything…godly around. There’s an altar, sure, but there are no paintings or carvings anywhere near it. The windows behind it are plain glass, without any colorful images of Jesus or whoever. And Yuuji’s familiarity with the insides of churches is also limited to stuff he’s seen in movies or manga, so this could be normal for all he knows.

But it’s still a house of god, isn’t it?  

“You’re the new boy,” the man says suddenly. “I was wondering when you’d have the balls to show up.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“You tell me.”

Yuuji scowls and takes a step toward the man, finding they’re already closer than they were when the man stopped moving. Yuuji doesn’t know when he unflattened himself from the door and moved forward, but there’s only a few feet of space between them now, and he can see the man’s features much more clearly.

And his hair is a dark peach in the dull golden light of the candles, but Yuuji’s seen himself in that kind of dim lighting enough times to know what it does to bright-pink hair.

It’s a stupid little detail to notice given…everything else, but somehow, it’s the most unsettling part of this whole thing. Yuuji’s never met anyone else with pink hair, except for very vague memories of his dad back when he was alive. Even the pictures of his grandfather from before his hair turned grey showed a head full of thick red hair, clearly related to Yuuji’s coloring but not really the same.

And it’s just coincidence, plus the priest might be sporting a different shade of pink—but Yuuji has pretty good eyes, even in the dark. He knows that color. And he doesn’t like it.

“I…should go,” he hears himself say.

The priest doesn’t move, but Yuuji can feel his attention sharpen. It’s there in the air, like little knives.

“Leaving so soon?” the priest says softly; his voice grates Yuuji’s spine. “That’s not right. Especially after you came inside without permission.”

The hairs on Yuuji’s nape prickle, and he trusts his gut too much not to understand it as the warning it is.

But while Yuuji might run from some horror movie bullshit, he’s not fleeing from a creepy priest.

“You’re not really doing much to keep me here,” Yuuji tells him. “This place looks like something out of a shitty horror movie. What kind of a church is this?”

“Mine,” comes the reply, predictable somehow. “You’re here anyway.”

Yuuji can’t really deny that, but he doesn’t know what compels him to say, “Not my fault I had creepy dreams about it.”

A slow tilt of the head, a narrowing of the eyes. “Did you now.”

It doesn’t really sound like a question, but Yuuji still says, “Since I saw this place. Like it was calling me or something. Figured it’d go away if I just came here.”

“Calling you,” the priest echoes, his voice dipping further into something that turns every syllable obscene. “Who, brat? God?”

Yuuji waves it off irritably. The words are easy to dismiss, but the man’s voice clings to the inside of his skin. “I know it’s stupid, but I just needed to see.”

The priest huffs; the amusement brightening his expression only makes him look more cruel. He moves closer to Yuuji, his robes flirting with the candle flames, and more than once, Yuuji’s convinced that the hem will catch fire, but it never does, and the man comes to a gliding stop barely a foot away from Yuuji, looming over him with that cruel smirk.

This close, his eyes are a dull, deep red.

It must be the light.

Yuuji hopes it’s the light.

“A bold dreamer,” the priest says, his voice low and strangely rough—raspy, like it’s scraping up his throat. “Have you seen what you came to see?”

Yuuji wouldn’t know where to even begin to answer that.

He says, “I’m leaving.”

The priest says nothing, and when Yuuji takes a stumbling step back, he does nothing to stop him, only watching with eyes that gleam red around the candles reflected in them. Yuuji finds himself backing away without turning around or taking his eyes off the man, but those unblinking eyes and crooked mouth might just be worse than any unseen blow would be.

He finds the doorknob with the small of his back, hissing in surprise.

Call it pride or stupidity, but Yuuji can’t bring himself to open the door while facing the priest. Somehow, he just knows it’d amuse the bastard, and Yuuji refuses—a little too late but still—to give him the satisfaction.

He whips around and yanks the door open, stepping back—into a solid body that yields neither flesh nor space.

Yuuji freezes.

“Go on,” murmurs the priest. “Leave.”

[un-pearable]

emails :(

[eridanidreams]

WIP Wednesday

Tagging: @bearlytolerant, @silurisanguine, @aro-pancake, @fangbangerghoul, @atonalginger, @aislingdmdt, @fshenkoescape, @ninjaofnaps, @lisa-and-shadow, @a-cosmic-elf, @thatsgoodsquishy0, @hockeydemon42, @fomagranfalloon, @violenceandviolets, and @artemis-crimson

Since I posted an actual chapter for stars today, the WIP is from my other ongoing work, The Odysseus Gambit.

“Where the hell did all these come from?” Jensen swatted away another with a snarl. He’d been getting steadily more irritated over the past hour; she wasn’t all that thrilled about the situation, either.

“Wetlands,” she growled. “Mosquitoes. Pretty simple math.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” he muttered, quietly enough that she decided just to ignore it.

“I’ve got insect repellent in my pack,” she said instead, ruthlessly controlling her annoyance. “Let me find us a place for a break—it’s about lunch time anyway—and I’ll crack it out.” She took a few more steps, and her foot plunged through the ground cover, right into an animal burrow. This one was bad enough to twist her entire leg—perfect joints didn’t have the flex of human tendons—and the connection points at her hip ached where unforgiving metal met all-too-imperfect flesh. Now it was her turn to mutter sotto voce imprecations. “Brilliant idea, Sloane. Let’s just go tramping through the biggest haunted forest in the fucking world, it’ll be fun. Radiation? Dangerous wildlife? No problem. We’ll just get eaten by the mutant mosquitoes. Come out at Pripyat as bionic mansquitoes, they’ll make a movie about us.” She yanked her foot out and stomped on. “A bad movie.”

Behind her, Jensen let out a sigh; when he finally spoke up, his tone was a good deal more civil. “Don’t beat yourself up over it,” he advised. “We didn’t have any better options. And—pretty sure you did some of the same reading I did, and none of this is in the official literature.” His voice turned wry. “Or the unofficial literature.”

Before Sloane could make sense of the fact that Jensen had actually said something to her that wasn’t either coldly professional or a barely-concealed insult, the trees thinned to reveal a small clearing up ahead. It was just what she’d been looking for. She was just about to say something when a loud crack echoed through the forest. She and Jensen froze in their tracks; the trees ahead exploded into movement. She relaxed fractionally—that, at least, was something explicable; just a flock of birds, startled by the sound.

The birds emerged into the sunlight, and—“What the hell?” Jensen sounded half-awed, half-disbelieving. She couldn’t fault him for either. They were about the size of a crow, but no crow sported feathers of a dark, metallic blue. Or feathered aerofoils on the legs. Or a whippy, frondlike tail and featherless head covered in a soft, jeweled hide that owed more to a lizard than a bird.

Sloane stared into the sky long after they dwindled into tiny sparkling points and disappeared, her momentary thrill of delight quickly soured by the knowledge that those birds—those creatures—were the product of no natural process she was aware of. Not even the bright spring sunlight could dispel the chill that settled over her, and it was a long several minutes before she ventured out into the meadow ahead.

She pulled out a couple sealed repellent wipes and tossed one to Jensen, then pulled her Tyvek suit down to her waist. “It’s safe enough,” she answered Jensen’s raised eyebrow. “Levels are low and there’s not a lot of dust.” She turned her back to Jensen, pulled her t-shirt off, and methodically applied the repellent to face, neck and chest. Behind her, she heard the sounds of Jensen doing the same thing. Finally, she shoved the used wipe in a pocket of her pack. “You were right,” she finally said. “My gut’s been telling me all along that something’s fucked up here.”

“Archaeopteryx,” Jensen's awed whisper was full of wonder.

[revenge-of-the-assbutt]

AAAAAAAAAA