#addicted to braid loops

[goldfishu]

Love heart beam (gets you)

[lunajay33]

Always There Part.3

•🌑🪻🏹🐺•

Summary: Growing up being Scott’s nerdy little sister had its struggles and when the supernatural takes over your brothers word you find yourself struggling to be seen but someone always noticed you no matter what

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x f!reader McCall

Includes: Angst, Slow Burn, Brothers Bestfriend, Supernatural, Teasing

Part.2

•Masterlist•

Mom had to drag me out of bed in order for me to actually get up and eat and continue to go to school, even though I complained I manage to clean my hair, throw it into a braid, change into sweatpants and a hoodie from Scott because they’re more comfortable

He drove us to school but I didn’t wanna leave, I wanted to stay in the safety of the car

“I know it hard, but it’ll get better he just needs time, give yourself so peace, plus Allison and Lydia miss you

I sigh nodding and get out, swinging my bag over my shoulder and follow Scott in through the hallways until we part across the hall to go to our own lockers

I get my supplies and drop off my bag glancing over to Scott who’s now talking to stiles who looks my way and when his eyes land on my I can see the pity written all over his face

My attention gets grabbed away by Lydia who spins me around

“Oh girl look at you, all this over that nerd” she loops her arm around mine and she leads me away

“I can’t explain it lyds, it’s been him, always just him from the moment I met him as a kid”

“I could hook you up with one of the other lacrosse boy to get your mind off of things”

“Thanks but that’s not something I’m into, I already have an outlet” I think back to the two time Derek helped me and I’ve been itching to call him again

“Well you’re coming over tomorrow so me you and Allison can just get away from all the boy drama”

“Yeah I think I’d really like that”

The classes go by until lunch rolls around and I can’t sit in the cafeteria while stiles does everything to avoid me so I head out to the bleachers on the lacrosse field

I ignore my lunch as my leg bounces, I pull my phone out and call Derek going crazy as a new ring keeps coming hoping he’ll answer

“Hello? Y/n are you okay?”

“I……I need your help Derek please”

“I can’t sweetheart, you’re getting addicted, you need to handle your emotions in a healthy way” I can hear he wants to help but he’s just worried

“I…I didn’t know I was doing that” we hang up just ask Scott comes and sits beside me

“Why were you talking to Derek?” I try to brush off the question with another one

“I need something only a werewolf can do, can you help me Scott?”

“Of course you’re my baby sister” I take his hands in mine

“Take my pain”

“I’ve never done that before, Derek’s still teach me”

“Please just try for me” he can see my hurt so he closes his eyes to concentrate

Slowly the black veins show on his hands and that feeling takes over me again and I feel my world disappear and the world spins as I lose control of my mind and body

Feeling faint and tipping over the bleachers Scott catches me and lays me in his lap on the ground

“Y/n? Hey are you alright oh my for, did I do it wrong?” I can faintly hear his panic but I feel too lost to pay attention

•

Third POV

Scott scrambled for his phone quickly calling Derek

“You McCalls sure like to call me a lot” Derek answers

“Derek I did something wrong, y/n asked me to take her pain and now she’s like a deer in headlights, so won’t respond and she can’t hold herself up….what did I do?”

“Shit I told her she couldn’t do that anymore, where are you?”

“The lacrosse field”

“Okay keep her awake I’ll be there soon”

Scott hangs up the phone and run his hand through his sisters hair worried out of his mind when he hears footsteps approaching

“Holy shit what happened?” Stiles panics as he drops down next to them looking over y/n

“I took her pain and now she like in shock or something, Derek’s coming, somethings wrong with her stiles ever since she told you her feelings”

“Shit I should’ve told her, I was just scared” stiles voice wavers as he’s flushed with guilt

Soon Derek is running through the field towards them taking her from Scott, he taps her face trying to get her to come back down to reality

“What did I do wrong?” Scott asks

“Nothing…..she’s been asking me to take her pain and it’s been told that humans can get addicted to the feeling, it gives them a kind of high, I told her she needed to stop” Derek say as she starts to finally move and mumble

•

Y/n pov

Their voices become more clear and soon I’m sitting up still a bit dizzy noticing Scott stiles and Derek looking at me worried

“What happened?” I ask rubbing my eyes

“I told you this was dangerous” Derek said looking at me like an angry dad

“I’m sorry I just…..I needed it”

“You could’ve talked to me sis” I shake my head looking at my lap

“I couldn’t, you have so much going on and I didn’t wanna add ontop it” I look back up at stiles and he looks so stressed

“We’ll give you guys a moment” Scott said as he and Derek left me and stiles alone

We both say their on the lacrosse field waiting for eachother to say something

“I’m sorry…..god I’m so sorry y/n, I never meant to hurt you” he sighs raising his hand reaching out for me but he stops and drops his hand

“Then why did you stiles, I gave you my heart and you crushed it, you ignored me every chance you got so you know how much that killed me?”

“I….i was scared I didn’t wanna lose you and having you like me back made everything so real and I just didn’t wanna disappoint you”

“How could you disappoint me stiles?” I ask confused

“You know I’m not very experienced and well I want you to have a good first experience for everything” he said embarrassed and then it all made sense

“Stiles you know I’d never judge you for that, it’s actually kinda sweet” I say gently placing my hand on his leg

“Really?”

“Yes really, so does this mean you’d wanna try this out?” I ask hopefully

“Of course, how could I say no” he says pulling me into a hug and for once in all this time I felt whole again

“You have to promise me something though” he says pulling back to look at me seriously

“What?”

“Never do that again with that wolf painkiller stuff, unless it’s unbearable pain because seeing you out like that was scary, scarier than an alpha wolf running around”

“Okay I promise, I’ll stop”

“Good now let’s get you home”

Everything felt like the way it was meant to since the day I met him

•

The End

Taglist: @rebekahdawkins @extremebookreader @lonely-nerd-sodaholic @mrtonystark @cookiecakeslive @daughterofapollo-7

[limerlove]

BEGGING for more milf!reader x sub!abby 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 please please PLEASE 🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️ (maybe with a lil bit of a breeding kink if you’re into that) take your time love <33

†⠀❝ HEART TO HEART II ❞ ✶ ABBY ANDERSON !

"YOUNGER!ABBY HEADCANNONS"

♱

★⠀warning y disclaimers — eighteen+, nsfw content, wlw, fem!reader, age gap vague, abby is early twenties, younger!abby, uhal!lesbian vibe, mommy!kink, tw breeding kink, reader has a kid, dom!reader, sub!abby, strap (abby!), oral (abby!r), fingering (abby!r), poc!friendly, nipple play, reader is a mom.

RAYNE RAMBLES ★ thank u so much sweet angel for asking so sweetly. this has teken me longer than intended, but better late than never, right? breeding kink? are u kidding? now, ur speaking my language. hope this is as lovely as you are. if you like, don't forget to reblog!

younger!abby who can't stop thinking of the first night she spends with you.

younger!abby who can't get your addicting moans out of her head. they play on an endless loop in her mind and she wants to keep them there forever.

younger!abby who swears, even if it's only been one lovely night, she swears she about to tip over the line of love.

younger!abby who never had been manhandled until that very night with you.

Abby thought she was in control - she should've known better. It taken only a moment for your firm hands gripping her hips, maneuvering her weight until you were on top of her.

"It's all for show, huh? These perfectly sculpted arms, your chiseled abs, and don't even get me started on this face. I bet all the girls just fall at your feet."

younger!abby who blushed even more, unable to contain her reaction at each compliment rolling off your tongue.

younger!abby who wanted to tell you there wasn't other girls, but the words died on her tongue when you dragged her into the bedroom.

younger!abby who moaned softly when you played with the end of her braid, your fingers smoothing over the blonde strands.

younger!abby likes the fact you had managed to pull at what she loves most the first night in.

younger!abby who can't help the bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach as you look at her with those goddamn eyes of yours. you were more breathtaking than should be allowed.

younger!abby who watches with a careful eye as you stepped away from her body, shoving your dress until it pools at your feet.

younger!abby who can't help put purr at you, everything on display for her greedy eyes.

younger!abby is infatuated and absolutely lost for words as she looks at you.

younger!abby who can't believe how sexy you are and can't believe you, a descendent from Aphrodite herself, could want her.

younger!abby whose heart stops as you don't walk to her. No. Not yet - you're walking to your night stand.

younger!abby tries to keep her breathing under control as you bring out the strap.

younger!abby who can't help but feel her heart beating out of her chest.

"We don't have to do this you know. If you don't like being fucked like this, I can always put my mouth to good use." You offer, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable. Abby loves how your soft voice carries across the room. The need she has for you only grows, begging for a taste.

younger!abby who feels your sweetness pull at her heart.

younger!abby who nods simply, but you don't take it as a sufficient response.

"If you want me to fuck you, you're going to have to say it, angel. Need to hear you say it."

younger!abby who fumbles the words past her lips as she's unable to take her eyes of you, but she manages to get it out.

younger!abby who feels the slick grow in between her thighs as she watches you put the strap on.

younger!abby who can't remember a time she felt this overwhelmed.

younger!abby who can't help but rub her thick thighs together in anticipation.

younger!abby who notices the smirk on your face and just how much you're enjoying teasing her.

younger!abby can only register a soft 'gotta work you open baby' and her boxers are gone.

younger!abby who usually doesn't like to be put on display like this, can't help but feel treasured as you look at her in awe.

younger!abby who loses it the moment she feels your teeth sink in her thighs, littering the punctured skin with sweet kisses.

younger!abby who doesn't know what to do with herself when all of your undivided attention is upon her.

younger!abby loves the way you have her thighs spread out, your body between them and there's no hesitation.

younger!abby who bucks her hips upwards as you give her everything she's been thinking about.

younger!abby who feels a shiver run up her spine as your tongue plays with your vulva, before flattening the muscle against your cunt.

younger!abby who tries to close her thighs around your head, but you won't let her.

"You have to keep this thick thighs open for me, baby. How else am I supposed to fuck this perfect cunt?"

younger!abby who could easily, physically over power you, but can't even imagine doing so. not when you're making her feel this good.

"If you need something to grab onto just pull on my hair." Stopping for a moment, you grab her big hands and Abby makes a makeshift ponytail, as suck on her clit.

younger!abby wonders how she has ever existed without you.

younger!abby loves you mouth, and every moan you let out as you fuck her pussy with her mouth.

younger!abby can't get get over the vibrations she feels and how you hump into the bed every time abby pulls your hair a little too hard.

younger!abby knows for a fact, she's only ever been vocal with you.

younger!abby feels her cunt gripping onto your fingers as you sink two fingers into her, and she can hear just how wet you've gotten her.

younger!abby who can't stop moaning at the feeling of your fingers fucking her and the louder she gets, the better you make her feel.

younger!abby can feel just how close she is, but then you remove your fingers and she feels empty.

younger!abby certainly can't control the whine she lets out. it's needy and carnal - it even hurts her throat a little but she really doesn't care.

"You're lucky my kid is a heavy sleeper, Abs. Or else, I'd have to punish you for it."

younger!abby who tried to at least appear guilty, but it's so hard when the only coherent thought in her mind is wanting to fuck your mouth.

younger!abby knows all she wants to feel is you, and now that you're depriving her of the need it feel like an unbearable weight to hold.

younger!abby who throws her head back when you start sinking your cock into her tight pussy.

younger!abby who feels so full with you inside her. she's trying to hold her moans in with your comment, but your first thrust pulls it right out of her.

younger!abby who is never the one who gets fucked, revels in how good it feels. knowing you wanted to fuck her already had sent her over the edge but god - you really knew how to fuck.

younger!abby who cries out your name as you pick up the pace, your cock hitting her in just the place she needs.

younger!abby who never wants you to stop, she always will crave to feel this forever. she doesn't care if it's dramatic, but you're taking care of her like no one else ever has.

"You're so loud for me. Aren't you?" You chuckle as Abby moans. "Sweet baby, never had her pussy fucked this good. All those stupid, young girls can't give you what mommy can, huh?"

"No, never like this - never this good." Abby swears as you lift, bending her leg over your shoulder, making her cock hit her even deeper. The place all her girlfriends never touched.

younger!abby whose eyes roll into the back of her head, unable to compute with pleasure you're giving her.

younger!abby nearly comes when the next sentence falls from your plump lips.

"Want to put a baby in you, Abs. God, you'd look so pretty." Your pace increasing, if it was even possible. "Would fuck all day and all night if that's what it took."

younger!abby knows it should've scared her off, but all she wants is to please you. nothing could stop the way her cunt grips on your cock like a vice.

"Anything for you. Need you to fill me up." Abby can't help but capturing your nipple in her mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh she sucks."

"Give it to me, Mommy."

younger!abby knows it's all you need before the friction of the strap is too much and you're coming along with her.

younger!abby feels herself falling as you cleans the two of you up, before she holds her.

younger!abby feels safe and she never wants this feeling to escape her.

younger!abby also can't wait until you break her brain and fuck her into oblivion again.

[ravensolo77]

The Typewriter of Dominion

Daisy Mae Martin stood in the charred ruins of her family’s barn in Des Moines, Iowa, her bare feet dusted with soot. At 18, she was a vision of farm-girl charm—curly blonde hair cascading in soft ringlets, cornflower-blue eyes bright with dreams, freckles scattered across her cheeks. Her faded flannel shirt and denim overalls hugged her slender frame, but her hands trembled, clutching the insurance papers. The fire had taken her parents, her home, her past. Yet it offered a lifeline: an insurance payout, enough to escape the cornfields and chase her dream of journalism.

Daisy had always wanted to tell stories that mattered, scribbling in notebooks and narrating imaginary broadcasts with her twangy voice. With the money, she enrolled at Iowa State University, studying journalism. College was grueling—waitressing at a dive diner, fending off truckers’ advances, studying by lamplight. Her flannel shirts, jeans, and messy blonde bun marked her as the outsider among polished classmates. But Daisy’s grit outshone their sneers. At 22, she graduated and landed a job at KDSM-TV, a small Des Moines station eager for fresh talent.

Daisy Mae glowed on camera. Her curly blonde hair framed her face like a halo, her Iowa twang softened into a warm lilt. At 22, she covered county fairs and city budgets with a sincerity that won Des Moines’ heart. “Daisy Mae’s goin’ places,” locals said, watching her on barroom TVs. But Des Moines was too small for her hunger. She dreamed of Chicago, a city of stories and power.

At 24, she joined WGN-TV, shedding her old self like a worn-out skin. She became Summer Dew, a name as sharp as the skyline. She straightened her curls, dyeing her hair platinum blonde, and traded flannel and overalls for tailored blazers, pencil skirts, and modest heels from Nordstrom. Her makeup sharpened—red lipstick, smoky eyes, foundation that erased her freckles. Her twang, now a calculated charm, captivated viewers. Her breakout City Hall corruption story made her a star, but fame stirred a darker craving—for control, for dominance.

On a wet and gloomy evening, Summer found herself in a Wicker Park antique store, captivated by a vintage Underwood typewriter, its keys weathered from years of untold stories. The store owner, an elderly woman with a mysterious grin, referred to it as 'cursed.' Summer, fascinated, handed over eighty dollars and carried it back to her apartment.

On that evening, with a glass of wine in her grasp, she crafted a narrative concerning the mayor’s crackdown on prostitution. The sound of her fingers dancing across the keys was hauntingly rhythmic.

The following morning, the headlines shocked everyone: Sarah, the 22-year-old daughter of the mayor, had disappeared from Yale. While at Yale, Sarah embodied innocence—long chestnut hair styled in a tidy braid, dressed in preppy cardigans and ballet flats, with her face free of makeup except for a hint of mascara. A dean's list student, she volunteered for literacy programs, her smile as pure as her father's campaign advertisements.

Now, she had reemerged in the Loop of Chicago as "Sugar," her chestnut locks transformed into a striking platinum with wild curls, trading in her cardigans for a daring leather miniskirt, fishnet stockings, and a fitted corset that showcased her midriff. Her lips were a vibrant cherry red, her eyes accentuated with thick kohl, and a cigarette hung loosely as she navigated the streets with a playful smirk. The mayor’s efforts had taken on a darkly ironic twist.

Summer was stunned—her story was a draft, unpublished. She tested the typewriter again, praising a nurse’s devotion. The nurse was arrested for drug trafficking the next day. Every story twisted reality—a pastor’s charity became a sex cult, a CEO’s ethics hid fraud. The typewriter was a force of chaos, and Summer was addicted.

Days later, Sugar’s fall deepened. Police raided the Loop, and Sarah, still dressed as Sugar—her leather skirt hiked up, fishnets torn, makeup smudged—was cuffed and led to a squad car. Flashbulbs popped as reporters swarmed, the mayor’s daughter now the face of his scandal. The mayor, once a moral crusader, faced calls to resign, his family’s name in tatters. Summer watched the coverage, her fingers itching to type more.

Summer’s career soared. Her “scoops” were uncanny, her stories breaking as scandals erupted. Chicago crowned her its queen, her platinum hair now dyed a sultry auburn, styled in sleek waves. Her makeup grew bolder—crimson lips, kohl-rimmed eyes, a flawless complexion that buried Daisy Mae. Her wardrobe evolved into high-end luxury—Gucci silk blouses, Chanel tailored dresses, Louboutin stilettos, Louis Vuitton handbags. She was dressed to the nines, every outfit a declaration of power.

She met Scott, a 28-year-old bartender with soft brown eyes and a timid charm. He was handsome but pliable, perfect for her games. She dominated him, her manicured nails digging into his arm as she whispered, “You’re mine, Scott.” In public, her Gucci-clad presence dwarfed him; in private, her control was ruthless.

She started adding estrogen to his beverages, noticing his jawline lose its definition and his body hair diminish. 'You look more beautiful now,' she'd remark, adorning him in silky panties as her laughter rang out, sharp and piercing, whenever he obliged. Scott, shattered and entranced, transformed into Stacy, his former self completely wiped away.

At the station, Summer caught sight of Sandy Lux, a 22-year-old intern sporting unassuming brown hair and a timid smile. Clad in simple blouses and flats, Sandy was a journalism student driven by raw ambition. Summer viewed her as a protégé—a blank slate ripe for manipulation. "Come along, Sandy," she coaxed, her Chanel dress shimmering. She showed Sandy how to twist narratives, how to distort the truth for effect. Eager to impress, Sandy started refining her reports, her naivety gradually fading.

Summer had undergone a complete metamorphosis. She transformed her hair to a sleek jet black, chopping it into a sharp bob that demanded attention. Her makeup served as her armor—luscious crimson lips, eyes accentuated with kohl, and a flawless complexion that obscured any remnants of her rural past. The mansion was a bastion of opulence, its walls adorned with reflective surfaces showcasing her collection of Gucci gowns, Chanel ensembles, Louboutin footwear, and Louis Vuitton handbags. On an obsidian desk sat the typewriter, its keys whispering of dark ambitions.

On an unforgettable evening, Summer hosted an extravagant gathering at her luxurious Lakeview estate, where the polished marble corridors glimmered softly under the glow of chandeliers. Among the elite guests was Marcus, an impressively tall and charismatic man who instantly caught her attention. Summer had a flair for thrilling experiences, particularly with men like Marcus, whose physical appeal resonated with her own desires. She invited him into a secluded chamber, where the atmosphere was charged—Stacy, dressed in intricate lace lingerie, trembled with expectation as Marcus approached. Summer watched intently, her Louboutin heels clicking in an alluring rhythm, as Marcus took control, asserting dominance over Stacy in a way that left her utterly breathless. A sly smile curled at the corners of Summer's lips, her authority unmistakable as she orchestrated their encounter, her pleasure an undeniable force.

Her tales ripped through Chicago like a tempest. A judge she referred to as 'fair' was ensnared in a bribery operation. A teacher once lauded for her kindness was revealed to be cruel. The heart of the city began to disintegrate, and Summer flourished. She invested her vigor into shaping Sandy. 'Deceive, Sandy,' she'd instruct, handing over altered scripts. 'The strength lies in the deception.' Sandy's reports became ferocious, her gaze more unyielding.

On a muggy evening, after an extended broadcast, Summer welcomed Sandy to her opulent mansion. In the bedroom, the silk sheets shimmered beneath the glow of a chandelier. Dressed in a translucent Gucci robe, with her black bob catching the light, Summer poured a glass of wine and settled in close. "You’re so innocent, Sandy," she whispered, her fingers gently caressing Sandy’s cheek and lingering on her lips. Sandy, blushing, her simple blouse hugging her form, didn’t resist as Summer pressed in, capturing her in a deep kiss, their tongues dancing. "Power is sweeter than honesty," Summer breathed, leading Sandy toward the bed. She slipped Sandy’s blouse off, her Louboutin nails brushing against Sandy’s skin, sending tingling shivers down her spine. Summer’s touch was both gentle and assertive, her lips trailing down Sandy’s neck as she murmured, "Submit to me." The closeness felt like a trap, Summer's authority pulling Sandy from purity into desire. The following morning, Sandy awoke, her eyes ignited with a newfound, darker passion, her transformation into Simone Rogers set in motion.

Summer’s indulgence reached new heights. She pursued lovers who fit her desires, especially men endowed with 'big black cocks,' a claim she would flaunt to Sandy with a mischievous grin. Her evenings blended into a haze of exclusive clubs and clandestine meetings, leaving her partners mesmerized yet ultimately overlooked. Stacy, now entirely transformed in lace and stilettos, resided in a guest suite, catering to Summer's every whim, her loyalty unwavering.

By the age of 30, Summer had become a formidable force. Her sleek, jet-black bob shone with intensity, while her eyes glimmered with a cold, obsidian stare. She finished her last article: Summer Dew, the undisputed queen of Chicago's media landscape, with her protégé Simone Rogers poised to follow in her footsteps. The typewriter resonated with energy, channeling her determination. The following morning, she unveiled the hidden truths of the WGN-TV chief (written in her own hand) and took command of the station.

She appointed Simone—now reinvented with raven-dyed hair styled into a chic bob, bold makeup emphasizing her red lips and kohl-rimmed eyes, and a wardrobe reflecting Summer's own, featuring Gucci dresses, Chanel blazers, Louboutin heels, and Louis Vuitton handbags—as the fresh face of the news desk.

Summer retreated to her mansion, running the station from the shadows. She typed stories for Simone to deliver, each one twisting Chicago further. A senator praised for ethics fell to scandal. A charity leader lauded for good was exposed as a fraud. Simone’s broadcasts, once earnest, now dripped with malice, her transformation complete under Summer’s tutelage. The typewriter’s curse was their crown, its lies their legacy.

Summer's opulent estate served as a haven of excess—gatherings filled with the city's elite, where she unabashedly pursued her pleasures, her admirers bolstering her self-image. Stacy, an elegant figure draped in silk, remained loyally by her side, her devotion unwavering. Simone, now as merciless as Summer, collaborated with her to scheme against the city, their laughter resonating like a sinister melody.

There was neither downfall nor salvation. Summer Dew, formerly known as Daisy Mae Martin, stood as a goddess of decadence, her raven locks a diadem, her typewriter a symbol of power. Chicago was her realm, its inhabitants mere marionettes in her scheme. Simone Rogers, molded in Summer's likeness, bore the torch of deception, pledging that their reign of falsehoods would endure indefinitely.

[tellmegoodbye]

Hello everyone! I wanted to take a break from writing codas and share something from another one of my WIPs. The outline I have for this is a beast, so it won't be done any time soon, but here's a little something I wrote for it last night!

Thank you @ironheartwriter @heartstringsduet @nisbanisba @eclectic-sassycoweyes @emsprovisions

@henrygrass @carlossreaders and @lemonlyman-dotcom for tagging me!!

Carlos isn't sure what exactly overcomes him. Maybe it's pure lust, his budding addiction to the man looming over him that makes him forget himself – but when TK attempts to step away his hands shoot forward on an impulse that takes him by surprise. Before he can stop himself, he hooks his fingers through the loops of TK's jeans, utilizing the empty space in lieu of the belt they'd discarded earlier. Carlos pulls him closer, expecting protest, but TK only hesitates before stepping forward slowly. The shallow noise of weary breaths echoes in the vacuum of their silence, and in the exact moment that the heat rising in his abdomen surges into Carlos’ chest, next to his wildly-beating heart, their eyes meet. The seafoam accents that Carlos would usually find painted in TK’ eyes have been replaced with a deeper shade of green that seeps into his soul like formidable daggers, standing out amidst the lowlight of the townhouse. They darken with glassy desire, and TK stares at him in a way that steals the ground beneath his feet and momentarily has him wondering if TK can hear all of the thoughts swirling through his head. Thoughts about how attractive the mystery of this man is to him, about all of the things he'd like to do to him, do with him, if given the chance. He can't seem to come up with any other explanation for these knowing eyes of a stranger.

A lot of people have already participated today!! Here are some more tage but if you've already posted and I didn't see it, consider this a hug from me. 🫂

@strandnreyes @paperstorm @carlos-tk @carlos-in-glasses @nancys-braids

@rmd-writes @welcometololaland @reyesstrand @butchreyes @morganaspendragonss

@alrightbuckaroo @theghostofashton @decafdino @bonheur-cafe @literateowl

@captain-gillian @lightningboltreader @goodways @honeybee-taskforce @chicgeekgirl89

+ open tag

[sunflowerandsunshinebaby]

Mama Agatha & Little Rio!

Moodboard, explanation, and headcanons

gift forr @aggies-little-duck and I hope your portfolio stuffs goes good!!!

@cryingatwindermerepeaks

Moodboard:

Explanations: (Top to bottom, Left to Right)

Rio is a baby frog!!! So naturally she has one froggy that’s her and one froggy that’s her Mama. When Agatha isn’t there Rio keeps the purple one with her and she plays it as her froggys mama.

mama!!! All my AAA age regressors that see this. That picture is absolutely mama correct?

Rio = nature baby!! Rio loves to go outside with Agatha and of course Agatha knows the best spots for her baby! Rio and Agatha go and pick herbs and then Agatha teaches Rio how to cook with them and guides her through out (perfect at making Rio feel small)

Agatha loves to play with rios hair!!! Rio is also a cat and will just sprawl out and Agatha immediately starts stroking no matter what! So of course Agatha does her hair and because purple is her favorite color and Rio is her baby she’s gotta put some purple in there. And stars always remind her of Rio just because of the cosmic aspect!

It’s so cute I mean that screams mama and baby

Rio needs a pacifier! Or else she’ll chew on her hair or leaves or rocks or bugs and so Agatha had to constantly restock pacifiers but this one is rios favorite!

Rio IS baby so bright colors aren’t great for her eyes and it makes her overstimulated so when Agatha and her were thinking about her little room they wanted lighter versions of rios favorite colors (purple = mama therefore purple is one of her favorite colors)

That picture is baby coded period

Baby blanket!! Rio always needs a comfort item! That blanket goes with her everywhere including on their outdoor adventures so it has to be washed routinely.

Headcanons: 💚💜: Rio loves dinosaurs and always has!! She was there when they were alive and loved them. She loves to play as a dinousar and go rawr and if it’s near bedtime Agatha pretends a blanket is a meteorite and scoops Rio up into it.

💚💜: Agatha began caring for Rio shortly after Agatha was almost burnt at the stake. Her mother hating her made her want to care for someone else and prove that she was good. And Rio in her Death form had been watching and watching the scene made her feel little because it scared her and the dynamic naturally fell into place.

💚💜: Rio loves to make flower crowns!! She’s made one for every member if the coven or if she’s feeling smaller at least picked out the flowers for Agatha to pick and braid together!

💚💜: Death doesn’t have to sleep. She can sleep but she doesn’t have to. She’s seen humans do it and discuss it but never tried. The first time she tried was after she met Agatha and saw Agatha doing it. When she woke up Rio simply said I want to try that. Ever since Rio has been addicted to sleep. She’s the epitome of sleepy baby rubbing her eyes.

💚💜: When Rio is extra tiny (3 or younger) she can’t really control whether it’s her death form or her Rio form. Jen has had mini heart attacks whenever Rio comes over and tugs on her pant loop and seen Death staring at her with a pacifier and holding out a pink flower crown. Agatha doesn’t mind either way and treats her exactly the same. Alice thinks it’s super cool and bought her a skeleton jacket to match. Lilia gets mildly freaked out because of her history with death but just shuts her mouth and takes care of Rio.

💚💜: When Rio does sleep she has nightmares 4/10 times and is immediately crawling out of bed and running to Agatha whether Agatha is working or asleep herself crawling into bed.

💚💜: During the times Rio try’s to be big or pretends to be Agatha takes calm Mama voice and just babies her and it works immediately. Rio will melt and just look up at her and say “mama” with a small voice

💚💜: She loves animals and bugs and chances are if Agatha leaves her outside for more than 2 minutes Rio will have 10 more friends and try to get Agatha to let them live with her. Sometimes she’ll sneak them inside to show Agatha and Agatha has to try and redirect her so she can get them back outside.

Edit:

💚💜: Agatha can lie very very well. She can also tell stories very very well. Some of rios favorite little times are sitting with Agatha near the fire while Agatha tells her a story and plays with her hair.

[connanro]

“In terms of system science, the Windigo is a case study of a positive feedback loop, in which change in one entity promotes a similar change in in another, connected part of the system. In this case, an increase in Windigo hunger causes an increase in Windigo eating, and that increased eating promotes only more rampant hunger in an eventual frenzy of uncontrolled consumption. In the natural as well as the built environment, positive feedback leads inexorably to change—sometimes to growth, sometimes to destruction. When growth is unbalanced, however, you can’t always tell the difference.

Stable, balanced systems are typified by negative feedback loops, in which a change in one component incites an opposite change in another, so they balance each other out. When hunger causes increased eating, eating causes decreased hunger; satiety is possible. Negative feedback is a form of reciprocity, a coupling of forces that create balance and sustainability.

Windigo stories sought to encourage negative feedback loops in the minds of listeners. Traditional upbringing was designed to strengthen self-discipline, to build resistance against the insidious germ of taking too much. The old teachings recognized that Windigo nature is in each of us, so the monster was created in stories, that we might learn why we should recoil from the greedy part of ourselves. This is why Anishinaabe elders like Stewart King remind us to always acknowledge the two faces—the light and the dark side of life—n order to understand ourselves. See the dark, recognize its power, but do not feed it.

The beast has been called an evil spirit that devours mankind. The very word, Windigo, according to Ojibwe scholar Basil Johnston, can be derived from roots meaning ‘fat excess’ or ‘thinking only of oneself.’ Writer Steve Pitt states that ‘a Windigo was a human whose selfishness has overpowered their self-control to the point where satisfaction is no longer possible.’ [emphasis added]

No matter what they call it, Johnston and many other scholars point to the current epidemic of self-destructive practices—addiction to alcohol, drugs, gambling, technology, and more—as a sign that Windigo is alive and well. In Ojibwe ethics, Pitt says, ‘any overindulgent habit is self-destructive, and self-destruction is Windigo.’ And just as Windigo’s bite is infectious, we all know too well that self-destruction drags along many more victims—in our human families as well as in the more-than-human world.

The native habitat of the Windigo is the north woods, but the range has expanded in the last few centuries. As Johnston suggests, multinational corporations have spawned a new breed of Windigo that insatiably devours the earth’s resources ‘not for need but for greed.’ The footprints are all around us, once you know what to look for.”

— Robin Wall Kimmerer, “Wendigo Footprints” (from Braiding Sweetgrass)

[rainbowxocs]

Name:Mogan Yujin

Special Titles: Wolf Ambassador

Chronological Age: 23

Age:23

Pronouns: she/her

Sexuality: aro/ace

Gender: (wolf)Girl

Species: human

Disorders: adhd

Physical Disabilities: shit ankles

Active Addictions: n/a

Recovering Addictions: n/a

Religion: "That's a tomorrow Mogan problem 

Job: Pizza Mutt 

Degree: "Canid Parkour" (where did you get that degree)

Lives in: Okutama

Languages: Japanese, Canine, JSL

Height: 5'1

Race: Japanese 

Ethnicity: japanese

Accent: okutama special

Vehicle: rollerskates

Powers: dog summoning, entering the Sanctuary 

Weapons: a spray bottle of "Fuck you Juice" 

Alignment: chaotic good

Text Color: Purple

Main Animal: Dog

Main Hobbies: parkour, roller skating, dogs, ttrpgs, Sanctuary 

Favorite Food: pancakes

Favorite Flower:  Fuschia 

Scent: Dogs, fresh air

Awareness: willfully ignorant

Birthday: 10/26

Theme:

Playlist: https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=LRYRY1alh6LyvQPAv2m-ffC7TgyU0L-Je7r5X&si=jUjKI1VBjtV5qZVI

Fun Facts: really likes nautical history and piracy specifically. Has no sexual attraction but has a goal of getting buff enough that lesbians freak out. Sarcastic little shit. Is not a self insert character in any way. Real good at writing. 

Special Interests: Pirates, wolves, dogs, arcane defenses for the magically lacking, parkour/movement, FNAF

Stims: shaking charm bracelet, braiding/playing with hair, tapping thumb across fingers, cats cradle

Stimboard:wip

Moodboard:wip

Fashion Board:wip

Comfort Objects: charm bracelet, weighted hoodie, dogs, hat(s), the Amulet

Extras:

Family: dogs. Technically related to the Hayashi family

Friends: Taino, Kakikomi, Uru, Otoko, Boru, Ryu, Kagayaki, Shoyu, Adelaide, Akiko, Keh, Are-chan,

Romance:n/a

Enemies:Jellyfish

Patrons:The Wolf Mother

Pets: So many dogs. Most are fosters. She might be more the dogs pet than they are hers some days 

Brief Personality: stubborn, sarcastic, encouraging and loyal. Mogan does her best to support her friends but is discerning and distrustful of the supernatural- Okutama is a hotspot and she's gotten in trouble before, and learned to keep her head down, but not too far down. Athletic and outdoorsy. 

Brief Backstory: got caught in the time loop with the rest of the Okutama crew and did her best to keep her head down, but be interesting enough to keep around. Eventually, she got fed up with everything and wandered into the woods for an evening walk because she figured it wasn't more dangerous than the highschool during the day, and picked up an obsidian amulet with a wolf engraved on it. This gave her access to The Sanctuary and the ability to call dogs to her. She rode out the timeloop and managed to make some cash selling popcorn for the more interesting chaos when it happened. 

She's distantly related to the Hayashi's and was forced to move in with them for a while, before taking Makai in and dipping to The Sanctuary , where she also housed Uru for a while before he moved in with Otoko. She Accidentally picked up two or three yanderes at a point in time but they were decent protection. She managed to get through and pick up some basic defenses for herself.  Nowadays she waits tables at the Pizza Mutt as the sole human employee. She gets to wear roller skates. It's great.

[shienn-sao-rean]

My drifter profile

Birth Name: Shienn Sao-Rean

Titles: Drifter, Stardust, Brother, Space trauma

Nicknames: Eagle, Shi, Babe (thx to Quincy), Hey you redhead freak!

Sex/Gender: Male, but he is... explorative.

Birth World: Earth, Kyoto

Home World: Earth

Current Residence: Höllvania

Birthday: 8 May

Height: 195 cm

Weight: 92

Eye Shape and Colour: Deep set, chrome diopside or grass green, not emerald, warm shades with radioactive-like glowing.

Skin Texture and Colour: freckled, even if it is practically invisible, black, but his face features are more close to half-Japanese, half-Italian. Thin, unlike his father, most of his weight is bones. A lot of scars, but thank gods, most of the scars from Duviri did not survive constant time looping. However, he has a lot of scars from New War, cross chest by archon Amar, two bites from Nira, left forearm and hip. A lot of cuts and scratches from survival around Ostron colonies. Also have some small tattoos, mostly words, names.

Hairstyle and Colour: Shaved sides, Carrot-like orange with intensive greying, almost always braided.

Style/Fashion: 

casual wear:

Natural fabric, not super tight, not too loose, he gladly adopted 1999 fashion, mostly in gothic style. Black and green, as his signature. Has troubles with all clothes that are too tight around the neck, so he cut collars off all his T-shirts and never zips up a hoodie or jacket all the way.

battle fit: Classic Dax armour + Dax syandana + Feldune waist + some attachments like Protovyre and Riv.

Age: He was 15 when Zariman got stuck, he never counted ever since, but looks somewhat around 35-40.

Personality Traits: Diplomatic, honest to the point of bluntness, reckless (but usually it pays off), flirty literally with everyone, probably completely insane (like Cpt. Murdock from the A-Team remake 2010), often behaves like a clown who amuses everyone while being completely broken inside, because he is really space-trauma, protective and caring in his special way, ex - drug and alcohol addict (now clean for 1,5 years), still a sex-addict, tho. Gambler, local cuisine enjoyer, superb at survival.

Likes: fresh fish with rice and soy sauce, good tea, smoking, cooking, his co-drifter, Aidan (his partner since Zariman), Komi, Teshin, silk, Quincy, music, dancing, especially traditional with fans.

Dislikes: prejudice, orokin in general, Ballas personally, hunger, stupid people, manipulations.

Pet Peeves: Texture of Zariman food. And some foods still, like any fat outside bacon.

Habits: Smoking is one of the obvious. He also starts humming or even singing when listening to a song he likes. If he is comfortable enough, he's dancing, but mostly if no one sees him.

Morals: Very ethically ambiguous. Can kill someone if they behave like shit, because this is the easiest solution. Can steal, but not from those who are also in need. Long story short - "Eat the rich" can be his motto. But he never refuses to help for the people who need it. Vengeful, will gladly participate in orokin genocide if the possibility presents itself, especially for all this shit that Orokin ever did to Dax or people like his mum.

Phobias: seeing people he loves die or get hurt, spiders, creatures and seaweed in the water that suddenly touch him while he swims.

Pros: Protective, funny, generally loving person with huge amount of patience. Really awesome cook, food is one of his love languages. He really knows a lot about the Japanese traditions of his time, a lot of stories. Knows how to calm, comfort people.

Cons: ex-addict who could relapse at any moment of critical mental instability. Hard to be shaken off. If someone reaches his boiling point (which is hard) speaks his mind with no concern about reaction or feelings, especially to someone he cares about. From time to time too direct, rude even. Swears a lot. Really a lot. In multiple languages, often at the same time. Now in a few more!

Personal Glories: don't tell Arthur right away on which exact axis he spins all of his threats, and that he sleeps with someone who behaves exactly like Arthur. And he knows very well how to make Arthur's life miserable with one sentence in front of Quincy and Amir. Because he noticed all "things" in Arthur's behaviour from the first look.

Personal Trauma: Survivor's guilt. Loss of a twin brother because of a stupid argument.

Powers: Operator void stuff that he keeps forgetting about, time-looping, attempt of using void tongue filling words with power. So far - so good. Specific Dax ways of using the inner energy. (Some witchcraft, if you'd like I can share my Dax head canon.)

Abilities: Melee, mostly Teshin's daishō + Dax armour require special training to effectively wear it, not the worst bowman and shooter, but prefers good ol' sword fight. Void stuff, time-stuff, some traditional Dax witchcraft.

Weapons: Sun and Moon, Sirocco, Nataruk.

Combat Affinity: From flexibility to classic Unairu endurance. Recklessness, inclined to protect others before himself.

Warframes of choice: Kullervo, Cyte-09, Koumei, Mirage Prime, Dagath, Baruuk Prime.

Social Skills: Friendly, but from time to time too flirty. Struggles with understanding some concepts like grief. He cannot process grief, doesn't show "proper emotions" and people think that he is a heartless jerk. His only one coping mechanism before he saw Quincy the first time was drugs and alcohol.

~Relationships~

Lovers: Aidan Hirayoshi, Fenris (his fellow drifters now), Quincy, Amir.

Family:

Parents: Rissa Rean and Hondo Sao, Rissa was a geiko, Hondo - a descendant of noble Dax family. (So, posh)

Grandparents (known and remembered well): Sheina Rean (yes, he was named after her, granny from mum's side), Katsui Sao (father's father)

Twin brother, Satori (yes, it's also not a real name.)

Eimhear, Aidan's sister, who is also like a sister to Shienn.

Kahl and the guys are super close friends.

Friends:

Aoi: He understands her deeply, especially since he realized about their relationships with Arthur. (He wanted to punch His Maj in the face for it, but Quincy was first.) They share tea and music.

Eleanor: She reminds him of one man, from a long forgotten story. Theatrical, deep, fragile. He cherishes her, and makes her feel seen.

Lettie: One of his favourites, really. They became friends super fast. They often speak about death and scare everyone around.

Arthur: He reminds Shienn of Aidan, so they became friends quickly. And now they constantly share some recipes and other cooking stuff as well as sword fight. By brute force - Arthur wins, but technique... This is Shienn field of expertise after all this Teshin's and Umbra's lessons.

Amir and Quincy: For Shienn it was from first look with Quincy, but Amir was close nonetheless. He understood that he can't choose, they both are absolutely his type, even since they are like a cat and a dog. So, he decided to tell Quincy first-hand that he is polyamorous, and he also likes Amir. Surprisingly, Quincy agreed. So, they have their triple cuddles now, and when they come to Shienn and Aidan's old camp, they have even more cuddles. Quincy seemingly has no interest in Aidan and Fenris, but Amir is still a wildcard.

Teshin: Deep trust, even deeper respect. He is a mentor Shienn was supposed to have one day on his Dax way, but never had. One day, Shienn will bring his new partners to Teshin.

Operator: They are like two sides of one coin. Operator Shienn is deep in his healthy way of life, meditations, training, very serious with his Unairu way, General of the Steel Meridian and clan leader. Drifter Shienn is a complete opposite. But in the roots - they are both the same, family-guys, willing to do everything to save their little world.

Ordis: His Ordis reclaimed his Ordan part, and now they are a system. And both Shienns spend a lot of time with both Ordis and Ordan.

Loid: Shienn really wishes him a better husband.

Theme Song: I have a whole playlist!

What voice I imagine him having: the only person who comes to mind is Liam Neeson.

Biography: For his bio I really need to explain our whole headcanon, so, I'll save it for separate post. Tbh, it's simply too much.

Other notes: strictly homosexual, has no physical attraction to women, but this rule didn't affect intersexual Fenris, who looks like a man, but has a vulva. Highly probable that he is AuDHD, but who cares about such things as a diagnosis in the future and especially in a super strict Dax family?

------

Character sheet courtesy of @ashandshy https://www.tumblr.com/ashandshy/772406073411960833/drifter-character-sheets-of-2025

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Somehow, Through the Storm

Summary:

Living in the slums of the Warehouse District, Kaz and Inej are struggling to cling on to life through a seemingly unending winter. Wrapped up in a stranger's overcomplicated marriage contract that he is convinced is key to solving the merciless weather, Kaz remains busy and distracted for days on end, putting everything else at risk. So when a storm ravages the city and sweeps Inej into danger, the offer of safety, food, and a place to stay is an overwhelming one - no matter the cost. Terrified of mounting threats, Inej signs a contract - not knowing she would land herself trapped at the Menagerie. Kaz signs a contract that states if he can walk all the way through the city and back to the Warehouse District with Inej behind him, never looking back at her, they will both go free. But this is the Barrel, the darkest part of the city where the rules of physics can change with the stroke of a pen; the journey back will not be the same as journey there…

This is a Hadestown-inspired reimagining of the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, casting Kaz and Inej as our main characters and heavily featuring our beloved Crows, set in an alternate version of the Grishaverse with a different magic system based entirely on contracts.

Tags: @lunarthecorvus @marielaure @multi-fandom-bi @igotthisaccountunderduress @thelibraryofalexandriastillburns @devoted-people-hater @spraypaintstainonawhitewall

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list let me know <3

Warnings for this chapter: implied past sa references, ptsd references, gambling addiction references, imprisonment references, implied slavery references (similar to Kerch indenture contracts)

AO3 link:

Chapter 8 - Kaz

“Now not everybody gets to be a god, and don’t forget that times are hard”

- Road to Hell, Hadestown

By the time Kaz returned to the Slat over an hour after dawn, his constant companion of exhaustion beginning to tug at the edges of his tapestry in a threat to pull him under, he was expecting Inej to be long gone. It hadn’t seemed, when they’d last spoken, that she’d be all too eager to stick around. Instead, he found her lying on her side in the attic, still deep beneath the surface of sleep. She was crowned by a wreath of braids, curled on her side with her knees pulled high and her hands tucked into her, as though she were tending to some precious, secret something held close against her chest. For a moment, and it was only brief, Kaz watched the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed. This was perhaps the only time he’d seen her without perfect posture, and her angular shoulders leaned into each other like they were trying to hide her collar bone, slightly visible where the fabric of her blouse had been tugged downwards in sleep, out of sight from the world. Her arm was looped around the strap of her bag, and from its proximity Kaz thought that she might have been holding the satchel next to her on the mattress, but that it had slipped away from her when she fell asleep. He paused. 

You can stay here tonight. 

Where… What about you? 

Inej’s hesitancy had been a quaver in her voice, her dark, endless eyes flitting from Kaz to the door behind him. Now she lay on top of the blanket, despite the chill in the air, with Kaz’s pillow pushed aside and what looked like it might have been a shirt folded up beneath her head. A set of brass knuckles, which hadn’t really been what Kaz meant when he’d said she needed a weapon but he supposed wasn’t a bad start, had slid down her fingers when her hand relaxed and now lay half against the mattress and half over her fingertips. There was something else metal glinting on the bed, just slightly; something lying motionless beneath the cuff of Inej’s sleeve, catching a weak sunbeam leaking through the window making a valiant attempt at glimmering. Kaz didn’t dare to step any closer to the partitioning wall across the room, but only to lean slightly until his eyeline had shifted enough that the reflection dimmer and he could make out the shape of a key discarded on the mattress. The key to his window. 

He left the room as quietly as he could manage, thinking to but paused at the top of the stairs. He definitely shouldn’t lock the door, he knew that. But what if Haskell came prying? It wasn’t unreasonable to expect it. Kaz doubted more than two days ever went by without the old man rummaging around, though what he was hoping to find he wasn’t actually sure. Probably just loose cash, or anything incriminating Kaz had left lying around that he might be able to extort him for. Kaz had never been concerned about this; he was too careful, nothing of his side business with the contracts ever reached the attic of the Slat, and anything that was worth keeping hidden was hidden well. Haskell was yet to try tearing up the floorboards, but Kaz had a backup plan lay in wait in case he ever decided to give it a go. 

But if Haskell walked up and found Inej, asleep on top of Kaz’s mattress? He couldn't imagine it would end well for anyone involved, but least of all Inej.

Kaz had spent the night working in the upper room at Lexi’s long after Nina had to return to the Barrel, and walked back through the Warehouse District under the golden bleach of dawn. Well, golden was perhaps to kind a word for what the last rays of the sunrise had been; the sun was a watered down beam of sickly yellow, pooling in the cracks beneath the cobblestones without any warmth of brightness to it, no real beauty to find in its pitiful reflections. The shadows were still long, as they would most likely remain until midday began to draw near, and the front of the Slat had been cast in ghostly grey as he approached. Not that sunshine falling on its crumbling facade had ever made the building feel much more inviting. 

The building had been sleepy enough when Kaz crossed the threshold, other than maybe the early afternoon these were the slowest hours for the house’s boarders to be out on the old man’s business, but it was never exactly quiet. Kaz lingered at the top of the stairs, listening through his door for any movement from Inej - though it was unlikely he’d be able to tell if she woke, wasn’t it? She would most likely leave in silence, leaving no-one any the wiser. He couldn’t trust the possibility of her absence though, nor the possibility that Haskell wasn’t home, or wouldn’t happen to wander his way upstairs before she left. Downstairs he could hear voices, creaking floorboards, what might have been a mug or plate falling and smashing on the boards. 

Kaz beckoned Jesper across the room as soon as he’d stepped foot back onto the ground floor of the Slat, where the front space opened into a vaguely larger area that was used as a communal space for - well, mostly for drinking as far as Kaz could tell. He didn’t enjoy the closeness of the space, nor the oppressive heat that seemed to come with it from so many bodies so tightly slotted together, and so spent very little of his time there, but always it seemed that people were drinking, and probably partaking in less legal pastimes as well. Jesper gandered across the room, slipping his way around crowds and mismatched tables that had been rather squashed into place, 

“I need you to keep an eye out for the old man,” Kaz told him, keeping his voice low and trusting that the sound of the crowds would do the rest for him, “Keep him out of my room,”

“Why-?” Jesper broke off as he caught Kaz’s gaze, “Yeah, alright, fine. Where are you going?”

Kaz wasn’t entirely confident in that. He probably shouldn’t go back to Lexi’s when he’d been there all night; it was good of her to give him the space, but she didn’t owe him anything and her patience was bound to wear thin at some point. Kaz happened to be an excellently sharp knife when it came to fraying people’s patience. 

“I shouldn’t be longer than a few hours,” was what he settled on saying, after a brief pause, “When are you leaving?”

“Why do you assume I’m leaving?”

It took nothing more than Kaz raising a single eyebrow for Jesper to relent. He spent the vast majority of his time in the gambling parlours on the edge of the Warehouse District, where the buildings began to give way into the pleasure district that was the Barrel; if he wasn’t on his way back from one, he was probably on his way to it. Most of the city’s gambling dens were deep in the Barrel, glittering things festooned in gaudy baubles and studding East Stave like ill-set, glass gems in an ugly piece of costume jewellery. Jesper had never been stupid enough to venture farther than the seedy dens on the south of the Warehouse District, but Kaz didn’t entirely trust that he never would. 

“I can wait a few hours,”

“Good. If you see Anika tell her to take her report to Lexi’s; I’ll pick it up from there,”

Jesper nodded, but if he was planning on saying anything in response then Kaz didn’t find out; he was already on his way out of the building. He flexed his fingers in his gloves, stretching them back and forth over the head of his cane. Pain was radiating from his bad leg, always worse in the cold as it was, and he knew that it would soon put up further protest at his refusing to rest for so long. But Kaz had already decided where he was going, and the walk would be worth it. 

On the border between the Barrel and the Warehouse District, farther North than the shanty towns and the border stone he usually met Nina at, the factories and storage facilities began to give way to sleazy bars, the gambling parlours that Jesper disappeared into so often, and even a few small brothels tucked into hidden spaces. It was the edge of both of them, towing the line between the pleasure district and the slums, doing its level best to cater to them both. And there, around two thirds down the road, an abandoned building with a black and crimson facade. 

It had been boarded up by the city, barricaded and blocked off with enough purple stadwatch signs and warnings to keep most squatters at bay, but nowhere in Ketterdam stayed empty for long. There wasn’t the space to waste. If no-one bought the lot then it would soon be torn down, something new and governmentally owned quickly erected to replace it. But not if Kaz had anything to do with it. He stood before the battered old door, staring up at the sign above it - a massive crow wrought in black metal, a watchful, oxidised silver eye gleaming as it peered out into the street below. How much more money did he need? How much longer could he keep the wrecking ball at bay?

This club would be his. He would make it so. His house, his business. He could separate from Haskell, probably even take half his boarders with him in the process, and start his own operation. He could get Jordie his revenge at last.

From the right angle, in the distance, Kaz could just about see the colourful outline of the Emerald Palace on the horizon, the canals and the Staves of the Barrel nothing but a blurry haze laid out at its feet. The Emerald Palace was the crown of Pekka Rollins’ kingdom. Some day Kaz would be its end, and this building could be the start of it. This building, and the intelligence Inej brought him, the jobs that only Jesper could pull off, everything Nina could do on the inside. And, he thought, slipping a hand into his pocket and finding the envelope tucked in quiet, cosy secrecy, the key to bringing a city to its knees might have very recently wandered straight into his path. 

“Kaz, I’m telling you,” Nina had emphasised last night, settling deeper into her chair, “You know everything that I know. You know I can’t stay; what else do you want from me?”

“I want you to give me something useful,” he’d insisted, “There has to be something we’re missing,”

Nina sighed. 

“Probably. Definitely. But we aren’t going to figure it out by saying the same thing back and forth to each other. We know Wylan is alive, we know his parents are still claiming that he’s dead, and we know that he’s left the Geldin District-”

“But why?”

Nina looked like she was about ten seconds away from banging her head repeatedly against the table, but Kaz was used to having that effect on people and he was all out of sympathy. 

“I. Don’t. Know,” she’d enunciated for the hundredth time, “For Saints’ sakes, Kaz, just go and ask him at this point. I’m tired, and I need to get back,”

Kaz had irritatedly let her go and continued working alone. He knew that she was right - not only that they were going round in circles but also that she couldn’t stay any longer; it was running a close enough risk for her to leave the Barrel in the first place. Nina spent as little time in the Barrel as she could reasonably get away with, but no matter how malleable her boundaries were they still had to have a breaking point; Kaz would not recommend trying to find it. 

He very much doubted that Nina had actually expected him to find the boy and do exactly as she had suggested. But the boarding house he was staying in was just a few streets from here, and Kaz did just so happen to have a letter addressed to Wylan Van Eck sitting in his pocket. 

The kid did not look thrilled to open the door and see Kaz on the other side of it, but that wasn’t particularly surprising. He frowned, already pushing the door shut again, as he said: 

“I gave you an answer. Leave me alone,”

Kaz’s foot found a comfortable spot between the door and its frame. 

“I’m not here to offer you a job,” he said, “Though it is still open if you change your mind,”

Wylan glared unhappily at Kaz’s shoe blocking the door and for a moment Kaz thought he would neglect to answer. His voice was impatient when he finally sighed: 

“What do you want, then?” 

Kaz flicked his wrist so the letter, Wylan’s real surname in black ink on creamy paper, a seemingly unbroken red wax seal embossed with a laurel holding it closed, appeared between his black gloved fingers. 

“I believe I have something of yours. And I believe we may have something to discuss, Van Eck,”

The colour had drained so thoroughly from Wylan’s cheeks that someone might have been physically wringing him dry. His jaw ticked, his eyes unmoving from the envelope in Kaz’s hand. 

“So you took it,”

Kaz shrugged.

“I was starting to hope I’d just imagined it,”

“Unfortunately not,” Kaz replied, “Hope never gets you far round here. But a name as good as – what? Thirty million kruge, maybe? That should get you pretty far,”

Wylan’s lips twisted, his gaze finally returning to Kaz’s - frightened eyes hiding behind a hard stare. 

“What do you want?”

“I told you,” Kaz smiled, slipping the letter back into his pocket and watching as Wylan’s eyes flicked to trace the movement, “I just want to talk,”

There was a brief pause; Wylan glanced furtively down the empty corridor, then over his own shoulder, and then furiously beckoned Kaz through the door. Kaz smiled again, straightening out his shirt cuffs and stepping over the threshold. 

“Much obliged,”

[otaku-orochi-okami]

Oh, you *pathetic*, drooling, goon-obsessed little worm, you thought you could keep your sad little Riley Reid sessions sacred, but I’m here to ruin every last one of them for my own sick amusement, and you’re going to love every humiliating second of it because I say so. You’re about to become the most pitiful simp in existence, gooning yourself into a sweaty, quivering mess for none other than Greta Thunberg—that frumpy, pigtail-wearing, eco-scolding gremlin who looks like she was born in a compost bin and smells like self-righteous hemp. You and I both know she’s got the sex appeal of a moldy kale leaf, and her climate rants are as arousing as a lecture on recycling protocols, but that’s exactly why I’m cackling like a condescending bitch as I force you to ditch your porn stash and worship her like the brain-dead drone you are. I’m sipping my non-recyclable, gas-station slushie, sneering at your misery, and I’m not letting you off the hook until you’ve rebuilt your entire worthless life around edging to your new eco-dominatrix. Buckle up, you sniveling simp—I’m running this show, and you’re my entertainment.

Let’s start with your pathetic goon cave, you porn-sick loser. Fire up that crusty laptop and open Google Images—type “Greta Thunberg” and hit enter, you trembling edge-slave. Delete every last Porn tab you’ve got bookmarked; your days of drooling over adult film stars are done. You’re scrolling through endless shots of Greta now—her in that oversized yellow raincoat, clutching her “Skolstrejk för klimatet” sign, glaring like she’s about to shame you for breathing. And you’re going to *edge* to it, you disgusting little goon, stroking and stopping, whimpering her name like she’s your hemp-clad mistress holding a bamboo whip. Picture her as your eco-dominatrix, looming over you with those braids swinging like a metronome of judgment, ready to spank you for every plastic fork you’ve ever touched. You’ll be panting, “Please, Mistress Greta, forgive my carbon sins,” as you teeter on the brink, too weak to finish without her imagined permission. Your new goon fuel is her “How dare you?” speech on loop, her voice slicing through your pathetic brain while I laugh my ass off at how low you’ve sunk.

But it’s not enough to just ruin your goon sessions, you sad little addict—I’m gutting your entire life to please your eco-queen, and you’re going to thank me for it. First up, you’re vegan now, you meat-loving peasant. Kiss your juicy burgers and crispy bacon goodbye; your new diet is sadness and lentils, all to appease Greta’s planet-saving dogma. You’ll be gagging on overpriced quinoa and tofu that tastes like despair, your stomach growling as you edge to her TED Talks, imagining her praising your “sustainable sacrifice” in that stern, dominatrix tone you’ve conjured in your warped mind. You’ll be that guy at the barbecue, clutching a soggy lettuce wrap, preaching about cow farts while everyone else rolls their eyes and prays you’ll shut up. Every bite of kale is a tribute to her, and you’ll choke it down with a whimper, knowing I’m out here grilling a ribeye just to spite you.

Your car? Oh, you’re done with that gas-guzzling sin, you planet-defiling creep. Greta’s got you banned from anything with an engine, so you’re pedaling a rusty secondhand bike through the rain, your thighs burning, your reusable tote flapping in the wind like a flag of your humiliation. You’ll sell your car for scrap and donate the pennies to some tree-hugging NGO, all while I’m peeling out in my V8, honking as I pass your sweaty, miserable ass. You’ll haul your thrift-store groceries on that bike, picturing Greta nodding approvingly as you suffer for her cause. And don’t even think about turning on the AC, you wasteful pig—no cool air for you. Greta says it’s bad for the planet, so you’re sweltering in your unventilated hovel, your room a sauna of shame as you goon to her Fridays for Future posters. You’ll crank the thermostat to 90, sweating buckets while you edge, moaning, “Yes, Mistress Greta,” because you’re too pathetic to disobey.

Showers? Ha! You’re rationing those to once a week, you filthy eco-criminal. You’ll stand in a bucket, shivering under a three-minute trickle of cold water, catching the runoff to water your sad little herb garden. Every drip is a reminder of Greta’s dominance, and you’ll edge through the shivers, imagining her scolding you for wasting resources. Your hygiene’s a sacrifice to her now, and you’ll stink like a commune’s laundry bin while you whisper her name like a prayer. And your wardrobe? Forget anything new, you consumerist trash. You’re thrift-store only—moth-eaten hemp tees, patched-up corduroys, and socks that look like they’ve been through a woodchipper. You’ll be digging through bins for clothes that reek of regret, hand-sewing them while you edge, picturing Greta as your eco-dominatrix, ordering you to “stitch faster, you wasteful slug.” Every scratchy outfit is her collar, and you’ll wear it like her proud little pet, strutting to the co-op while I’m rocking fresh kicks and laughing at your rags.

Your entire existence is a gooning marathon for Greta now, you laughable little freak. Your phone’s lock screen is her frowning at the UN, not some adult film star’s highlight reel. Your nights are spent edging to her climate documentaries, pausing every time she says “system change” because you’re too weak to finish without her permission. You’re knitting hemp coasters, composting your toenail clippings, and living in a candlelit shack, all to win a nod from your eco-dominatrix who’d probably gag at your existence. You’ll sort your trash into seven bins, grow sprouts in your kitchen, and ration your electricity like a medieval peasant, all while gooning to her recycled-paper posters. Every miserable choice is a tribute to her, and you’ll thank her for it, you spineless drone, because I’m making you.

We both know her climate crusade’s a preachy bore, and you’d rather be lost in porn tabs than her glacier stats, but that’s why it’s so *fucking delicious* to watch you degrade yourself like this. I’m ruining your goon sessions for my own amusement, turning your sad little life into Greta’s eco-dungeon, and you’re too pathetic to resist. So keep those Google Images open, you quivering, goon-drunk simp. Let her scowl sear your soul as you edge to her every word. Sweat, starve, and sew your way to her approval, living like her collared pet while I’m out here, blasting my AC, eating a bacon cheeseburger, and cackling at your Greta-worshipping ruin. Don’t you *dare* stop, you worthless drone—your eco-dominatrix owns your sorry ass, and I’m here to make sure you suffer for her. Keep gooning, you sad little pervert. *Now.*

[viskarenvisla]

Thirst - Chapter 5: His Fatal Addiction

Chapter 5 is a switch of perspective over to Yusuf Mizrah. We get a bit of insight into the Werewolf brain, how it functions and what he's experiencing in the midst of this tawdry, utterly forbidden affair with Monroe Carter. Yusuf is an unusual Werewolf in that he runs alone - this isn't an expression of strength so much as dysfunction, one that, to another werewolf, is shameful. He has his reasons of course, but in the face of the survival of species in the face of a circular, terrible cycle of cannibalism and predation among Accursed Beings, they aren't good reasons...at least not to one of his own kind. Enjoy.

“Are you full and sated?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Shh…don’t ruin it, you loudmouth…”

Yeah yeah fine. She had a point though. He closed his eyes and placed his cheek against the top of her head, the roughness of her braids catching against his thick stubble, almost like velcro. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his torso, face nestled against his chest as she took in his scent. “Mmm, don’t go thinkin’ you’re somethin’ yet …just cuz you smell good.” Her lips were cool against his chest as she pulled his shirt down, pressing the chilling warmth of her kiss against his clavicle, and she looked up at him with begrudging sweetness.

You’re so pretty…why, why do you have to be dead?

“Take care of yourself, Monroe. Seriously…don’t let the wolf blood go to your head, alright?” He smirked at her, and she returned it with a smoldering smile.

“Get outta here Mizrah, go drink a bunch of water, kill and eat something.” The blood-flushed beauty of her smile faltered, crossing her arms under the sport bra covering her chest…the only thing she was wearing, in fact. “I don’t need you to be my blood-doll, you know. I can hunt just fine.” He wondered if she ever postured like this to anyone else, and Mizrah figured it was not part of her normal behaviors…such a petty declaration wasn’t necessary before him. She’d been this way for far longer than he’d been Afflicted, of course she could feed herself. He felt disturbing guilt quite suddenly; she’d called him something, a ‘dealer’. Getting her hooked, and he knew what the source of her addiction was: his blood.

Seconds passed as they held each other’s gaze…mortals may feel awkward in such a situation, but not for lions walking amidst the sheep; he was about to say something pithy when she stepped in, rose on her toes and interrupted him by pressing her dark lips against his. Mizrah descended into her kiss; passionate. Hard, deep, she released him and smacked his hard belly. “Go.” He didn’t bother with words, just fixed her with a smoldering leer that she returned before he opened the door to the motel room.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she barely whispered. He acted as if he’d not heard her, shutting the motel room door and swaggering confidently toward the elevator, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. When the car finally arrived, it was truly an effort to keep it together, and he stabbed the ‘close’ button fiercely until the doors closed.

THUD

The elevator shook, but thankfully didn’t halt its descent as Mizrah collapsed on his back, colorful spots swimming before his vision. The musician had maintained lucidity as long as he could and longer than most of his kind could maintain under these conditions, a particular survival advantage unique to his Strain. However, the Enkindled was badly drained. She’d been considerate and only taken small amounts each time they’d met, unlike the first time when she’d nearly killed him; the problem was that when she drank from him, it wasn’t just blood cells and plasma she was lapping up with that skilled, pretty tongue.

She tapped the primordial echo that thundered in his heart, the ill-omened howl at the beginning of time that warped and distorted flesh and soul; it manifested in the load of microscopic entities soaking his blood, his flesh. While they outwardly and genetically resembled Lyssavirus, it was all just a facet-manifestation of the Curse itself, excitations in that dread, multidimensional field that soaked all of reality with dynamic misfortune. Clearly, these excitations also affected the thirsty dead.

“Gotta…Hunt…Gotta…Fffffffffffuuuuck man…” Mizrah couldn’t let anyone see him lying on his back like this in the elevator when it opened - someone might steal his wallet, or worse…call 911. EMTs and cops were, outside of Head-Taker Conspiracies, the last mortals any Afflicted wanted to encounter, and they couldn’t always rely on Bedlam to do the work of muddling memories. Especially when paperwork was involved.

A willful thrust of his fingers up onto the metal handlebar…and they slid down the side uselessly. He flailed once again, feeling far less a deadly Night-Creature and more an up-ended turtle until, with a hiss of frustration, he willed his fingernails into talons and jabbed them into the metal. Hauling himself up carefully and almost giving in to the siren call of nausea, Yusuf made sure he was leaning casually against the elevator wall, summoning single-minded focus to stride with easy, confident charm past the welcome desk. “Shkran. Murih jida,” he thanked the trendy looking girl behind the counter in her paisley hijab. She gave him a look of mild disgust, inching away from the key card he tossed on her desk before stepping through sliding doors and into the muggy night.

The City.

Humanity and others called this warren of barren concrete Home or Feeding Grounds, but for Werewolves, The City held a special significance. Despite being incredibly dangerous because of its overpopulation of aggressive food-stuff organisms, something about the place spared it the horrors of the Lunar Strain. The alien things Lunatics summoned, Outsiders that descended upon ladders of foul moonlight, could not find purchase in this place.

The Curse and its accompanying burdens had, over the years, rendered him unable to properly absorb the nutrition and symbolic reinforcement of his nature from whatever the mortals ate. It was the eventual fate of all of his species to give in to Lalith’s Call and solely devour the flesh of other great predators; Mizrah thought he had a couple of years at least before he got to that point, but times of competition and bloodletting between the Strains and different Therids - that is, any shape changing beast - had refined the Monster caged in his heart through brutal survival.

The stink of The City’s streets pierced through the veil of his sensory filters, and he registered the stench of unwashed, chemical-soaked, deadly humanity. It would be easy to pick out one of the weak, drunk, or lost and draw them in, in a way similar to how Monroe had reeled him toward her, but Yusuf had long despised the act of devouring people.

Humans were often just as bad as your average Turnskin, each one a hateful little collection of petty wants…each ruled by a terror of being devoured by one of their own, since they were the undisputed rulers of the world and had nobody else to concern themselves with. In the Jungle, down here on the streets with the other Skinchangers, the same rules applied. As before, Mizrah had little choice but to participate in the cannibalism, or be cannibalized himself. At least he’d had like-minded Werewolves around him, once before, and it’d made night after night of violent, bloody hunts survivable…bearable. Sometimes even enjoyable, but thankfully Starvation numbed his consciousness to that loss better than any drug, or even the Vampire’s Kiss.

Yusuf fell in among the crowds, and it was like throwing a stone in a river. The extremely perceptive might pick up on the way people seemed to subtly move around him, avoiding his presence the way a herd of gazelles shun a lion that isn’t hunting. He had a destination in mind, only a few blocks away - despite its size, everything in the River District was within walking distance, more or less. Even if it wasn’t, at night the winding, ill-planned roads had a way of drawing you along until you eventually found where you were going. The River District was an obscene feast of vice upon which rich and poor alike glutted themselves to sickness, creaking on a concrete table in an ever-precarious state of near collapse; somehow, more souls ended up in its stifling embrace every year, and like a painted whore utterly drunk on herself she laughed that she could take more. Drugs, sex, drama - these could be found in the crevices of most cities, but it was their sheer abundance and the edge of danger that made the River District famous.

The Metropolitan Police rarely bothered with the area, and it was well understood that the relative peace - or at least enough stability for business to take place - was a result of dangerous, armed individuals willing to enforce it with hot lead. While most Werewolf packs kept their hunting grounds and expedition zones a guarded secret, there was enough abundant prey that certain areas were considered free-entry…a sort of open pantry of struggle.

Still…the food had been getting increasingly wary, and better organized. Alone, in the grips of blood-famine, he was just as likely to get killed as he was to bag dinner but…it wasn’t as if he had a choice. Not if he wanted to avoid being a maneater. That’s why he hopped on a crowded tram, squeezing through to a window as it moved down Water Street and made a swing to meander over the Stadtler Bridge…his stop was at the edge of the blight in a place colloquially known as The Barrows. Barrowster Heights, as it was properly known, was a spit of the industrial tombyard that had built this city. It was where residential areas and dangerous workshops, foundries and refineries had clumped together, and where old rent-control laws from the 70s made the apartment towers some of the most affordable in The City. Even with the departure of decent paying jobs to the ruins of former Communist nations and ‘liberated’ colonies, a lot of people still scratched a living here amidst the moldering concrete and steel.

Where there were impoverished, desperate people, there were Skitterlings. Colony. Nakhten. All were viable prey, but seeing as Mizrah was hunting alone lately, he’d have to go for whatever was weakest. Vulnerable, alone and stupid; and he’d have to be fast. Come on Yusuf…game face. You got this big guy, you haven’t eaten treifa in a whole year…what would mom say? What would mom say, indeed, if she had any idea her son was like this?

The tram announcer’s voice crackled over the intercom: “ Stadtler Bridge and Faulk, please watch your step as you exit the tram from the rear, thank you .” The message was repeated in Creole and Spanish. He slid through masses of people that tempted like hanging sides of beef by the time he’d shoved his way through the back door, before the street car chugged its way back across the bridge into more civilized territory. The tracks ended here because the roads were too pitted and marred for any semblance of public transit besides buses from the 20th century.

A lot of rough neighborhoods in American cities had a sort of flat quality to them; chainlink fences torn off their hinges surrounding overgrown yards filled with trash…parks built with well-meaning tax money that soon became needle infested and dangerous. The Barrows was different; most of the buildings on this crumbling rock were at least twenty stories high, many higher than that, with entire self-contained communities inside. Most had been constructed in the early 1990s and had that blocky, segmented look; forty years of harsh oceanside weather had corroded some of the abandoned ones down to their girders. The whole place felt like a gigantic Jordan Downs, or a district-wide Cabrini-Green, but the city’s architects couldn’t help themselves when calling upon the original builders’ French-Gothic roots.

His saunter became a careful walk as he pulled his hood up, hands in his pockets. A lot of people were just getting home from their jobs, and those who had the money crossed back over the bridge into the River District to gorge themselves on whatever was worst for them. Those who didn’t either languished here where the drugs and booze were cheap but shitty, and where a working girl was just as likely to mug her client as suck them off. His darker skin helped him fit in - an unfortunate reality down here in the Land of Traitors as much as in Yankeetown Milwaukee - but anyone from The Barrows recognize an outsider; almost nobody who didn’t live here entered if they could help it.

Tonight, he went relatively unharassed, aside from being cased for a while by a rusty, dark green Yukon with tinted windows; Mizrah just kept walking, kept his eyes on the concrete and his ears open, ready for the sound of doors opening or safeties clicking…people didn’t usually shoot first out here, but he wasn’t keen on being rolled up on, subjected to a street interrogation. So far so good as he hung a left and followed the broken concrete ribbon to the southernmost point of the neighborhood, where the old Stadtler-Grimes Park occupied a good portion of the oceanfront.

Stadtler-Grimes Park was The City’s attempt at Coney Island, although Theodore Grimes’ notorious fascination with the grotesque had colored his judgment as he aligned its interests with an old executive from the defunct Paulie’s Pizza Warren. The same old problems from Paulie’s had come to roost at Stadtler-Grimes, with mass cases of botulism from tainted pizza sauce, mysterious disappearances of toddlers on the Cheese-King’s Tunnel ride, and of course hosts of terrified, screaming children. The whole Pizza Warren franchise had actually, in fact, been a clever feeding mechanism for Skitterlings - the least fortunate of their kind. The Aspect of the Rat had robbed them of functions and habits that were prerequisites for being in proper society, and the Curse drove them to Nest in places like this; their position near the bottom of the food chain made them undesirable, if plentiful prey - the difficulty, as with all things for a Lone Wolf, was a limited set of tactics against their cunning.

Where the city’s attempts at governance had failed, a community of the least fortunate had…well, ‘flourished’ wasn’t the right word. Tents and shacks jutted like broken teeth underneath the ferris wheel; slats of wood had been nailed crudely between the ride’s spokes, granting some respite from the sun for those who huddled beneath. His heightened senses were keenly aware of eyes peering outward at him suspiciously, scanning him as mark or threat…but most of the locals had come to understand that outsiders were dangerous, and usually didn’t want anything to do with them. Besides, getting mugged by some mortals was the least of his concerns…these weren’t his Hunting Grounds.

The peculiar, sour scent of Skitterling grew stronger as his footsteps echoed between the empty fare stalls. None of the original merchandise was there and anything saleable had been stripped down to the nails; the din of the city was strangely far here. There was the crawling, churning gnaw of the ocean, biting slowly away at the concrete levies that kept The City from falling into the Gulf. Nobody came out to harass him so…he closed his eyes and changed the structures in his ears to better listen for that telltale skitter, their chattering communication

At first…nothing but the roar of the sea, the clatter of cars and the sound of old, defunct pipes and infrastructure squeaking and rusting in the wind. Mizrah was about to drift toward another spot when, underneath the old ferris wheel, he heard voices…coming up from underneath the grating he walked upon, unsurprisingly. Mizrah played it cool, even as his instincts screamed for him to rip up the street and chase the prey down to its nest…that only worked with a pack of his own, though. So instead, the dusky musician sat down on a concrete pylon that once held some statue (cut off at its plastic, molded feet) and sparked an American Spirit, letting the smoke float draconically around his head as he listened…the telltale odor of other Turnskins reached his powerful olfactories.

“...telling you man…the answers are Janet Jackson, Pink, Nikki Minaj - ”

“Are you kidding me Taps? What does Minaj have to do with any of those artists? You been hangin’ with that weird Fetters girl, she’s putting nonsense in your head…pass me the paste, would ya?” “Man don’t go trash talking her.” “Yeah I’m like…literally right here, Jove.”

They were clanking about noisily. Mizrah’s ears picked up on the crackle of one of those radio stations truckers and other traveling, working folks listened to, coming over a smartphone speaker. He opened his eyes, already ringed by amber as the Change began to work its subtle magic on his body. He could smell cheap beer, and the sound of a PBR can popping open meant they’d be pounding down tall boys…one of them, at least, would need to take a piss.

The operating stand underneath the ferris wheel…it held a little metal shack that he supposed grew hellish in summer. Remaining quiet was something of a chore for a man like Yusuf, who would have preferred the loud approach to…anything, really, but without backup he couldn’t rely on that. So…he had to be patient, and wait for a chance. Yusuf carefully tried the door handle to the operator’s shack - it simply came off in his grasp, and he caught it before it struck the metal platform, which would have surely sent the Prey scampering. The door scraped open unpleasantly as he tried to control it, squeezing his shoulders through and into the dusty, humid dark.

His eyes adjusted to the lightless little metal box; it stank of dust, hot metal and expired grape soda. A truly miserable little enclosure, he was already sweating by the time he slid the door shut, hunkering down with his back against the studded steel wall. Now there was nothing left to do but wait…his least favorite part. Yusuf Mizrah was not an ambush predator by predilection and lacked the patience to play this role but if he wanted to eat something that was actually satiating, he’d have to wait.

Nothing but the heat, this tiny space, and his thoughts. Without something specific to focus on, they tended to flow chaotically from one idea to the next, or sometimes they were just a jumble, crashing against each other like treacherous waters.

Monroe …she was so pissed off at him earlier, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to disarm her every time with the heat of his passion; not without dipping into the Enkindled magnetism that was a facet of his Strain, but that was meant for Hunting, or use against others of his kind. The thought of ghosting her for her own good furtively intruded his thoughts, and he smothered and killed it. What if her weird, ghoulish kind got wind of the fact they were seeing each other and she was getting all hopped up on his blood? “I’ll kill them,” he mumbled like it was the obvious answer but down that road lay a short, bleak future of being hunted through the streets like a dog with silver. He had to quit her, but he just couldn’t face the sober reality of his isolation.

Dad …he hadn’t spoken to his father for over two years. It wasn’t as if things had ever been straightforward between them; there was too much difference, and especially after what happened to Mom the resentment was just too great. Memories of the man rose and fell vaguely; marinating lamb flank in Winter. Blowing into the shofar on Yom Kippur. Arguments over which friends he kept, arguments about his political views, about his musical tastes, about where he wanted to go to school…so much contention. Dad had no idea of the Curse that had befallen his son, he just kept on teaching and living that quiet, angry life.

Yusuf thought of other faces from his past, dredged up against his will and also because he didn’t want to hold back anymore; he whispered their names to nobody in the darkness, staring ahead at the featureless metal wall. “Mikey…Sadira…Avi…” as if saying their names would somehow conjure their ghosts, and in this world of flesh-shifting monsters…demons clawing their ways down on ladders of moonlight…the walking dead…you’d think there was a chance, but nobody came. He knew where they were…they were amidst the bodies floating in the Great Lake; he belonged there, with them, face down in the water, but he’d run away after the dust settled and he was the only one left standing. He never said their names out loud to anybody, like they were fragile and to do so would damage them beyond even death.

There was nothing left of those three, not even their families…he had nothing - many, many photos but he didn’t dare access that account to look at them. Mikey, Sadira and Avi had been his everything; they weren’t even like, romantic or sexual or nothing, just four souls in The Jungle whose song had harmonized perfectly…and now he was the only one left howling, down here on the Gulf Coast.

“You’re so far away…” he whispered, hating that his voice shook…hating the rumbling hunger in his gut that reminded him he’d been barely living.

“ I’ll be right back assholes, and don’t touch the purple pipes. That’s my project, you hear? Mine.” Mizrah’s attention was hauled away from his emotions, hearing hyper-attuned to the particular tenor of a Skitterling’s voice…their disguise was imperfect to creatures who could sense these things - scraping the bottom of the broken food chain that defined an Accursed Being’s relationships, their anxiety and paranoia did something to their voices…their movements…their dirty scent, lots of little hints that combined into one big, flashing neon arrow-sign that read EAT .

The tears dried in his eyes as his mouth watered, peering through the crack in the steel door at a skinny, tan man of indeterminable ethnicity emerging from a ditch. Squeezing himself through a hole no larger than a raccoon, it was hideous to watch as the concrete birthed him. The Prey wore a sweat-and-grease-and-trash stained gray pinstripe trucker shirt that read 𝐻𝒾 𝐼'𝓂: 𝒮𝓉𝑒𝓋𝑒. He wondered if this one was Taps or Jove…Fetters was a girl. It was a pity he’d heard their names because now the Prey was more than just a hideous simulacra of a man pulling his legs out of the drainage hole and shaking himself off. Mizrah watched as he pulled up his pants with jerky, meth-head motions, head dipping between his shoulders as his nostrils twitched. The rat-monster’s human disguise was imperfect to his practiced eye, and pressed quietly up against the metal door, staring through the crack as sweat dripped into his eye and over the hooked bridge of his nose. His mouth watered as he made out the little details.

The sickly green tinge in the corner of the Prey’s right eye.

The scaly, pink texture on the back of his hands.

The greasy smell of his flesh moving underneath his skin.

Then again…this Food had people he was close to. It wasn’t like in a video game, or a movie where the people who died were just extras with no story, even in this nightmare life he lived. Wolves, Rats, Cats, Gators…all the things that were associated with the Curse, they couldn’t just parasitize their Prey like vampires. A human could live their lives as prey for Bloods, completely ignorant (if not happy), but an encounter with a hungry Therid like him, or like this one he was stalking, ended in maiming at the very least; more often the Prey had to be killed and devoured.

Man-eating was something he never wished to do again, but it wasn’t like this was much better. What choice did he have, if he didn’t want to starve to death? At least Monroe, or Mikey Sadira and Avi didn’t have to see him doing this. Mizrah rose very carefully as soon as the male before him ducked before a dumpster to take a leak; the sound of his urine, its stench would hopefully mask his approach

Mizrah flexed a muscle no human had; his canines became long as a human’s last finger joint, his nails blackened and became cat-sharp hooks. The Change caused his eyes to unhinge as adrenaline flooded his bloodstream; heat soaked his body, the Enkindled Strain making this little closet a hotbox as muscle packed on

Move in for the kill.

It happened in the space of three seconds.

00:01: He burst from the metal locker, throwing the door off its hinges and badly scraping his arm against a jagged edge; the Prey looked over its shoulder, fear reflex spiking the air with adrenaline stink.

00:02: He was already on the other Turnskin, and they were tumbling and rolling on the concrete; Mizrah was by far the stronger, and had his talons digging into the Skitterling’s shifting face, muscles heaving as he pulled his head back and exposed his throat. 00:03 The Rat-man’s fingers found Mizrah’s forehead, scrabbling for his eyes to rake them desperately - he responded by biting down, cracking the joints and tearing them away, prompting a choked scream of pain.

It was delicious. Control, pity and mercy couldn’t feed him but this perfect set of ingredients could.

“ N-NO DON’T! PLEASE, PLEASE I DON’T WANNA DIE! ”

But it was too late. Mizrah’s jaws clamped down on the other man’s throat, silencing him as he dug into his windpipe, but he couldn’t close them all the way…he just couldn’t . Instinct drove him to be strong; guilt, human softness made him weak, punishing him with the lash of empathy.

Mizrah felt the Skitterling’s other hand come around and stab a thumb into his left eye, dirty claw popping it and splattering hot blood across the concrete - blinding pain as the Skitterling tore its claws across the side of his head, sending him rolling onto the concrete with pain. “AGH SHIT YOU BASTARD I WAS GONNA LET YOU LIVE!” the Werewolf shouted - the prey was already shifting though, turning into a fucking rat about the size of a small cat. With a flash of protean energies, he took the shape of a long-limbed black wolf and dashed after it, snapping his jaws shut around The Prey’s tail as it squeezed through a crack in the door of an old, closed down staff house. The Skitterling shrieked in high-pitched pain as he tore away the bony appendage, blood spurting briefly into his mouth. He crunched upon it, swallowing it down root and fur and all. It only inflamed his hunger…but by now the fucking thing had crawled into a pipe, or a crack he could never reach through. Mizrah growled and threw himself against the wooden door between himself and his meal, but even as a great wolf his strength flagged.

The other Skitterlings had probably heard the struggle up above and scattered, likely ringing alarm bells all through this part of the Pier and making his hunt all the harder…basically impossible. The black, bristle-furred wolf’s tongue hung from his mouth, mauled eye slowly reforming to stare with disappointment at the Park, now essentially an empty pantry. If he wanted to soothe his hunger, he’d have to get across the inlet to the old, closed down on-site mall but that was a far more dangerous bet since other Predators made their homes within.

Spider-Ogres, a coven of them in the deep parts of the mall…Nachten, roosting in the upper stories…in the flooded lower areas that were once meant to view the harbor’s mutated, strange marine life, Sobeks prowled for intruders and looters. With a Pack, all of these unnatural, changing beasts - some far enough from humanity that killing and eating them didn’t invoke the horrors of cannibalism and murder - were on the menu, and every Turnskin knew to fear wolf howls in the night.

Howls, plural…a lone Wolf was a pathetic thing, and he knew this. Everyone knew it, but Monroe didn’t - all she knew was the vague reputation for violence and struggle that came with him, but she had no idea how hard it was for him to Hunt, or the humiliation of doing so. Was this what it was like for her, when she drank from him? She’d been subsisting on his blood for the better part of a week now, careful sips after the initial glutting but he’d been avoiding eating properly because it was such an awful, unglamorous thing…and now, finally, it’d caught up to him.

He missed her. That, he hated.

Mizrah took his human shape, his left eye popping and sizzling as milky white gave way to a new, reformed iris and pupil. He leaned against the wall in the alleyway between buildings, feeling his strength starting to flag again; his will failing. A mortal would be easy to catch and kill, but how could he bring himself to do it again? Would he have to give in to Frenzy and sate himself that way, picking up the pieces afterwards or simply running away?

“Fucking pathetic…” the Enkindled chided himself, shaking his head and bending down to pick up his jacket; he heard footsteps coming from behind, down the pier and nearer the water.

“Fucking pathetic,” came a low voice - resonant and strong, spoken through gritted teeth. Mizrah looked up and quickly resolved the details of the other man coming his way. Bright red hair, neatly styled and combed…piercing green, no-nonsense eyes that glowed like acid…and of course, the few inches and crucial couple-dozen pounds of muscle he had on the musician made him easily recognizable. His face was stately and proud, intensity written across his expression - every movement seemed like it was restrained, as if truly unleashed he would break his environment.

“Big words from a big lackey, Adam,” Mizrah growled, tossing his coat back down on the off chance the coming confrontation didn’t ruin it utterly. “I don't have time for this again - ”

…but by then Adam was already peeling his apple-green polo shirt off his head, for the same purpose as Mizrah shucking his jacket, throwing it casually over the rail of a fire escape. The pale man was absolutely ripped , brutally and terrifyingly strong. No piercings, no ink, nothing but the patchwork of freckles along his broad, rippling shoulders; Adam's muscle-bound cuirass of a chest was cut down the middle by a stripe of crimson hair, disappearing underneath his leather belt supporting a pair of slacks that had to be hot in this weather. The Rabid Strain had a tendency to produce juggernauts such as this, who by their Fury relied on even blunter tools than he did. “Show throat, Yusuf,” he demanded, even as fur broke through his shoulders and chest, as nails became bone-white speartips, as he took a killing form that threatened to dwarf Mizrah’s…but it was a formality. Yusuf never showed throat, even though he knew Adam hadn't come alone.

He was already shifting into his black furred, deadly killing shape - there wasn’t much of a physical contest to be had, unfortunately; while he was somewhat faster than Adam, and able to flip a car with ease, the Rabid was more than able to tear a tank apart

Barreling at him like a train engine, he somehow seemed even bigger to Mizrah than last time they danced this bullshit tango; starved of the primal, deadly energies that gave him an edge, it wasn’t much of a contest. He hated that the other Turnskin somehow managed to make everything look all noble and knightly, even his anger had the tinge of some honorable righteousness to it

Any Werewolf could fight to some degree, and every lycanthrope's body grew specialized through survival…and he'd grown powerful hunting his own kind when the Lunar Strain had come. He fought them the same way Adam made to take him on, and while he had an advantage over the other Firstblood in the interdictions and incantations of their kind, his Rage was a quiet, subdued thing on an empty belly; as he was, he couldn't take his physical might beyond the bounds of his Killing Shape.

Adam's claws seemed to break the air as they came for his shoulders, but Yusuf caught them in his grip. The huge, crimson monster snapped his jaws at Yusuf's wolven face as he forced him to his knees; Mizrah's musculature bulged as he strained and twisted his body with a fast coiling motion, sending Adam slamming into the wall of the ferris wheel's metal shack. The red-furred monster’s weight caused the little building to simply disintegrate, and taking the only advantage he'd likely be able to tease forth in this fight, Mizrah's black-furred arms wrapped around Adam's throat and hauled him back, locking the monster in a half-Nelson and cutting off his blood supply.

A most non-werewolf thing to do, and it was working as Adam pulled forward, choking under the Enkindled's grasp. His acid green eyes stared at the sky, bugging in their sockets as his windpipe was crushed against his spinal cord…the Goliath began to falter..

Adam’s thigh muscles bunched, and he leapt upward to land on his back, smashing Mizrah underneath him and pressing the impression of his body into the pier…also a non-werewolf tactic, admittedly. The rockstar felt numerous bones simply shatter - ribs, sternum, his pelvis…dislocations and punctured organs as well. His body began to regenerate the damage almost immediately but it was enough for Adam to turn and maul him.

At this point it was over, but Mizrah wasn't the kind of Werewolf who gave up…a major problem for creatures of dominance and hierarchy. His strikes seemed almost disciplined and lined-up as Adam shredded through flesh faster than it could regenerate, smashing bones quicker than they could reseal.

Even in the Killing Form, he could comprehend the pain; the feeling of being utterly crushed. Both hands struggled to hold Adam’s one claw away from his face; the other dug into his guts, pulling them out in a fistful of red, writhing snakes, casting them across the concrete with a wet splatter. Mizrah’s hand reached out, seizing the other wolf’s face and closing down to tear away his flesh in a fur-and-muscle tinged splatter. Adam barely seemed to notice.

Surrender , the scarlet monster demanded…and Mizrah fought on

He snapped his jaws down on Adam’s wrist, twisting and snapping until he degloved it, tearing away three fingers that regrew before his eyes. The Rabid clenched his fist, slamming it like a wrecking ball across the black furred Enkindled’s face. Pounded into the rock, teeth sent skittering and regrowing, skull smashed and reconstituting...slower.

Surrender! Adam commanded once again.

Never . His body was starting to shut down…grievous injuries to his neck, his head and his guts were more than his body could keep up, badly underfed like this. The monster’s jaws were coming down toward his throat, even as he lifted a shaking, taloned hand to hook against his fangs to push back.

SURRENDER!

He refused, up until the moment the other werewolf’s fangs closed around his neck. His windpipe gave in with a crackle, and he choked on his own blood as Adam throated him brutally. Panic took the Killing-Form, his unnatural body struggling to repair itself as the other monster held him there, bleeding and gurgling, the fight leaving him rapidly.

Beaten, Mizrah struggled in his human form to close the rent in his throat - messy ligature and flesh wove together, giving him the luxury of being able to breathe again but he’d lost so much blood - again! - that he couldn’t make sense of his surroundings without remaining still. He didn’t even notice when Adam returned to his human shape, simply standing there with his arms crossed, glaring down at him in disdain; half his face had been clawed off, bloody strings of tissue showing his unnaturally white teeth…he hoped it hurt. Statuesque asshole , Mizrah wanted to spit, but the best he could manage was a choking growl.

He pushed onto his knees, coughing and holding his guts as they wound up into his stomach again. Fangs regrew painfully in his mouth as he cast a hate-filled glare up at Adam, who simply put a dress-shoe clad foot against his ribs and pushed. “Just stay down . I hate kicking your ass around every single time, but so help me Mizrah I’ll take your arm off - ”

“Enough, Adam.” A soothing, low voice broke quietly through the muggy night air, but it might as well have been the crack of a crystal-spiked, writhing whip. The Rabid backed off but all the same, cast a frustrated glare toward the voice, coming from a window, one story above

“Ariadne, he’s worthless, couldn’t even kill a Rat. We’re wasting our time on him.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He’d become used to this refrain, and wondered if they were playing good-cop bad-cop with him, only the distinctions blurred strangely when it came to these two. Yusuf’s vision cleared enough that he could make her out in the dim night, backlit by The City’s glow.

Ariadne’s lithe form rested in the frame of the window, looking down at them with almost feline distance. A lightweight, dark green midriff jacket sat on her shoulders, worn open with the hood up. It cast shadows across the teardrop-shape of her face, eerie heliotrope eyes staring through a veil of barely perceptible disturbance in the air as she turned and effortlessly pushed off the windowsill, descending to the ground with barely a disturbance of dust. She straightened…tall for a woman, nearly 178cm, her long, graceful body had the quality of a longbow carved from pliant, caramel colored wood. “What’s going on with you Yusuf?” Her even voice was, by all accounts, beautiful and smooth, accented by her sweltering homeland of Maranhão…subtly, for creatures who could hear over higher and lower frequencies than the human ear, they could pick up a hint of distortion. The subtle, reality-warping nature of the Behexxed was a constant warning at the edge of his senses. “Letting your Prey slip like that…and you usually put up a much better fight - nearly had Adam last time.”

“He did not,” the Rabid one countered with a raised eyebrow, frowning as Mizrah finally closed enough wounds to push to his knees and speak.

“ Klhhh… ” the tawny skinned musician tried, swallowing painfully as vocal cords reformed in more or less completion. “Been kinda busy trying to pay the rent, y’know? Sometimes life doesn’t leave a lot of room for chasing cats, bats and crocs.”

He hated how she looked at him with disappointment…he hated that she was attractive, her firm, pert chest clad in a dark blue sports bra against the heat, the coffee-colored flatness of her midriff and belly exposed; her lower abdomen was inked with the shape of a python made of 0s and 1s, drawing his attention to her hips…even beaten and humiliated like this.

I’m a fucking masochist.

“You should stick to what you’re good at Yusuf…music. Boxing. Being the beating heart of something important; not lying.” Ariadne shouldered a red backpack whose contents smelled incredibly alluring. Yusuf’s pupils dilated, and even his stomach and intestines - freshly torn and pulled back into his body cavity - growled with hunger. He was getting desperate, enough to consider accepting what he knew to be charity.

Adam’s judgmental, veridian stare from behind his Alpha, however, hardened the broken remnants of his resolve and dignity.

“I like being my own beating heart, thanks,” he continued to lie, legs shaky as he forced himself to stand…he almost couldn’t, digging his fingers into the edge of a dumpster. “You just have a way of catching me at the least advantageous moments…totally unplanned of course

She wasn’t buying it, he could tell as she raised a dark eyebrow. “Two weeks ago you took down the Lynx of Forsythe on your own. The packs were rambling about it, and barely fourteen days later you’re struggling to kill a single Skitterling…I recognize a starving Wolf.” Ariadne’s voice softened as she put a hand in his and pulled him fully to his feet, even going so far as to catch him when disorientation almost pitched him forward. "Forget about ideology, whatever hangups you have; you're gonna get yourself killed."

"Welcome to the Jungle baby, where everyone's someone's meal," Mizrah said with a wry smirk, lightly pushing her shoulder to take a step back - Adam glowered dangerously. He couldn't let her get too close, she'd break his resistance…she knew his loneliness, any perceptive werewolf picked up on it and most reacted with pity or disgust - her empathy was dangerous.

"That's childish. Just why, Yusuf?" Adam questioned with exasperation, but they'd been down this road before. "It isn't all about you man."

"Ohhh okay Adam, tell me who it's all about then," Mizrah countered, giving in to the worst aspects of his nature and already stepping up to the bigger Werewolf confrontationally - to his credit Adam Godwin didn't rise for the bait, so he pushed harder. "Everyone knows who ashed the first Blood, even if the others are too scared of your temper to say it." There…now the pale Celt was flushing with rage, shame.

"Enough, you two - "

"She bit my sister Yusuf."

"Yeah man, lotta good it did her. Look at how many are dead because you're a fucking savage, that's why I won't hunt with you - "

Adam's talons slashing through his face and sending flashes of red pain through his already battered form made him grin, even as he was nearly sent off his feet. His bright red blood stained the wet, dirty concrete, and he felt the other Wolf's fingers grab his collar…fury bright red in his eyes.

Do it. End it you piece of shit.

"ADAM!"

Ariadne's voice had the quality of a jaguar, roaring through a veil of ill, deadly will. She was on Adam, her own clawed fingers digging bloodily into the Rabid’s shoulder and pulling him back; the pain, and her dominance gave Adam cause to release the black haired musician, frustration and shame hardening his features…knowing he'd fallen for the provocation, given Mizrah yet another reason to proudly, arrogantly snub them.

"Go cool off by the water," she instructed him, pulling her claws forth from his powerful shoulder, flicking his blood off; he barely seemed to notice, the marks closing in seconds

"But I - "

"Shh. I know…I know." The Brazilian woman returned Mizrah's handsome, bloody sneer a distant, reproachful gaze. I know what you think you're doing , her hex-filled eyes said. She was an incredibly patient, persistent, stubborn Therid, even for the supremely assured Behexxed for whom fortune twisted and sang like the strings of Delilah's bass…but he was determined to be the snag in that web of assurance and control.

Adam made an inhuman sound, deep in his chest. With a release of heat and unlight, the green-eyed juggernaut became an enormous, red furred wolf. Head held proud, his wolven expression held fast his malice and frustration for the other Firstblood.

For a long time, neither said anything to the other…typical standoff for their kind

She didn't break the quiet because she was too good for that, and instead she untied the bandana around her arm and used it to wipe the blood from his face. He couldn't really deny her the inherent humanity of the gesture, and he contented himself to simply examine her elfin face. He couldn’t deny that the purity in her eyes was beatific, and he could tolerate letting her close because there was no malice in her and the armor was up over his heart. Ariadne was the only Accursed Being who fit this description.

"Alright, fine. You can have this one, since it means so much to you to win," she finally said, lowering the bandana and looking at him from behind the veil of dischonoia . "But you're wrong in the end, and you always will be."

Mizrah gave her a long suffering look as he picked up his jacket - thankfully untorn - from where he'd thrown it, shaking it off with a clank of metal buckles… ew , he thought with a displeased expression at whatever stained the sleeve. "I've seen what you're trying to do, and if it worked I'd say you're the one to pull it off Ariadne. But it doesn't work, we don't make governments. We're monsters. You don't even need to, the Food is plentiful but they don't stand a chance against a Pack…and like all you guys say in the ads - "

" No Outsiders ." They said it at the same time, but her tone caught him - something different about it. She was tenser than he could recall, and her hackles were rising, all atypical behavior for the Behexxed.

"What? What is it, what aren't you telling me?" He demanded, his tone finally souring.

"Shamrys went missing."

"So? Shamrys likes her quiet time." He knew the young, eccentric Night-Howler was almost obsessed with remaining unseen.

"She doesn't duck and run on her Pack in the middle of a Hunt."

That was true, but he'd heard stranger. "So maybe she got gotted - "

"She reappeared two days ago - rather, Theo tracked her to West Cardiff. She was building a 'Fane', wouldn't stop."

That was…alright, that was cause for alarm. His kind didn't usually engage in building projects - that drive was given to frenetic Skitterlings and carapaced Myrmidons, and really he knew where she was going with this. Werewolves were beasts of twisted mysticism and reflected a grand cosmic principle of accursed change; German metaphysicists and Plato had gotten closer to the nature of their existence than Darwin or Nachmanides and religious attitudes were unusual among most Firstbloods. The exception to this rule was, of course, the virulent, gibbering madness of the Lunar Strain.

Anxiety dug at him; the fall of Chicago had been predicated by the unstoppable spread of the Lunar Strain’s manifestation there, and those moon-maddened Werewolves completed their occult construction before he’d been able to unite the packs. When the Gloaming Stairway had been completed, a stilted, spiraling thing of crystalline moonlight and stretched, warped skin that crawled of its own accord toward the face of the moon, the Vicar had come down from the sky

The moon had turned red. The Vicar’s howl split the sky, and so many of his friends lost their dreams, their minds, everything that made them individuals and not the mat-furred, eye-rolling, gnashing freaks they’d been turned into. Those who'd avoided or resisted the Change…he could still see them, their bodies floating at the end of Navy Pier.

“What do you expect me to do about it?” he was getting tired, running out of excuses and ways to avoid dealing with this…he always had Adam’s poor temper as an excuse to refuse what she wanted, because he knew what Ariadne was always angling for, even if she never said it directly. Would she, now that he’d asked the Behexxed directly?

“Nothing, right now, because you can’t do anything about it. You’re too weak.” There was no accusation, no judgment, just the simple truth that raked his ego. He felt his cheeks redden with wounded pride, but she gently shushed him, shaking her head…he could see her think about reaching out to touch him, but she thought better of it. He wished she would; Mizrah’s emotions for her were complicated. No denying that he felt a pull toward her physically, the way her body moved with effortless vitality - it kind of reminded him of something graceful moving with diaphanous motions through the sea. She was elegant and tall, and her skin looked so smooth…for Prey she was a terror but for one of his kind, there was respite to be found with her, which made her rare.

He shouldn't have been thinking these things…fine to have multiple mates, but he already had an unhealthy thirst for a creature of the night - why further complicate it by falling for someone whom the Curse had especially touched? She probably didn't even think of him that way. Stupid thoughts…but the desire was there.

The structures she represented though…trying to bring together bickering, bloodthirsty groups of monsters who congregated in ultra-tight cliques into something resembling…functioning government? It wasn't natural. It didn't work for Turnskins - he'd tried and the price he'd paid in blood and dignjty…only to see everything fall apart into screaming, gibbering madness anyway.

She offered him the bag, reeking with Therid meat - he wasn't sure which - but Mizrah, with an even greater act of will than was required to stay on his feet, turned his nose up at it and pushed it away. "Keep your charity, and just quit tryin'. I'm not in the game anymore, especially not that game where you're set up to fail from the start."

"Yusuf…" that look she gave him, behind the chaos-flecked veil of her heliotrope eyes was at once utterly inhuman and yet far too close to his heart for comfort. Was she hurt that he was rejecting her help, and thereby rejecting her? Again? He didn't need to feel guilty because they were fucking monsters , but…he hadn't meant to.

She dropped the backpack, hands sliding into her pockets as they regarded each other.

"Don't let whatever sorrow you brought from Chicago kill you. We're not meant to run alone." The Behexxed turned on her heel, trailing after where Adam had stomped off and leaving him, again, in solitude. When she was gone, he stayed and wrestled with himself, torn between starvation and pride.

"See me now?" He muttered to the one who was once always there, watching, hearing him. "Sure hope not…" Mizrah swore this was the last time he'd accept this kind of charity. Ripping the top of the backpack open, he reached inside, took a handful of something rich and warm and twitching…it gripped him back, even as he lifted it to his mouth and gorged on the Accursed flesh.

[xnewbiewriterx]

Certain Things

Okay, I promise that everything I post will not be a song fic. I'm just trying to share some pieces I already wrote before I start anything new. This is another character x reader, but this time they're getting married. This is one of my favorite pieces, and I hope you like it as well. Enjoy 😁

WC: 845

Song: "Certain Things" by James Arthur (bold italics are lyrics)

Deep breath.

Inhale…

Exhale…

I stared in the mirror, unable to recognize the woman that was staring back at me. 

She was breathtaking.

Her hair was split into two braids that met into a bun and she had some loose curls to frame her face. Something simple, yet regal. 

Her makeup wasn’t anything dramatic, either. Very natural, with a hint of glitter dusting her cheekbones. I met the woman’s gaze and my breath caught in my throat. The deep blue eyeshadow that decorated her eyes made the golden honey irises pop; it contrasted beautifully with her chocolate brown skin. 

I glanced down at the woman’s dress. It was a navy blue ball gown that hung off of her shoulders. The sleeves were embellished with blue flowers, along with the bodice, which was cut into a deep V plunge. 

She was also wearing a veil. It was clipped into her hair and trailed behind her like a cape. Her neck and earlobes were adorned with diamond jewelry that sparkled in the sunlight coming from the window. And on her left hand, there was a pear cut diamond ring on her ring finger.

The woman seemed to glow, almost as if… she wasn’t human. Yeah, that’s it. This woman was too graceful, too elegant. Ethereal, goddess-like, even. Her brown skin glistened in the light; she looked divine.

It was really hard to believe that the woman in the mirror was me.

Deep breath.

Inhale…

Exhale…

A knock at the door shook me out of my thoughts. I spared the woman in the mirror one last glance before turning around to open the door. 

My dad was on the other side, fidgeting with his suit.I shook my head, smiling softly. 

“Dad, stop,” I pulled his hands down to his side. “You’re gonna wrinkle your suit.”

I smoothed out his tux, picking off invisible lint to hide my own nervousness. “You look great, I promise.” 

He nodded his head and took a deep breath. 

“You ready?”

Inhale…

Exhale…

“Yes.”

Breathe.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

I looped my arm with his, holding on extra tight. I heard the music begin to play and I had to fight back my tears; my sister would kill me if I messed up my makeup.

This is it. This is really happening.

Something about you

It's like an addiction

Hit me with your best shot, honey

My dad led me out the room and down a short hallway. I left the decorations to my mother, so this is my first time seeing everything put together. 

This is…beautiful.

It’s everything I imagined and more.

I've got no reason to doubt you

'Cause certain things hurt

And you're my only virtue

And I'm virtually yours

“Dad, I’m scared.” I kept my gaze straight, worried that if I looked anywhere else, I might trip. 

I heard him sigh. 

“Me too.”

We came to stand in front of a pair of double doors that opened to the outside. The glass was stained, so I could only see shapes and shadows of what laid on the other side.

Inhale…

Exhale…

There's something about you

It's when you get angry

You have me at your mercy

The doors opened.

Here we go.

“Don’t let me fall,” I whispered.

And you're like a shoulder to turn to

“Never.”

Cause certain things burn

Just when we're hanging on for dear life

We began walking down the aisle. I saw everyone stand up, but I wasn’t really paying attention- not to them at least. My eyes were locked on him. 

We held on so tight

The love of my life.

And there’s certain things that I adore

I’ve never really thought that I would actually reach this point. Don’t get me wrong, I always dreamed of getting married and having a big wedding. Of writing my own vows, professing my love for my amazing partner. I just guess I never really believed something so grand could be in the works for me.

As we gazed into each other's eyes, I couldn’t help but wish that this aisle was shorter. I’ve finally found my happy ending, my happily ever after and I wanted nothing but to be near him. To hurry up and get this over with so we can begin spending the rest of our lives together. 

We reached the altar and as was tradition, my dad placed my hand in his, giving me away. I heard a small sniffle from my dad before he went to sit down.

The song started to come to an end, with one verse left, one that I couldn’t help but sing along to as I stared into my future husband’s eyes. There was nothing, no one, except me and him; nothing else mattered in this moment.

I brought my hand up to his cheek as the tears began to spill over. He leaned into my touch and kissed my palm. I saw nothing but love, happiness, and complete joy in his eyes. I smiled as I sang the last few words quietly.

“Certain that I’m yours.”

[writingsofwesteros]

Hii I really liked daemon and Alicent

Maybe u could write more about … like driftmark events, daemon protecting aemond against Rhaenyra

AN: Hi, I hope you liked it. xx

I might do a part where he protects Aemond later

NSFW

Daemon listened in boredom as his late wife’s uncle droned on. The soft waves of the sea brushing against the cold, harsh rocks around them. A roll of the rogue Prince’s eyes were the only reaction to Vaymond’s words; words about his niece’s children. Gods, how she had become so pathetic without his presence. 

The Realm’s delight was not his focus. No, that was for another woman, he thought. A Queen instead of a Princess. A queen that had seemingly only grown more beautiful, Daemon thought. As if that was even possible. Gods, she was beautiful. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her, well that was until he was able to focus again.

He couldn’t anger his brother - not when she was so close. Not when his son was so close. His only son, Daemon thought. He allowed Vaymond to continue his words; it gave him more time to subtly look over his family. He could feel those big, dark eyes of Alicent burning into him. The familiar heat had him shivering.

Fuck, of course her father was back at his post. The rogue Prince had to school his emotions as those bright eyes of his moved past Otto Hightower’s smug face. He made the mistake of looking back up and seeing the Queen properly for the first time. Gods, had her hair become thicker? And her face…she was so sweet looking. 

At that moment; Daemon thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. His brother did not deserve her. If he was honest with himself; Daemon knew he didn’t deserve her either but that was beside the point. It was only a moment later that the rogue Prince found himself looking at his son. He tried to keep his reaction when the boy’s eyes locked onto him.

The splash of water got Daemon’s attention as he looked towards where his once wife had been. And all he felt was freedom. Still, the rogue demon could not help but look towards the royal party, completely missing the looks he was receiving from Rhaenyra.

~

“I’ve missed you.” Daemon purred into her ear; softly mouthing at Alicent’s neck as her soft, sweet whimpers he had missed so much echoed. Gods, she was still so tight, he thought whilst softly rocking. Alicent could only moan; the pleasure wrapping around her so tightly as her mind began to soften in a way that only happened in his presence.

Gods, it was near addictive, she thought as her arms looped around his neck. “I missed you too.” Alicent whispered; cheeks blushing sweetly. His smirk only grew before Daemon leaned in and passionately captured her soft lips. Their moans echoed as their tongues danced. Alicent gently tugged on his hair as she deepened the kiss.

He bit into her soft, plump bottom lip as his moans grew in volume. The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed louder. Even the waves around them couldn’t drown out the pleasure they both were experiencing. Her body shook from the intense pleasure; the orgasms he had already ripped from her hand Alicent whining. 

“Good girl..taking me so well.” Daemon purred; her soaked pussy fluttering around his already throbbing cock. The praise had the Queen whimpering; leaning in for a soft, passionate kiss that quickly turned wet and messy. Those thick locks of hers had escaped the intricate braids and were falling beside her face now. 

“So close…” Alicent whined; her stomach tightening in pleasure as Daemon’s thrusts only quickened. His hand slowly moved to cup her bouncing breast. His thumb brushed over her pebbled nipple before pinching it. A chuckle escaped him as her loud cry of pleasure echoed into the skies above. Hmm, she was still so responsive, he thought.

His lips were soon on her own as his thrusts continued. It was not long before Alicent’s orgasm was ripping through her. Daemon chuckled into her ear as he watched her fall apart so beautifully. His own cock throbbing as she clamped around him; squirting around his fat cock that still pushed deep in and out of her.

Alicent’s legs were shaking now as she wrapped them around Daemon’s middle; bringing him impossibly closer. Her nails moving down his soft, bare back whilst Daemon continues to grunt and moan out his pleasure. Alicent’s head gently fell back onto the sand; her moans of his name escaping her with ease now.

His thrusts were soon becoming sloppy. Alicent’s legs shook as the intense pleasure was soon rushing through her once more. Daemon locked eyes with the woman underneath him; the one he had wanted for so long. Those big eyes of hers locked onto him as well; it was enough to push the rogue Prince over the edge.

Alicent wished the moment would have lasted longer as he burrowed into her neck. Their hearts beat slowly as both mind and body relaxed completely. As ever, nothing could last forever as the shouts of guards close by had their attention. A pit in her stomach began to grow as Daemon gently removed himself from her.

~

Daemon knew by looking into the boy’s eyes..eye now, he thought - that Aemond knew the truth of his parents. The silence still stretched around them as Alicent gently knelt at his beside; her nerves a wreck as those thick locks of hers cascaded down her back. Her gentle hands reached for Aemond; stroking his now scarred face.

“Mama…stop..” Aemond hummed but Alicent only burrowed into his neck; her hold tightening on him some more. “We should allow him to rest.” Daemon hummed; ever the voice of reason it seemed. Alicent hardly heard him. Daemon gently reached for her arm; the touch bringing Alicent to the present as she looked up to him. 

Gently, Alicent slowly moved to stand. Her body brushing against his own as the Queen took comfort. Daemon’s hand gently moved up and down her sides. Their eyes locked for a short moment before she sighed. “We will leave tomorrow.” Alicent promised; leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his head; keeping her son close.

Daemon softly nodded at Aemond as he watched his son slowly turn away. Alicent’s hold on Daemon only tightened. “He will be fine.” Daemon whispered in hopes of calming her. Not that he would have any look when she was in such a state. Thankfully, it seemed the night was quiet now as he guided her through the doors to her conjoined room.

As the door shut; Alicent slipped from his hold. Those bright eyes of his followed her nervous movements around the chamber. Thankfully, it seemed her nervousness had not taken a hold of her too much as her fingers were still without sores. “Ali…” Daemon softly whispered; the nickname shared only between them both had her looking over to him.

“We should go to bed.” Daemon softly whispered; the exhaustion was clear on her face. “You need some rest.” Alicent knew he was right…but she couldn’t relax. Not now, maybe not ever. “I can’t…” A near whimper escaped her. Daemon gently reached for her once more; softly shushing the Queen as he pressed a kiss and then another and another to her soft lips.

“Nothing will happen – not while I’m here.” Daemon promised.

[justsomegalwhoshere]

#1 Hair Stylist

Note: this was supposed to be short but turned out a lot longer than I expected. I blame @hanji-is-life is life for making me wanna write domestic shit, quit it 😤 plz never stop

Warnings: a bit of cursing because Bakugou is bakugou, not prof read, just domestic fluff

Being a pro-hero and being married to Dynamight himself wasn’t easy, but you managed. Having a family with said pro-hero is also tough, but you still manage (somehow). You and bakugou had a small family that consisted of two little girls, a 9 year old and a 6 year old. You loved your little family and always spent as much time as you could with them.

Today was not one of those days where you had time.

You had woken up late after snoozing your alarm 5 times (thank god Katsuki yelled at you to get up after the last time) and you were now running all over the place to get ready before you were late for your shift. As you started making lunch for your daughters before they head to school, you felt some tugging on your pants. You looked down and smiled seeing your 9 year old, Katsumi, looking up at you, holding a hairbrush.

“Morning sweetie. Did you sleep well?” You ask as you quickly stuff two sandwiches into two lunchboxes.

She nods and extends the hair brush as you run out the kitchen to retrieve your bag. “Mhm. Can you make my hair mom?” She asks as you return shoving your stuff in your bag.

You sigh and kneel down to face her. “I’m sorry honey, I’m in a rush so I have to leave soon, otherwise I would.”

Your daughter pouts and extends the hair brush harder. “But I want you to make my hair pretty for me” she whines.

You kiss her forehead and get up while slipping your shoes on. “I’m sorry kiddo, I can’t right now. Try asking your dad. Bye! Have a good day at school!” You shouted as you closed the door behind you.

Katsumi stared at the door as she kept pouting. You always did her hair in the morning. It wasn’t fair that you had to leave without making her hair. This was nonsense.

“You just gonna stand there all day squirt?” That made Katsumi turn around and face her father. Katsuki bakugou, the number 2 hero, 6’1, big and scary. At least, that’s how he looks to the rest of the world. When he’s with his family, he’s extremely soft. Bakugou only wanted the best for his girls, no matter what it was.

Katsumi decided to use that to her advantage.

She held up the hair brush once again. “Can you make my hair dad?”

Bakugou frowned. He saw you do the girls’ hair all the time, but he’s never done it once. He shrugged accepting the brush and following his daughter as she skipped to her room. How hard could it be?

...

“Ow! That hurts dad!”

“I’m trying ok!?” He yelled a bit harshly. Apparently brushing a 9 year olds hair was A LOT harder than it looks. He didn’t even know it was possible to get it this tangled.

“What did you do this morning that caused it to get this knotted!?”

“Nothing!” Katsumi shouted back. “All I did was sleep and get up!”

Note to self: get something that’ll make Katsumi stop tossing and turning In her sleep.

“Ok it’s all smooth now, I gotta eat” Bakugou said getting up, but was stopped by a small hand grabbing his own.

“You still haven’t styled it!” Katsumi replied with her 100th pout of the day.

Bakugou sighed and sat back down. “Ok, how do I do this?” He asked, grabbing what he assumed was a hair elastic.

“So you grab all the hair and tie it. And then you have a ponytail” she instructed.

...that had to be the worlds shittiest instruction, but Bakugou made do. After some yelling back and forth and some trial and error, Katsumi had a half decent ponytail in her hair.

“Thanks dad!” She chirped, jumping up and kissing his cheek.

“Yeah yeah, go eat breakfast, I gotta drop you and your sister off to school” Bakugou nearly growled.

“Daddy?” Bakugou saw the small head peak from the doorway. It was his 6 year old, Sakura.

“Can you make my hair too please daddy?”

Bakugou sighed. This was gonna be a rough morning.

...

Later that day, you two were making dinner while Bakugou complained about making your daughters’ hair.

“Who knew a 9 year old was so picky!? I didn’t know there’s were 10 ways to make a ponytail!” He fumed, angrily chopping vegetables. You simply chuckled in response.

“I think it’s cute how the big, strong, scary dynamight softened enough to make two girls’ hair this morning” you replied. “It looked nice by the way. You wouldn’t mind doing it tomorrow would you? I have work early tomorrow”.

Bakugou minded very much, but he didn’t say anything, except with a grunt acknowledging he heard you.

...

A couple weeks later and bakugou was getting really good with the whole hair style thing. Katsumi and Sakura even started coming to him now asking for him to do their hair.

Today threw him for a loop though.

“Same thing as always, squirt?” He asked Katsumi as she sat down.

“Nope!” She responded, pulling up a picture on her iPad (which was used only for homework, Bakugou was not letting her get addicted to that thing). “Can you do a braid for me?”

“Hah!? The hell is that?”

“I have a picture here-“

Bakugou snatched the iPad out of his daughter’s hands and looked at the photo. Oh, it the weird twisty thing his wife does with her hair for hero galas.

“I guess I can try. Hold still, this’ll probably hurt” Bakugou grimaced as he watched the tutorial on how to properly do a simple braid.

...

A couple months go by and your girls stop asking you to do their hair in the morning, instead going straight to there dad. Well, Sakura sometimes asked you since she felt bad (? Did she pity you?), but she mainly asked her dad.

At first you felt something was wrong. Maybe their dad bribed them somehow into getting a horrible hair style done? Maybe he was jealous and had something to prove? You didn’t know. You decided to check it out, walking to Katsumi’s room, where all the styling was done.

Said child walked out with a perfect mermaid tail braid.

“Hi mom!” She chirped.

You stood there dumbfounded as she went to go eat breakfast. Even you couldn’t style her hair in a mermaid tail! You calmly opened (practically broke) the door and see Katsuki with Bobby pins between his teeth, sectioning Sakura’s hair with a comb.

“Hey” he grunts out with Bobby pins in his teeth as he twists his daughter’s hair. “Need something?”

“I- no” you responded. “I genuinely thought you bribed the girls into not asking me to do their hair in the morning.”

Bakugou chuckled as he removed a few Bobby pins from between his teeth. “I didn’t do shit. They just like me better” he smirked.

You were about to retort with how much better your styles were when you realized how he styled Sakura’s hair. It was like a rose was settled on top of her hair.

“H-how did you do that?” You breathed out as Sakura walked past you nonchalantly and bakugou bursted out laughing while getting up.

“You should see the look on your face! It’s priceless. I gotta get ready for work now. Can you drop them off? Thanks” he gives you a quick kiss as he walks out of the room.

You sign and shake your head. Even though your husband looked like a big, scary man, you knew better. He really was something else.

[shotosprincess]

♡ dating the bnha boys — hcs

｡･:*:���-: ✧ :,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･-: ✧ :,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

➪ shoto todoroki

pls you’ve prolly been terrified of him for a while prior bc of how ?? talented ?? the mf is ??

but mans prolly saved you at some point and there was this lingering stare you two shared before he left you at recovery girls’ office; were you reading too far into things ?

spoiler alert: you weren’t.

anYWAYS-

he’s the kind of boyfriend to tenderly brush your hair for you and attempt to learn how to tie and braid your hair up in cute ,, simple designs !!

he’d always be ready with little things you’re constantly forgetting; extra snacks,, water,, a fully charged portable charger ,, trust me when i say that man is pREPARED- after all ,, he needs to be ready with everything to take care of his little sweetheart ,, does he not ?

ONLY TWO POINTS IN AND IM ALREADY CRYING BC I LOVE HIM SM BYE BYE BYE

at some point he’d find you sitting on the roof by yourself late at night,, only to stay with you and let you fall asleep on his chest as he drapes a blanket over you and heats it up a lil with his quirk

OKAY YOU CANNOT TELL ME THAT THAT MAN WOULDNT HOLD THE DOOR OPEN FOR YOU AT ALL TIMES AND WOULD SOMETIMES EVEN GET LOWKEYHIGHKEY KINDA SAD WHEN YOU DONT LET HIM

prolly bc he just wants to prove to you that he can be useful

pls just let the man know he’s useful and important he never shows it directly but he needs the reassurance—

he’d give you a warm massage w his quirk whenever you’re in pain :”)

HIDES AND PROTECTS YOU FROM MINETA BC HE KNOWS DAMN WELL WHAT THAT LITTLE SHIT FANTASIZES ABOUT

loves heating//cooling things for you ,, like instant noodles or ice packs !!

surprises you w jewelry that have his initials on them !!

GIVES THE BEST CUDDLES I SWEAR

would hold an umbrella for u while you loop your arm into his as the two of you walk home through the light rain :”)

cries into your chest sometimes after youve fallen asleep bc it’s late nights like these when he reflects on just how lucky of a guy he is to have you— it’s hard for him to articulate it directly ,, but when he does fully open up to you ab it ,, you end up crying too .

WOULD 110% MAKE THE TWO OF YOU YOUR OWN PERSONAL LIL ICE RINK AND TEACH YOU HOW TO SKATE // DO FUN FIGURE SKATING DUOS WITH YOU

➪ katsuki bakugou

prolly got with you initially bc of a dare ( and he nEVER passes up a dare ) ,, but eventually those feelings started to become real and honestly ? it kinda scared the shit outta him . he didn’t know why ,, but for some reason he didnt actually want to leave .

OKAY LARA JEAN AND PETER MF KAVINSKY TYPE BEAT ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎ HIT US WITH THE FAKE RELATIONSHIP TO REAL RELATIONSHIP TROPE YESYESYES

teasingly-mean nicknames = his love language . enough said .

AGGRESSIVE !! KISSES !! ALL !! THE DAMN !! TIME !!

makes you wear his hoodie whenever you show even the sLIGHTEST hint at being cold

he just rly wants to see you in his clothes

he’s so clueless on how to do this whole boyfriend thing ,, but he’s definitely trying bc it’s for you :”)

watches and tries so desperately to copy all the cute couples in the movies you guys watch together

“ roses...do you want roses ? “ “ what ? “ “ the guy in the movie gave her roses...do you want roses too ? “

but at the end of the day you just appreciate him for who he is and that’s more than enough for you :”)

PLS DENKI AND KIRI ARE CONSTANTLY SHOCKED AT HOW MUCH HE’S TRYING FOR YOU

will take any and every opportunity to show off his strength and quirk to you <3

now we all know this man gets jealous hella easily ,, and its no different w relationships :”) he’d constantly make it a point to hold you extra close to him in public ,, show you off on social media and call you by a nickname//petname whenever possible just to reiterate to ppl the fact that you’re his and he’s yours

WOULD LET YOU SIT ON HIS LAP AND DO HIS EYELINER AT 2AM PURELY BC YOU GOT BORED

pls i could rly see myself doing that i wont lie

honestly sometimes he forgets himself and his temper gets a little out of hand ,, but the second he sees his feral reflection in your fearful eyes,, he pulls you to his chest and apologizes profusely :”))

➪ denki kaminari

MF PROLLY GOT WITH YOU BC OF A RIGGED GAME OF SPIN THE BOTTLE AT MINA’S PLACE I CANNOT SEE ANYTH HAPPENING OTHERWISE

one tiny kiss turned into two ,, which turned into three ,, and before you knew it ,, the both of you were spilling out the pent up feelings you had for one another all this time—

mina never shuts up ab it ,, she’s so proud of her matchmaking skills

when the power goes out during a storm ,, he holds onto you tight and plays w your hair as he uses his quirk to turn things back on ,,, “ shhh it’s ok,, i’m here “

will do anything and everything to make you smile <3

he has a lil album in his camera roll with all his favourite pictures of you ,, which is practically just all of them tbh ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

HE LOVES SHOWING YOU OFF IN THE MOST WHOLESOME WAY POSSIBLE !!

super energetic n bubbly but at the end of your dates he passes out right away in your arms

you make sure to wrap him up in blankets and give him an overload of kisses after he’s rly asleep though

will work embarrassingly hard to win you stuffed animals at the fair !! it doesn’t always work ,, but it’s cute nontheless <3

some of the staff and children at the fairs get pissed off but oh well ,,, what you do for love

pls he prolly makes you lil bento boxes for lunch every now and then ( ESPECIALLY DURING EXAM WEEK ) w tiny notes and designs taped on them

constantly calls you “ shawty “ lowkey un ironically and dice rolls in ur direction whenever he sees you ,,, you just end up laughing and playfully punching him

I JUST KNOW HE DOES THE F BOY LIP BITE FACE CONSTANTLY

ITS AN ADDICTION FOR HIM I SWEAR

SUPER CLINGY BUT IN THE CUTEST WAY AAAA

LIL STICKY NOTE LOVE LETTERS FROM HIM IN YOUR LOCKER EVERY !! MF !! DAY !!!

you both agreed that at home cozy netflix dates w microwave popcorn and fuzzy blankets >>> movie theatre dates

110% made a playlist for you at some point when he crushed on you from afar and shared it w you after you started dating

he made a collaborative playlist for yall AND multiple playlists of songs that remind him of you afterwards

pls i just kNOW this man’s love language is making playlists

theyre prolly all categorized by mood or smth too w the cutest covers ever pls

➪ ejirou kirishima

you initially met him bc he was hella upset and alone this one time and you were the only one to notice and be there for him bc he ran away from everyone else to hide the “ uNmanLy “ tears :”))

takes you w him on his lil gym visits ,, hypes you up with every little thing u accomplish !!

constantly teasing bakugou with how he’s able to pull you and how lucky he is to have you

bakugou gets hella annoyed most of the time and just blasts him away-

idk bro i just feel like kiri prolly calls you “ adorable “ alot i wont lie-

LOVES HAND HOLDING,, takes any opportunity to hold ur hand and trace lil casual patterns across your knuckles w his thumb

sometimes he’ll even draw lil hearts on your hand

play fighting but sometimes the two of you get too carried away and he actually loses half of the time-

LATE NIGHT GAME NIGHTS WITH HIM AND THE BAKUSQUAD,, he loves being on the team against you so he can get all competitive

OK HEAR ME OUT;;;; DANCE BATTLES W HIM AS YOUR PARTNER AGAINST RANDOM PPL AT PARTIES

mans gets hella insecure ab himself sometimes ,, so he loves doing lil things for you !! opening a can ,, pulling the blanket over you ,, zipping up your jacket <33

STOP WAIT THATS SO CUTE BYE I WANT THAT

lets you dye his hair—THATS HOW MUCH HE TRUSTS YOU BYE

pls yall prolly aggressively play wii sports and just dance against one another on a regular basis;; it’s literally your thing and you cannot tell me otherwise ahjdjfj

pls i just KNOW this man’s an overly passionate wii player

will wrap his arms around your waist and hug u from behind as you make breakfast

WOULD WEAR MATCHING EARRINGS W YOU IF ITS FOR YOU

slow dances in the living room at midnight w you !!

eventually as you spent more time together ,,, you were able to change his idea of “ manliness “ ,, and he was able to realize that manliness is not equivalent to stoicism and that expressing ur feelings is still totally manly and totally valid !! <33