#just cuspid thoughts

[cuspidgoddess]

Alpha!Dabi has plans for his future omega, the problem is getting his future omega to present…

[ofhouseadama]

They have two girls under two, something that felt reasonable when Jini was six months old and Jack floated the idea of stepping down as a senior attending and transitioning to a per diem contract. He’s a good father, an excellent father, probably due to the fact that he never thought he would be a father. When they first found out she was pregnant the first time, they approached parenting the way they approach most other things: with empirical data and tested pedagogical methods. When they found out she was pregnant the second time, Jack all but took it upon himself to become a pediatric occupational therapist and child development specialist. 

Samira knows she’s a good mother. She’s also married to a man who wants to put her career first, which means she works three night shifts a week, sometimes four. She teaches one class as an adjunct professor at the University of Pittsburgh Medical School. She publishes regularly. She is free to travel to conferences and speaking engagements knowing that her family will travel with her. She has worn a sleeping infant (Anda, most recently, now four months old) during more than one lecture and grand round. Her children’s father is a man who loves her like she hung the moon and painted the stars. Her children have her last name, not his. 

Every Tuesday, she’s awoken by her toddler’s hands swinging clumsily down onto her face. 

Tuesday is library day. 

“Hi baby,” she murmurs. Sarojini is seventeen months old. She can walk, run, climb, drink from a cup, and use a spoon. She has a vocabulary of twelve words. She can stack blocks and mimic sounds. Her eyes are deep brown, speckled with green and gold. Her juvenile cuspids have just come in, pointy and overlapping, like Jack’s. Her hair is curly and dark, but shines red in the sun, not blue like hers. “Did you have a good morning with Daddy and Sissy?” 

“Oh, we survived,” Jack replies from the doorway, chubby infant on her hip. “Life is empty without you. She’s gonna learn to pick locks before she learns to ride a bike.” 

“Oh?”

“Didn’t hear her banging on the door?”

Samira blinks at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It’s just past 1:30 PM. Both girls must have just woken up from their naps. “Honestly?” she asks, yawning, stretching her arms wide to snatch Jini into a hug. Jini giggles. “No.” She nods at Anda over the top of Jini’s curls. “Does she need to be fed?” 

Motherhood was something she tucked away as something hypothetical, something to regret not being able to achieve once her chances had passed her by. So many of her young years were spent in hyper-focused isolation, trying to get through undergrad, then med school, then residency. Putting all her energy into chart reviews and research. Writing. Presenting. Applying for funding. 

She didn’t plan on Jack. Didn’t plan on the steely, intense Dr. Abbot she met as an MS4 to become the man so in love with her, the man so determined to see her through to her dreams, the man so unwaveringly faithful to her vision. Of course he would put his career on hold. Of course her work was important. Of course he would stay home with the children while they were young. Work is work. He dedicates himself to fatherhood the same way he dedicated himself to being a soldier, a surgeon, an emergency room physician. 

“Nah,” he says. “I found the milk you put in the fridge that you pumped during your shift. Just didn’t want to rush you to get ready.”

“I like you a lot, Abbot. Have I told you that today?” 

Snorting, he grins at her. Always a little wry, always a little wild. “I had breakfast on the table for you when you got home from work, you said a couple times when you paused to breathe.” 

Tuesday is library day. There’s always a stack of children’s books to go back. A stack of new adult non-fiction and mystery novels to be returned. Jack has the schedule of infant and toddler programming memorized, which is helpful because if Samira has to remember one more thing her brain is liable to explode. But every Tuesday is library day, in the same way Fridays they go to the botanical gardens and on Sundays they make use of the family membership to the children’s museum. 

Anda is going through another growth spurt, so Jack rocks her against his chest in the back of the room as Samira sits on the carpeted floor with Jini propped inside her folded legs. This week is family and baby storytime, short books followed by songs to teach baby sign language and guided play. The librarian recognizes them. Samira has shown up to the 10:30 AM sessions more than one time still in her scrubs, half asleep in the back with the baby tucked against her. 

In the haze of the infant and toddler years, nothing feels quite real yet. They’ve been parents for less than two years, the identities of mommy and daddy straining at times against doctor and spouse and all the other little roles they’ve picked up over the first decades of their lives. Some days, Samira expects to open her eyes and find herself back in her dorm room, freshman year. Some days, she knows Jack wakes up convinced that the universe will find a cruel trick to take this all away from him. 

Some days, though. 

Some days it’s really good. 

Tuesdays are library days. Samira really likes library days. 

[berrykitties]

for scientific purposes (and maybe something more)

🦷 wednesday & enid

🦷 oneshot, 1.1k words

🦷 rated e

🦷 canon compliant-ish, fluff, first kiss

author’s note: hello! another tooth rotting fluff from meee (pun not intended) i hope you guys enjoy this short fic. it would also be a great help if you’d leave a kudos to the ao3 site! or a reblog and like on this post! follow me on twitter if you wanna be friends! @kittybaskets

——————————————————————————————-

It’s been a week since Enid’s first full werewolf shift. She had emerged with fluffier hair, glowing skin, and an unfamiliar smile. Something had changed, something subtle—but Wednesday noticed.

She always does.

She pushed open the door to their shared dorm with her usual quiet resolve, eyes scanning the familiar mess of color and chaos Enid called “decor.” She wasn’t sure what she was looking for—only that she hadn’t seen the werewolf all day, and that small fact had sat uncomfortably in her chest since breakfast.

But she easily found her, lying against the cobweb-patterned mirror, bathed in the warm sunlight, legs tucked in like a cat making a loaf. She was using her phone, doomscrolling through TikTok.

Enid turned, and the raven-haired girl froze.

Wednesday didn’t say a word at first. She just stood there, studying the angles of Enid’s profile, the way the light cut across her features. And when Enid turned her head to smile, Wednesday saw it.

The light caught her teeth when she smiled, and there they were—two sharp, gleaming canines, just slightly longer than before. Not unnaturally long. Not monstrous. Just… new.

Beautiful, she thought to herself.

“Your canines,” Wednesday said plainly. “They’re different.”

Enid blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Your teeth. The upper cuspids. They’ve grown.” Wednesday stepped forward, the door closing behind her with a quiet snick. “Have you noticed?”

Enid’s finger automatically came up to her canines. “Oooh, yeah! Kind of? I mean, I saw them in the mirror this morning—figured it was like a wolfy after-effect.”

“May I examine them?” Wednesday asked, already close enough that she didn’t need to raise her voice.

Enid stared. “My… teeth?”

“Yes.”

“For what purpose exactly?”

“Scientific curiosity.”

“You want to look at my mouth because you’re curious?”

“Yes.” Wednesday folded her hands behind her back, steady as ever. “I want to see how your physiology has adapted post-transformation. Particularly in regard to dental morphology.”

Enid’s expression was caught somewhere between confusion and amusement. “That might be the most Wednesday Addams way anyone has ever flirted with me.”

“I’m not flirting,” Wednesday said immediately, though she could feel the warmth rising in her chest. “This is purely academic.”

“Uh-huh.” But Enid set the book down on her lap and looked up at her. “Fine, knock yourself out. Just don’t, like, write an essay about it.”

Wednesday didn’t respond. She simply stepped even closer until she was standing directly in front of Enid, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin.

She reached out with gloved fingers—God knows where those gloves came from—but then hesitated, removing the glove with slow precision. Touching her would be better skin-to-skin. For science—what a lame excuse.

“Open your mouth,” Wednesday asked, gently.

Enid obliged, trying not to laugh. “Okay, doctor.”

She parted her lips to reveal the slight, unmistakable points of her canines. They weren’t grotesque or monstrous. They were elegant, sharp, refined. A perfect blend of danger and beauty—but it leaned more on the beauty side.

Wednesday’s breath caught.

She reached out slowly, almost reverently, and placed two fingers beneath Enid’s chin. The skin was warm. Soft. Too soft.

Enid’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, her breath hitching at the contact.

Wednesday tilted her head, examining closely. Her fingers ghosted along the edge of Enid’s jaw as she studied the symmetry, the shape, the minute curve of bone under skin.

“Exquisite,” she murmured.

Enid opened one eye. “Did you just call my teeth exquisite?”

“They suit you,” Wednesday met her gaze. “Sharp. Unexpected.”

“Well, I’m gonna take that as a compliment then.”

“It was.”

There was a pause. A quiet stretch of seconds where neither of them spoke.

Enid’s lips curled upward into a tiny, nervous smile. “You’re, uh… really close.”

“I need to be. For a proper inspection.”

“Right. ‘Inspection.’” She said it with air quotes.

Wednesday’s eyes flicked down to her mouth.

She wasn’t thinking anymore. Not in the usual way. Her thoughts were jumbled. Cluttered. Her fingers were still touching Enid’s skin, and she hadn’t pulled away. And Enid hadn’t moved either.

“Does it hurt?” she asked quietly.

“The teeth?”

“The change.”

Enid hesitated. “It used to. Not so much now.”

Wednesday nodded slowly. “You’re stronger now.”

Enid chuckled softly. “Is that a compliment too?”

“It’s an observation.”

“Well, thanks for the observation,” she whispered.

The room felt warmer than usual. Brighter, despite the late hour. The golden light pooling around them felt surreal—like a spell, a soft trick of the universe.

Wednesday found herself staring again. Not at the teeth this time. But at Enid’s mouth.

Her lips.

She wondered what it would feel like.

And then Enid said, “Are you going to kiss me? Or do you need a signed permission slip for that too?”

Wednesday blinked once. Twice.

She leaned in.

There was no hesitation. No awkward fumbling. Her hand slid from Enid’s chin to her cheek, thumb brushing lightly over the skin there. She tilted her head the way she’d read about in books—precise, deliberate.

Their lips met softly.

The kiss was warm. Unhurried. Enid tasted faintly of peppermint lip balm and something sweet Wednesday couldn’t name. Her lips parted just enough to breathe her in, and suddenly, the world narrowed to the point of contact. Everything else—the light, the warmth, the ridiculous throw pillows—faded.

Enid’s hand rose to Wednesday’s arm, fingers curling gently around her wrist like she was afraid she’d disappear.

Wednesday deepened the kiss by a fraction—just enough to feel the softness of Enid’s bottom lip beneath her own. Her fingers slid behind Enid’s jaw, steady, curious, reverent. Enid tilted into it with a soft sigh, her hand traveling to Wednesday’s shoulder, anchoring herself there like it was the only solid thing in the room.

When Wednesday finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. Just enough to look at her.

Enid’s eyes were wide, flushed, dazed.

Wednesday’s thumb brushed her cheek again. “You’re no longer just radiant.”

Enid blinked slowly. “What am I now?”

Wednesday didn’t smile. But her voice was softer than usual.

“Magnetic.”

Enid laughed quietly, forehead dropping gently to rest against Wednesday’s. “You say the weirdest things, but they still make me feel like I’m floating.”

“That’s a concerning reaction,” Wednesday murmured. “Perhaps you’re lightheaded. I should observe more closely.”

Enid grinned. “More scientific studies?”

“Endless.”

They sat like that for a while, close and quiet, the silence between them comfortable. The weight of everything unspoken had lightened, settled. And for once, neither of them rushed to fill the space with words.

Eventually, Enid said, “Do you still want to examine my teeth?”

Wednesday pulled back just enough to glance at her mouth again.

“Yes,” she said simply. “But this time, I want to see them when you smile because of me.”

Enid bit her lip, then grinned wide—canines sharp and glinting.

“Like that?” she asked.

Wednesday gave the faintest nod.

“Exactly.”

[running-with-kn1ves]

You reblogging that werecat gf getting dommed post makes me drool thinking of werewolf edira fucking her werecat gf/employee/darling to submission

If you have time, could you write it out for the sapphics who need more female yanderes on tumblr🥺

I physically couldn't NOT write this!! I've been having trouble writing lately so it's pretty self-indulgent but I hope it's good enough for my edira lovers 🙏 everybody thank @werecreature-addicted for the werecat/werewolf inspo juice

CW: NSFW, fem! Werecat reader, werewolf Edira, sexual content literally just a nsfw gay drabble

Hm, Oh look-- The pretty kitty's nose got stuck where it doesn't belong."

Her flat tone lacked any surprise- almost sounding pleasantly expected.

Snooping into your bosses locked file drawers was never something you thought you'd do. It's too bad she stole your phone for "insubordination", claiming you could have it back at the end of the day if you kept your attitude as her obedient secretary. Not the mouthy employee who cares about trivial things such as "privacy," and "the right to communicate with coworkers on things besides work."

It only took you 20 minutes after your lunch break to start the undercover search for what she had stolen. You didn't trust your obsessive, erratic predator of a boss to not go through your belongings.

It was like she resented you, the "cat stench" you wafted in along with her coffee, or the pieces of fur and hair she found on the occasional set of new copies. As if she didn't shed enough for two, her office needing to be lint-rolled every Tuesday and vacuumed from top to bottom by the end of Friday. Her stress made her that much more irritated and finicky, leaving your allergies to fester and her anger at your small mistakes increase tenfold.

You should've known her lunch break wouldn't be an entire hour like scheduled; workaholics and possessive bosses don't let their underlings rest for too long.

Maybe this would've happened whether or not you were snooping, maybe she would've reprimanded you no matter where she found you... but her glare, the harshness in her claws and the way her usually alert, pointed ears were flat-- it made her look all the more menacing.

"Such a dutiful mouth, from an insignificant creature... so weak, barely able to lift your head."

She snarled with a rough, guttural growl echoing from the back of her throat.

"Ed..ir..thag--"

You choked out broken sobs from behind sensitive cuspids, two fingers rhythmically pulsing against your tongue, two more from your bosses opposite hand, inside of you. How many orgasms, how many screams did you bite down on her fingers to silence?

Did it matter, now that the building was empty and her office door was wide open? These were the consequences, apparently, for trying to text back a friend or a family member... you couldn't remember anymore. Maybe you were just trying to see the update your favorite influencer threw out. But it never mattered, not when edira nipped at your ears, leaning deeper from behind as her fingers worked magic in defiling your mouth and pretty pussy.

"I knew werecats were a devious breed...hm, not very resilient though--are you?" She pulled two fingers out of your cunt, tugging at the base of your wildly flicking tail.

Yowling from behind her digits in your mouth, you gripped at the slippery layer of wood beneath you. She pulled your tail forward, your ass sticking up as your mouth was suddenly sucking on air, missing her fingers as they slide back to hold your thigh.

"You should know better than to come to work in your heat, sneaking into my office, shoving your chest up against my desk--ngh, less composed than the wolves I know. "

Your heat? You hadn't felt thar burning sensation in your lower stomach for months. It wasn't season quite yet-- but for werewolves...

Over shedding, her irritation, calling you into her office every 5 minutes, continuously out of breath-- who's heat was happening again?

You didn't have time to contemplate any further, claws once ripping at your tail now digging into your stomach as her free hand was pulling your hands back. They were your only source at staying somewhat stable on the mahogany desk. She ripped the short, but cutthroat nails of your stubby fingers backwards as one hand held two of your wrists together, your head falling to hit against forgotten paperwork. Across from you, her laptop remained open, an email draft sitting as the computer timer counted to shut down from lack of use.

"Please, miss Edir-ah--!" You clench around her fingers as they slide back in, playing with your slick as she grinds against the corner of the desk. the way your tail tries to cover up your sensitive hole makes her laugh, giving a small pinch to your ass.

"Pet pet... mph, you're making me burn-- it's all your fault... I have to take you home,"

A small kiss to your cunt made your walls flitter. You can't help but arch your back involuntarily, imagining yourself in your bosses home, in her bed-- her fangs pressed deep into your neck and her fuzzy tail wagging with delight.

You could feel her drool down against her fingers, pushing inside of you with a playful rhythm.

"Werecats deserve to be used like the weaklings they are-- and you, my darling are no different." You felt the shake of the desk as she rutted against it, a long tongue reaching where Ediras fingers couldn't. "Need me to help you through your heat, huh? Gonna take your punishment like a good kitty?"

If you weren't going through your heat, you were facing something akin to it now. But between the two of you-- your hot-headed boss was far more worked up, salivating at the smell of you, nearly finishing on her desk at the sensation of you on her fingers.

The lights by your cubicle were beginning to shut off, one by one. You prayed the janitorial crew would avoid this side of the office, for now. Hopefully, they won't question the mystery mess left upon Edira's desk...

[chimkennuggies]

Again with the Raphael x Cazador agenda bc I'm still losing my mind over them‼️‼️‼️

Anyway, thought I'd share some headcanons bellow the cut as well:

- I just KNOW they both have hour long conversations about some play they've seen or book they've read. Their taste is similar in that aspect.

- Raphael knows about Lady Incognita's books (that's canon btw) and mentioned it to Cazador once, who instantly started ranting about how the girl didn't appreciate the "gift" (he doesn't appreciate it either if you think about all that datamined/beta stuff + how much he just wants to be "normal" BUT he is also a hypocrite sooo), also, he used to give advice to her whenever he found one of her drafts.

- In a modern setting Raphael would probably be like those annoying filmbros who doesn't stfu about some niche film they've seen and Cazador would be the same with some celtic metal group that has like 24 monthly listeners (kinda projecting in this one, I'm both).

- They would talk shit about anyone + if they go to some ball together after the first 40 minutes they'll probably end up talking only to each other.

- On the hc that both of them are trans, Cazador hasn't had any operations and isn't on t (although it's not bc he's comfortable in his own body but bc he doesn't want to have anything to do with it, he just prefers to live with an idealized version he made on his head after centuries of not seeing his reflection), Raphael is literally the opposite, he has had all the operations and has been on t since he ran away from Cania, hating the self he left behind.

- Now, some shoutouts to the fact that they're both SO AWFUL, I love them being so so toxic.

- Cazador usually doesn't like being touched and Raphael just thrives on being an asshole so he's always breaking the man's boundaries. PDA in the worst possible way.

- Cazador enjoys to compare Raphael to his father because he finds it extremely entertaining the fact that he takes it at heart and gets so offended by it (he knows how much the other has suffered because of his progenitor).

- Cazador having scars on his body from before being a vampire and Raphael biting them‼️‼️

-Raphael listening to Cazador talking shit about all of Raphael's features he despises just to make him even more insecure (let's be real, Raphael is SO fucking self-conscious, because there's no way all his paintings and Haarlep themself being so completely different to his real self is a normal trait).

- Both of them being prone to violence and fighting for every minor disagreement would make them the worst neighbors possible ngl.

- Raphael having the lower canines really really sharp while Cazador has the cuspid canines being almost razor-edged, iykyk.

Lastly, here are some songs I associate w/ them because I haven't seen any playlist include these:

Cazador:

Rule #34 - Fish in a Birdcage

Femtex - Therapy?

Never Wanted to Dance - MSI

Under the Spell - Me And That Man

Heel On The Shovel - 16 Horsepower

Raphael:

The Hell Of It - Paul Williams

Low Estate - 16 Horsepower

Nunemaker's Parable - Everybody's Worried About Owen

You're So Vain - Carly Simon

Bensonhurst Blues - Oscar Benton

An this one is just bc I find it quite funny but Mi Gran Noche from Raphael (the spanish singer) is quite iconic ngl.

[pekoehoneyncream]

Ghoaptober # 10

Prompt: Night

Words: 1200~

TW: None (sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

I went into this one with no plan and this is what became of it. Should I warn for miscommunication?

Enjoy!

Soap stood by the open window, watching the few late night stragglers walk by on the pavement below, politely blowing the smoke from his cigarette outside and dispolitely using his empty mug as an ashtray. The cool air breezing in carried the inexplicable crisp smell of autumn.

He could hear Ghost’s slow breaths in the bed behind him, and wasn’t sure if the man was asleep. Usually if Ghost was awake he was as silent as his namesake, but sometimes he liked to lend Soap the assurance that he was nearby, without risking his welcome by actually approaching. 

Soap was up because he couldn’t bring himself to keep laying there. 

He’d gone to bed and had expected that as soon as he was horizontal Ghost would make himself comfortable on Soap’s chest as he always did, but instead Ghost had curled up on the edge of the bed, letting no part of himself drift toward the centre line to touch any part of Soap. He'd laid there, flat on his back, bereft. Cast adrift by the sudden distance Ghost had sought from him. The need for Simon had flared in his chest like a physical ache, but he had long ago promised himself that he would never force Ghost to do anything that made him uncomfortable. 

Soap's love for Ghost, that carried Johnny’s heart safe and warm in its jaws, was squeezing tight. Lips pulled away to bare sharp teeth that cut bloody longing trenches into his heart with every beat it dared take without being assured of Ghost’s returned love. 

Taking another deep pull off his smoke, Soap tried to think back over the day, searching for anything that might have caused this. They were on leave, staying in Ghost’s flat in the city, and they’d gone out. They both got a bit stir crazy if they stayed in all day, so they took little walks, popping into whatever shops caught their interest. Soap had thought they’d had a nice day, no one had even said anything about the plain black half-mask that Ghost wore to keep himself comfortable. 

Soap had thought Ghost looked well bonnie in his wee snood, as he always did, but people got odd about that kind of thing. 

Cursing, he dropped his cigarette. The cherry had crept down to singe his fingers while he hadn’t been paying attention. Cursing again, he bent to snatch the butt up off Ghost’s floor and hastily dropped it into the mug before its heat could nip his fingers again. 

“Johnny?” Came a quiet gravelly rasp, Ghost letting the word draw out sleepily. 

“Aye, mo chridhe. Ah’m ‘ere.” Soap assured, nudging the mug further onto the lintel, distracting himself by debating if he should rinse it now or just hang it ‘til morning. 

“What’re you doin’ o’er there?” By the bed creaks Ghost had rolled to fully face him. He’d chosen to sleep facing the door, leaving Soap the side closest to the windows. 

“No’hing, m'anam. No’ a ‘hing.” Soap resigned himself to climbing back into that cold bed, if only to not worry Ghost. 

Turning around, he was met with warm calf brown eyes watching him in what he might have called a pout if he wasn’t sure that Ghost would steal his cuspids, bicuspids, and molars for saying so. Soap suppressed a smile and settled himself back in bed. Laying to one side instead along the centre, so as to allow Ghost more room to stretch out without risk of touching. 

He stared up at the ceiling, clenching and unclenching his hands, forcing himself to be conscious of all his limbs, so none could habitually stray over to Ghost’s tempting warmth. 

“Johnny?” Ghost was still watching him, Soap could see that much without turning his head. He hadn’t rolled back over to face the door. Hadn’t turned his back to Soap again. 

“Aye, Lamb?” Soap answered, trying to keep his tumultuous emotions out of his tone, while not letting it fall alarmingly flat, “Whit d’ye need?”

“Feel better?” The question was hesitant, like there was more hiding underneath that Ghost was afraid to say. 

The thought of Ghost fearing him in any manner punched a hole straight through Soap’s soul. 

Throwing himself upright, he turned to Ghost, remembering at the last moment that he didn’t want to be touched and clawing his fingers into the pillows instead of letting them hold Ghost’s face. He loomed over Ghost for a moment, nose-to-nose, watching the black of his pupils swallow the brown of his eyes, then Soap's higher thinking kicked into gear and he backed off as quick as he could.

If Ghost wasn’t keen on being touched, Soap getting in his face like that was probably the last thing he wanted. 

“Aye, Ah’m guid, Si.” The casualness Soap tried to project was completely undercut by the way he’d barely stopped himself from entirely falling off the bed and was currently addressing Ghost whilst precariously perched on the bottom corner of their mattress. 

“What’s wrong?” Ghost sat up, but made no effort to close the distance, the worry creasing his face pouring acid into the new hole he’d bored through Soap’s soul. 

“No’hing!” Soap tries for a smile, “Jus’ no’ sure if ye wan’ed me close like tha’, as ye dunnae wan’ me touchin’ ye.” 

“What? Why wouldn’t I want you to touch me?” Ghost’s honest confusion confused Soap.

“Iffin ye didnae wan’ me tae no’ touch ye, why’d ye not-” Soap scrabbles desperately for any word that isn’t some form of cuddle, fails, and gestures helplessly to the centre of the bed. Where they’d usually be cooried up and sleeping away at this time of night.  

“You said your knee hurt!” Ghost exclaims, “I didn’t wanna make it worse!” 

“Ye didnae say tha'! Ye jus' laid nex’ tae me, keepin’ away frae me like ye wan’ a divorce!” Soap can feel tears pushing at the back of his eyes, it’s a bit horrifying how the very idea of Ghost leaving him makes him want to cry. 

“I don’t want a divorce! I just didn’t want to hurt you!” There's a frantic edge to Ghost’s voice and he’s swinging his hands in wide explanatory gestures, as he only does when he’s truly worked up. 

“Well, ye failed.” Soap sniffles, pressing his hands hard against his eyes, as though he could physically dam his tears, “Ye no’ wan’ing me is hur’ful.”

A hand clamps around his wrist and Soap is hauled up the bed to be crushed against Ghost’s chest.

“I always want you, Coinneach John Mactavish.” The words Ghost breathes against his hair ring like a Priest laying a curse, like a Witch casting a blessing. Resounding with layers and levels of passion, belief, and sanity.

Johnny takes the time he needs to calm himself, held tight in Simon’s arms, basking in his warmth and how he presses his lips against Johnny’s temple in one endless kiss. 

“Will ye’ lay doon wi’ me, mo chridhe?” He raises his head to stare earnestly into Simon’s eyes, not able to rid his voice of the small uncertain plea that creeps in. 

Ghost answers by physically lifting Johnny off his lap, planting him in the middle of their bed, then flopping onto his chest to pin him there. Reveling in the delighted laugh that chases the shadows from Johnny’s eyes. 

They lay chest to chest, heartbeats slowing, breathing each other in. 

“Johnny,” Simon grumbles into Johnny's pecs, “We’re not fuckin’ married.”

“So ye dae wan’ a divorce?” Johnny exclaims with a theatrical gasp, pulling back to stare at Simon with wide betrayed eyes.

The pillow that immediately smacks him across the mouth is a small toll to pay for the fit of giggles that steals a smile onto Simon's face as he playfully tries to smother Johnny's snickering.

Thank You For Reading!

My notes for this prompt were "Sleepy cuddle fluff" and I suppose we got there in the end.

Simon likes sleeping on top of Johnny because it reassures him that Johnny is near and protected. He also hates feeling pinned down or trapped so switching is out of the question. Johnny loves it, Simon's like a warm weighted blanket.

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

[deusvervewrites]

Saiyan AU

So, I made a part 3 to the snippets I wrote a while back. I hope y'all enjoy the thrilling conclusion to it!

---

Tsuyu quickly ran and grabbed the bottle, capping it with the cork Kami had placed beside it. Her breath was heavy as she held it in her hands, knowing that it was over. She looked around the arena at the teachers and onlookers, frozen in shock. She looked back at her classmates and found them in a similar state, though some looked more surprised than others.

Habuko was the most shook up, her mouth covered with her hands as tiny pinpricks of light rested by her eyes, betraying tears that threatened to spill. She, more than anyone else, knew what had almost occurred.

And then, after a moment, everything went into chaos.

“ATTENTION! ALL ATTENDEES AND GUESTS EXIT THE SPORTS ARENA! MOVE IN AN ORDERLY FASHION AS YOU DO SO! ALL STUDENTS ARE TO MOVE BACK TO THE MAIN CAMPUS ONCE A HEADCOUNT HAS BEEN MADE!”

Present Mic’s voice caused a flurry of movement from the crowd. Civilians began to rush out into the stadium’s interior while the heroes began assisting them. The student section was filled with a flurry of activity as her classmates began to head into the stadium as well. Tsuyu saw Habuko share one last glance with her before rushing to join the others.

As she stood in the arena, Tsuyu became aware that someone was trying to talk to her.

“-uyu? Tsuyu, can you hear me?” It was Midnight’s voice, softer and more concerned than Tsuyu had ever heard before, that reached her ears.

“Sorry, Midnight-sensei, could you repeat yourself?” Tsuyu chided herself for getting distracted so soon after a fight. Of course the teachers would want to check up on her after such an event.

Midnight’s face was full of worry. “Are you injured in any way?” Tsuyu shook her head. Midnight continued to ask some other questions on her wellbeing, but she just felt overwhelmed from the fight with Kami, the rush and drain from her rushed attack and the stadium was just TOO LOUD. 

Before anyone could say anything, Tsuyu was off in a sprint, running into the stadium and trying to find someplace more quiet where she could just sit and think. But the interior was loud as well, too loud for her hearing to handle, so she kept running until she found an empty room.

As she breathed deep and heavily, it dawned on her that it was the locker room she was in before the match started. Before things had gone to hell in a handbasket. Before her uncle had shown up and tried to seal her away for all time.

As she grounded herself, Tsuyu realized she had something in her hand. Looking down, she found the clay bottle from the arena, corked and silent as the grave. Her would-be prison, now her uncle’s.

Thoughts swirled in Tsuyu’s head. Thoughts that wouldn’t have had the chance to be thought until today. Thoughts she would’ve suppressed under any other circumstance. ‘I can’t believe it. I won. I won against Kami. I won. I WON!’ Her grip on the bottle tightened and her teeth ground together in her mouth as a mixture of emotions began bubbling to the surface. ‘He thought he could imprison ME, lock ME away for all time while sitting in his lookout. Well I showed him! I defeated him! The bane of Father’s existence! The “Guardian of Earth”! I! DEFEATED! HIM!’

She began to lose focus as her mind spiraled. She vaguely could feel her nails dig deeper into palms while her upper cuspids seemed to grow larger. “I am the victor! I am the winner! I am fine! I’m fine! I AM FINE-’

“TSUYU!”

A voice shattered the dark spiral her mind was in as a body slammed into Tsuyu and held her in an embrace. Looking up, Tsuyu looked into the eyes of her beloved friend and student and saw that tears were threatening to spill from Habuko’s eyes.

She so desperately wanted to make those tears go away. To make her smile and have the thoughts clouding her do away. But before she could do so, she saw her reflection in a nearby mirror. She saw that her nails, normal like anyone else's, had become talons. Her teeth, the same as the average person, had turned into fangs. And poking out from beneath her hair, she could spot two green growths, the color of her skin.

She looked like a demon made flesh, ready to take its throne.

‘Oh…I haven’t looked like this since I first met Habuko.’

Suddenly, a small chuckle escaped Tsuyu’s lips. Then another. Soon, those giggles turned into a manic laugh fuelled by the raging storm of emotions within her that she was desperately trying to keep under control.

Laughter kept spilling from her lips as Tsuyu held tightly to Habuko, who kept holding her close while running her fingers through Tsuyu’s hair. ‘She doesn’t need to do this.’ thought Tsuyu, “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine-’

Before her thoughts could go any further, she gasped as her laughter became more strained and forceful, while her vision started to blur; it was at this point that she realized her own face was wet as well. As each laugh choked its way out of her, Tsuyu buried her face into Habuko’s shoulder as she began to sob in earnest while her closest friend held her, determined to never let her go.

D:

[rippersz]

𝙎𝙞𝙭 𝙄𝙣𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨

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(Alcina Dimitrescu and Larissa Weems Have A Conversation) (Flirty; Gay Panic; Potential Romance?) (L.W.’s POV) (Lady D is slightly OOC)

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“Thank you again, Principal Weems, for accepting my daughters. I understand you had to pull a few strings, and for that I am eternally grateful. Let’s just hope they don’t give you any issues, hm?” And a glass of red wine is then brought up to burgundy lips; prompting a hum, a sip, and finally a slow lick along white teeth.

Larissa allows herself to watch, entranced for but a moment, before she’s clearing her throat and giving the woman a polite smile.

“It was no trouble at all, Ms. Dimitrescu. And I’m sure the girls will have plenty of opportunities to flourish. I’m only glad you came before the semester started- otherwise it would have been cutting it finely,” she mused, maintaining a professional tone as best she could while her clasped hands trembled within her lap.

Something about the woman on the other side of her desk, sitting in a chair much too small, was setting Larissa on edge. Aside from the obvious prestige of her name and status, the very displacement- the shift of air- that happened when she walked into a room was astounding. The Principal felt it earlier, only in passing and for a moment, before the three rascals that accompanied her stole most of the attention away.

But here, in the flickering light of the fire and the darkness of the evening, it’s just her and Alcina Dimitrescu. Mother of three, esteemed vintner and business owner, royalty to some extent, and ex jazz musician. Larissa has some of her records in her quarters, but she won’t tell her that. Maybe one day, if they grow closer, but such thoughts are merely the wishes of a lonely woman. Desires with no basis and dreams with no end. Alcina Dimitrescu is exactly her type, yes, and she enjoys her wine, yes, and she finds her marvelously beautiful, yes, but that doesn’t matter. She has to maintain professionalism. She cannot allow the woman to see the effect she has (even though the constant smirk she wears tells Larissa that she most definitely already knows).

“Oh you have no idea how lucky I feel,” comes the deep purr of her tone. “The girls had been bugging me about Nevermore for ages. Only about a month ago did I actually start my research. And I’m glad I did.” Larissa certainly isn’t hallucinating then as sharp grey eyes slowly travel over her upper body. Roaming from her broad shoulders to her bust.

The room suddenly feels very warm. And her dress feels very restricting. But she ignores it.

Professional, professional, professional.

Even though there is nothing professional about Alcina Dimitrescu’s disposition. Oh no. The only thing that exists there is pure desire. Like the deep passionate idea of sex everyone has in their minds - except in the form of a human being. Or a… well she isn’t actually sure what she is. To the average person, at first glance, they may just assume she’s a well put-together tall woman - but Larissa is not a naive, simple woman. She has grown up around outcasts. Give her a test about outcast history, behavior, types, culture, origins, and she will pass with flying colors. Keen eyes notice the signs, the appearance, the behavior, and the things they do to cover it all up.

Like the skin.

It’s beautiful skin. Flawless skin. But painted white, when it’s actually grey. She can see it slightly- so slightly- beneath the makeup near her temple. Where beautiful bouncy black curls meet a pale forehead. She can see the smallest patch of grey. Gargoyle, is her first thought. But when she sees the teeth- stark white and normal, aside from the knife-sharp cuspids that shine in the firelight- she thinks Vampire. But then the hands… She was wearing gloves, but at some point had discarded them into her purse and is now lounging in the chair, holding her wine glass in such a delicate way that Larissa begins to envy the fucking thing. Light skin fades from the huge space of a feminine palm into the dark as midnight color of long slim fingers. They cradle the belly of the glass with a gentle touch - and Larissa catches sight of the nails. Painted black. Sharper than the average ‘accessory’. Like they’re… meant to be dangerous.

She doesn’t say anything about it though. Gargoyle, Vampire, whatever other creature, she would never ask them what their ‘type’ is. For adults with such peculiarities, it’s just not common to do so. Not to mention she’s the Principal of Nevermore Academy - and must set a good example.

…Even though there are no children present… and she is morbidly curious.

Doesn’t matter!

Nope. Not at all.

The beauty, the aura, the mystique of the woman before her will just have to remain a mystery. Even if Larissa has never seen a creature so sublime. With that silky dark hair… and those finely arched brows… and those red lips… and that soft jaw that can become oh so sharp with just a small tense of the muscles… and that nose… and those lashes… and those eyes. They swallow her whole. If she thinks she herself is intimidating, she’s wrong. Because Alcina Dimitrescu is waist-deep in the very meaning. With her sharp, easy languid smile. And her matured laugh lines. And her deep chuckles. And her stature. Broad-shouldered, muscular, with a very curvaceous and blessed figure, soft belly, and long legs. Long legs. Long fucking legs.

When she opened the door, Larissa nearly fainted.

Students and adults alike have a difficult enough job meeting her eyes. A woman standing at 6’3”, about 6’4” in kitten heels, is a thing to marvel at in the outcast and normie worlds. But the implications and awe of it all just astounds her. There are plenty of tall women in existence! Alcina Dimitrescu being one of them. Standing at 6’9”. Probably taller in the stilettos she’s wearing. 6 entire inches between them. She’s never met someone so… big. She had to control her reaction immediately, lest she be forever viewed as one of those people that can’t help but ogle. And how embarrassing that would be.

Even though there’s. Six. Inches. In. Difference.

It’s like they’re on opposite sides of the spectrum. Larissa is tall, but modest about it. She wears a low heel, she gives herself an everyday any-event style of makeup, she wears a light floral perfume, she keeps her hair short and pinned up, she stays neat and she wears work-appropriate dresses and she is still perfectly fashion forward. But ‘Ms. Dimitrescu’ is a different story. Is a bold story. Is an intoxicating story. She wears a high heel, and gives herself dark eyes, accentuates the god-given lashes, paints her lips blood red; and she wears a smoky roll-on scent that smells like spice and jasmine and white musk, and she keeps her short dark hair pulled into a tight 1950’s messy pin-curl kind of look, and she stays perfect while wearing tight grey button downs tucked into high waisted slacks. A feminine type of power suit that isn’t a power suit at all but still commands a room simply because she was just born that way.

It’s infuriatingly distracting.

Larissa has to look down at her lap so she can conjure up a proper response for the woman in front of her - who is still staring.

I think she has a habit, the Principal thinks to herself.

“As am I,” she coughs out, despising the telling husk to her words. “We are always looking for new outcasts at Nevermore. It helps us grow as a school, as a population, as a place of freedom and excitement. Do you know the estimated time of your daughters’ stay?” It wasn’t settled upon before - and Larissa needs something to distract her from the small appreciative sips Ms. Dimitrescu takes from her wine.

“That’s a very good question, Principal,” and a playful tinge slips into that naturally gorgeous expression, “Can they stay with you forever? Lord knows Mother needs a break.” And then she winks, and her red lips part into a smile, and then she takes her eyes elsewhere while Larissa quickly shifts her skin from a burning pink back into the natural peachy pale.

All she can think to do is let out a forced laugh paired with (what she hopes is) a smooth smile.

“As much as I wish they could,” Larissa breathes and puts her hands from her lap back onto the surface of the desk, “that is unfortunately unrealistic. Certain students do have that opportunity, yes, but we always encourage the young ones to get out a bit and see the world. It’s scary at first, but we also tell them that Nevermore will always be here. Should they want to come back, of course.” Is she rambling? Maybe. But her company doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seems quite interested. Very interested.

Staring into her bloody soul like she’s been doing since day one. Larissa’s half tempted to ask her if there’s something wrong, but she figures it’s just the way the woman is. Intense.

“I see. Well. I suppose for now, the girls will stay for the standard four years - and if there’s more to discuss down the line, we will simply cross that bridge when we come to it. Does that sound amenable to you, Principal?” Ms. Dimitrescu tilts her head, still carrying an air of arrogant amusement as she strings Larissa along.

“It sounds perfect, yes,” and if her voice dips a little in the middle of her sentence then so what?

Ms. Dimitrescu seems to enjoy it as a slow grin spreads across her cheeks. Deepening her beautiful laugh lines while she smiles with all teeth. It’s nearly embarrassing how quickly Larissa’s eyes snap to the large canines. She’s explored vampiric anatomy before - in her Nevermore days - but this is something different. This woman doesn’t seem like anything she’s seen before, and only a person with an inquisitive mind can’t help but desire more. More like a feel, maybe. Like a touch. The brush of one finger pad along the very sharp tip of one tooth. Or the flick of a sensitive tongue. Or the feeling of them skating along her neck. Or-

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

Larissa blinks.

What?

Before she can say anything, and disagree, and tell her she most certainly does mind, the woman somehow already has a quellazaire tucked between her fingers. The wine glass now sits on the desk, on a coaster, and the lit end of a cigarette is already sparkling with the glow of burning embers. It’s brought up to red lips. Pressed and held. Then taken away while the taller woman slowly tips her head back and releases a deep chest-shaking groan. The smoke curls into the air like fingers around a woman’s waist, and Larissa is utterly speechless.

“I- uh-”

That beautiful head lifts itself, and she quickly notices the challenge weaseling around through the other woman’s gaze. A veil of smoke now separates them. But that doesn’t stop her from sniffing and licking her lips and adjusting herself in her seat - right before she sets down the law.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t do that Ms. Dimitrescu. This is still a public building, a school no less, and we want to set a good example for the students.” She silently congratulates herself on her courage. Right before it’s tugged away.

“Oh?” The other woman straightens up, her back arching in a way that makes Larissa wish she could skate her fingers along the beautiful curve it makes. “I wasn’t aware there were students present. Are you somehow able to see things I’m not, Principal Weems?”

It’s a small shot of playful mockery that makes her heart rate speed up- and for a second there she thinks she sees grey eyes shooting down to her chest, like she can hear the change in rhythm, before quickly meeting her gaze again.

Larissa plasters on her most obviously placating smile while she tilts her head. If there’s one thing that pisses her off, it’s a blatant disregard for respect. Alcina Dimitrescu may be older, and more prestigious, but this is Larissa Weems’s turf. One must bow to the king they visit.

“No, Ms. Dimitrescu, unfortunately I haven’t been gifted with that particular ability,” she speaks as clearly as she can, letting the passive aggression in her words flow out from behind smiling white teeth. “But I do know that I’m not fond of inhaling second-hand smoke. And should a student walk in at this hour, I can’t imagine they’d appreciate the assault on the senses either.” Her eyebrows quirk up, silently daring the woman to fight back. Just see what happens.

But her show of authority doesn’t anger Ms. Dimitrescu in the way she thought it would. It, instead, just makes her red lips twitch while she takes her second and last inhale - before taking the cigarette out of its long holder and… burning it. Twisting it to ash. On the sensitive skin of her hand. Between the knuckles of her index and middle fingers. Creating a slow circle. Smushing it to a weird tobacco-y pulp.

Larissa’s lips part in shock.

When the ruined cigarette is pulled away, not even a mark is left. Just a small smudge of ash that Ms. Dimitrescu wipes off with her thumb.

So certainly not human. And not a Gargoyle. And not a Vampire.

She swallows, unable to speak a single word while the woman puts her quellazaire away and stands up to her full height - towering over the desk for a moment - before she’s turning around and strutting over to the fireplace. Her hips sway as she goes, and her hair bounces lightly against the base of her neck, and the mixed smell of her spiced perfume and cigarette smoke floats into Larissa’s eager lungs and honestly, she wants nothing more than to trail after her and put her hands on those strong shoulders and push her onto the sofa and demand that this woman tell her who she thinks she is. Walking around her office as if she owns the place. Pouring hubris and carrying the kind of confidence only a rich woman can have… Like Larissa isn’t doing her a favor. Like Larissa didn’t have to bargain with the board to allow the Dimitrescu children into Nevermore. Homeschooled girls with the kind of peculiarities that can only stem from faraway villages; rough in their play and sharp in their minds. Just like their mother. Whose wine every single board member drinks.

Whose wine Larissa drinks.

But that’s also something she won’t tell her.

The wine in Ms. Dimitrescu’s glass, anyway, is one Larissa had to pull out from her own liquor cabinet; after she offered a drink to the other woman, thinking she knew she meant water or sparkling cider. But she didn’t. Or she didn’t care. And once she put the bottle and the crystal glass on the desk, she instantly took the initiative and poured herself a wonderfully hefty helping of a young Zinfandel. To a regular person, that amount of wine had in such a short period of time (their session is supposed to be 45 minutes but Larissa knows it’s run over) would definitely leave them drunk without any preamble. Of course, Ms. Dimitrescu is something distinctly inhuman, and her figure is probably quite heavy with all of that muscle… and curves… and the way her belly pushes against the waistband of her slacks ever ever so slightly… and she may have eaten earlier in the day and-

Why on Earth am I thinking about this?

Larissa has to keep herself from rolling her eyes.

A confident, slightly egotistical, insanely intelligent pretty woman steps into her office and drinks some of her wine and stares into her very being and suddenly she’s unable to control herself? She lived with Morticia Addams for nearly four years! Whatever training and self-discipline she gained from that experience has just flown out the window in the face of- of- of whatever the fuck Alcina Dimitrescu is?! No. Nonsense. Unacceptable. Her professionalism still remains. The woman can push the boundaries, but she cannot take Larissa’s dignity and jurisdiction. Even if she looks unnaturally attractive standing by the fire and lazily throwing her cigarette away into the flames.

Even if her eyes, for just a moment, flash a violent gold.

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When worlds collide !! I may do other parts of this; or little one-shots with this pairing. So let me know what you think? Thank you, darlings. - Rip x

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Tags (Keep in mind Tumblr doesn't let me tag certain accounts): @oddball21 @kaymariesworld @bloommushroom @readingtheentrails @thegoddamnfeels @theonefairygodmother @theflashesoflove @sweetderacine @opalthefrog @gwensfreak @shyladyfan @erablaise-blog @bellatrixsbrat @sunnyanon @emilynissangtr @lex13cm @sugipla @hasthebaconinhispants @deongocrazy @nocteangelus15 @eveymay @one-pining-queer @azu-zu @niceminipotato @hopelessly-sapphic @barbarasstar @enchantressb @syrenacrainn @im-a-carnivorous-plant @willowshadenox @aemilia19 @ladylarissaweems @scarlettssub @ladysdraga @willisnotmental @gela123 @h-doodles @zillahofviolets-bayolet @weemssapphic @the-bearr @amateurwritescm

[faretheeoscar]

Happy Meal = Happy Life

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Content: This fic is almost a brand deal, HMU McDiddys. Nothing else to say.

A/N: English is not my first language so I'm sorry if there’s any mistakes.

Word Count: 1.5k~

Shiv sat at his usual table in the corner of the McDonald’s, absentmindedly swirling his straw around his half-empty cup of Diet Coke, his to go order. The soft hum of the ice machine mingled with the laughter of children clutching their Happy Meal boxes, he saw them running, going to enjoy their time on the Play Place and Shiv couldn’t help but feel an odd pang of longing, he missed his kid.

Oxana had been limiting his visits since she got in a relationship with the big mafia boss that made her travel with him everywhere, so either Andre was traveling with her or at Oxana’s parents house, a place where Shiv was not welcomed at all, not just because her parents hated him but also because the legal papers were very specific of him not being allowed to be within a 200 meters radius from their house, and yes, he used meters, not yards, or miles or whatever that bullshit system Americans used.

God he hated Americans with all his heart, although it was ironic taking into account the place he was sitting in right now, the cuspid of American capitalism, but Andre liked it, it reminded him of his kiddo and the love he longed for and couldn’t get a small grasp of it.

He glanced at his tray, where the remnants of his own Happy Meal lay: a plastic-wrapped toy, the new sonic collection he had slowly started building, he finally had gotten Shadow and that was a big deal, a small box of fries, and, of course, the iconic white box containing the sacred Chicken McNuggets. Shiv didn’t know when his obsession started on coming here specifically for a happy meal, but the feeling had blossomed into something much stranger than a simple craving.

It had started innocently enough: a craving for nostalgia, a need for comfort food during a stressful week, and the food he once shared with his family would bring him that, besides, it surely was called a Happy Meal for a reason, it was a pathway to it, to happiness, somehow? or at least he thought so. One Happy Meal turned into two, then three, and now he couldn’t remember the last time he’d ordered or ate anything else. But it wasn’t just the food anymore—it was... a sentiment, a belonging, and then it evolved until it was– them.

He opened the box, peering down at the golden-brown nuggets nestled within like treasures. He selected one carefully, holding it between his fingers like a precious artifact. A wave of warmth spread through him as he looked into the crispy, slightly misshapen form. For a fleeting moment, it almost seemed like a cheesy romance of love at first sight.

Shiv shook his head, snapping back to reality. “Get a grip,” he muttered, popping the nugget into his mouth and savoring the salty crunch. Yet, even as he chewed, he couldn’t deny the flutter in his chest.

That night, Shiv lay in bed, rubbing his growing belly, the pudge had been accumulating over time clearly due his bad food habits, but his stomach was pleasantly full after his late night snack of half chewed chicken bites forgotten on his bedside table, his mind was swirling with questions. Why did he feel like this? Was it possible to fall in love with... food? Or was it falling in love with the concept of something that brought him happiness? As sleep crept in, his thoughts blended into something peculiar.

In his dream, Shiv found himself standing at the altar of a quaint little chapel. The air smelled faintly of fryer oil, salt and artificial cheese. He glanced down at himself and realized he was wearing a tuxedo—polished shoes, crisp white shirt, the whole deal. He was getting properly married. Next to him stood his bride—a perfectly golden Chicken McNugget, adorned with a tiny veil made of napkin fabric.

He glanced at the guests behind him, his mother was crying he didn’t know if it was of happiness or if she was just done with Shiv’s bullshit, then he saw a couple of Big Macs, a fish fillet and a chicken sandwich staring judgmentally at him as he lost focus on the ceremony. He quickly looked back giving his bride an apologetic look, and wow, there he noticed she looked extremely delicious…

The priest, who looked suspiciously like Ronald McDonald, cleared his throat to gain his attention again and smiled warmly? To him? Was he really smiling? He looked kind of creepy, after all it was a clown that had a permanent smile plastered on his face, maybe it was miserable or maybe he was indeed happy to see love flourish, either way his thoughts got interrupted again when he heard his name being called. “Do you, Shiv, take this McNugget to be your lawfully wedded wife, to cherish in taste and texture, through cravings and full bellies, until digestion do you part?”

Shiv hesitated, looking down at the nugget-bride. “I... I do?” he said, though it sounded more like a question. The nugget didn’t respond, because it was a piece of chicken, so of course it didn’t speak, but he could feel its affection through the crispy exterior. When Mr. Ronald McDicky finally pronounced them husband and wife, he leaned to give his wife a tender kiss that left him with greasy lips.

The ceremony was followed by a joyous reception, complete with trays of fries, burger bouquets, and a fountain of McFlurry. Shiv danced with his bride, spinning her around gently, careful not to break her fragile form. They laughed and toasted with tiny cups of barbecue sauce.

The strangest part after that was how happy he felt. Complete. Whole. The dream kept on going and he and the McNugget, who he learned its name was “Chica “ lived in a cozy little house shaped like a Happy Meal box, where they raised their children—tiny little, chicken bites that had a mix between his precious hair and the crispy texture of his wife. They’d spend their evenings watching movies while dipping themselves in sweet and sour sauce, Shiv glanced at Chica, she looked radiant that night and he felt like biting her, tasting her, he was thinking about eating his wife and he couldn’t help it, it was a hypnotising sensation, that made him come closer, closer and closer until…

Shiv woke up with a start, his heart pounding. He glanced around his small apartment, the remnants of last night’s McDonald’s bag on the table. Realization dawned on him, and his cheeks burned with embarrassment. Marrying a McNugget? Having kids with it? What was wrong with him?

But as he lay back down, his thoughts softened. Was it really so weird? People loved their pets, their plants, their cars—who was to say he couldn’t love a McNugget? Besides, it wasn’t just about the food. It was the comfort it brought, the feeling of something familiar and reliable.

The next day, Shiv walked into McDonald’s with his head held high. He ordered his usual Happy Meal and, when the tray was handed to him, he whispered a quick, “Thank you.” As he sat down, he carefully opened the box and looked at the nuggets.

They didn’t seem to mind his weirdness. They never judged him. They didn’t think he was a failure, didn’t abandon him, they were always there.

He picked one up and smiled. “You know,” he whispered, dipping it into the deluxe sauce, “I think we’re gonna be okay. I’m happy with you…and I do really think I fell for you, and that’s okay, you complete me, you’re my better half…”

Across the restaurant, a family glanced his way, whispering amongst each other about the weird guy with the red blazer talking to his own food, they picked up their trays and slowly backed away, this day was a weird one at that McDonald’s and the staff would end up asking Shiv to please leave and never come back, and in the future? Every McDonalds franchise would have his face with a warning right on the front door, next to the “we accept Visa/Mastercard” sign, corporate would add another restraining order to his collection for  public indecency after he’d got caught doing inappropriate things to a soft serve on one of the bathroom stalls. 

That action would get him banned from any location across the country, but that will be a problem for future Shiv, right now? He didn’t notice the staring or the whispers. He was too busy sharing a quiet moment with his beloved nugget, wondering if it was really that crazy to just let himself be happy—no matter how weird he looked or how delusional he thought he was becoming, love had found a new way to get to his heart and it was in the shape of a golden crispy Chicken piece of heaven.

APRIL’S FOOL!

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[mavlabajuri]

@sharoscylla ok, fair warning, I've patched-out the worst of it but there's still some detailed description of injury and wound-dressing in here if that's a no-go. But! Here's a passage from my House Veman crew, Galaar and Woor having a not so fun time in the forest! (pls be kind, I haven't posted my writing online since I was, like, 12 🫡)

(title) Pain is a Function

His boots sink into the mottled dirt, Galaar’s vitals flashing across his HUD. BP crashing, pulse erratic, respiration shallow. Warnings cascade across his display in harsh lines, too many to process. He forces the feed into minimal mode. Just the numbers. Just what he needs.

She’s limp in his arms as he drags her away from the billowing wreckage of their Kom'rk.

The sinking sun casts a weak light through the ripped up canopy above and Woor sets to task. The twisted shard of metal has cut clean through Galaar’s kute and into her thigh. Torn fabric peels back and Woor hisses through his teeth. This is bad. He feels around the underside of her leg and he can feel a hard point behind the fabric. 

"Fragment’s in deep. I can't pull it. Not out here." Woor warns. Galaar doesn’t respond.

He reaches up and disengages her helmet seal to remove the faceplate. Her gaze locks onto him, eyes wide but distant, pupils blown. Awake, that’s good. His hands work fast, muscle memory more than conscious thought. Knife in hand, his poncho is quickly cut into strips. He loops one around her upper thigh in preparation. The rough handling finally snaps Galaar back to reality and she arches away from him with a sharp gasp. He grabs her leg, moving to trap it underneath his knee.

“I need to stabilize you. It’ll hurt like haran but you need to let me do this,” he puts a folded strip at her mouth. Grim comprehension dawns on her harried face and she bites down. Using the handle of the knife he twists the strip tight. Galaar screams and the simple jute cloth frays and splits underneath Togruta cuspids.

Woor curses himself for not being better equipped. 

Pain is the body’s way to tell you that something is wrong. To an extent, that’s a good thing. Can’t fix what you don’t know is broken. That’s the catch though. To an extent. What a bullshit fucking function, not having a biological limit. Some kind of psychological mechanism that activates at a certain threshold that allows you to remove yourself after you’ve acknowledged the karking problem.

Her pained howl finally breaks into a guttural snarl. The blood slows. Not stops. Slows. He takes another strip of poncho and wads it up before pulling a bacta canister from his utility belt, twists off the cap with one hand to expose the needle. 

Woor steels himself anew.

He jabs the shot into her thigh, depresses the switch and begins packing the wound around the fragment with fingers that don’t flinch, even when Galaar’s body thrashes under his knee.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, vod,” Woor’s voice shakes even as his hands stay steady, every move methodical and deliberate. He should be better prepared, should be carrying a proper field kit not just the insufficient osik he’s stuffed his belt with. After securing the wadding with another ragged strip of cloth, Woor sits back and inspects his work. A flicker of his HUD shows her BP edging up. Readings still in the red, but holding. Good enough, Woor thinks, for now. 

His HUD continues feeding him her vitals like a slow bleed. BP still low, adrenaline spike tapering. Woor files the data away, tense shoulders easing by a fraction, and keeps moving. Galaar’s eyes track the minute shift in his posture. She figures he’s done. 

“Whh–what ha–happened?” Her words stutter out between rapid, shallow breaths. With the bleeding slowed and the wrap secure, Woor runs a quick systems check. Jetpack's still operational. Good. Carrying her out on foot isn’t an option.

“My guess? Sabotage,” Woor says. It’s the only thing that can explain the cascade of errors that broke down all flight systems and sent them into a tailspin. 

“Alor will be pissed,” Galaar huffs as he helps secure her faceplate back in place.

Woor is looking forward to it. Compartmentalized detachment is the only thing keeping his own burning rage at bay. He can’t lose his head. Not now, not here. They need to get back to the city, get in contact with the cruiser. Galaar needs proper treatment and if whoever fucked with their ship know what they’re doing, they must be making their way here. A mando ain’t dead until you’re looking at their corpse. 

“Haar’chak–karking, shit-fuck”, Galaar cries out as he hauls her up.

“Been a while since I’ve flown with a passenger,” Woor forces some levity into his voice as he carbines their belts together. “So you better hang on tight, Gal’ika”

“Don’t call me that, Dawoor,” Galaar grunts but does as ordered, arms tight around his shoulders.

“Oh, real mature,” he mutters, scrutinizing the canopy as he does some quick calculations. Crashing them both into a tree is the last thing they need.

“You started it, mir’sheb.”

[slimeyslimeyballsack]

Tag Game

tagged by @thiamsxbitch

what is your DOH (drink outfit hyperfixation) or DOB (drink outfit book) of the day? i also accept DOHBF (drink outfit hyperfixation book fanfic/fanwork). the F can be something you’re working on yourself or that you’re reading/engaging with.

Drink - brown sugar chai latte

Outfit - outfit of the day is pretty laid back. My kurtistown merch that i cropped and some wide legged blue pants with my suede boots and an iowa hawkeyes jacket. hairs in a cute lil pony

Hyperfixation - teen wolf. easy. but slimecicle is slipping back into my brain recently

gonna skip book because i havent read one recently

Fanwork - I havent been reading a lot because I've kind of been pounding out writing but I'm working on a piece right now called Doctors and Their Effect on Young Boys: A Case Study

Snippet

When Theo was seven years old, his mother knocked out three of his teeth. A central incisor, a lateral incisor, and a cuspid. They were baby teeth and one of them was loose, but in hindsight he figures that was still not excellent parenting. He and Tara were playing outside. It was a perfect sunny day and they had just gotten a new chalk set and were excited to color. He had forgotten to take his shoes off when he came inside for a glass of water. The floors were hardwood and he hadn’t actually tracked in any mud, but it was about the principal he supposes. They were a no shoe household. That meant no shoes whether he was actually dirtying the floor or not.

“Theodore John Raeken,” she had clipped.

She was the only one who called him Theodore. The name itself brought its own kind of fear. It was only used in punishment. A more endearing name was used for his praises. ‘My beautiful boy’. He was her beautiful son. At least he was when she was talking to her friends. When she could brag about his perfect scores on his report card, or the art that said ‘I love my mom’ that he brought home. She could talk him up to her friends and he could stand there, getting his hair pet. It was the best feeling in the world, he thinks. He loved having company over. That was his favorite version of his mother. She was kind, and her eyes even sparkled a little. If he squinted, Theo thought she might look at him with love. There was no company over this day. This day he was not her beautiful boy. This day he was Theodore.

His mother was a harsh disciplinarian, and firmly believed in corporal punishment. Normally a simple backhanded slap was the result of what Tara called a Class D violation. Except this particular day she was holding a hardcover copy of Stephen King’s The Stand. So it was less of a backhand and more of a back book. Pairing with the missing teeth, the spine had cut open his eyebrow as well and left him with a pretty nasty bruise down the side of his face.

He had to go to school with three of his teeth missing for six months. Six months is a long time to go to school with no teeth. Did you know that when baby teeth are removed from the mouth prematurely a spacer may be required for the teeth to grow back correctly? A trip to the dentist is certainly needed. Theo did not get a trip to the dentist, but he definitely needed that spacer. His teeth migrated into the gap and when the three permanent teeth tried to grow in they were pushed backward and forward, anywhere they could fit. It was painful, and several times Theo was punished for crying, a class A violation. When the teeth finally finished growing in, his mouth was a mess. Tara said it gave him character, but he still felt ugly. The boys at school called him shark mouth and the girls screamed when they saw his teeth.

That was the end of being his mother’s beautiful boy. He wasn’t allowed to show his teeth anymore. She couldn’t stand looking at them. Smiling was to be kept close lipped. She started introducing him as her ‘wonderful son’. It felt like a slap in the face. It felt worse than a slap in the face. He would have preferred being hit.

Tagging: @awinnn23 @calico-kiwi @the-t-stands-for-tall @ibiscrow @johnsotherbastard @chasing-chimeras if yall are interested

[cherries8angels]

Bro I’ve had this thing going on for awhile- one day in like July I just randomly brought up that I wanted to see my baby teeth again for no reason at all. Then one random day at like october I walk out of my bedroom door and I saw a baby human cuspid tooth on the floor 💀 I asked my parents and they were spooked by it and I have no sibling in that age of losing teeth- I kept it for a bit cuz I love how it randomly appeared- I had my first sleep paralysis demon experience and then I lost it from the spot I’ve always kept it and got so sad bc like :/ THEN the next day it was at the exact spot I found it by my door but perfectly cut in half, I told my parents again and they looked at it and thought it was one of my dogs teeth but I looked at it more and it had the dry toothpaste I got in it when I first got the tooth and cleaned it- THIS SHIT WEIRD! I swear my parents can’t be messing with me bc they’re genuinely confused- but they got to be, just thought it would be weird to tell.

Anyways, what type of jewelry should I make out of it? I know it’s weird but I thought it would be unique to make some jewelry out of a baby tooth (especially since it’s my favorite tooth, the cuspid/canine/vampire tooth) :P

[thebadchoicemachine]

Hey, you know how we're changing up Quarry? So, I was looking through the discord and there we discussed Soul Powers for a species of demon in the soul sand valley. But, since we're getting rid of that, what if we gave those powers to the people of The End Nation! It would add some more reasoning to everyone wearing masks, to cover up as much skin as possible as to prevent accidental soul sucking.

It would make that moment where Karl and Other Knight (he really needs a name) are stuck in a pit and OK has their mask broken and showing his dragon eye scale thing all the more Important, because he's not just opening up, from his perspective he's become an active danger and bracing for ridicule.

Also, the performance angle of the End Nation makes more sense too, might as well dress up and act the part if you're going to be covering up every inch of skin.

Thoughts on Cuspid for the Knight of the End?

[random-guy01]

1 - Engineering, because with a engineering degree it's easier to find a good paying job. And I like math and physics 2 - Noodles and japanese food. Italian food comes as a close second 3 - I don't have a favorite color, but I usually prefer colder colors 4 - Cold person, but extremely warm and clingy if I open myself up 5 - Not currently, though I used to play soccer, as most brazilian kids did 6 - Don't really have a favorite tbh 7 - The myth of Sisyphus, helped me think about life and how to deal with it. I'm not an avid reader tbh 8 - I prefer horror movies, specially psychological horror. But I don't really have a favorite 9 - Maybe Saw 10 - DC, I prefer their animated movies and series rather than Marvel movies. 11 - Plastic Memories and Clannad. I love romance and slice of life anime, and those two had a really big impact on me in a bunch of different ways. 12 - I can't think of any crazy memories on the fly 14 - Castles of burgndy or Texas hold 'em poker 15 - Factorio, TFT or minecraft modded. 16 - Napping, sleeping is great, specially in a cold and cozy room. I also like programming 17 - Currently tidy, 50/50 tidy/messy 18 - Lethargic 19 - Pretty average, nothing interesting/unique happened, which I think it's great. I prefer "slow" days 20 - Brazil, I'm not sure what I specifically like about it, but it's not like I also hate it either 21 - House MD, it's interesting, it's thought-provoking, it has good drama and helped me learn about somethings about myself and life (emotionally, not medically lol) 22 - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Kj7xfu8p5O7uV8V5aSEEH?si=6e83252fe9ba4a70 25 - Yes, Troy. The cutest pomeranian ever 26 - Six. But 99% of the time I use the same pair of shoes. I don't have a specific brand I like the most, but I prefer shoes that don't require me to wear socks 27 - Just a pajama shorts, since I'm at home 28 - Sunny and way too hot. I prefer cold weather, specially since when it's too warm I sweat a lot 29 - Math/physics, It's usually a simple, and often elegant, way to describe reality and some interesting concepts. 30 - Portuguese/Language - I'm simply not good at it lol 33 - I think so 34 - No 35 - No 42 - Freefaller, I'm somewhat of a heavysleeper. I don't snore, I rarely mumble random nonesense during my sleep though (it was a lot more frequent during my childhood) 43 - I don't really have a specific type that is my favorite. I usually prefer slower/more chills songs tho 44 - Les Miserables, I just really liked the movie and that made me watch the musical and I liked it. Specially Philip Quast Javert. I'm not really a musical guy tho 48 - 183cm, 76kg, white, black eyes, fluffy black hair, a bit hairy (specially the arms and legs and ass), small teeth and sharp cuspids, large hand with thin fingers and inward belly button 49 - no 51 - Probably, since i'm not a native english speaker 52 - No friends, I'm quite asocial 53 - I don't really love 2D characters, I don't really have a "waifu" 54 - Not much tbh

~•Voice Asks•~

What do you study and why?

Favourite meal?

Favourite colour and why?

Are you a cold or a warm person?

Do you play sports? If so, what sport and how long have you been playing it?

Favourite Kids TV show?

Favourite book series and/or just singular book and why?

Favourite film?

Favourite film SERIES?

Marvel or DC? And why?

Favourite Animes? And why?

Talk about a crazy memory you have? (can be asked multiple times)

Talk about a fond memory you have with a certain person (can be asked multiple times and with different people)

Favourite board game?

Favourite video game?

Talk about something you love to do

Is your room currently messy or tidy? And are you generally more messy or tidy?

Current mood

Talk about your day

What country are you from and what is one thing you love about it?

Favourite TV show and why?

Put your playlist on shuffle and attempt to sing the first song…

Sing [insert song here]

Rap something of your choice

Have any pets? Talk about them if you do…

How many pairs of shoes do you own? Do you have a specific style/brand you love to wear?

Describe your current outfit

Describe the current weather

Talk about your favourite subject at school?

Talk about your least favourite subject at school?

Attempt to sing a song you used to sing in school/choir?

Top 5… [insert something here]

Are you good with money? If not what do you spend it on/what's your weakness?

Do you have any posters/pictures up in your room?

Do you have a hidden snack draw? If so, what's in it?

What's the best gift you have ever received?

What's the best gift you have ever given?

Have you ever been to a concert?

What's the thickest book you own and what's it about?

Grab the closest book, turn to page 58 and read the 5th sentence…

Write a letter to the person who sent this ask and read it out loud

What's your sleeping position? And are you a heavy sleeper? Do you snore?

What's your music taste? Any factors as to why you fell in love with that type of music?

Favourite Musical and why?

Talk about your favourite haikyuu character!

Talk about your other favourite anime characters that aren’t Haikyuu!

Sing a song from your favourite musical

Describe your appearance

Do you collect anything? If so, talk about it!

Say a quote of the person askings choice

Talk about your accent! Do you personally think it's strong etc?

What do your friends think about you writing on tumblr?

What do your friends think about your love for 2D characters? (if you have one lmao)

How have you changed over the past 5 years?

Any weird confession stories

Any anime characters you hate?

Describe the people closest to you? (closest as in like friends not like… the person sat next to you lmao)

You played among us? If so what colour is your go to and which hat?

Read a line from one of your wip’s

Read [insert famous film quote here]

FREE SLOT?! Ask me to say anything you want, answer anything you can come up with and sing/rap anything you want me to!!!!

[lifesciencesmagazine]

Fangs Among Us- Humans with Canine teeth

Source: oboralsurgery.com

Since we were kids, some of us have been obsessed with vampires. We wondered if we could have those sharp fangs. As we grew up, some of the neighborhood kids got those sharp teeth, which we started calling vampire teeth. There is nothing to worry about as it is a completely normal phenomenon, and in dental terms, it is called a canine teeth.

There are many myths about humans with canine teeth. They are vampire-like fangs that could hurt someone while biting, but this is not the case every time; these canine teeth function just like normal teeth.

However, it may cause pain and impact neighboring teeth structure after a time. These distinct sets of teeth can be fascinating at times. Surprisingly, some people even find them attractive at times. So let’s just get more into understanding these canine teeth in detail.

In this article, we will delve into the concept of humans with canine teeth and understand their function, treatment options, and much more.

What are human canine teeth?

Canine teeth in humans are pointed teeth located at the corners of the mouth, between the incisors and the premolars. There are four canine teeth inside your mouth. Two of them are in the upper jaw and two in the lower jaw. They are typically sharp and designed for tearing food and are often referred to as cuspid teeth. Canine teeth play a vital role in the biting and tearing process, especially for tougher foods. In terms of evolution, canine teeth are thought to be an indication of our carnivorous ancestors, aiding in the consumption of raw meat. Let’s understand more functions of this unique set of teeth.

Functions of Canine teeth:

Canine teeth in humans are inside our mouth for the same purpose as most other teeth, which is to adequately break down food for digestion. For tearing and gripping tougher foods such as fruits, vegetables, and meats, these canine teeth are used by humans commonly.

We also use our canine teeth to guide food into the best position for biting down. These teeth are also used to support the structure of your mouth. Canines work with the incisors to make certain sounds when we speak. Some cultures around the world have been practicing sharpening their canines throughout history to make them more noticeable or intimidating-looking. That’s why humans with canine teeth can chew and break down food well and look attractive as well. 

Why are they called humans with canine teeth?

Image by Robert Kneschke

These unique sets of teeth get their name because of their fang-like appearance, which looks similar to those of a dog breed called canines. Canine dogs are known to show their fangs in situations where they feel threatened; that’s why these extraordinary sets of teeth are associated with canines. A human with canine teeth has two unique parts: the crown and the root. The crown is the visible part of your teeth, so that’s the first thing we see when we open our mouth. The root is underneath the gums and is not visible; it serves as an anchor for the tooth in your jawbone. The canine tooth is positioned in the middle of four teeth on either side.

Canine Tooth Conditions and Issues:

Canine tooth conditions and issues are very common. It can happen to anyone after a certain age, and the condition of canines can vary according to their causes and reasons. These issues and conditions can lead to pain, discomfort, and potential tooth loss if left untreated, with the most prevalent issue being periodontal disease due to plaque and tartar accumulation on the teeth. The common canine teeth conditions can be:

Gingivitis (inflamed gums)

Periodontal disease (infection affecting the gums and bone around teeth)

Fractured teeth, plaque, and tartar buildup

Tooth decay, malocclusion (misaligned teeth)

Oral masses and developmental abnormalities

What are the treatment options?

There are several reasons why humans with canine teeth want to reshape them, mostly to remove the sharp point. These can be too sharp at times, which could lead to gum injuries. This may also be an aesthetic concern, as some people don’t like the look of long, sharp canines. Let’s find out a few ways to reduce your canine teeth.

1. Dental Bonding:

Dental bonding is a process that is used for many cosmetic purposes, such as recoloring yellowed or blotched teeth and reshaping canines.  It involves adding a tooth-colored resin to the canines, which is then hardened with a special light.

2. Tooth Reshaping:

Image by Photo By_ Kaboompics.com from Pexels

Odontoplasty, commonly known as tooth reshaping, is a procedure that helps remove small amounts of enamel from the tooth to alter its shape. It can also be used to reshape canines and correct minor misalignments. 

3. Dental Veneers:

Dental veneers are another effective way to reshape your canines and improve your smile. Dental veneers are thin pieces of porcelain that are bonded to the surface of the teeth. These Porcelain veneers can also be used to cover any discolored or misshapen canine teeth, making them look more uniform and aesthetically pleasing.

4. Tooth Recontouring:

Recontouring is a very similar process to tooth reshaping, however, this procedure is restricted to just the enamel layer of the tooth. This is much less invasive, but the results aren’t as evident as with reshaping.

Conclusion:

Humans with canine teeth can be intimidating and attractive-looking. However, understanding the reason between those distinct teeth can help you learn more about your oral structure. Canine teeth are known to break down tougher food to help you chew them and digest them properly. Though they may look attractive, these teeth can result in dental issues with time. They can invade the structure of your teeth and can also injure your gums. Many treatment options are available for treating and removing canine teeth to reduce discomfort. So, these unique teeth that are named after a dog breed make them even more unique. 

FAQ:

Is it normal for humans to have canine teeth?

Most people have four canine teeth — one in each quadrant (upper right, upper left, lower right, and lower left). Canine teeth help you tear into foods like meat and crunchy vegetables. Sometimes, people call canines “eye teeth” because of their position directly under the eyes.

How rare are canine teeth in humans?

All humans have canine teeth, but we usually don’t notice them because they don’t look pointier or out of proportion to the other teeth.

Why did humans develop canine teeth?

Early hominids may have found those four sharp teeth at the corners of the jaws a handy weapon for taking prey, preventing others from taking their prey, and competing for mates. Over millions of years, possibly in response to dietary changes, the teeth became smaller.

[kvrosawaa]

acicular — sharp weaponry curves into an awn, darkened with the crude and coagulated revenants of blood-- and the balladeer upends— spinning it between his fingers, the dagger satiating his boredom... poorly. his edacious bloodlust barely sated, and he thrusts the blade into the headboard. the wood splintering to accommodate the gesture. it sticks there, idle, and readily available until he decides that it has a use to him again. There is a yelp of surprise near him, and his visage tapers towards the source of the insubstantial little noise. the girl in his care was a hindrance, the severity of her disruption and inconvenience cogent on his mood. she seemed afraid... his brow rose at her. was it him that had distressed her? or was it the dagger he was holding a moment prior? It is not like he stabbed her with it. not this time anyway. x intriguing

⟢﹒tw: abduction, drabble practice, old old old old old wc. 1,440

acicular — sharp weaponry curves into an awn, darkened with the crude and coagulated revenants of blood-- and the balladeer upends— spinning it between his fingers, the dagger satiating his boredom... poorly. his edacious bloodlust barely sated, and he thrusts the blade into the headboard. the wood splintering to accommodate the gesture. it sticks there, idle, and readily available until he decides that it has a use to him again. There is a yelp of surprise near him, and his visage tapers towards the source of the insubstantial little noise.

the girl in his care was a hindrance, the severity of her disruption and inconvenience cogent on his mood. she seemed afraid... his brow rose at her. was it him that had distressed or her? or was it the dagger he was holding a moment prior? It is not like he stabbed her with it. not this time anyway.

“...I’m unarmed, you see...?” He says this as though he couldn’t easily just crush her with his bare hands, and despite the exigence of the situation, his tone is... playful, the simper that passes his lips meant to rile her up. the balladeer does not care much though, not exactly privy to pleasing the priestess that he had taken in against her will.

it was for entertainment purposes, purely so.

fabric of her religious garb becomes quickly disheveled, prising and catching --- tearing as he pulled them from her body. the scent clinging to them fragrant. acrid. He had already injured her in his effort to catch her. Albeit what did she expect when she had tried resisting him so fervently? who was she to deny him? an archon...?

he would rip her apart.

Ah, someone like this... represented everything he disliked. she thought she was innocent? just because she thought she shone ephemerally in the glow of divinity? ...for cleaning a shrine pavilion? she thought she could accuse him of being a false god? ...he hated this priestess. she can tell that he is holding back on her. he practically trembles from the unconcealed disdain, gritting his teeth in contempt.

... And lately, she had been fighting back.

He does not really want to kill her, he thinks. He liked subjugating her, breaking her spirit. He prefers to destroy her from the inside out, and her skin pallor is a testament to the fact that he does not care if she is nourished or doing well. Although, he must acknowledge, the colorful contusions that adorn her skin look enticing to him. Her thin wrists flourish in carmine and a variety of Byzantium hues. He allows her to attack him, her sharp cuspids managing to draw blood as she retreats away from him, as though realizing what she's just done. Pathetic weakling.

A heavy silence passes between the two of them as she pulls away from him, something he has not given her permission to do. Her eyes are trained on his hands, and he flexes them, a silent warning, a threat . He relishes the fear that flickers across her face, the knowledge that he holds all the power in their twisted dynamic of dominance and submission. She seems distressed, and she does not give him an opportunity to reprimand her, merely trying her best to make herself appear small before him.

He just watches and does not move to do anything. and he can tell that it puts her completely on edge.

He does not scold her.

He does not yell.

He does not punish her.

He does not do anything. and he can tell that it is killing her. She must be anxious.

"...Come here to me, priestess," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. His jaw clenches, and he fixes his piercing gaze on her before his expression contorts, a twisted smirk playing on his lips. He revels in the terror that he sees in her eyes, savoring the rush of power that courses through his veins. He wants her to remember this moment, to realize how helpless and vulnerable she is before him. "Come back here and punish me," he taunts. "Or I'll make you regret it." A menacing silence falls over the chamber, broken only by the sound of his heavy breathing. His anger simmers just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over at any moment. "You belong to me," he snarls, as he closes in on her. "And you will do as I say or suffer."

The priestess quivers with unrestrained apprehension, realizing too late the true nature of the danger she has stumbled into. Her struggle is futile as he overpowers her with ease, and she is caught off-guard, momentarily stunned as he takes advantage of her faltering resistance, ensnaring her in his grasp with no effort.  "You need to learn your place," he snarls quietly, eyes narrowing in agitation. "And your place is with me."

The priestess shivers, her voice barely above a whisper. "Y-you don't have to do this..."

His derisive laughter echoes through the room, a cruel sound that makes her flinch. "Don't have to do this?" he sneers, his eyes glittering with malice. "I said you belong to me. So come here and mete out your punishment. I am waiting ..." He draws the dagger from the headboard, relishing the weight of the blade in his hand. A sickly-sweet smile spreads across his lips as he glances at the weapon, his mood instantly improves. "I'll make you hurt me," he purrs, the words a dark promise. "And I'll make you enjoy it."

The priestess stares at him in defiance, refusing to be broken by his sadistic spur-of-moment demands. "I won't do that," she says, her voice firm.

His expression darkens. "You won't obey me, priestess...?" His voice is a deadly whisper, laced with impugning airs of rancor. "Fine.. Then I'll do it myself." He leans closer, the dagger glinting in the dim light. His eyes gleam with an amused glee as he contemplates for a moment before spinning the blade in the opposite direction---towards himself. "You pushed me too far, haven’t you...? so unless you get on your knees and grovel..."

“.... You... are going to do it yourself?” She still seems incredulous, her eyes widening at him.

"Maybe I will priestess," He replies slowly, thoughtfully, "maybe I won’t. Do you care?" He asks, with a raised eyebrow. " Scaramouche’s voice drops a bit, a growl underlain in his tone. "Or... do you just want to watch?"

".......I-I can't believe that...." She is glaring so heatedly at him that her sudden ferocity piques his interest. He watches her use the tips of her fingers to wipe the corners of her eyes. she seemed frustrated, and the balladeer felt himself getting irritated all over again. she should be scared.

He moves even closer to her, his disdain palpable.

"...Priestess, are you... crying ?" He queries, his voice teasing, reveling— amused by her distress. He heralded the gentleness of a lamb if it was a lion in disguise. "Oh, my poor priestess. I apologize....," he adds, his tongue clicking against his teeth as he places a hand on her head in mock comfort— chiding her for getting emotional. "Don't waste your tears on me."

......

............

He did not think at all that she had the brevity to slap his hand away. ".... Y.....you......said I was.... yours now," her voice grates on his ears. ".... You cannot accompany me to heaven if you hurt yourself like that..."

What a twist.

"Oh, so you took what I said to heart..." He simpers again, chuckling softly at her overt naivety. "Heaven...?” He reiterates back to her, the word tasting acerbic on his tongue. "You really think... I am going to Heaven? ...Oh, priestess..." The balladeer smirks in response, enjoying the way she attempts to assert herself in the midst of her situation. He'd kill her for it. He shakes his head back and forth. "There's no place for people like me in the afterlife,” his grip tightens in her hair, his nails scraping roughly against her scalp. "I'm going to the deepest parts of hell..." He says, with the biggest smirk splaying across his features. "But... I'm taking you with me."

......

...............

.......He had not expected her to put her hands on him again, and he tilted his head at her. She was becoming more intriguing with every small thing he did to provoke her. Perhaps she was not so tedious after all. "...I know, I know...” he soothes her— still keeping his hand in her hair, as though to keep her perfectly in place. "I won't hurt myself. ...I promise." He reassures her, lilted inflection in his tone.

"...I'll just... hurt you."