#Ice cold hot wired

[mudwerks]

British postcard by Boomerang Media. Photo: Touchstone Pictures. Nicolas Cage in Gone in Sixty Seconds (Brian De Palma, 2000).

Caption: Ice cold hot wired

[ncvigctor]

🧭[ charting the next route ╳ one island at a time / ic.

🧭[ scrapping the crud ╳ off bloody boots / headcanons.

🧭[ speaking up ╳ for a bit / ooc.

🧭[ taking some time ╳ to explain / ooc replies.

🧭[ keeping the cold at bay ╳ with soft coats / wardrobe.

🧭[ pocketing something ╳ for later on / interests.

🧭[ the one with ╳ the mohawk and glasses / self.

🧭[ the ability to push ╳ them all away / devilfruit.

🧭 [ oh captain ╳ my captain / kid.

🧭 [ straight for ╳ the kill / killer.

🧭 [ some like ╳ it hot / heat.

🧭 [ don't get your ╳ wires crossed / wire.

🧭 [ silver tongue pierced ╳ with silver stud / ic replies.

🧭 [ bite worse ╳ than bark / dive.

🧭 [ that which speaks ╳ so loud / aesthetic.

🧭 [ snatchin' the paper ╳ for the headlines / news.

🧭 [ rolling through on the waves on the punk / mobile.

🧭 [ waiting for ╳ the next hit / queue.

[ taglist. ]

[eloves-writes]

careful who you’re talking to

[coriolanus snow x reader]

desc: snow hears a conversation with the academy boys about the girl he is secretly seeing and wants them to know who you belong to warnings: snow being snow like fr (toxic, controlling, insane, blah blah blah), smut, exhibitionism, public sex, unwarranted sexual comments about reader behind her back, she/her pronouns used, reader is wearing a dress, if i need to add any other warnings please lmk a/n: hiiiii! i'm back again. this is slightly unhinged and i didn't mean for it to be this unhinged but anyway hope u enjoy, send any and all coriolanus requests my way! mwah mwah mwah ily this work contains mature themes, minors dni

it was a cold night in the capitol, and you were steadily sipping a glass of posca to keep warm in your blood-red dress. the silky material was slit up your leg and cut down to reveal just the right amount of cleavage; you might feel a chill but you looked damn good and everybody knew it.

especially coriolanus snow. the two of you had been spending a lot of time together recently- behind bookshelves in the library, in dark corners of the academy halls, bend over desks in empty classrooms. it had begun as purely physical. stress relief. but after a month or so, you had each caught feelings for the other and were struggling with whether or not to admit it. and in that moment, he was also struggling tremendously to take his eyes off of you.

you stood talking across the room with arachne and livia, unable to concentrate on whatever meaningless gossip they were discussing with the feeling of coriolanus’ ice blue eyes on you; there was an electric thrill passing between you like you were connected with a live wire. to say your relationship so far had been hot and heavy would be an extremely severe understatement, and you found your mind constantly occupied with the thought of him touching you and the need to have him touch you again.

-

“i think y/n is checking me out,” festus creed smirked to the group of boys around him.

coriolanus almost snorted in amusement. you were obviously looking at him, and only him.

“something funny, snow?” gaius asked sharply. “jealous, perhaps?”

snow reserved his irritation. “not at all, breen.”

“whoever she is looking at,” felix stated earnestly, “i’m certainly jealous of them. i mean, just look at her. she looks fucking hot.”

festus nodded in agreement. “i’d love to rip that dress off of her. she acts so innocent, but you just know she likes it rough.”

coriolanus felt his blood boil. you were his. how dare they talk about you like you were a common whore? perhaps you did like it rough. he would know, he was the one fucking you. not these basic capitol losers. none of them could make you scream the way he did. none of them had scratches down their backs beneath their shirts from your nails. only he did. only he ever would, and he would make sure it stayed that way.

the other boys laughed, agreeing with festus. adding on their own ideas. detailing the ways they’d make you fuck them. describing the times you had supposedly sent them signals. assuming that you did not already belong to snow, that you would even think about going near them. that you would get on your knees for them like you always did for coriolanus.

he couldn’t listen to them any longer. “she’s seeing somebody,” he jeered, fixing the cuffs of his jacket and making definitive, unquestionable eye contact with you and subtly tilting his head towards the exit.

festus laughed incredulously. “is she now? i think we’d have heard.”

oh you’ll hear it alright.

“yes,” coriolanus replied with a chilling calm, watching you make your way to the door. “if you’ll excuse me.”

-

on the steps outside the ridiculously grand building, you waited patiently for snow to follow you out. it was only a few minutes before you heard the door open again, turning to face corio and immediately sensing anger. you worried, sometimes, about his anger. you knew he wouldn’t seriously harm you, but the same could most certainly not be said for any others who dared cross his path. the future president of panem could only afford so much blood on his hands.

“what’s wrong, coriolanus?” you asked gently.

he inhaled deeply and stared into your eyes in a way that strongly suggested you would be unable to walk the next morning. you waited for him to answer.

“you shouldn’t have worn that dress," he warned.

“what?”

“you heard me.”

either the cold or a fucked up part of you sent shivers down your spine, hairs standing up on your neck. your underwear dampened at his fury.

“i thought you would like it, corio,” you flirted, stepping closer to him. he placed a large, firm hand on your waist.

“i do like it, y/n,” he said before speaking in a low voice. “i would like it better if you took it off.”

you smiled and leaned up to kiss him, but he turned his head. you pulled a face in protest.

“behave,” he spat. “so desperate. do you not want to know why you shouldn’t have worn this?”

“yes, corio,” you replied, doing your best impression of somebody who wasn’t about to throw yourself on top of him. he liked when you were patient.

“because every man in that room wants to see it on their bedroom floor," he attested lowly.

“and you’re jealous,” you smirked.

coriolanus suddenly grabbed a fistful of your hair and roughly pulled your head backwards so that your face was tilted towards his. “and nobody else should be looking at you like that.”

a jolt of excitement ran through you. “corio-”

he gave your hair another tug. “say you’re mine.”

“am i yours?”

he realised instantly the meaning of your question. he didn’t have to think about his reply; he had thought about it every waking moment since the day you met. “you’re mine. say it.”

“i’m yours.”

“good girl,” snow spoke deeply before kissing you like he’d never kissed you before. without breaking apart from your lips, coriolanus guided you around to the side of the building. he counted the windows you passed until finally stopping by one that was cracked open and pushing you against the cold wall. as he removed his jacket and unfastened his belt, he looked inside the hall and you assumed he was checking no one was looking. he wasn’t. he was making sure that festus creed and the other boys were still stood in the same spot; directly in front of this particular window, and far enough from the rest of the partygoers that only the boys would hear you.

you gathered the skirt of your dress at your waist and wrapped your legs around corio’s sturdy form as he reached to move your underwear to the side. he circled your clit until you were practically whimpering, then slid two fingers inside of you.

“corio, feels so good,” you moaned softly.

he kept his same pace with his fingers, fucking you into a state of bliss where he knew you would be uninhibited and so drunk with his stimulation that people would think you’d finished every glass of posca in this stupid party. coriolanus was too good at what he was doing, you were on the edge of release within minutes and still desperately trying to quiet yourself in the name of dignity.

“corio, please, corio, i’m so close,” you whimpered into his neck.

he pulled away his hand, making you whine in displeasure. he liked to do that. liked to know he was in complete control of you, you would only cum when he willed it.

corio looked through the window again, but the boys had yet to hear anything out of the ordinary. they were still laughing amongst themselves. he unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, using the slick on from your pussy to stroke himself before he pushed inside of you.

you tried again to stay quiet, but coriolanus began to coax you. “look at you, taking me so well. you wouldn’t let anybody else fuck you like this, would you? who makes you feel this good, huh?”

you couldn’t hold back anymore, his beautiful face spewing such foul things whilst fucking you raw and digging his fingertips into your flushed skin. “you do, corio. fuck,” you moaned, loudly enough that festus turned to look outside.

coriolanus smirked as they made eye contact. the initial confusion about the sounds coming from outside, the look of shock as he realised his classmate was balls deep in a girl he had pushed against the exterior of a building in the damn capitol, his face finally dropping as he realised who corio was fucking by the colour of your messed up hair and the visible strap of your dress, his eyes widening as he heard the things snow was saying to you.

your moans were getting louder too as you got even closer to your orgasm, whimpering corio’s name and repeating “i’m yours,” like a mantra.

snow took his gaze from the boys to you, feeling satisfied that he’d proved his point and starting to performatively enjoy himself, knowing yours weren't the only eyes on him. his pace quickened, driving you over the edge and making you clench around him as you came. he moaned aloud himself as continued to fuck you through your high and the overstimulation that came after until he finished inside of you.

you were completely fucked out, relishing the feeling of snow’s cum beginning to drip down your thighs after he swiftly removed your underwear to fold into his back pocket. he picked his discarded jacket up from the floor and placed it over your shoulders, kissing your head and leading you to the front of the building and helping you into a car which would take you both home. before you walked away from the window though, coriolanus smoothly pulled your lace panties from his pocket and waved them nonchalantly in the night air, catching the attention of the rest of the group. you would never have to know why he fucked you, only that the boys would stop bothering you now they knew who you belonged to.

[dcxdpdabbles]

God, I love the Cave Boy series. Will the batfam manage to find him after he dips. Will they ever find out about his powers. So many questions

Danny stays underground for days.

He doesn't know the exact time frame because he only goes to the surface to grab supplies. He makes sure to only fully emerge when there is no light out.

It was a bigger risk to be caught by the Waynes, who only operated in the dark, but it ensured fewer eyewitnesses were around. Danny Kane was still a very hot celebrity for taking down the Joker- he would be surrounded by a mob of fans if he walked down the street.

He moved his ship into a deeper cave by phasing the large metal and all his equipment through solid rock, which was not easy. It was a miracle he found a little pocket to set up shop.

Danny thinks the little pocket- surrounded by stone with no opening at all, was formed after a cave-in at one point. It was large enough to work on his ship and had just enough space to set up a sleeping bag and a tent for rest.

He rarely uses that space nowadays.

Danny had stolen from a camping store- taking with him an entire box of lanterns that he placed strategically around his space. They threw light to the large four walls of stone- making him feel trapped inside a midevil dungeon, and somehow, it also made him think incredulity alone.

That was the worst part of this whole change of scenery. He doesn't want to admit it, but he got used to Wayne Manor and the colorful characters there.

He hadn't even done anything besides lay around but he missed the sound of people. Even before Bruce had found him, Danny would see people often as he wandered around gathering a sense of the city.

Now, he was genuinely suffocating alone. He didn't feel the loss often, but there were times when it felt like being hit by a truck.

It's when his own ice powers reach into his bones, causing his teeth to clatter and curl up into a smaller ball on the cave ground, that Danny misses the Manor the most. He stole food from the stores- but without any way to cook or heat it up, it's limited to the packed food.

Sometimes, while eating packs of dried fruit, he thinks longingly of Alfred's warm meals. Then he remembers how they looked at him when his lies got so out of hand that they believed Bruce's parents lived in his world and he could suppress the longing to return.

Danny has made leaps and bounds on building his ship since he no longer pretends to be Brucie. He no longer filled the hours with nonsense, only being awake to work or stealing what he needed to continue working.

Unlike before, Danny had developed a tunnel version of finishing his project. He no longer wanted to give himself time to ensure everything was fine.

He just wanted to go home.

He's gotten better at wielding using his own ghost laser, and now his ship had its full body. It was missing seats, a window, and even a steering program that actually turned when he wanted- but he was getting closer and closer every day.

All the small technology pieces he stole from the Waynes were on one side- ripped apart for the needed parts. He would spend hours carefully opening everything to check what he could use and what he could melt down to repurpose.

Danny carefully pulls out some small wires from the electric candle he took from the Wayne Dinner table when his vision blurs. He takes a moment to blink rapidly, trying to let the sudden burst of lightheadedness pass him.

Sadly, it was only a few seconds before he crumbled to the hard ground. He gasps, the cold coming back tenfold, and he can do nothing but lay there and pray the pain passes.

Danny hadn't felt this weak since his ice core first developed. Even the first Ghostly Wail hadn't made his limbs feel this heavy.

He knows he has been pushing himself too far lately- barely eating or sleeping- but Danny can't risk any wasted second. He saw the resources the Bats have.

It was only a matter of time before they found him- even if they would need to drill through the solid stone for hours to reach him- and he didn't want to face them after the guilt of lying to them was slowly eating him alive.

He had kept the Wayne at arm's length the entire time, living under the pretense of being Bruce Wayne's counterpart. He told himself he wanted nothing to do with their nightly battle against evil- and he didn't!- and that he could care less if they treated him as family.

He took everything they gave him without hesitation, telling himself they were fools for letting anyone in and stealing from them. Danny thought it would not matter as he would finish his ship and be flying home long before they realized he wasn't Bruce.

Until they stop treating him so warmly after killing the Joker. Danny wasn't sorry about it, but suddenly, he was a stranger in a crowd to them.

Danny had no right to be upset. He lied. He didn't want to be Brucie to them and had actively made Tim look bad by being as Unproactive as possible, going along with changed narratives of his world.

Danny had used the Waynes.

Yes, he did so, believing they were a cult or an evil madman, but he learned that wasn't the case early on. He could have ended the lie at any moment, but he didn't because he figured it would be harmless.

Then he realized that Bruce's parents were killed in front of him- the story wasn't hard to find when he actually bothered to look into the Waynes at a local high school library after hours.

Not only did he find the horrific story, but he found out that almost all the Waynes had a tragic story. Dick's parents were murdered in an accident that wasn't an accident at all.

Tim's parents were killed by a madman with boomerangs. Jason's father died in prison, and his mother overdosed before Bruce took him in. Duke's parents were patients with no working mind because of the Joker (Danny should have made his death last longer).

The only ones that didn't seem to be Cass and Damian, but he knew it was likely due to Bruce not wanting the public to learn that they came from abusive households- he figured that much out by their reactions.

Even Alfred had a history of PTSD from his time in the army. There was an article about a scandal when Bruce had actually been a child- apparently, someone had thought to release firecrackers under the servant's table, and Alfred had panicked. People had mocked him about it for months.

Everyone had a reason to be a villain, yet they all had opened their home to him and been nothing but kind. They were good, and they treated him like family.

Danny felt sick with himself, for being so self-centered he never bothered to really get to know them. And now he never could.

A few tears rolled down his face as his vision started to blur out more and more.

No use crying over it now, Fenton. Though the haze of exhaustion doesn't let him get up from the floor, he thinks bitterly.

He'll rest for a little bit, then get back to work. Only for a few minutes/

Danny doesn't notice his body has shifted in his Ghist side, slowly redirecting his energy to his core, so that his healing could help overcome the unknown days.

He is not aware his heartbeat stops at the same time.

_____________________________________________________________

"I can't hear him anymore!" A young boy screams, pressing his ear against a stone. Horror clouds his voice as he turns to stare at another boy. "His heartbeat....it's not...."

"We must make haste! Breakthrough now!" The other boy snaps.

"But that might cause the cave to fall on top of him." The other rubs his hands together nervously. "I think we may be too late to save-"

"Every second we waste is a second that Brucie gets closer to death!" His company growls savagely, though the tears in his eyes make him less scary. "We have to at least bring his body home- we-I can't- he needs to be buried properly."

Not even a second passed before the other boy threw his shoulders back, yanking out his phone and pressing a speed dial two.

His father picks up two rings. "Jon?"

"Dad! We found Brucie! He was stuck in a cave underneath the tunnels leading to Gotham Cemetry. Can you come help me get him out?"

"I'll be right there."

[carolmunson]

you be the spoon, dip you in honey (older!modern!eddie)

part three of who knows how many. orange colored sky set list we finally make it to our real date at the park. dj finally doesn't have us falling in love again at trader joe's. let's do it for real this time. :) inspired by @loveshotzz older steve series: all i really want is youtw: age gappy (reader is late 20s, eddie is late thirties), brief mention of suicide, discussion about columbine, eddie puts clothing over reader's shoulders, eddie talks briefly about family trauma.

“So do you dye all your black clothes to the same depth or do you have a really good eye for color?” you ask. He peers up at you from his book, hair tied up in what looks like a pen – his grays catch the light, so does the wire on the glasses perched on his nose. His lips spread into a grin, tip of his tongue sliding over the tip of his pointy canine, “You look pretty.” 

songspiration: daylight | harry styles

He lied – it is swampy and it’s hot hot. It’s Uber to the park hot. It’s ‘can’t stand in the boiling subway’ hot. It’s thigh chafing hot. It’s ‘Why did I make a fucking icebox cake for this picnic date in the park?’ hot. You dressed as cute as you could for this weather, too sweaty for a skirt or dress, too hot to need to worry about how you’re sitting. Your cropped peasant top flutters at the sleeves when an unforgiving breeze of hot air blows past at the entrance to the park. You feel beads of sweat drip down your back and pray it doesn’t leave a mark on the gauzy cream material of your shirt. Your sandals crunch through the grass, following the pin he dropped when you told him you were on your way – suddenly the band on your high waisted shorts feels too tight. You swallow and shake your head, just a little further while the cooler with your cake swings next to you in your hand. You spot him five minutes later on a big knit blanket, snacks freshly taken out and set up prettily in their containers. His silver jewelry glints in the sun, freshly shined. He sits coolly, cross legged in black shorts, clean chucks tucked under his thighs that same damn carabiner hooked to his front belt loop. Your eyes trail upwards onto his black tank with an equally black linen short sleeve left unbuttoned, sleeves cuffed and loose against his tattooed arms. You can see a little more of his chest piece now that he’s not as covered up and it’s clear there’s very little of him that’s not inked up. 

“So do you dye all your black clothes to the same depth or do you have a really good eye for color?” you ask. He peers up at you from his book, hair tied up in what looks like a pen – his grays catch the light, so does the wire on the glasses perched on his nose. His lips spread into a grin, tip of his tongue sliding over the tip of his pointy canine, “You look pretty.” 

The hammering in your chest from his compliment makes you feel a little hotter than you were before. Eddie notices, smirking when he puts the book down to stand up and take the ice cake from you, transferring it into the Yeti cooler to the side. “Thank you for making this,” he smiles, “I’m excited for it.” "These are for you," he says sweetly, pulling a small bouquet of fresh flowers out from the cooler, "I didn't want them to wilt but now they're probably all wet." "It's actually kind of nice," you laugh, taking the cold bouquet from him. The water on the stems offering you some relief as droplets hit your toes. You sit down while he sets up your late lunch for you on a plate – he wasn’t kidding, he made bruschetta. Toasted the bread and everything. Meats, cheeses, cut up fruit, even Tajin. Was he a serial killer or something? Guys don’t actually do this, right? This is like…the witch from Hansel and Gretel energy.  "Thank you," you say, taking your plate, "For this and the flowers." "You said you thought picnic dates only happen in movies," he shrugs, "Wanted to make it nice for you."

“What book did you bring?” he asks while he pulls out two bottles of Pelligrino – the glass kind, dripping in condensation. “You’re not gonna judge me?” you ask. 

“Nah,” he grins. You reach into your bag to pull out the book, wincing when he looks at it with a quirked brow, sitting across from you. His cologne hits you, dark and leathery, woody and spicy -- you haven't smelled this one yet. Spit collects under your tongue when you see the chain peaking out from under the collar of his button down. Why is this old man so fine? “Bummer read, peach,” he laughs, taking the book from your hand, “Columbine by Dave Cullen? You wanna read about Columbine?”

“I’ve tried to get through it twice and I just never finish,” you shrug, snatching the book back, "You said you wouldn't judge me." “Probably can’t finish cause it’s a bummer,” he teases. He looks at you and the plate of food at your knees, “Go ahead, eat.” “What’re you reading?” you ask through a mouthful of cracker. 

“I’m halfway through The Two Towers,” he says, pulling the pen out of his hair and shaking it out, “I read the trilogy every summer.” “Lord of the Rings?” “Yeah,” he smiles and it lingers, it’s hard to stare at him for too long, “Also, yes – I do have a really good eye for color.” “Noted,” you nod, “Thank you for telling me. I’ll have to call you next time I wanna paint my walls or something.” “Don’t talk me up too much,” he says, leaning back and popping a mini pretzel into his mouth, “I think it’s just for matching blacks.” 

You've settled a lot after eating, both bottles of Pelligrino sitting empty on the blanket, snacks still out but the main courses fully devoured. You talked about work and he talked about clients and you both talked about how silly it was that you met at Trader Joe's because it is silly. The icebox cake stays in the cooler while you take your books out and digest. Time passes while you both read, Eddie leaning back on one arm and you laying down with your knees up. You’ve found the perfect position of the book blocking the sun from your face in a way that is still comfortable to hold it -- but the sun has moved some in the couple hours you've been at the park. “So what’s it about?” he asks after a while, “The book.” “Read the title,” you reply, turning your head to see him looking at you. “You know what I meant,” he sighs, nudging your sandaled foot with the toe of his Converse, “Don’t be so mean.” 

“It’s basically a recount of events, debunking some stuff – like the ‘Do you believe in God?’ exchange between one of the girls and Eric. Shows their journals and talks about the kind of kids they were – definitely not bullied I’ll tell you that much,” you explain. He marvels at you while you do, brown eyes raising and lowering while you yammer on.  “Was it weird for you? Like, did people think you were weird since you were into metal?” Your question brings him back to himself, away from your pretty lips and eyelashes, the way your face lights up when you talk, “There was a lot of overlap of satanic panic from the 80s – especially since graphic video games and shit were on the come up, too. I was out of high school by then but definitely got a lot of side eye for having, like, a Megadeth shirt on at work.” 

“What were you doing for work?” “I was a mechanic for a bit, started working there when I was a kid up until I left Indiana to work on music,” he reaches for another pretzel and you hold your hand out for one, already missing the bruschetta that you both destroyed in minutes. His fingers graze your palm where he places two of them, the salt bits falling onto the blanket. You take his fingers gently before he can take them away, finally close enough to read the tattoos on his knuckles. “G-W-E-N,” you spell out quietly. Your heart sinks at the realization – of course there’s some other woman, “Gwen, huh? Does she know you’re here?” “My mom?” he asks with a laugh, brows raising, “No, she died in 1990. But when I go visit her at the cemetery I’ll let her know all about it.” 

Your face burns, sitting up and letting your book fall to the wayside, “I’m sorry – that was – I’m so sorry.” “It’s okay,” he assures, noticing you haven't let go of his hand yet. His fingers delicately tracing over yours, thumb dragging softly over the heel of your palm, “The other hand is her middle name. Really lucked out on them both being four letters.” He shows you his other hand, hidden behind a few silver rings was R-O-S-E across the knuckles. You take that one too, tilting his hands to the side to look at the tattoos by his wrists and forearms, “Her full name was Gwendolyn, but obviously no one called her that. My uncle always called her Gwenny. Gwenny Rose when he was drunk – they woulda made a much better pair than her and my dad.” 

“Your dad still around?” 

“Murder-suicide,” he says quietly while your eyes take in the art all over his skin. “Jesus,” you hiss out, eyes snapping up to look into his. His face softens assuringly, lines on his face becoming less apparent, “Don’t worry about it. It’s been years and a shit ton of therapy. I’m very healed – and y’know, we all have our shit. That’s mine.” He takes your hands and flips them over, thumb now gliding over one of your gold rings, “What would you get tattooed on your knuckles?” You can feel the calloused edges of his finger tips while smoothing up to the edge of your wrist and down again like you did to him. Your throat nearly closes up with how it feels to be touched so softly like this, like you’re delicate. You shiver despite the heat when he flips them again, feathering meaningless shapes onto your palms. “Oh um,” you swallow, forgetting there was a world around you, not even noticing that clouds had blotted out the sun, “I don’t think I’d ever get my knuckles tattooed.” “Why’s that?” “I’m not a sort of rockstar like you are,” you grin. He clicks his tongue, warm hands gently circling your wrists while he shakes his head in disappointment. “So mean,” he chastises, “I’m a real rockstar, I prom – oh, shit.” A few drops come down in spits, and then a patter and before you know it the rain is coming down in sheets. You and Eddie quickly cover up the snacks in their tupperware, tossing everything haphazardly into the cooler, even the flowers. You take both books and put them in your bag while he wraps up the blanket now covered in grass and rain. You both peer at each other through squinted eyes as droplets collect on your eyelashes, his curls deflate and coil the wetter they get. “Hey um,” he starts, “You of course don’t have to, but I live pretty close by if you wanna just run to mine and dry off.” 

A familiar fear bubbles in your chest, “Uh…” “It’s okay! Let’s get out of the park and I’ll get you a car home,” he offers, hand outstretched for you to take it. You can feel the buzz between your hands when he laces fingers with you, the same electric current you felt when he held you steady at the store yesterday. He holds it strong and certain, knowing exactly where to go. You let him lead you out while the cooler drags behind him, eyes half closed as the rain hits them. You look down at your shirt as you get to an exit close to the library, completely see through now that it’s soaked. You let go of his hand when he gets his phone out, crossing your arms over your chest, already missing the buzz. “If you’re really close by I’d actually love a chance to dry off,” you say before he even gets the app open. He looks you over, seeing how your shirt sticks to your skin, the tone peeking through. “Oh, honey, here,” he says hurriedly, shrugging off his wet linen button up and putting it over your shoulders, “I'm like, less than a ten minute walk. You sure?" You nod while the rain continues to pelt you both, wincing with your shoulders up by your neck as if that'll protect you from the never ending downpour. “Prospect Heights, huh?” you ask with a raised brow, “Maybe I should put you in my phone as Money Bags, instead.” 

“Don’t start,” he laughs, wet curls bouncing when his head turns to you, offering his hand again, “C’mon, peach.” 

You take it without any hesitation.

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[ediewentmissing]

some of my eddie munson headcanons

1. loves liquorice.

i know a lot of you guys probably HATE liquorice, but something about him screams ‘i am a liquorice lover and proud of it!!’. and he doesn’t like the strawberry kind.

2. races to press the button in the elevator

“MOVE OUT OF THE WAY, YOU LITTLE SHIT!” “EDDIE, IT’S MY TURN!”

3. was rlly short before he hit puberty

eddie has obviously been subjected to a hell of a lot of bullying over the years, and just to add to that pile of angst, we have the idea of short eddie. gareth went through the same thing, except he didn’t grow as much. “how’s the weather down there, munson?” “fuck off, tommy.”

4. he’s either really hot or really cold

he’s wearing 3 layers half the time, and as little clothing as he can the other half. freezes during winter and sweats his ass off during the summer.

5. gets sensitive teeth

this is because he’s made himself eat a basket worth of lemons just to brag about it later on multiple occasions

6. enjoys watching b movies

those shitty low budget films? oh, yeah. eddie loves them. for one reason; he cackles the whole time over how crap they are. a great pick-me-up.

7. chews on things when he spaces out

the inside of his cheek, his lip, a pencil, and you can’t forget that one time he chewed on a pen for so long that all the ink spilled into his mouth and he was gagging in the middle of class

8. had a major crush on princess daphne from dragon’s lair

definitely fought over her with his friends. he was incredibly jealous of dirk the daring.

9. doesn’t like trying new foods

he’s attached to foods from when he was a kid (macaroni and cheese, cereal, mini pizzas, grilled cheese, and dishes from his mum) and refuses to branch out - unless you ask him to

10. swears he only listens to metal, but doesn’t

he wants to keep his ‘scary ‘music’ reputation, but it’s hard to do that when robin finds eddie’s abba and wham! tapes tucked away in his room

“i thought you were a, and i quote, ‘strictly metal-only’ guy, but i guess you were just a big pop fan this whole time” “quit it, robin”

he also doesn’t mind the country music wayne forced onto him when he was younger

11. twirls the phone cord around his finger

when he’s talking to you over the phone, you swear you can picture him clear as day; big sly grin plastered on his face, and his ringed finger wiring around the phone cord connected to the wall

12. graffitis

but only in the school bathroom cubicles and the hideout bathroom cubicles. occasionally you’ll go to one of his gigs, and then you’ll go to the toilet and there’ll be little drawings on the wall. a guitar, eddie the head, and the occasional shameless penis

13. used to ride bikes everywhere

USED to because he fell over while riding it when he was 9 and scraped his knee and declared he would never ride a bicycle again (thought that declaration broke in 1986)

14. loves roller coasters

specifically ones that take pictures of you - he loves to act all calm and collected while everyone else is screaming their heads off

“eddie, this is a terrible photo” “no, it’s a terrible photo of YOU. you look like you’ve shit yourself, and i look cool as ice”

15. thought babies hatched out of eggs

safe to say that when he learnt how babies are REALLY made, he was flabbergasted and very, very grossed out

[ktsumu]

THE CUT THAT ALWAYS BLEEDS

pairing: childe / tartaglia x f!reader wc: 4.4k

choosing to love him is choosing endless bloodshed; all of it is yours.

(alternatively — the metamorphosis of a god through the eyes of his keeper.)

warnings: suggestive / mentions of sex, nudity, profanity, angst, mentions of murder / death, ambiguous ending i think, almost canon compliant

note: 4.4k words and i don't think even this has a plot. WHO CARES dedicated to @shoyostar bc i never stop talking and @crysugu :3 here he is!

Before he was ever Tartaglia, eleventh of the Harbingers, he was a timid child. 

He feared the simple things — speaking to neighbours, strangers, the mailman. He never went to the market alone, not without his parents, not without his older brother to hold his hand. Neighbourhood boys called him names and you called him sweeter things, bringing him in for hot chocolate because of his red eyes, holding his frozen hands in a lukewarm basin. 

Your town was on the coast but he rarely saw the water; he was afraid of drowning and even more afraid of sinking, even though you could see the ice was six inches thick through the sides of the fishing holes scattered everywhere. Not even the men would crack it, fathers that ate at the head of the table, yet he thought he’d be the one. Nor did he trust anyone to save him. 

Childe was Ajax before he was anything for anyone else, his name from myth. Eagle. He was born a  Greek tragedy; hero, for most. 

He was fourteen when he disappeared. Your mother said he’d come back home, kids get mad. Your father said a bear got to him, a weak thing like that — your whole neighbourhood looked for him after he vanished. 

He was gone three days in the woods but he told you he’d been gone for months. He was underground; you asked if it was Hell but he said it was much more. When he crawled back up to Morepesok, he was a different person.

He looked you in the eye and told you he was finally ready to fight.

+

You didn’t believe he was lost for three months until you watched him hold a sword.

By the barrels on the fishing dock, boys fought with wooden blades. Girls would watch and sit on box crates, swaddled up to their ears, cheering on whichever one they liked that week. They’d watch as they hit each other, splinters snagging on coats, knuckles gone white from the cold and how tight they held their handles. 

When Childe stepped up for the first time, they snickered at him. The boy who ran away from home, coming to join the sword fights. It was a joke and they laughed.

(You saw something in his eyes that day and it scared you. There is nothing more terrifying than a child with bloodlust.)

He beat the kid so badly that they put thirty stitches in his forehead, and you were left to do patchwork on the bomb.

Cutting coloured wires, you dabbed Childe’s red cheek with a warm cloth, wringing it out in the bowl of water that separates the two of you. He was calmer then, in front of you. Not that he wasn’t before; it was less of not being calm and more of craving victory, more of a test of his newfound gift.

“I told you to stop,” you mumbled, “hitting him, I mean.”

“I stop, he starts. I won.”

“What did you win? Where's your prize?”

Childe looked at you dumb, with his dumb childish eyes that no longer held hate. Maybe it was somewhere, hidden, beneath the water you drown in, but instead the surface held a glare of wonder. He was Ajax again, always hopeful.

He hissed when you dabbed his skin with something other than water, something that stung. “I—”

“No one wins in war, Ajax,” you scolded. “You’ll see someday.”

“I won’t be in a war.”

You scoffed, your hand gripping his jaw when he tried to run away. “We’ll see.”

+

You’re seventeen when he stumbles inside your house, the wooden door cracking against the wall as he slumps to the floor.

Your feet are cold when you step away from the wood stove in your living room, dropping to your knees, holding his face in your hands that are always so much warmer than his. They cradle his flushed cheeks, sweat beading on his forehead; he’s gripping at a pulse in his ribs.

“I’m fine,” he assures you, before you start to cry, “just tired. I’m just tired.”

He eases the door shut, his head tilting back against the wall. His hand rests on your knee, squeezing it like he’s grounding himself, counting on the fabric of your pants to do it for him. You touch the icy veins that run over his knuckles and he comes back to life.

“What happened to you?” you rush, your family asleep down the hallway. You turn the dial on the oil lamp beside you, watching the fire reflecting off of his dirty cheeks.

He laughs, pulling your wrist off when you smack your hand over his mouth with a lousy ‘alright, alright’ and a glance towards your parents’ bedroom. “Me?” he coughs out. 

“You should see the other two.”

(You don’t know what told you first, but you remember going cold.)

“What do you mean?” you whisper. You can’t stop whispering, you can’t stop shaking. “Ajax, what did you do?”

Childe’s smile tilts itself crooked. “I killed them,” he says. 

His voice is so quiet it cracks under the pressure to not be heard.

(He’s smiling, but he’s crying. It doesn’t look like he means to. He doesn’t know he is.)

You want to run. You notice the smear of blood on his jaw again—is that even his? His hand still clutches your knee but you only now notice the red his palm stains it with, the red on the side of his torso. You want to run.

(You should run.)

You don’t run. Because it’s Ajax, and he’s tired of running tonight. Why would you?

“It’s okay,” you say with a nod and a shiver, like shutters in a hurricane. You’re both crying, and he’s against your chest, and he’s still so fucking cold that it’s migrating to you. “Stand up. Ajax, stand up—”

“I can’t,” “You can, you need to get in the bath.”

“I’ll wake your—“

“If you were ever worried about that, you wouldn’t have come here, so Ajax would you please—“

He breathes out, muffling his groans as he staggers to his feet. You’re not of much help but at least your hands, your shaking hands, are telling him you’re there. And that’s enough. 

“I love it when you say that,” he grimaces, shuffling towards the hallway. “My name.”

+

Childe misses your eighteenth birthday by ten minutes.

You ate dinner with your family at your favourite pub, his siblings wrote you cards and pulled your ears, you tied your hair loose and flirted with the pretty guy who fed the boat lines. You don’t like him all that much, but he looks nothing like your neighbour and for you, that is a fine enough reason to talk. 

Stones hit your window at ten past midnight, and Childe stands in the snowy alley outside of your bedroom. He wields another pebble and tilts his head.

Your window’s too old for you to ignore me.

You pull on your coat and boots, scarf too because he talks too much, and head outside into the night, creeping out the back door. You cross your arms, walking over to where he stands just outside of the lamplight.

“Hiding?” you ask, stopping in front of him.

Childe laughs like nothing’s wrong, digging through his back pocket with his gloved hand, handing you a box. “Happy birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday."

“Belated.”

You glance between his rosy cheeks and the box before you take it, looking towards the end of the alley to avoid his stare. Because guys like Childe don’t look away — you know better than to look back.

“Thank you,” you murmur, tucking your hands back into the warmth of your pockets.

Childe nods; you don’t open gifts in front of him, you know better than to do that, too. He knows better than to think you would. 

You look at his hands, eyebrows furrowing. “Leather gloves?”

“So you noticed?”

“How? You couldn’t afford long johns last year.”

Childe grins. “I got a job.”

“At the tank house,” you say, crossing your arms. “Which, you had last year.”

The look in his eyes tells you he’s in deep — he doesn’t seem to care about it as much as you do. “I’m a Harbinger, now.”

“You—”

“I’m the youngest—” “You’re the dumbest,” you grit, sticking a finger in between his ribs. “You're eighteen — what kind of achievement is that?”

He takes a deep breath, his lungs pushing your finger back until it falls defeated. “I didn’t expect you to be happy, believe me.”

“Why,” you whisper, “would I ever be happy to watch you sell yourself to killers?”

“You know I’m no better,”

“Oh, Ajax, if you think that’s what I know then you’re more stupid than I thought.”

There’s no real reason to excuse the blood on his hands other than the fact that they’re so gentle when they hold yours.

There’s a voice down the alley and two drunk men in hats and coats wave your way. You grimace, but Childe waves back. 

“This is why you’re outside. You don’t want them to know where you live.”

“Or where you live.”

You grit your teeth. “Yes, because it’s great that your allies are a threat your family.”

“You’re not my family,” he says, “that’d make things weird.”

Your eyes well and you swallow, looking back at the men who stare at both of you. They murmur amongst themselves and you try to ignore them, but it’s hard when Childe won’t look away.

A breeze of snow from the rooftops drifts over you, and you look at him one more time. The last, you try to pledge to yourself. “Don’t leave with them.”

“It’s too late now and you know it.”

“How the fuck would I know it?”

“Don’t cry,” he tells you, much softer now that he knows you didn’t realize it yet, “I’ll come home, I’m not gone forever. If anything, I’ll come back richer. No one will sleep cold.”

“You’ll come back to spoil your family with blood money?”

“I’d spoil you, too,” he adds, “but I know better than to try that.”

There is a heavy silence between the two of you. It isn’t the weight of his gold or the weight of him not coming home; it is the weight of lead, of gunpowder. The weight of the bullets that his two new friends that wait in the street have loaded.

Childe takes your arms, tugging your hands from your pockets, frowning at your white fingertips and cracking knuckles. 

“Take these—”

“I don’t want your dirty paws,”

“Well, I don’t want your dry hands. And when I come home, I’ll need them.”

Childe drives the knife deeper, twists it through your chest, and slips off his gloves. He places them in your hands and just snickers when you pocket them. “No worries, I’ll just get a new pair.”

“Great.”

He nods, starting down the alley. He knows you well enough to understand that you don’t want to say goodbye, not when you know you’re saying goodbye to how things were before. Instead, he just calls over his shoulder.

“See you at Christmas?”

“Why even come back?”

“Right,” he chuckles. “I wanna see your gift next time, though.”

Then he leaves, and he doesn’t look at you again. You suppose he’s been trained to do that, but then again, you can’t remember a time where he has looked back at you, anyway. He’s never looked back at anyone before the end.

+

He comes home every Christmas, just like he promised. 

Each time he does, he drags you out to a cabin outside of town, one so hidden in the woods that you almost thought he built it, and he fucks you like he missed you before he was gone. Not enough to leave the Fatui, but enough to come home once in a while. And once in a while is all you're gonna get, so you don't let it go.

He comes home, tells his family all about his life as a businessman, a toy salesman you once heard, and then sneaks you out so you can love him as loud as you want. Then, you eat the fish you bring, he tells you how much he missed the sturgeon in Morepesok, and he's gone before the sun comes up. 

Childe lets you go with a tired breath, watching the fire beat against your glistening skin as you sit on the edge of the bed. The warmth of him courses through you like a river current and you fix your hair with weak hands, biting the tie that was around your wrist. “I feel your eyes, you’re not subtle.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” he says simply. “You’re beautiful. More beautiful now.”

“You said that last year.”

“Next year, too.”

You roll your eyes, back straightening when he looms behind you, his naked body against yours. His hand sneaks around your waist and his lips press against your shoulder blade, kissing until he gets to the juncture of your neck and collarbone. 

“Ajax,”

“I know,” he says against your skin, “gotta eat.”

“You’d think they would feed you in the castle.”

“Hardly a castle, sweetheart."

“That belt says otherwise,” you mumble, standing, making him let go. You pick up your underwear from the floor, too hot to wear anything else. “It’s custom.”

He snorts, flopping back down on the bed. “Birthday gift.”

“From who?”

“Ooh, jealous?”

“Of someone who doesn’t know who you are? No.”

Childe hums a laugh, giving a look in agreement to the ceiling that you catch out of the corner of your eye. He rests a hand on his chest, watching you sweat in the heat of the fireplace, smiling at the life he has for the next four hours.

He clears his raspy throat. “You finally wore it. The gift.” He snickers, “I only waited two years.”

You look over your shoulder at him, pulling your cami over your head. “I wasn’t gonna let money rot.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“What?”

“The stone. Do you know what it is?”

You stare, face hot. You’re partially embarrassed to not know, never having left Snezhnaya and let alone your town, but you’re curious enough to shake your head. Childe smiles like he knows that you wish you knew enough to say yes.

(You hate that he’s travelled the world you used to tell him you dreamt about. The one you made him dream about, too.)

He scoots up to lean against the headboard, and you take the invitation to come back to the bed. You crawl onto the mattress again, sitting beside him as he moves the clasp of the necklace to the back of your neck, and the stone to the front.

“They call it Cor Lapis,” he says, “it’s in Liyue.”

“Oh.”

He lets go. “It’s not rare, but I like it.”

“You spend a lot of time in Liyue, it makes sense.”

“So you do read my letters,” he says with a grin, cocking his head and holding your hand. “What else do I say?”

“What about the necklace?”

“Huh?”

“If it’s not rare, why get a custom-made necklace?” you ask. “Expensive for such a simple stone.”

Childe’s eyes drop back down to the necklace, holding it out from your neck and in line with the light of the bedside table lamp. It glitters in his eyes and you’re sure it does in yours.

“Cor Lapis is dull,” he tells you. “It doesn’t actually glow until it’s cracked open.”

You look at the cut edges of the stone, framed in gold. It’s small, but it’s something that looks like Childe gave it to you. When your mother saw it, she said it was beautiful and asked when he was home last.

You focus on the fingers that hold it.

“I found it a lot like you,” he says, his voice lower, his eyes finally looking up to face you head-on. “Heart of gold.”

“I don’t need to be cracked open."

“You have been,” he corrects, “you are right now.”

He’s right. He’s so fucking right that it hurts your head to think about and hurts your chest to acknowledge. 

Childe’s hand runs up and under your shirt, showing your skin. “And you’re glowing.”

You sit in the silence inside your open ribs and give him a small smile, standing up to shake his hand off of you.

“I’ll let you tell me that next winter, too.”

+

Next Christmas, you stay in bed. Childe cradles your necklace again but doesn’t tell you about Liyue because you don’t ask, too proud to ask twice. 

Instead, you lay against his chest, littered with brand new scars you didn’t see last time. Some you watch, others you look away from because they run too deep for you to need to know how he got them. Year by year, you get more quiet.

Childe does, too. He hasn’t lost his boyish charm but it shares his body with something else now.

“Why don’t you come home before Christmas?” you ask. “Once, even. Teucer’s birthday?”

“It’s not that easy. If it was, I’d be there for every birthday. Yours, theirs.”

You purse your lips, rolling onto your back to stare aimlessly at the ceiling. “Right,” you whisper.

“Don’t do that,”

“Why do you say that like I’m fishing for empathy?” you ask casually, scoffing a laugh. “You used to have some, you know. Before you were a fucking hitman.”

“You have no problem fucking said hitman, so please, if you now raise any sudden changes of heart, I should probably know.” 

You look at him coldly and he shakes his head. “It’s not like I want to hurt you.”

His arm gets heavier around you, weighing you down against his side. You fight it off when you sit up, turning to look down at him. Déjà vu washes over you both.

“Do you honestly think that I’m talking about me?” you say through laughs. “I’ve gotten used to your wounds, Ajax, it’s not about me.”

“I—”

“How about your family?” you say. It shakes the cabin walls, even though you weren’t loud at all. “You have younger siblings who idolize you and older ones who know better than what you tell them. Do you think they’re dumb?”

He stares at you. You ask, “You remember them, don’t you?”

“I remember my siblings, yes, thank you for aski—”

“Did you know Teucer made a sword?”

Childe’s next sentence fades into a sigh, and his lips purse as he shakes his head.

You cross your arms. “It looks just like yours.”

“Brotherly love, toys are harmless.”

“Who do you think will stitch his eyebrow? Or sneak him into the bathroom after he comes down from his first kill—”

“I never asked you to be my keeper,” Childe says, the grip on your hand tighter than it was before.

“And look how it turned out, anyway.” 

Childe leans back against the bed frame and thin pillows he’s stacked up, looking anywhere but at you. 

He’s older now and hardened into someone you can’t recognize, but he resembles a lot of the boy he was born as. He still doesn’t look you in the eye when he apologizes, not when he means it.

“Do you want me to leave?”

You stand, finding your clothes on the floor. You’re too hot, so you put on your underwear and shirt and leave it at that. “I brought fish. Rest while you can.”

+

It’s July, and Childe comes back to Morepesok in the middle of a blizzard.

Glasses rattle in behind the bar and you dry the ones from the sink, since the hot water ran out an hour ago. The pub’s empty but your shift still stands, even though no one dares to go outside when the storms are this bad, and it’s only you and a few stragglers left to pray the windows don’t shatter when the breeze hits you from the coast.

Every time you catch yourself in the counter’s reflection, you see your necklace, and you wonder what the beaches in Liyue are like. You can’t swim here without freezing to death and you can’t dream in relentless snow, so you let yourself think of him sometimes.

(Warm, swimming in streams. You wonder if he ever got over his fear of drowning when he realized he wouldn’t sink.)

Air whistles through old panels and teases the fire that burns in the seating area, and there’s a quiet hum of voices that dim the crackle of the logs you throw in every half-hour. A glass slides off the counter and breaks in the wind.

You gasp and jump, stepping back, stepping forward when you hit something — someone. You turn around and Childe stares back, snow on his eyelashes and his hair damp from hail and the sweat beneath his hat.

“Why are you here?”

“Oh, you’re so welcoming. Need help?”

You scoff, kneeling with a brush and pan, guiding the glass back into a pile. You don’t answer his question. “They don’t really mean it when they say 'Christmas in July,' you know.”

“You were the one who told me to visit more, right?”

You nod, standing again, dumping the glass into a bin. “Outside the bar, staff only."

Childe slowly raises his hands in surrender, stepping quietly out from the back and rounding to face you again. He leans on the freezing counters, looking around the room. “You work here?”

“A normal person job, yes.”

“So boring.”

“Why’d you come back?” you ask, going back to washing glasses. “When do you leave?”

Please, stay. Just for once, stay.

“Tomorrow.”

“Do they ever let you off your leash for more than a day? Or do you just hate snowstorms that much now?”

“They have gotten worse since I’ve been gone,”

“Or you’ve just been gone long enough to forget where you come from,” you suggest, glancing up at him again. “The Fatui do still operate here, right?”

“Lower your voice, eh?”

“Sorry. Forgot.”

Childe purses his lips, looking around again. He lowers his head. “The cabin’s open.”

“There’s no way we can make it through the trees blind.”

“I can get us there.”

“Do you remember you got lost in those woods once?”

He grins when you look up. “Well, you know you don’t learn without getting lost. I know them now.”

You crack a tiny smile back, one that probably gives him way too much hope. He watches you put glasses away, he relaxes when he sees the necklace you still wear; even if you started wearing it two years late. 

You shake your head. “I’m not coming to the cabin.”

“Why’s that?”

“You should spend the day you have with your family.”

“You—”

“Don’t make things weird.”

The moment is bittersweet and Childe isn’t stupid enough to challenge it, so he just laughs. You try to but it comes out funny.

“So that’s it?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “It’s always been your decision, not mine.”

And nothing you have ever done has been anything I’ve wanted.

Childe nods, biting his cheek. He knows that people who live in the woods often die there, too. He never really made it out. “Show me out, then?”

You give in, walking him the short distance to the door. He rests with his hand on the knob, gently moving you away from the door so the breeze doesn’t freeze you in place. He tugs his hat on and notices the gloves he gave you years ago hang by your coat on the standing rack.

“When should I come back?”

He watches you breathe in, he watches you breathe out. “Come back when you’re coming home.”

Childe doesn’t try to reason or to ask what you mean, because he knows what you mean.

Don’t.

With a nod, he smiles. It shows with a weakness that no Harbinger should still have with them; you think this might be the death of it.

“I’ll see you around, then.” He opens the door.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Bye, Childe.”

The door shuts. You don’t hear the snow crunching beneath his feet until a few seconds later, and you keep your ear against the door until you don’t hear them anymore.

Before he was ever Tartaglia, Childe, eleventh of the Harbingers, his home was in the woods he got lost in. Not underground, but in a cabin, with strong windows and shutters the colour of your eyes.

+

It’s the second Christmas you haven’t seen Childe or the woods. You haven’t checked if he’s stayed there and the stories Teucer tells you are old, but there’s a chance he’s still burning a fire and laying in bed, glowing with heat.

Either Childe hasn’t come back, or he just hasn’t told you he has. Either way, you don't make an effort to know.

Somewhere in Liyue, there’s an ore mine with your name carved above the entrance. The men talk about you when they wheel out carts of jade and ore, wondering how you reached so far up to tell them you were there.

In Mondstadt, an outpost sings a folk tune about a girl who heals wounded soldiers.

In Inazuma, a village calls a seashell by your name. It started with the kids, who said a man from a different place told them all about it. An expert on it, they said. They haven’t called it anything else since.

In Sumeru, your laugh runs through the river.

In Natlan, a painting hangs in a bar of a woman dressed in fire, a ribbon on her wrist and her hair everywhere else. When asked, the artist says he was inspired by a man who spoke of a girl with a heart of gold. 

In Fontaine, they serve grilled sturgeon, only cooked by wooden stove.

Childe sits down in a town in Snezhnaya, far away from Morepesok, and he sits in front of five kids who look just like the ones back home. Freezing, and curious.

He lets them fawn over his attire, bug him for all he’s worth while they’re tucked inside of a barn to avoid the cold. He answers every question about his job selling toys with enthusiasm and without guilt, promising to someday come back with some for them. Then, they ask him to tell them a story — one they haven’t heard before.

Somewhere in Snezhnaya, far away from Morepesok, a tale is told about a girl who travelled the world.

[idkwhyimhere5462]

One hc that I have is that the Ninja try and get as much exposure to their element as possible, mostly unconsciously. Basically just my hcs on how their elemental mastery affects their day to day behaviors.

Kai

- Loves the heat

- Loves spicy and hot foods

- Would literally sit in fire if his fire-proof abilities had no limit

Bonus - Hates water and will try to avoid it at all costs contact to it will cause that area of his skin to cool down for a period of time. If completely drenched will be rendered useless. (Showers must be done quick)

Cole

- Has attempted on several occasions to bury himself

- Has Pica/ Will eat dirt or sand

- Would sleep on a pile of dirt if Wu allowed (he does not)

Bonus - Gets agitated or antsy when not in direct or indirect contact to the earth such as flying on the bounty

Jay

- Loves going outside when there’s a thunderstorm

- Has on multiple occasions stuck a fork into a socket

- Loves touching electrical wires or other electronics

Bonus - Never sits still because of all the electricity flowing through him

Zane

- Loves the cold

- Will bury himself in snow

- Will carry around a cup of ice cubes and eat it like popcorn

Bonus - Cannot stand the heat if he gets too hot he will “melt” and be rendered useless until temperature is brought back down

Nya

- Constantly drinking water

- Constantly swimming

- Loves going out when it rains

Bonus - If she gets too cold she will “freeze” and her joints will become stiff and painful to move. If she becomes too hot she will “evaporate” and similarly to Zane will be rendered useless.

Lloyd

- Loves the feeling of any element (if it isn’t harming him)

- Will put himself into situations to see the elements at work. Nature walks, feeling the wind, swimming, etc.

- Hypersensitivity to elements

Bonus - Hypersensitivity of the elements can be used against him to overstimulate him and render him useless.

[tired-biscuit]

18+ fem!reader // cw: oral fixation. i’ve really zeroed in on his fangs, sorry.

thinking about your teeth clashing with miguel’s when you try to give him a hasty, needy kiss.

you’ve been seeing each other casually for a couple of months now — have known each other for years, though — and despite that he knows you well in most aspects by now and you know him well, too — including his secret identity, as well as most of his body — he remains guarded and awfully wary whenever closeness and actual intimacy both come into play.

to be completely honest, you’re not surprised by it. he tends to be prepared for the worst, and after the life he’s had, you can’t even really blame him for becoming stiff as a board whenever you initiate something a bit more provocatively sentimental and thus intrude into his personal space with it. it’s just how he’s wired, you suppose. brooding is his best friend.

however, despite being prepared for just about anything and owning exceptionally honed senses that can surpass any human’s, he somehow ends up not expecting the small affection that is your kiss while he stands in your kitchen at 3am; mask pulled up high to reveal most of his devestatingly handsome face, and with his suit covered in grime that you don’t want to ask any questions about.

he smells manly, like sweat, musk and the heavy scent of the approaching thunderstorm that’s starting to knock at your window, now. it’s summer, a hellish one at that, and it makes the air humid and outright hazy. daylight will appear in about two hours, perhaps one if the rainclouds clear up by then, and yet both you and your friend with benefits/semi-boyfriend/local superhero are still wide awake.

at least you’ve slept, unlike him. the dark circles that have long since gotten snug underneath his eyes are becoming more and more apparent by the minute.

you gently stroke them with your thumbs as you continue to kiss him. one swipe of tongue, two, three; the affection eventually gets so heated that your teeth audibly click together. it causes his eyelashes to flutter as he squeezes his eyes completely shut.

visibly unsure, he leans back against your kitchen counter whilst murmuring quiet, muffled apologies, still holding the glass of water he’s just finished drinking before you’d decided it was time to meld yourself with him.

the thin, silvery strings of spit that bridge you together break, but you still follow after him because you simply refuse to let him go. when you rest your hands on his broad chest and step onto your tippy-toes so that you’re able to reach him even better, his heart starts beating harder than a war drum. it’s practically dancing in his ribcage as you pet it over the muscle and bone.

smiling like a cat at the fact how his pulse immediately turns rapid underneath the tips of your fingers, it’s not even a second later that you kiss him again and consequently hear him groan into your mouth. it’s a tired, languid sort of sound; so deep that it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand to attention from how excited it makes you.

“i’ve missed you,” you murmur softly, sleepily. “it’s been a while since you swung by.” quite literally.

there’s only a moment of hesitance before he opens his mouth a fraction wider at your genuine words, giving in and offering silent approval as he blindly sets the glass back onto the counter where it belongs and wraps his big hands around your waist. he pulls you closer and closer until your bodies are flushed against one another. until you can feel the solid wall of muscle that is his physique.

he’s just so strong. it’s dreamy.

his skin is hot even if the inside of his mouth is ice cold because of the water he drank. it messes with your senses as your tongue glides over the flat surface of his front teeth and you kiss him so deep that you’re sure you’ll be able to remember how his saliva tastes for all eternity.

by the time you angle your head further to the side and lick one of his sharp canines, you have to caress his face again so that you can keep him from pulling back for a second time. that initial instinct to hide what he truly is, to conceal his sharp fangs from you just like he does with everyone else, overcomes him for a brief second. you feel his hands falter on your hips; mid-way of pulling the hem of your oversized shirt up until your ass is no longer covered by anything else but your simple cotton panties.

“miguel—” you start with a whine.

he pauses at the sound of his name. takes a breath that reminds you more of a pant before he looks down at you with a gaze so heavy-lidded with lust and worry, which he can’t hide from you any longer, that it makes your legs feel like jelly.

the sight of you looking so disheveled by him makes his brow furrow.

“the venom,” he chides after a couple of seconds of studious silence, dark eyes still flickering across your entire face. “i’ve told you a million times that you have to be more careful around it.”

goddammit, the drawl that his teeth cause is so fucking hot that you might just risk getting paralyzed.

“it’s okay,” you quickly coo to reassure him like you always do, inhaling deeply when he hunches his back because of the height difference and swipes his thumb across your bottom lip to get rid of the glimmer of drool he’s left there. the response is practically done on instinct by now. “i’m okay.”

“yeah, for now,” he mumbles, before he scrubs one gloved hand across his face, clearly unconvinced and perhaps even a little bit agitated. “just—”

your breath hitches in the back of your throat when he scoops you up and plops you right on top of the counter he’d just been leaning against a moment ago. he’s right between your legs in mere seconds, looking up at you with a stern expression that makes you want to roll your eyes in response.

it’s always him that has to be in control.

“no more kissing,” he says, shushing you with a finger to your lips and a stubborn ‘a-ah!’ when you attempt to protest. “at least no more kissing like that.”

he doesn’t want you sucking on his sharp teeth.

but that doesn’t mean that he won’t tease you with them, though. because despite his scolding, miguel still tips your head back and leans in to press his mouth against your pulse point that’s situated just beneath your jawline. still does it with such intensity that you can feel the graze of his incisors when he parts his lips to lick the sweetspot there. all until you start squirming on the counter and heat begins to pool between your legs.

“should’ve let you taste the venom, after all,” he playfully mocks when his mask falls onto the tiles and you start to grab fistfuls of his hair. “it would’ve at least kept you still.”

listening to the tone he’s using with you, now, it’s safe to say that he’s grown quite comfortable in your company over the last few weeks, perhaps even a little bit smug.

you’ve noticed how he prefers to rest his head on your lap most evenings when he’s around. how his burly body at long last utterly relaxes on your too-small couch, and how his restless brain accepts the distraction that only cringey reality TV can provide — even if he swears up and down that he despises it with a passion.

it’s sweet. you look down at him whilst you stroke his hair at moments like these, and there’s a sense of accomplishment swelling within you with it. it’s like you’ve tamed a feral stray into something sweet and docile despite its rugged appearance. you must admit, it’s rewarding as hell.

and that’s not all. you’ve also seen the way he looks at you whenever your clothes come off and you end up splayed wide open underneath him on that exact couch, looking oh, so vulnerable. have felt the way he’s trying so hard to be gentle as he fills you. have felt how he eases the movement of his hips when you tip your head back into the decorative pillow in absolute pleasure and reach out for him, because you simply need to touch him when he’s about to make you become undone.

you’ve even noticed how he dips in, then. how he hesitantly waits for you to wrap your arms around his neck, and lets you cling onto him for dear life as he pushes deeper, deeper, deeper. until he’s the one that has to nuzzle his face into the sensitive junction of your neck and shoulder whilst you unbearably tighten around his cock and it forces him to cum. until he’s the one risking breaking down into a million little pieces all at once.

it just takes him a while to do that. to open up and allow himself to love again.

luckily for him, though, you’re as patient as you are loving.

[ksnfangz]

I WISH YOU KNEW ( How much I love you ) | P.S.H

paring : Sunghoon x fem!reader

word count : roughly 3.0k

A/N : This is pretty much just sunghoon missing his ex girlfriend… while thinking about how his childhood fucked up his view of love… ( Also this is just Do it all again but I turned it into an xreader and it’s no longer multi chaptered since i’m discontinuing the series… sorry ) This hasn’t been proof read/edited and sorry if the writing his shit ( what’s new tbh 🥲 )

As he opened the familiar black door the brunette was instantly swarmed with a sense of relaxation as he stepped into the warmth of the small coffee shop.

walking up to the counter he was greeted with a kind smile from the cashier who quickly took his order before going to hand it off to the barista.

A few minutes later his name is called, the brunette carefully grabbing his hot beverage mutters a thank you to the worker.

Moving over toward the bay window where he'd usually find himself sitting, Sunghoon was surprised to see his usual spot occupied by someone .

Though something about the girl seemed familiar, the bucket hat she was wearing hid her eyes as she peacefully read the book resting in her lap. Wired earphones plugged into her ears.

Despite not being able to see her face the yellow sweater she wore looked all too familiar.

It was your favorite sweater. . .

The one you wore on the day you first met, and the same one you wore the day he called things off.

It couldn't be you the boy thought as he seated himself at a table not too far away from the window. Hands shaking as he lifted his drink to his lips letting the hot liquid overflow his taste buds.

Why was he nervous just thinking about you? It's been about 3 months since you guys broke up. You're probably already over him.

The sound of the bell above the door ringing catches Sunghoon's attention, the boy's hopes of talking to l

you faded as the girl in the yellow sweater exits the shop. Sunghoon caught a glimpse of her face.

It wasn't even you.

If you asked Sunghoon the last time he'd heard the words I love you leave his parent's mouths the boy would stare at you and say nothing. Since according to him they never did.

Not during his birthday, Valentine's day, or even when Sunghoon said it first. The only time the park boy had ever heard somewhat caring words come from his parents' mouths was when he was skating on ice.

So in a search for the attention and love he craved when he was younger Sunghoon continued to skate just to earn his parent's approval. Though the older he got the more tired he grew of their lack of attention.

Why couldn't they treat him the same at home or before he even started skating? Why does he have to give 100% every day only to receive a small nod and a forced smile. Did they truly not love him? Or was he just not worthy of their love?

And to this day Sunghoon still wasn't exactly sure about the answer to that question.

Good thing skating wasn't all that bad. It gave him something to do and he was able to keep himself busy. Like an escape from the realities of his life.

It was also the reason he'd met you.

You and Sunghoon met during his 2nd year of college and it was safe to say that you were like a breath of fresh air. Your kind smile, and captivating eyes that turned into crescents as you laughed, and the soft voice that spilled from your plump lips.

Sunghoon had first spotted you at the ice rink while you were teaching a group of younger students to skate to help your friend earn her community service hours. Your hair was covered by a knitted blue hat that matched the gloves shielding your fingers from the cold. Your cheeks and nose tinted a faint pink due to the crisp air.

Sunghoon was surprised to see anyone in the rink since it was usually empty in the afternoon, so he just decided to practice another day since one day off wouldn't hurt.

As he was in the middle of unlacing his skates another pair of united skates stepped into his vision. Followed by a soft tap on his shoulder.

" Excuse me, sir, could you help me tie my skates?" A slightly deep voice asked, causing Sunghoon to look up only to see a young boy with blonde hair staring back at him. He looked to be about 15 or 16 at the most. Sunghoon couldn't help but notice his accent seemed much different. Maybe he's foreign.

" Oh, um sure!" sunghoon says guiding the boy to sit down on the bench before he began tying the boy's skates properly. " There you go." Sunghoon goes to stand but the boy pulls his hand.

" Wait, can you also walk me over to that girl over there, I would go over by myself but I don't wanna fall." The boy says pointing towards the girl who was currently helping two other children stand up.

" is that your teacher?" Sunghoon questions as he adjusts his own skates receiving a nod. " Alright, come on." Sunghoon says holding out his hand to assist the kid as he stepped onto the ice.

" Y/n look I tied my skates all by myself!" The boy shouted holding onto the sunghoon for dear life as he tried not to lose his balance.

" Niki, what are you doing now?" The girl questions skating over to the pair. " You said if I tie my skates properly all by myself I can take you on a date." The boy— Niki says causing sunghoons eyebrows to raise in surprise and your eyes to harden into a, not at all intimidating glare.

You looked more like a mad toddler and Sunghoon couldn't help but smile.

" Niki how many times have I been over this... you're too young for me, I don't date children." You remind Niki to frown.

" Hey, you promised! plus it's only a 4-year difference that's better than Jongseob's parents and I turn 18 in a few years." Niki whined. A faint shout of 'Hey!' could be heard from who Sunghoon assumed was Jongseob, but no one looked to acknowledge it..

" You didn't even tie your skates yourself," y/n claims gesturing towards the neatly tied skates as she comes a little closer. " I can tell." the girl adds tiling her head. She was prettier up close, Sunghoon thought.

wait what was he thinking?

" What's that supposed to mean? Are you saying I'm not capable of doing it myself?" Niki gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest.

"Yes Niki, that's exactly what I'm saying."

"Whatever... I'm out of here. I won't listen to your accusations, you hear that? Jungwon needs me." Niki says despite Jungwon being across the rink skating alongside Soul.

" Hey sir do you mind helping me over to that boy over there," Niki asks, making y/n burst out into laughter.

" Nevermind I can do it on my own, y'know since I'm independent!" Niki exclaims before attempting to skate away on his own only to fall a few seconds later.

" You didn't see that." The boy says standing back up and wobbling his way over to his friends.

" Sorry about him, he's a bit of a handful." Y/n apologized now, turning her attention to sunghoon who had been staring at her pretty much the whole time.

" Oh, no worries, he seems very dedicated." Sunghoon chuckles, snapping out of his trance as an awkward silence falls over them.

" so, what's your name?" She asks boldly, catching Sunghoon off guard. " Oh um it's Sunghoon. Park Sunghoon." He replies, trying to avert his eyes away from the girls stare.

" Well, it's nice to meet you! I'm Y/n... Y/n L/n." Y/n says and when she smiled Sunghoon knew he was long gone.

That was probably one of the best days of Sunghoons life, or maybe the worst since it led him to where he was now.

Sitting alone in a coffee shop filled with couples and families after having a mini-eternal panic at the thought of seeing you again.

His drink had now turned cold and tasted much more bitter than it did just minutes ago yet he still drank it. Honestly, Sunghoon was a bit annoyed with himself.

Why was he so hung up on some girl when he was the one who ended things? Why is everything affecting him so much?

He didn't notice it at first but as the days went by after their breakup he started becoming more and more aware of how dull his life was without his sunshine ( you ) in it.

There was no one for him to wake up to every morning and fall asleep next to every night.

No one was waiting for him in his apartment after practice and forcing him to watch a new episode of a drama while eating ramen that they made together.

No one was singing obnoxiously loud in the seat next to him as he drove to the mall earning stares from the people in the cars next to them.

No one there for sunghoon to drag into every store that caught his eye.

No one there for sunghoon to argue with about the best ice cream flavors.

No one was there to eat dinner with.

There was just no one there.

And it sucked.

But what really bothered Sunghoon the most was that he'd never had a problem with being alone before meeting you.

Hell, he'd even purposefully turn down friendships just so he could keep to himself only making 3 friends just to keep his parents off his back. So why did it bother him now?

Fuck, Y/n what have you done to me?

" BUT YOU PROMISED YOU'D COME HYUNG!" Niki yelled, causing Y/n to flinch and pop the balloon she was holding. It was December 9th, Niki's 18th birthday.

" come on hyung just come by to say hi at least it's my 18th. I've been waiting for this day since I was 14," Niki says and 14 just so happened to be how old he was when he met you.

" talking about how you've been waiting to be legal to date my ex-girlfriend isn't gonna make me wanna come to your party." Sunghoon complains to Niki, rolling his eyes at his stubbornness. Why did you and Sunghoon have to break up before his birthday?

" You think that's all I've been waiting on? It was a kiddie crush. Okay I've already moved on and honestly you should too." Niki admits, whispering the last part as he walks into his bedroom, locking the door behind him to prevent the girl from hearing more of the conversation.

Sunghoon scoffed, slightly offended by the youngers words. Despite how true they were.

" Who are you to tell me to move on from her? We've only been apart for a few months. It takes time, Niki." Sunghoon explains, it had been 3 months and 5 days to be exact though, he wasn't counting.

"Fine, then what if we make it a duo party? you didn't even let us throw you a party yesterday."

"I don't like celebrating my birthday." Hoon dismissed flatly.

" Well I guess you won't be here to try and stop Theo from asking her out then, y'know he's been flirting with her a lot lately. " Niki lies.

" Niki I'm not falling for your dumb trick Theo and Keeho are practically married there's no way he's into y/n." Sunghoon recalls causing the boy on the phone to whine once again. Keeho snapped his head toward him at the sound of his name.

Sunghoon could hear the sound Niki's feet stomping against the wooden floors. He's such a baby.

" So what if Jake asked her out, would you be okay with it?" Niki questions raising his eyebrows, a smirk making its way into his lips. "Doesn't matter who asks her out, it's none of my business! even if it's. . . jake"

" Hoon, just come to the party so you guys can kiss and make up like you always do. I'm sick of this whole being apart thing getting on my nerves. You two usually only break off for a week or so. I preferred when you guys were all annoying and clingy." Niki states Sunghoon shaking his head.

" You think I don't miss that too ?" Sunghoon mumbles to Niki, unable to hear him. " Listen, Niki, I know you're trying to make things right but, we're better off apart."

I wish we weren't.

Though Niki disagrees he doesn't say it he just responds with a short ok. " Happy Birthday Niki,I hope everything goes how you want it to," Sunghoon says before hanging up. Looking over at Wonyoung, keeho, and Kai who were sitting beside him shamelessly listening to his conversation. Sunghoon already knew what the trio was about to say.

" You should go to the party." keeho blurts

" I'm not going to the party."

" Come on, it's Niki's birthday. You're gonna look like an asshole if you don't go. Y/n definitely won't take you back if you upset her best friend." Wonyoung says looking at an unamused Sunghoon.

" Why does everyone assume I want to get back together with her? I mean I'm the one who ended things, why would I want her back?" Sunghoon groans

" Because you love her... duhhh." kai said as if he were stating the obvious. ( he was )

yeah, but I never told her that

Sunghoon could tell you a lot of choices he'd regretted making in all his 21 years of living. but if he had to choose his biggest regret it'd be not saying those three words that he'd craved all his life.

It was honestly shocking to Sunghoon when Y/n told him she loved him in the middle of one of their movie nights.

Sunghoon remembers how he tried to stutter out his reply and how scared she looked when he struggled to reply. Sunghoon had never heard those words before, nor did he feel he deserved to hear them at all.

He hadn't done anything to earn the three words though he couldn't exactly ignore the way his heart jumped when the words fell from her soft lips.

" It's okay if you're not ready to say it back. I'll be here when you're ready." Y/n reassures her soft tone calming Sunghoons nerves as he tucked his head further into her neck.

But what if he was never ready to say it back? Would she still love him? Was she willing to wait for him? Sunghoon knew deep down that he wasn't worthy of someone's love. Especially not yours.

You deserve someone who could shower you with endless 'I love you's, you didn't deserve to wait for someone like Sunghoon when there were so many other options out there. Like jake. . .

The sexy australian guy who had transferred to l your college and never tried to hide his crush on the you. He was smart, also played soccer and had the personality of a puppy. And when it really comes down to it Sunghoons always wondered why you choose to stay with him.

" Why?" Sunghoon asked pausing the movie. You sat up to look at him.

" Why what?"

" Why do you love me?" Sunghoon questions as if he couldn't believe the idea that someone would truly love him. The truth was he didn't.

" I mean everyone usually has a reason. My sister loves me because I take care of her and buy her snacks, my grandma loves me because I help her fix her phone 10 times a week, and my parents... they like me because I skate. So why do you love me?" Sunghoon questions, failing to see how the girls eyes softened as he mentioned his parents.

" I love you because you're you, Sunghoon. Not a skater, or someone who buys me things, helps me fix something, or because you're my boyfriend. You don't always need a reason to love someone, sometimes you just do." Y/n explained but her answer only confused sunghoon more.

Noticing the boys confusion she quickly spoke again

" But that's just how I see it, and that could be completely different from your opinion and that's okay," she adds, toying with Sunghoons fingers.

" wish my parent thought the same way you do." Sunghoon blurts out. " They only love me when my feet are on the ice, as soon as I step off th–they couldn't care less about me," Sunghoon mutters, letting you pull him into a warm hug, your hands softly rubbing the back of Sunghoons hair.

" Well just know that I'll always love you whether there are skates on your feet or not." She declares placing a quick peck on Sunghoons lips.

Oh, how sunghoon wishes he would've said it back.

" Dude you're making me sad... it's a party have fun!" Jay says approaching sunghoon who was currently sitting by himself on the couch in the living room.

" I'm only here because Niki begged me to come, as soon as the cake is cut I'm out," Sunghoon stated, his eyes filtering over the people inside the house, some students from Niki's school and others some of his older friends.

" So you're telling me you haven't been eyeing Y/n and Jake this whole time ?" Jay asks, Sunghoon tensing beside him, of course he has but jay didn't need to know that.

" I didn't even know Jake was here actually but now that you've announced it I think I'll heading out early," Sunghoon claims, starting to stand up to go and find Niki so he could say his goodbyes properly.

" Hoon, you can't keep letting this stuff affect you. We're all friends and I'm not gonna let you throw that away because of a dumb breakup."

" It wasn't dumb, and I'm sick of all of you telling me how to deal with my breakup. You guys weren't the ones in the relationship." Sunghoon sneered, growing tired of everyone's input on his life and coping mechanisms. He knew he wasn't the best at dealing with his emotions and he'd never really gone through a breakup before, but their constant nit-picking wasn't exactly helping him either.

He'd get over y/n eventually, he just needed time, even if he missed her more than he wanted to, that was his business.

And as he watched you laugh and hit Jake's arm, the colorful lights reflecting in your eyes, your smile enhancing the faint dimples on your cheeks he knew that getting over you would probably take him more than a few months.

© KSNFANGZ. please do not plagiarise, repost, copy or translate any of my works!

[krscblw]

ghoul perfume associations pt. 3!

more ghoul perfume associations bc ghost and perfume are my two main hobbies! all of these are indie/niche perfumes because those are the types of perfume i'm mainly into. these lists are really fun for me and i would love to hear what people think!!

also, jsyk: because this post is so long, some of the text might get cut off on mobile. it should be okay on desktop if that happens (i don't know how to fix it, sorry :/)

Aeon

Notes: non-sweet chocolate, linen, lavender

Perfumes:

Autumn Morning - Pulp Fragrance

hot chocolate, slightly spiced oatmeal, carnations, a cozy blanket

Twice To Tea - Poesie 

strong earl grey tea, lavender absolute, vanilla syrup, a splash of milk

Aether

Notes: bourbon, amber, vanilla  

Perfumes:

Not A Deer - Little & Grim 

cedarwood, chestnuts, sandalwood, maple, oak, tonka, suede, clove, spiced vanilla, amber, tobacco 

Loggia - Solstice Scents 

“High above the village, a castle sits shrouded in a heavy gray mist.  Muted moonlight illuminates its upper terraces. Thick with incense smoke, the loggia swells with invited guests, each heavily cloaked and masked. Laughter, violas and a harpsichord fill the night. Wine flows from never-ending mahogany vats. Exotic spices drape the air in fragrant bouquets. A bell rings from the archway, and all in attendance fall silent as the master of the night creatures crosses the paving stones...”

mahogany, sweet amber, musk, dark incense, deep vanilla bean, sandalwood, cardamom, black pepper, cognac and allspice

(i have this one and it's great, perfect for aether imo)

Alpha

Notes: leather, smoke, gunpowder

Perfumes:

Spiritus Fumosus - Alkemia

volcanic basalt, smelted metal ores, amberwood, smokey birch tar, old leather, galbanum, white oud, gray amber, petrichor, wet sand, bergamot, sichuan peppercorn, gingergrass, white patchouli

Deus ex Machina - Alkemia 

“An olfactory portrait of industrial decay and the fallen gods of age of disruption, innovation, and technological revolution.”

fire-hardened steel, rusted iron, motor oil, wet cement, burnt copper wires, gray amber

Cirrus

Notes: dark fruits, musk, heavy florals, honey

Perfumes:

Virgo - Deconstructing Eden   

dark amber, bulgarian rose absolute, lavender maillette, orris root, benzoin, dark fruits, bourbon vanilla

Eglantine House - Deconstructing Eden 

honeyed roses, mahogany, plums, amber accord, champaca flowers, eglantine roses, white musk

Cumulus

Notes: lilac, magnolia, jasmine, sugar, cold air

Perfumes:

Midnight Garden - Alkemia 

night-flowering white flowers – tuberose, lily, honeysuckle, gardenia, moonflower

Calliope - Alkemia 

clementine, orange blossoms, white orchid, sugared currants, tonka, and vanilla musk, cotton candy, saltwater taffy

Dewdrop

Notes: berries, smoke, spices, metal

Perfumes:

Unrequited - Deconstructing Eden

black sandalwood, raspberries, bitter orange, black pepper, smooth silky musk, dark amber, smoky patchouli 

Lightning Storm - Nui Cobalt Designs 

Petrichor, ozone, electrified metal, cold musk, bergamot, lime zest, cracked pink peppercorn, copal smoke, myrrh, teakwood

(this one represents dew as a water ghoul – citrus, spices, ozone, and metal. sweet, cold, and a little bitter)

Ifrit

Notes: black tea, incense, spices 

Perfumes:

Tasseomancy - Nui Cobalt Designs 

black tea spritzed with orange, incense smoke clinging to heavy velvet curtains, fireplace embers, cinnamon, clove

Tasseomancy - LVNEA 

bergamot, black tea, lapsang souchong, honey, spices, milk

(yes they are both called the same thing. he's a guy with a brand i don't know what to tell you)

Mist

Notes: water, herbs, ice

Perfumes:

Eisheth - Deconstructing Eden 

seawater, herbs - rosemary, mint, clary sage, bergamot, hyssop, lemongrass, and verbena, white tea

Blackwater Lake - Osmofolia  

“Short-needle pine branches hang over mossy lake rocks, radiant white water lilies soak in the sun, the surface of the dark lake water ripples above submerged northern watermilfoil, and a chill in the air warns of impending autumn.”

pine needles, cold wind, northern watermilfoil, white water lilies, moss, stone, lake water

Mountain

Notes: vetiver, plants, earth, mushrooms

Perfumes:

Poor Farm - Little & Grim 

“Overgrown grass, tangled undergrowth, wildflowers, the memory of fresh linens, and distant, greener pastures.”

moss, sage, ferns, sweet grasses, green wood, and chamomile

Mycelium - Treading Water Perfume 

“Rounding the corner it came into view, the being that had terrorized the village for decades. It sat terrifyingly still on top of natural rock formation that resembled some strange amalgamation of an altar. An altar not made by human hands but as if created by the forest itself to honor this being. The being was here long before the village and it will continue to be here long after we are gone.”

soil, mushrooms, patchouli, black currants, hinoki wood

Nimbus/Aurora*

Notes: peach, rose, earth

Perfumes:

The Lover Tells Of The Rose - Alkemia 

wild roses, lemon verbena, white pearl tea leaves, delicate white patchouli, new greens, wet moss

Apothecary Rose - LVNEA 

rose gallica, rose de mai, damask rose, tarragon, violet leaf, apricot, labdanum, myrrh

*i headcanon nimbus as a earth/air multi

Omega

Notes: wood, amber, tobacco

Perfumes:

Danse Macabre - Fyrinnae

sandalwood, amber, labdanum, vanilla, woodsmoke, smoldering logs

Leo - Deconstructing Eden 

frankincense, myrrh, benzoin, amber, liatrix, blood cedar, blond tobacco absolute, sweet spices, honey

(i have this one and i love it, it's very warm and resinous)

Rain

Notes: seawater, ozone, vanilla

Perfumes:

Ambre Gris - Alkemia 

“A rare blend of proprietary perfumery ingredients carefully oxidized by sunlight, sand, air, sea salt, water, and ocean minerals. The result is as changeable and morphing as the ocean... earthy, sweet, musky, saline.”

gray ambergris, ocean minerals, sea salt

Cerulea - OSMOFOLIA 

“A synesthesia perfume inspired by a color. Sapphire ocean blue with flashes of turquoise and glistening white.”

osmanthus, ambergris, sea salt, ocean water, tuberose, cucumber

Sunshine/Stratus**

Notes: strawberries, citrus, vanilla, spices

Perfumes:

In Love with Everything - Imaginary Authors

“This extremely versatile (and genderless!) fragrance is great for any time of day and any time of year but the blast of energy it possesses is ideal for whenever you’re feeling low or looking for a little boost of bliss to keep your body moving and your lungs laughing long into the night.”

raspberry, citrus pulp, coconut palm sugar, madame isaac pereire, sandalwood, tropical punch, stardust

(i have this one! it's very fruity, you definitely get the fruit punch, but it still has a good amount of depth)

Eos - Fantôme 

“Eos is named for the goddess of dawn—who beckons the daybreak with her rosy fingers. This perfume smells like the color of the sunrise; pink and gold light breathing life into the morning dew.”

tart lemonade, raspberries, candied rose petals, wild berries, a hint of ginger

**i headcanon sunny as a fire/air multi

Swiss***

Notes: smoke, musk, patchouli, incense

Perfumes:

Black Heart - Spirit & Venom   

dark patchouli, clove, caramel pipe tobacco

Scorpio - Deconstructing Eden

“The fixed water sign of the zodiac, Scorpios are sensitive and intense, complicated and multi-layered. This blend is deep, still water, with notes of humid air and just the barest touch of mud.”

white and pink lotus absolute, orris root, myrrh, patchouli, gray musk, still water

***i headcanon swiss as a fire/water multi

Zephyr

Notes: dust, ozone, faint sweet musk, mint, cool air

Perfumes:

Walking with a Ghost - Spirit & Venom 

“Light & ethereal musk, fresh harvest pear, a whiff of perfume from a loved one long passed.”

Aquarius - Deconstructing Eden 

air, an undercurrent of water, sparkling aldehydes

if you made it this far, thank you for reading! and i would love to hear your thoughts!! (/gen - do you have any recommendations? do you agree/disagree? i love talking abt this) (also thank you sm to @midnight-moth for recommending lvnea!!)

[asteroidtroglodyte]

When I comes to cooking, I am guilty of lying quite often. People will ask me how I made something, like, say, the soup I served for dinner last night. I will say “it’s quite simple-”

[This is a lie. Nothing I do is ever simple.]

“-I just threw some veggies-“

Bok Choy

Spinach

Onion

Garlic

Shallot

Ginger

Rosemary

Red and Green Peppers

Black Pepper

Cumin

Turmeric

“-into a pot with some stock-“

[Chicken Bone Stock in a carton, a shot of White Vinegar, a shot of Vodka, and enough Ice Water to make up the volume]

“-and some chicken-“

[free range chicken drumsticks, bone split with a big cleaver to reveal the cartilage and marrow, skin still on it. Chicken livers, pulverized in a blender into a slurry to be strained out later. Iron. Calcium. Magnesium. Collagen. Gelatin.]

“-and let it run overnight-“

[24 hours; first brought from ice cold to a rolling boil, boil for 2 hours, reduce to simmer. Stir frequently at first, gradually less often as ingredients decompose.]

“-and just filter out all the chunks-“

[wire mesh screens, 2 different sizes, to scoop out what remains of the vegetable and bone. Cheesecloth gets most of the flocculant liver pieces. Allow the last of the sediment to settle and ladle the clarified broth off the top]

“-and Voila!”

[SIP]

[It is warm, both in flavor and in body. The droplets of fat do not congeal, but dance about in the hot liquid like iridescent snowflakes. A sensation of relief runs down your spine as your body recognizes the good nutrients suddenly available. Ginger and pepper, bok choy, chicken.]

“Please, enjoy!”

[It is a good soup for a sick child. It is a good soup for a hard day. It is a good soup for a hangover. It is spicy, but there is a gentleness to the spice; it warms, rather than burns]

“It’s good, right?”

[It is a recipe I invented when Wy Wife was Sick. It is meant to be nurturing and kind; to deliver as many nutrients as I could pack into something that could be swallowed by someone who didn’t have a lot of strength.]

“I’m glad you like it.

[Please get better. I love you. I can’t watch you wither like this. I love you. Please eat. Please let this help. Please get better. Please let this help. I love you. Please-]

“Please, Eat.”

“Have as much as you want.”

[dreamingsung]

it is i again with another link to send and my time to shine (i never stop)

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZS8Xb3CDX/

imagine jisung is just relaxing in his black hoodie playing his playstation in the dreamies dorm and you were bored so you decided to call him to tell him you're coming over. you entered the dorm with the extra keys you had and saw jisung just quietly playing his game. you decided to bring some iced water since it was a hot day and while going to him, you tripped over some wire connected to the plug and accidentally spilled the water on his sweatpants directly on his crotch. he groaned because of the cold feeling and you apologized and got some tissue and immediately started to wipe it off not caring if it sent shivers down his cock. the more you wiped, the more his cock started to build up a tent. he grabbed your hand to make you stop your actions and pulled you up to kiss you and made you sat down on his lap. the more heated the makeout gets, he slowly pulled off his pants (no boxers baby) and pulled off yours (the panties stay on because he's a kinky little shit) and fucked you while the rest of the group watched quietly (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

- 💸

YES BESTIE YOUR TIME TO SHINE ‼️ your brain is so voluptuous for putting that in my inbox, I am healed as a person lmao

[bomberqueen17]

Acid Dyes In Squirt Bottles: kinda a tutorial

So I bought some silk scarves with an eye toward dyeing them to use for giftwrapping for Christmas, and I'd idly meant to research techniques but suddenly realized I'm running out of time.

Almost all the tutorials on dyeing anything at all that I can find lately are for ice dyeing. Which is cool and I love that that's so trendy now. But some of the ones I've watched...

Well, see the point of ice dyeing is that powdered dyes often split into components and so you get really cool edge-effects where the different pigments in the dye penetrate the fabric differently because of the slow wicking action of the melting ice etc. I watched a tutorial where someone just had three primary colors, which are generally pure pigments, and did this, and I was like, you could have put those into squirt bottles and saved yourself about 8 hours plus all the time you spent making that ice. It did give a nicely feathered spectrum effect but the ice mostly did not contribute anything to the process.

But what I did learn from that tutorial was some advice on how to get acid dyes to strike in a cold low-immersion process. So I'm going to write up what I did, since that's what I was actually looking for, and every bit of information I can currently find is contained in overly-long videos that spend most of their runtime on irrelevant stuff.

Mostly this is for my own reference later, as I'm now old enough that I keep stumbling across things I've made and being like "wait I don't remember how I did this. I really made this? I have to have, nobody else lives here. How did I do this??" So anyway, overly-long and underly-technical writeup below the cut. Pictures to follow in a separate post.

What do I mean, cold low-immersion process??

Immersion is how most dyeing works. You make a dye bath, and you dunk your fabric into it. Low-immersion means you lie your stuff all out on some flat surface, maybe over a wire rack maybe over a sheet of plastic, and just put enough dye on for it to soak in. That's low-immersion, and generally is how you're gonna get multiple unmixed colors on one object.

and cold? Well, acid dyes, which work best on protein-based fibers like wool and silk, need heat to strike, or actually bond to the fabric. If you just dunk some silk in a dye bath and then rinse it, the dye mostly rinses out. You need heat to set it.

Let's back up a second-- acid dyes?? So there are two main types of dyes you use on fabric. Acid dyes are called that because you add some vinegar once the dye has soaked in, to get it to stick. (Yes, you need acid and heat!) The other kind, which you usually use for ice dyeing, is fiber-reactive dyes. Fiber-reactive are what you want for cotton, linen-- plant-based fibers, and some synthetics. (Nylon works with acid dyes for some reason, rayon needs fiber-based. I don't remember why but the Internet surely knows, it's surely very simple.)

So anyway. Fiber-reactive dyes are applied to fabric that's been pre-treated with soda ash and then set without much heat, though they do need to "cure" at a high temperature-- it doesn't have to be as hot as with acid dyes though. (A black plastic bag in the sun, an electric blanket lying overtop the bag they're in, that level of heat at most.) So they're the usual, traditional type of dyes you use for tie-dyeing, which is normally done on cotton t-shirts, and which very often is done with low-immersion methods to let you get a bunch of colors on there, are fiber reactive dyes. Many many many tutorials exist for this, including how to tie them. Very cool stuff.

I wanted that effect on silk though.

(*the alkali pre-rinse is fine for cotton and linen and such. alkali on silk is Generally Bad News. This is another reason people generally don't do fiber reactive dyes on silk. Silk shrugs off acid reasonably well but alkali is no bueno. Also for the record never ever try to bleach silk for any reason, that dissolves it. Now You Know!)

So. I did find this tutorial from Dharma Trading, about space dyeing. Remember when space-dyed stuff was trendy?? Many of you whippersnappers probably don't. It used to be cool and is probably what led to the invention of ice-dyeing, which clearly like A Person invented but I have no idea who and I bet finding out would be difficult so my ADHD ass is NOT going down that rabbit hole right.

So i tried that. I used aluminum foil instead of plastic wrap for the simple reason that my kitchen is currently torn apart and all my worldly goods in cardboard boxes but I had a roll of aluminum foil in the basement for some reason. I put down a vinyl tablecloth on my washing machine and used it as a work surface. And I found a broken old steamer insert and set it in an old aluminum pot that lives in the basement.

I mixed up squirt bottles of four colors of acid dye in approximately the proportions from the Dharma tutorial. I don't have measuring implements currently, see above re: kitchen (I'm planning on retiring a number of my measuring implements to serve in fiber arts, and keeping only the nice ones for the new nice kitchen, but that hasn't happened yet) so it was all very approximate.

And then I just lay each silk scarf out on the aluminum foil on the dryer and went to town.

I learned to be careful and sparing with the amount of dyes, to keep them from pooling underneath the material-- silk scarves aren't very absorbent. Any excess dye pooling on the aluminum foil will of course spread and get muddy. So what I wound up doing was working from right to left (on my left was the laundry sink), and doing my lightest color on the right and my darkest on the left, and then when I was done, I used an eyedropper to apply white vinegar to lock in the pigment, and then I picked the whole works up very carefully and tipped it to the left and let everything extra run off into the sink. So having my, say, fuschia run across the back of what was supposed to be a dark purple section didn't lead to any notable color contamination. One colorway had bright lemon yellow in it, and I was incredibly careful not to let any smudges or drips touch that-- kept it on the right of my workspace, propped up slightly. The yellow draining across the red and purple of that colorway didn't cause a problem, but I did wind up with a fingerprint of darker color in the yellow area (I think that's what caused the blot anyway).

Anyway, once the dye was all applied, and I'd let it drip into the sink for a moment, I then folded up each scarf into its own packet, careful to still keep the lighter end upward, and put it into my busted-ass steamer basket which made this easier because one of the legs has fallen off it, see, so it tilts anyway, that's why I retired it, and put the lid on and steamed each packet for about half an hour to 45 minutes.

At the end of that I pulled each packet out (there were overlaps, where I'd put a second packet in halfway through the first one. Most of the Strict Rules About Steaming Silk don't apply to this process because drips aren't a problem, dips in temperature that might lead to uneven mottling aren't a problem, this is just meant to be pretty color splotches with random patterns so literally none of the intimidating stuff you have to do to achieve perfection are a problem here), I let it cool off a bit and then unwrapped it and rinsed the scarf. Not much color came off them, and I was able to reuse the foil, which it's not that I'm being eco-friendly so much as that I only had the one roll of foil with not much left on it and this was the last day I could really do this, so. Not very scientific, but in the end I really was very thrifty LOL. Yes! I was being eco-friendly, that's why i'm like this.

I then let the scarves dry on my drying rack overnight, and came back the next day to collect them. I brought them all back to my mother-out-law's to wash them in her washing machine since mine is currently not properly hooked up (additional nightmare, love it)-- I figured this wouldn't be messy in her impeccable laundry room and I was right, very little dye to rinse out. Gave them a wash with dharma's professional detergent, then a rinse with milsoft, then an extra rinse, and I've now let them dry again, ironed them, and have them in a plastic bag with some perfume because the detergent smells kind of awful LOL. I'm letting them sit like that for a day or two and then I'll get them out and package them up for gifts.

[happyk44]

Carter gets kidnapped by some evil magician who wants to take his ability to host Horus for himself or some other bad guy concept, idc. No one is surprised by the distress Sadie shows when they find out, or the rage she has when they track him down and the fight begins. No one is shocked when Zia harnesses the power of the sun so thoroughly and accidentally leaves a gaping crater where the monsterous enemies had been storming at them from, still glowing white hot and so intense no one can bare to stand within fifteen feet of her without burning.

But Percy is kind of a surprise. Everyone knows he and Carter are friends, that Carter invited him to stay at the Nome so he could hide from the Greek gods and also not kill himself. That Percy has an obvious crush on Carter. That they met fighting a monster together and never spoke again until Percy called Carter's name. But their friendship didn't seem much deeper than any of those facts.

Still Percy is a force to be reckoned with and even stops Sadie and Zia in their tracks. It is violently intense - blood splattered everywhere, bits and pieces of people thrown across the room. And one trembling man turning an ugly shade of purple as he crumbles to his knees.

Jaz restrains him before the magician in question can explode. Percy screams - a horrifying, gut wrenching thing that turns everyone's blood ice cold. He fights determined against Jazz's magic. It is painstakingly slow for him to calm.

Only with Carter's weak, "Percy. Stop" does he cease to fight, hanging weakly until Jaz lets go. He's like a dog to an injured owner. Bustling around with unspoken whimpers as the others heft Carter from his cot. Sadie shoves it up against a wall and blasts it apart. Blasts apart the wires and machines and anything that might have so much as breathed danger in her brother's direction.

She returns to his side, easing him along like a loving sister. Zia is already calling ahead to ensure the other medics are prepared for when they get him home, assessing his low temperature and weak frame and slipping eyes. A loving girlfriend.

But Percy is just a dog, stressed out and far too close to be helpful. They wrap Carter up in safety blankets and lower him onto a stretcher. Percy's lips twitch, almost a snarl.

He is the first one into the back of the van. The first one by Carter's side. Everyone else watches through the opens doors as Zia melts the building that kept her boyfriend in harm with the power of the sun. But Percy only stares, petulant, at Carter's dozing face.

He stands quiet in the corner as the medics assess him and he refuses to leave for anything. When all is done and Carter is healing, he finally comes to sit on the floor by Carter's cot, knees pressed to his chest, arms folded over the edge, chin on wrists. His eyes are wide and focused, as though he is determined to never look away.

Nothing can be stolen from you, if you never close your eyes.

[whump-in-the-closet]

The Merry Whump of May

@themerrywhumpofmay

May 16th- “Take a Break.”

[Branding Iron | Cemetery | Moonlight]

***

(tw: branding, death threat, implied past torture, magical whump, a guy gets speared with ice)

Villain had given up on finding their Sidekick.

It had been two months. Two long, dragging, horrible months. Nothing.

Villain hoped Sidekick had decided to change their identity and beat it to another country. They hoped they had faked their death and were living somewhere far, far away. Hey, maybe there were even happy.

Maybe they had learned to smile again. Sidekick had stopped smiling years ago.

Maybe Sidekick had followed the call of the void. The l'appel du vide. To simply disappear. Vanish. Never to be seen again.

Villain walked with their head down and hands shoved deep in their pockets. Because their gloves were ripped and did little to keep out the cold.

They had been feeling the l'appel du vide recently. Maye they would take a vacation. Buy a car and drive and drive and drive until they reached dirt roads. Then they would keep driving until the roads disappeared entirely, taking them with it.

But not today. Today was Monday and their shift was almost done. They really should buy some new gloves. Their fingers were going to be numb by the time they got home.

They passed by a cemetery without noticing it-- memorial stones crooked and gaping like teeth in the moonlight.

Villain walked by it. Stopped. Walked backwards, hair lifting on the back of their arms.

The shadows behind the stones had shifted. A new light had appeared– the raw red of an open flame. In contrast to the watery moonlight and its cool touch, the fire seemed bright and garish. Wrong. 

Villain didn't always think things through. They couldn't afford the time. They either acted, or they didn't.

They acted. They were over the gate in a heartbeat. Crouching low over the ground, Villain was hit with the smell of upturned dirt and rot. It brought to mind images of creeping worms and decaying skin.

Lovely. What joy.

Using the shadows and the towering stone memorials for cover, Villain crawled closer to the fire. 

The darkness had distorted into four separate people around the pit. Three stood together, while the fourth stood over the pit, hands clasped behind him.

As Villain's eyes adapted to the firelight, they were able to make out that the group of three people was in fact two people holding someone between them.

The third figure had his hands tied behind his back and wild hair in his eyes.

The world tilted. Shit.

In the flickering shadows, Villain could see the terror whip across the prisoner's face. It rose and fell as he tried to mask it. A trickle of blood dripped from his nose where he could not wipe it away. Every so often, he’d desperately try to lick it off. 

The defiance? Unmistakable. The fear? That was new.

Sidekick, apparently, had not escaped to another city.

The temperature dropped several degrees around Villain. A deep cold filled them. Not anger. Not horror. Just...empty. And so, so cold.

“--I told you to give it up,” said the man by the firepit in a voice barely louder than the snapping flames. “Did you listen? No. You had to keep on trying to escape, again and again and again.” 

Villain hissed through clenched teeth. They did not like where this was headed. Not in the slightest. They had lost feeling in their hands and now the cold spread up their arms.

L'appel du vide.

Though they were a good distance away from the fire, they could feel it on their face— blistering and painful. 

“There is no escape from us.” The man slipped on a pair of gloves and reached for a metal rod that had been resting in the firepit. 

Muscles curled like wires inside Villain as they watched. 

The rod was a branding iron. White-hot at the tip, curling to red. The pattern at the end was the insignia of the Agency.

The cold increased around Villain, breath freezing on their lips.

Sidekick struggled, biting and snarling, as the man approached, branding iron held like it was some lofty and sacred tool of higher purpose and not an instrument of torture. 

“Please–” Sidekick's voice was nothing but a shattered whisper, hoarse from screaming. “Don’t– don’t do this.” 

The man didn’t respond, merely nodding to his companions to rip the prisoner's shirt off. Which they did, with ruthless efficiency. 

Enough. 

Something inside Villain snapped. They stood, shadows falling off their skin like a discarded cloak to pool at their feet. The cold pooled out with the shadows. Unstoppable.

“Touch my Sidekick and I'll kill you." I will enjoy staring down at your lifeless corpse.

The man dismissed Villain with a laugh. "Stand down. This is official Agency business." The brand hovered only a moment–curling red over dark skin– before beginning its plunge. 

"And that is my sidekick."

The cold erupted into splintering ice, spearing the man through his hand. Blue ice completely swallowed the two companions who’d held Sidekick.

In the flashing light, Villain caught sight of blood and splintering-white bone in the darkness. A scream.

The branding iron fell to the ground and burned the grass. 

Sidekick lay gasping on the ground, eyes locked on the iron. It was a bit too close for comfort.

Villain did not stop with spearing the man. They sent another jagged edge of ice through him. And another. And yet another. Until all four limbs were transfixed to the ground with icicles.

If Villain hadn't been so empty, they would have laughed at the comedic value of it all.

They walked past the firepit and past the now-unconscious man. They crouched down in the rotting dirt by Sidekick, knocking away the branding iron. 

“Hey.” 

Wild eyes. Deer-in-headlights eyes.

“It's me.” They drew a knife and he flinched back. “Oh. Sorry. It’s for the ropes.” 

The only answer was shaky breathing. Villain carefully cut away the ropes and Sidekick jerked his hands away, rubbing his blistered wrists. 

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Sidekick lunged forward, almost knocking Villain backwards. He hugged Villain. It took a minute for Villain to realise that Sidekick was crying.

The cold dissolved inside Villain. The void retreated into aching silence. They sheathed the knife and wrapped their arms around Sidekick in a hug.

Shaking sobs.

Villain was also crying.

"Missed you," managed Villain.

"They-- they said you weren't coming."

Villain exhaled sharply. They didn't answer at first. Then: "C'mon. Let's get you home. You're going to be taking a long break. In fact, let's call it a vacation."

Villain stood and half-supporting Sidekick, left the burning light of the cemetery behind and walked in the moonlight.