#Mine doesn't have a dehydrate feature

[trivialbob]

Sometimes I like to be fancy. Like having my belt match my shoes even if the belt is covered by an untucked shirt. You might not notice, but I do, and it makes me feel good. I will even order pizza without having a coupon. Well, at least one time.

For lunch today I made baked macaroni and cheese with grilled chicken and bacon.

This was not a Pioneer Woman recipe.

I started with box of Kraft mac & cheese. It was aged, like good wine or cheese ("best before December 2022").

As the noodles boiled, I grilled a chicken breast that had been hanging out in the back of the freezer for a while.

The milk I used was fresh. So was the butter. When the noodles were ready I sniffed the pouch of powdered cheese-mix-product. Not smelling anything that made me wince, I stirred together all the mac & cheese ingredients.

When that was done I spread the mac in a small baking tray. I covered that with grilled chicken slices and some bacon pieces that came out of a plastic pouch. There are probably some preservatives in that bacon.

That all got covered with shredded Tillamook aged sharp cheddar cheese, aged "over 9 months." This had been aged at the cheese factory, not in my refrigerator. It wasn't too fancy for this dish because I got it at a terrific sale price.

The small pan went into my Ninja Foodi 6*-in-1 air fryer where I broiled it for five minutes. That shredded cheddar cheese got browned and crispy as did the edges of some exposed chicken breast.

It was fantastic. I feel fine too.

[augusnippets]

Prompts are out!

plain text and "rules" under the cut

path of hurt:

day 1: gaslighting/hypnosis/brainwashing

day 4: amputation/degloving/vivisection

day 7: waterboarding/drowning/choking

day 10: execution/fake execution/begging for mercy

day 13: drugging/poisoning/cannibalism

day 16: humiliation/dehumanisation/conditioning

day 19: collared/branded/chipped

day 22: captivity/recapture/tearful goodbye

day 25: intimate whumper/sadistic whumper/reluctant whumper

day 28: mind control/body control/betrayal

bonus prompts: forced to watch/whipping/stalked

path of comfort:

day 2: platonic bathing/hair care/make-up

day 5: drunk caretaking/concussed caretaking/feverish caretaking

day 8: reunion/found family/friends

day 11: escape/breaking the conditioning/safe and sound

day 14: toys/gifts/celebration

day 17: forgiveness/grace/resolving a misunderstanding

day 20: homemade meal/quenched thirst/favourite treat

day 23: massage/wiping away tears/gentle touch

day 26: nightmare/warm blanket/snuggling

day 29: singing/first words/inside jokes

bonus prompts: tending to nonhuman whumpee's nonhuman parts/protective caretaker/whumpee wearing caretaker's clothes

secret third path — whumperless whump:

day 3: thunderstorm/blizzard/heat wave

day 6: car accident/plane crash/ship wreck

day 9: hypothermia/overheating/dehydration

day 12: lost/trapped/avalanche

day 15: food poisoning/starvation/throwing up

day 18: apocalypse/infection/self administered medicine

day 21: delirium/vertigo/hallucinations

day 24: animal attack/bear trap/land mine

day 27: migraines/chronic pain/phantom pains

day 30: self-harm/addiction/overdose

bonus prompts: flashbacks/relapse/medical complications

day 31 — bonus day :) write whatever you feel like writing today or have a nice day of rest

AuguSnippets is an event that encourages the short and sweet of the whump genre. Ideally, your drabbles would be under 500 or even under 100 words, maybe even just a dialogue prompt. This, however, does not mean I won't reblog longer prompt fills! Don't stress too much on that limit. I just think it's sometimes nice to challenge yourself to write shorter drabbles, and it can also work as a very good exercise to write daily or semi-daily, and it doesn't need a lot of prep.

As for tagging your work, please use the appropriate trigger warnings. This is so everyone can stay safe and avoid potentially triggering topics while participating. Also, if your work is nsfw, please don't forget to tag it as mature content! If your work is not tagged properly, I won't be able to reblog it! Thank you!

Our special tag will be "#augusnippets day [x]". On the first day that would be "#augusnippets day 1". This is so I and others can find your work easier! You can also tag the blog, that's an even more surefire way to get me to notice your prompt fill :)

Is this a writing only event?

Yeah, this one is exclusively writing focused.

Do I have to use the special tag or tag this blog?

Not if you don't want to get featured on this blog :) It's just so I can find your work easier and reblog it here! If that's not something you're interested in, just scribble away without it.

Is the "under 500" a hard limit for the word count?

No, but I encourage everyone to try and keep to it in the spirit of this event.

Can I submit nsfw works?

Yes! Just please tag it properly :)

Can I mix and match the prompts from different paths?

Yes! Have fun!

What do I need to do to get the completionist badge?

Either you need to complete one whole path, or complete 10 prompt fills altogether while mixing and matching. Those who complete all 30 days (and maybe even the bonus day) will get something extra special!

Can I write fandom related things?

Yes! This event is both for original characters and fandom related writing.

Will there be an AO3 collection?

Yes! Here

[angeart]

[hhau] — the ribbon

I almost forgot to talk about the ribbon-

Only one person asked about it, but i am very easily convinced to give in to hype and rambles. i love being excited about things i enjoy, and i love sharing them, so thank you for being interested!

This is about the hunted hybrids au, where both mine and @linkito's art features a dark ribbon tied around Grian's pinkie:

[art 1] [art 2] [art 3]

(I'll admit it should be tied in a bow, even though i draw it loose—)

So what is this ribbon?

It comes to play early in the story. Just after Scar finds Grian and saves him from the hunters. Grian's in a bad shape. He's exhausted, hungry, dehydrated, and he just lost a lot of blood. He's in a world of pain, after being viciously attacked and almost killed, terrified and barely conscious.

Scar needs to keep him alive, no matter the cost.

Grian needs water.

Scar doesn't have water.

But he knows where to find it.

Except going to get it means leaving Grian alone, and— He can't. He can't. (He has to.)

Hopeless, desperate, aching, he soothes Grian, brings back the memory of something simpler, woven with promises of returning soon. (They're just on a sleepover. He's only going to fetch him a glass of water. It's okay. It's okay.) And he leaves something behind.

Something for Grian to hold onto.

Something to remind Grian that this happened. That Scar was here and he will be back. That he isn't alone.

Scar undoes the ribbon around his neck. And he puts it in Grian's weak, uncomprehending hands. (The fingers twitch and try to curl around it anyway.) (It feels important.)

He asks Grian to hold onto it for him, and he leaves.

Now, Scar makes it back safely. But Grian's dizzy and dazed and confused, and he feels the ribbon slipping, and he panics. (He was told to hold onto it.) (He needs to hold onto it—) (It falls out of his grasp so easily and he can't do a thing to stop it—)

Scar catches it, tells him it's okay, he's back, he's here now, thank you for keeping it. And he considers putting it back around his neck, but... It no longer feels like something just his. It feels like it turned into something else.

A tether. A lifeline. A heartstring.

And Grian needs it.

So he ties it around Grian's pinkie, in a loose but secure bow, for Grian to have it near and to feel it without fearing losing it. And Grian keeps it.

---

Here's some out of context rp bits that feature it, just to drive home what it really means for them in this wretched, hopeless world:

Grian:

Black ribbon rests securely wrapped around his finger, a piece of Scar’s attire, a piece of, maybe, his soul. A tether. An anchor. A lifeline.

Scar:

He watches the black fabric shake with the same tremors that plague Grian’s reach, fragile like he is, and Scar resolves that he must have done something right, that he’s not a failure, that he didn’t ruin everything if Grian still wears the ribbon around his finger. They still have the connection, the tether from one brittle heart to another.

Grian:

The ribbon tingles against his skin, a strip of fabric that seems to be a manifestation of the tether Grian feels stretching away from his weak, wounded heart, leading him straight to Scar.

Grian:

So with a tattered heart beating painfully against his bruised ribs, he swallows down the guilt of what his wings will do to both of them, and he makes his decision.

Tired and sore, he lifts his hand up, reaching out to Scar. The ribbon falls from his hold as he uncurls his fingers, left to dangle in the air and shadow his motions, still tied around his finger just the way Scar is tied around his weak, traitorous heart.

---

(Yeah i think a tether is a good word for it, clearly. Mhm. That's what it is. A very important little strip of fabric, that once used to rest against Scar's pulse point, soaking in the beats of his heart, now given to Grian for safekeeping <3)

[idyllcy]

from one admirer to another : runny?

pairing: leon kennedy x reader || masterpost: from one admirer to another

synopsis: from one admirer to another, an online penpal service, allows for two people with common interests to write to each other without ever revealing their actual address! Luckily for both you and Leon, you get matched up! What do eggs and Christmas even have in common anyway? sure hope it's that modeling business and NOT that Ada Wong addiction.

featuring: reader as model number two // leon as Leon

My dearest, model number two,

I've always been rookiecookie, but I guess that flew past your notice back then during the cupsleeve event. There's nothing I find strange about trusting you. If anything, I find it to be as natural as breathing.

What do I fall back to on a hard day? I like cookie dough ice cream with a marathon of my favorite show, huddled into the corner of my couch with Sunny on my lap. When I'm out ordering... typically it's a gelato of some kind. You know, family roots and all. I still have a family recipe — if you're down to come over again to make it.

I like hundred-petaled roses. My dad used to bring them home for my mom, and she used to keep everyone he had. She'd dehydrate them, and then she had a pretty clear bottle with every single petal she had ever received from dad. I found it kind of disgusting back when I was a kid, but thinking back upon it, it was kind of cute. Does that count as a fond memory as well?

You don't need to glance through that veil of mine. I'll let you in willingly, and then when you are comfortable, I'll lay myself bare by you, telling you findings from the heart. Who knows, maybe that can be at your place? (and if not, please let me visit anyway. I'd like to meet sesame bun.)

If we do end up dating, then I'll definitely fly you in for my shows and shoots. You can take exclusive backstage photos of me as well. Who doesn't like behind-the-scenes content of their favorite model? I'm sure they'd like content of me looking at you all stupid in love too. The people are desperate.

Oh, right. Before I forget. I'm hosting a Thanksgiving dinner at my place on in the club room. Come over? We start at 5. I can take you home after.

Please? Leon

Leon drops his letter off a week before he even thinks about buying groceries for the dinner. To be fair, it isn't until Claire texts him a grocery list that he remembers that he should probably get ready to cook. He'd suggest Chris' place, but he has a grill, and it had been a while since they got to get dinner together. The club room has a pretty good barbecue... and it wasn't like the turkey was going to be fried like all the other times at Chris' place... Leon wonders how the hell the turkey's going to work out. Yes, Chris is making it. No, he doesn't know what it's going to be if not fried like all the other years.

Instead, he follows Claire's orders on what to buy and not to buy, pushing the cart through the aisles as he checks the chat history for any other item to buy, before your phone call rings in.

"Hey."

"Got your letter. Wesker's hosting us for Thanksgiving, unfortunately." You mumble. "I sent my letter earlier today, so it should arrive right before Thanksgiving."

"You can't make it?"

"How 'bout a date instead?" You check your phone. "I can come over to help cook. Wesker refuses to let any of us cook, so I'm not doing anything in the afternoon. What do you make for Thanksgiving?"

"I was thinking cookies or pie."

"Oh... cookies..." You mumble. "I'll bring ingredients then! I'll also bring a pie because, well, there's a really good pie place by mine and I thought I'd share the joy."

"Will you bring the leftovers home?"

"Hm? Am I not allowed to visit you over the weeks?"

Leon malfunctions, blinking. "What?"

"Leaving leftovers at your place? So I have an excuse to visit later? Forget I said—"

"NO! No, oh, please come over. I'd love to have you at my place over the weekend." Leon saves himself. God.

He's.

Yeah.

He's down awful.

prev letter : masterlist : next letter

[letsdeerintheheadlightsuniverse]

<<Previous Chapter <<

**Masterlist**

>>Next Chapter>>

Pairing: Izzy Hands x gn!reader

Synopsis: 'The only thing that's left is the manuscript. One last souvenir from my trip to your shores. Now and then I reread the manuscript. But the story isn't mine anymore.'

A/N: I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaack.

Content Warning: Mentions of injury, illness, death and difficulties with food. I think that's everything. This series is 18+, so minors dni. Go away (politely).

DISCLAIMER: PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, REPUBLISH, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT PERMISSION. I DO NOT OWN OFMD OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. NOR DO I CLAIM THE PROPERTY OF TAYLOR SWIFT'S MUSIC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

=============================

"You've got to speak from the heart, Izzy. Think about the things that make you appreciate, y/n and just say it to them. Like, what is it soecifically thst mskes you enjoy having them around? It doesn't have to be anything complicated. Hell, you could just comment on their smile. Maybe their laugh. Or how they make your life just that bit easier each day. Something nice like that. I really do think you're overthinking things. Y/N is clearly besotted with you. Whatever you say, they'll appreciate it." but that was easy for the gentleman pirate to say. The man never shut the fuck up. He probably babbled love confessions morning, noon and night- without even giving his word a second thought. Stede fucking Bonnet was a vacuous vessel, who made- in Izzy's opinion- too much noise. Except, he must have been doing something right, no? He had so easily won the heart of the man, that Izzy had pined after for absolute decades. Perhaps the blonde co-captain was indeed correct in his advice?

Leaning again the doorway to his shared quarters, the First Mate watched you with an gaze of pure fondness. You truly had made him soft and the silver-haired pirate did not care one jot. Watching you lean against the window sill, searching the streets below with your curious stare and resting your feet in Fang's lap, as you chattered away about who knows what. Izzy was not so much focused on your words, as he was your lips.

Those lips, that spoke the sweetest truths. He wondered if they would taste just as saccarine? Unfortunately, his carnally driven thoughts were interrupted by his noticing of how chapped they were. Reluctantly, he tore his attention away from your desirable features and averted his gaze towards the jug of water he had left for you only hours prior. The liquid remained untouched. No doubt Fang would have attempted to coax you into having a sip but judging by the changing of your clothes and the proximity of the sicl bucket, you had not managed to keep anything down.

This was bad. Izzy may have not been a doctor but he had seen enough pirates succumb to the effects of dehydration. Had you at least been able to eat some of the snacks he had left in his absence? The orange- though peeled- was only missing a few segments. The same could be noted about the bread and cheese. You could only sustain this pattern of eating for so long, before your health declined further. The thought sent a flare of dread through the First Mate.

It was his job to keep the ship and it's crew afloat, when the interests of the Captain waned or attention directed elsewhere. That included keeping everyone well and alive. Yet, so far, Izzy felt as if he were failing that duty. Pete and Frenchie were recovering from far worser ailments just fine. So, why were you not doing the same? The silver-haired pirate could feel his mind spiralling, as it dawned on him just how fragile you were.

Even if you survived this vicious infection- and as of that moment, it was a big 'if'- there was no guarantee that the life of piracy would be kind to you. Izzy had seen many a competant sailor fall foul of the seven seas and all her perils. From raids gone wrong to something as simple as scurvy- your life would be constantly at risk. How on earth could the First Mate even muster up a plan on how to protect you, when the world and her occupants, were so unpredictable? He could hardly stay by your side every waking minute and yet, look at what had happened when he had left your charge for but a moment!

It was all too much for him. The pirate was all but ready to flee and renounce any affection he held for you, in a bide to preserve his sanity, when the gentle call of his name, caught the stressed man's attention. Looking in your direction, there they were again. Those lips. This time, pulled into a beaming smile, reserved only for him and him alone. 

All and any worries the First Mate may have held for the situation easily melted away, like snow on a beach. Of course, he was still concerned for your general health but the fear of losing you in the future was temporarily put on hold, as his focus returned to the here and now. What if scenarios of rogue blades and gunshots could wait, Izzy needed to put all of his efforts into getting you better first. "I thought I told you to drink yer water and eat yer food?" he muttered, crossing the threshold.

To the average bystander, his tone and body language would have screamed confrontational but you knew the pirate better than most. Behind the bossy, antagonistic First Mate persona, was a man entrenched in worry and fear. You almost felt guilty for causing him such stress but the roll of nausea, that ran through your body at the thought of eating another orange slice, had you forgetting such emotionally driven remorse.

"They couldn't keep it down, Iz. Trust me, they tried their best." Fang instantly leapt to your defence and although it was not necessary, you were grateful for his intervention.

Fang was loyal to his core but he was no liar- Izzy thought, as he ruminated over the man's words. No doubt you had attempted to follow orders, only to have your treacherous body betray you in favour of whatever it was, that dared continue to plague you.

You had always liked the other pirate. Though he had sailed with Blackbeard for almost as long as Izzy, he had retained a genteel quality, that made him instantly likeable. During your first few months upon the Revenge, Fang had taken you under his wing. Though it was Oluwande and Jim who had taught you the skills of piracy by day. By night, it had been Fang, who had comforted you during those times of self-doubt. During those moments where you regretted Izzy saving you from the brink of complete ruin, the other man had been by your side, to remind you of your worth and skill.

But as much as you loved your friend and fellow pirate, you needed to placate the worries of the one whom had captured your heart. "Can you give us a minute, Fang?" you smiled at him, as yoi carefully extracated your feet from his lap.

Taking the hint, the man smiled warmly at you and nodded in understanding. "Of course." though neither you or Izzy had explicitly labelled or announced your coupling to the rest of the crew, it was evident that you were an item. Fang was glad to see that you both had finally stopped secretly pining for one another. He also had a very handsome amount of cash to collect from his fellow gamblers. The pool for which month you and Izzy would confess your feelings for one another, had amassed a very generous winning prize and the pirate intended to enjoy every last penny of it. He was going to head straight to Spanish Jackie's tavern! "See you later, Iz."

Once alone, you dared to rise up from your seat and on unstable legs, makd your way on over to the sullen First Mate. Despite his grumpy disposition, he could hardly stand there and watch you struggle towards him. Ever the gentleman-

you had promised not to tell your fellow crewmates- Izzy crossed the room, arms outstretched to help catch you, when you stumbled slightly.

"Hey." you grinned at the pirate sheepishly, when he helped guide you onto the bed.

"Hello." he responded curtly, cringing at how devoid of warmth his tone was and yet, he could not force himself to correct his flat inflection. Izzy was far more preoccupied with your worsening health. 

You sighed gratefully, as you laid back against the plump pillows. You had been sat up in the chair for so long, your muscles were now screaming in protest at the over exertion. "Penny for your thoughts?" you quipped, hoping your playfulness would succeed in lightening the somber mood.

'He said, "I'm not a donor but

I'd give you my heart if you needed it"'

"You're not getting better."

His statement made your blood run cold. There was no lie you could feed the pirate, that would appease his concerns. "I'm not getting worse though, right?" your grin widened but quickly slipped into a frown, when he regarded you with a look fo irritation. "Iz?"

"I...I need..." come on, man! Say it! Izzy cursed himself for being so inept with words. Sentimental divulsions had never been his strong suit. He much preferred to utilise the vulgar language that ensured a job was done well by crewmates but with you, he felt more tongue-tied than evwr before. He longed to tell you the never-ending list of reasons why he needed you to witness many more sunrises, not just the few you now seemed doomed to survive. "Fuck, you need to get better." the pirate stated plainly, disappointed at the simplicity of his admission.

The wry smile that had him staring at your lips once more, felt like a knife to his chest. You had promised to be patient with him and you werw yet to break that vow but gods, did you deserve more. "I think we've established that already, my love. Oh-" and at the use of your nickname for him, your cheeks warmed in embarrassment. All and any of the tense atmosphere caused by the discussion of your health, dissipated in an instant. The mischievious gleam in your beloved's eyes was a guarantee that, he was not going to allow you to forget the conversation any time soon. "shit, sorry. That just. Haha. Sorry, I didn't mean to say that out loud." you stammer, giggling and blushing. Gods, you felt such a fool.

'She rolled her eyes and said

"You're a professional."'

Hiding you face behind your hands, you wished for the bed to swallow you whole. Yet, Izzy was outwardly appeared completely unphased by your nickname for him. Internally, his heart was running laps, cheering and somersaulting in utter, unbridled glee. "How do you usually say it?" he asked cooly, as he carefully extracted your hands from your face. He wanted to see you, enjoy every moment commiting your face to memory- that included your beetroot red cheeks and avoidant gaze.

"In my head." you mumbled, wondering where he was going with this.

The pirate leaned in close, close enough that you could feel his warm breath tickle the sensitive skin of your neck. "Give me an example." he whispered, causing a shiver to run through you. If you had been at peak health, oh my, the things you would have done to that man there and then.

"I'd wait until the end of time for you...my love."

"Tell me another one."

"I need you like I need oxygen, my love."

'He said, "No, just a good samaritan."'

Gods, he would bleed for you, he thought. He would kill and maim for you. Hell, he would capture the stars and the fucking moon, if you so wished it. The man was besotted with you. Utterly obsessed. "This is why." Izzy murmured, the sentence cracking as he suddenly felt overwhelmed with the fear of losing you so prematurely. For someone so composed and toughened by a life of piracy, it surprised the silver-haired First Mate, just how quickly you had broken down his defenses.

"Why, what?" you questioned, noticing the misty sheen of unshed tears, reflected back at you, in his watery gaze. Tentatively, you reached for his hand, taking it in your own, to cradle it against your chest.

'He said that if the sex was half as good as the conversation was, soon they'd be pushin' strollers.'

"This is fucking why I need you to get better. That. Right there." he stated, signifying to your entwined fingers. "I..." just say it, he urged hinself. The Gentleman Pirate's advice at the forefront of his mind. Kicking and screaming at him to stop being so lily-livered and just say the damn words! Do it, man, do it already! Cease your hesitation and just tell them how much they mean to you, damn it! Izzy bottled out of voicing his confession, already too much of a nervous wreck to follow through with his wants and desires. "Just...keep fighting off this infection. Beat the fucker." he all but snarled, a flash of anger and remorse dancing across his ocean eyes. A rage directed at the virus, whom dared threaten yoyr wellbeing and a call for repentance, prompted by his helplessness. The First Mate would make a deal with God, if it called for your immediate recovery. "Don't give in yet." he murmured, as his lips brushed a chaste kiss to your temple.

You adored the simple gesture, almost keening at the contact. As much as you fantasised about those lips indulging in far more sinful acts, you most enjoyed his innocent gesture of affection. Where words failed him, the kiss spoke volumes. You could practically feel his desperation. "I won't. I promise." the whispered vow hung in the atmosphere between you both, as you remained locked in the gentle embrace. His arms anchoring you to him. There was no other place you would rather be.

There was no other place Izzy would rather you were. When he spoke, it was in a hushed tone. Whispered directly to you. Almost so low, you nearly missed his yearning request. "Say it, one more time?" he all but begged. Could it be that you had turned the frightful Israel Hands- dare you say- soft?

But oh, how could you deny him, when he asked so nicely? "My love."

'But soon it was over.'

[one-boring-person]

Ok ok ok. So i just got done reading your series 'Just a babysitter' and boy let me tell you how much i loved it. I was amazing! But it got me thinking, what would you think would happen if instead of the boys using mind tricks, they instead went into a comma like state until they healed all the way. BUT they reader doesn't know that and and goes into a depression until all she can think about is revenge? Idk. It was a thought. I love your writing! Please Keep up the good work😘

I'm so glad you enjoyed the series! And thank you for all the kind words!💛💛💛 I find this idea really interesting, so thank you for sharing it! (My thoughts are that they were brought up (in part) by bloodthirsty vampires, so they'd never be opposed to some violence ;))

Just A Babysitter - Alternative Ending (ish).

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: major character death (implied), mention of alcohol usage

Masterlist

A/N: I wasn't too sure how to finish this, so I've left it kinda open ended for now. I might do a part two to this, once I've figured out an appropriate end to it.

An involuntary gasping sob bursts from my throat as I find the bodies lying on the floor, my eyes widening as they fill with tears, my mind unable to grasp the concept of what has happened. My muscles give way and I collapse to the floor, knees banging harshly against the solid rock below, my mind in turmoil now as emotions start to rush to the surface: anger, hurt, grief, betrayal and despair are the prevailing ones, all of which assault my conscience until my resolve breaks, tears spilling over my cheeks without abandon, my voice finally finding itself again as strangled sobs start to leave my mouth. Pleas and whimpers of denial accompany them, incoherent through the wracking cries shaking my body.

"No, no, no, no! Please no, this can't be real! Please! Wake up, please, I'm begging you, wake up! No, no, no..." I mutter as I crawl over to the familiar outlines of my friends and brothers, hands reaching for the usually comforting shapes of the closest: David. As my hand makes contact, I fight the urge to flinch, repulsed by the sensation of the dead flesh beneath my fingers, the icy temperature not a surprise, though the lack of life definetly is. Out of the four bodies present, his is the least damaged, his features still recognisable and handsome, his only noticeable injury being the dual holes in his shirt, where stains of dark blood have gathered.

To his left is who I assume to be Dwayne, the dark haired vampire burnt and bloodied, the tanned skin pallid and mottled, as if scarring over, an arrow protruding from his abdomen. His features are nearly completely distorted, clearly in pain when he died, the sight of this inciting a sharp burst of anger inside me, though it is easily swamped by the grief.

Just left of Dwayne is Paul, the tall blonde the least recognisable of the group, his features almost melted, as if someone pressed an iron to his face, the skin and flesh bloodied and shiny, the waxy complexion giving him the appearance of some ruined sculpture. Bone and muscle tissue peek through the usually pristine skin, his clothes nearly destroyed, showing angry red marks and ugly burn marks beneath, the sight of which make me want to throw up, especially as I catch sight of the yellowing pus gathering around the worst ones.

Looking back to David, I feel another, stronger, wave of grief wash over me, my sobs getting louder as I try to hold back the steaming tears and pleas of hope, the emotion building up more and more. Pulling my hand away from David's ashen face, I cup my face in them and rub at my skin, scratching my nails over my scalp in mental agony, before I throw my head back and scream. The sound is strangled and guttural, but it holds all the emotion I'm currently feeling, allowing it to reverberate around the room.

I break off with yet another sob, my throat raw and shredded from the painful sounds, a pounding headache starting to set in as my body starts to dehydrate, all the energy leaving me as I slouch to the side, unable to hold myself up as I fall to the floor, hitting my shoulder painfully on the hard rock. My vision starts to fade, my eyes still fixed on the bodies a little way away from me, my breathing erratic as I drift off, darkness easily consuming me...

*

I'm almost disappointed when I come to again, my eyelids sticking together slightly from the dried tears, my entire body aching painfully as I lift my head from the floor, a dull pain spreading through my muscles. Groaning, I heave myself upright, rubbing at my face as my eyes stray back to the line of bodies, grief flooding me again, though I suppress it, choosing to stay numb instead, not allowing myself to break down again, knowing that my body will need some water soon, or it'll start to shut down.

Staggering to my feet, I shakily take a few steps away from the object of my misery, the room spinning in my vision as I walk away and into my room, aiming for the bed, where I've got a spare water bottle. Nauseous, I bend down and take it out from under the bed, checking to see if it's filled, before taking a long, deep drink from it, relishing in the sensation of the cool water running down my chafed throat, soothing the dull burn already setting in.

Almost instantly, I bend back over and return the contents of my stomach back to the outside, throwing up all over the floor as my body rejects the sustenance on account of me drinking too much too quickly, soon resting to dry heaving as nothing else comes up. Coughing, I drop to the floor, wiping my sleeve over my mouth to clear away the saliva and bile, whimpering at the pounding head ache setting in, my throat stinging now from the harsh acid that just rushed past, my body now pleading for some water or food to keep it going. Hesitantly, I take a swig of the water and swill out my mouth, spitting it onto the floor to get rid of the taste, quickly taking another sip seconds later, cautiously swallowing it. Thankfully it stays down.

For hours, I remain sat there, my body turning numb and sluggish as I fade into a trance, my mind refusing to accept what it knows, trying instead to think over different subjects. Eventually, it settles on one thing, and one thing only.

Sharp anger spreads through me, my head filled with a plan as I stand and go back into the main room, staggering once more as I struggle to regain balance. I quickly locate a bottle of whiskey, a knife from one of the past victims, a bandana (again from a past victim) and a hooded jacket (one of mine this time) pulling on a pair of black gloves as I go. Sticking the knife through my belt, I tie the bandana around my lower face and pull up the hood of the jacket, sending one last look at the bodies before I head out, focused on the one thing that will make this right: killing the murderers.

Once outside, I locate my bike and climb on, kicking it into gear with no hesitation, speeding off at a dangerous pace towards the main road, the now-empty bottle of whiskey lying on the cliff top, the alcohol running through my veins. Recklessly, I hurtle down the roads, avoiding the new night traffic as I do so, ignoring angry protests as I pass them, only revving the engine when someone screams at me from their window, thundering into town. I don't stop until I've reached the Boardwalk, too focused to realise there are large crowds of people around until I've nearly bowled some of them over, screams and shouts halting me as I pull the bike up short, parking it near the wall.

Climbing off, I instantly start wandering the streets, looking out for my targets, my hand on the knife at my hip as I do so, all rational thought leaving me as a murderous rage takes over. After a good hour or so, I finally spot them: the traitors to our group and their little friends.

Silently, I fall into step behind them, ready to act on a moment's notice.

[harrybabystyles]

Oh, Angel! (harry styles)

chapter three - m a s t e r l i s t -

warnings: language, and there is a scene with an IV

a/n: If you haven’t read the previous chapters I would suggest doing so, just click on the masterlist above to find them

When I opened my eyes, his face floated into view, those pale green eyes, perfect lips, and irresistible brown curls. 

I fucking knew it, he is an angel and I have actually died. 

Wait...why does he look so concerned?

“Anna!” Paige’s face now floated into view, and then Harper’s, and then Evelyn’s, worry swelling their features.

“What?” I croak, my voice hoarse, and my throat tight. 

I then notice the metal walls of the inside of an ambulance, and the throbbing pain in my arm. I look down to find an IV dug into the skin just above my forearm and my brows knit together.

“Ma’am, you passed out, you were dehydrated so we gave you an IV to help push some fluids through” a voice came through, and a stern faced woman came into my line of sight, scooting down Harry and my friends on the bench beside me.

Wait...Harry?!

My eyes widen at the sight of him sat next to my friends, the floral suit shifting as he adjusted down the bench. 

I take a gulp, suddenly remembering the music fest, and the song.

“What are you doing here Harry?” I flinch as the question comes out harsh, but a reassuring smile tugs up at his lips.

“Checking on you” he says in a ‘obviously’ manner, and runs a hand through his hair, “You fainted in the middle of my set” 

I blush, heat rushing to my face, “Oh”

“You should be free to go in a few minutes, I want to make sure this bag is completely gone before I set you loose” the woman explains, pointing to the practically empty bag above me, and I nod swallowing again.

“Have you been stressed recently, sweetheart?” she asks, her warm eyes staring back at mine.

You could say that.

“Yeah...” I put my hands in my lap, fiddling with my thumbs, “...I recently lost a job, and have been in interviews all week” I say quietly, glancing up to see Harry’s eyebrows drop as he pinches his bottom lip between his pointer finger and thumb.  

“Stress is a powerful thing...” the women tuts, “...make sure to take care of yourself so this doesn't happen again”

I nod, “Will do” 

She gives me a smile and flicks the IV bag, watching as the last drop falls. 

“Alright, I’m going to take your IV out, are you ready?” 

I take a deep breath in and nod, Paige notices my sudden discomfort and puts her hand on my leg. 

“Here we go” 

I clench my jaw as the women pulls the needle from my vain, and I let out a breath when she finishes. 

“Alright, you are free to go, please drink water” she instructs me, as I lift myself up from the ambulance bed. 

“I will” I smile at her and climb my way out, “Thank you” 

“You are very welcome” she smiles back and my heart swells a bit.   

But then it turns to a raging mess when I spot Harry’s hand outreached towards me, offering me help down.

I try to give him a small smile, and put my hand in his as I step down out of the ambulance.

“You scared me to death!” Harper outbursts, and in an instant my friends are surrounding me, holding my hands and looking at me with relieved but worried eyes.

I notice Harry standing to the side, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

“Can you give me a minute guys?” I blurt out, watching as they nod and whisper ‘okay’ as they look between me and Harry.

I turn to him, my heart stammering in my chest, and give him a small smile.

“How are you feeling, love?” he asks, his voice soft as he looks down on me with concerned eyes.

Love? Seriously? Is he trying to make me pass out again?

“Tired” I sigh, fidgeting with my fingers, finding it hard to look him in the eyes.

This is so embarrassing.

“I had no idea you were a singer” I state, not really sure what the hell I’m doing.

He shrugs, a smile appearing on his lips, “Well, we hardly talked the night we met, how could you know?”

“Yeah...” I chuckle, “...I’m so sorry about fainting during your performance...it’s not everyday your hookup turns up to be some amazingly talented musician” I say nervously, hoping he doesn’t think I’m a fool, cheeks still flush with embarrassment.

“You really don’t have to be here” I say softly as I gesture to the ambulance.

“Well...” he looks around, “...it’s not everyday your hookup faints while you’re performing a song about ‘em” he shrugs, a smirk on his face, and my stomach drops.

“Wha-?”

“You’re the only Anna I know” he explains, cutting me off, his cheeks slightly pink, as he fiddles with his rings.

My cheeks turn a deep shade, the song was about me.

“Oh” is all I manage to say, a million questions storming in my brain.

“Honest to god, I thought you would never hear it, kinda hoped you wouldn’t too...but here we are” he looks nervous as his eyes fly to the ground, his cheeks deepening in color.

“I am throughly embarrassed” he shakes his head, and a smile forms on my lips at how adorable and small he sounds.

“I would like to make it up to you though...” he suggests, and my eyes shoot up to his, and I can see the fear in them, “...if you’d let me, of course”

I smile, “Alright...what did you have in mind?”

His shoulders slump in relief, and a heart stopping smile spreads across his face, “I wanna show you something”

“Okay?” I quirk my eyebrows at him and his smile only grows.

“It’s going to have to remain a surprise” he explains, shrugging.

I pout my lips, “Fine”

“Are you free tomorrow night?” He asks, pulling his bottom lip in between his fingers.

“Yeah, I should be”

It’s not like I have a job or anything.

He suddenly looks around confused scanning the empty plaza before jogging over to a signing booth and grabbing a marker from the table as I watch him in confusion. He returns to me and his fingers ghost my arm.

“May I?” he asks, his green eyes looking at me from under his raised brows.

“Sure...”

He begins to write on my arm, the ink cool against my skin.

“I’ll pick you up at seven, text me your address” he explains, and I look down to see his number scribbled on my wrist.

“Okay....” I laugh, “...see you at seven”

“See you at seven” he confirms, before starting to walk backwards and away from me.

My friends return and I could hear them starting to fire away questions, but I ignore them as my eyes stay connected to Harry’s, the dimple on his face only growing deeper into his cheek the further he backed away.

Then he winks, and my heart stops as he turns around, and disappears behind a travel bus.

Oh, Harry.

“Anna!” Paige yells, and I snap back to reality.

“Huh?” I say, wetting my lips, and reeling the arm with his number back in towards my body.

“Care to explain what the hell is going on!” she exclaims, pointing to the inside of my wrist where the marker grazed my skin.

“Oh! Uh...” I look down at the number, and I smile, “I think I’m going on a date”

Their jaws drop, “What!” Harper’s voice shrieks.

“Yeah...” I shrug, “...he is picking me up at seven tomorrow evening”

They blink at me in shock, and I can’t help but let my heart soar out of my chest.