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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Summary: Conflict arises with Harris's new teacher, filling Halloween with more tricks than treats. But it's nothing a visit with Ms. Sweetheart can't fix.

Warnings: allusion to Reader and Eddie's one-night stand, panic attack, Reader's grandma has dementia.

WC: 5.6k

Chapter 6/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

Guns N’ Roses t-shirt: check. Goodwill jeans with makeshift holes in the knees: check. Bandana tied snugly around his forehead: check. Arms littered with an assortment of temporary tattoos: check.

Eddie grins as he assesses his son’s costume, reaching into the thrift store bag as he pulls out the pièce de résistance: a denim jacket, only two sizes bigger than Harris would usually wear. It was a bit over what he’d been hoping to spend, but he’d reasoned with himself that it could also be worn after Halloween. It was an investment, he’d decided, not a splurge.

His smile falters when Harris indignantly stomps his foot, crossing his arms over his chest. While Eddie had hoped his son would go with more badass tattoo options, perhaps a skull and crossbones or even a snake, he had insisted on a Sesame Street theme. Cookie Monster munches on his signature treat as Harris pouts.

“No, Daddy!” he whines, twisting away when Eddie holds the jacket closer to him. “I can’t wear that!”

“C’mon, Har,” he tries, scouring his brain to come up with a convincing enough lie. “Axl Rose wore jackets all the time!”

Harris doesn’t just shake his head; he swivels his entire body back and forth in protest. “I don’t care! No one’s gonna be able to see my tattoos!” He holds out both arms in front of him; nearly every square inch (besides the section blocked by his cast) is covered. Eddie had spent most of last night diligently applying them precisely where Harris had asked, lest there be a tantrum. There was, unfortunately, a headless Elmo from when Harris had asked–no, demanded–that he try by himself. Still, Eddie figured that only one casualty was a win.

“Those are some sweet ol’ tatties,” Eddie muses, biting back a laugh at the two-dimensional Big Bird on his son’s forearm. “But wouldn’t it be cool if you wore the jacket into school and then–BAM!--took it off and surprised everyone with them?

Harris appears to consider this, mouth tucked into his cheeks. “Can I show Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Sure, bud. We’ll stop by her classroom when I pick you up.” Whatever gets us out of the house in weather-appropriate attire. “But first, show me your most metal pose.”

The boy opens his mouth wide and sticks out his tongue as far as it extends, scrunching his face dramatically until the corners of his eyes crinkle. His middle and ring fingers press into his palm, thumb crossing over them, with his forefinger and pinky raised in the quintessential rock ‘n roll symbol.

Eddie swoops down and smacks a wet kiss to Harris’s cheek. “That’s my boy!”

Standing among the crowd of parents at pick-up, Eddie opts out of making banal small talk and instead chooses to look at the bulletin board. The previous art project that had been hanging against the faded blue paper–”self-portraits” that the students had made on the first day of school–have been replaced by finger paintings of orange blobs that vaguely resemble pumpkins. There wasn’t one for Harris because he was in Ms. Sweetheart’s classroom then, so it’s his first art project in his new class. He eagerly scans the board for Harris’s, frowning when he can’t find his name.

Maybe it’s still drying, he tries to convince himself, imagining his son over-saturating the paper with globs of paint. It wouldn’t be entirely out of character.

Ms. Marion’s classroom is a sea of costumed children. A boy dressed as one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles stands by his mom. A Cinderella, a black cat, and a Thomas the Tank Engine surround Ms. Paula. As soon as Eddie spots Harris, he smiles and waves him over, hurriedly scribbling his signature on the sign-out sheet.

He expects Harris to zoom past the other kids, fueled by the standard Halloween diet of sugar and chocolate, but he just kind of…mopes to the doorway. His shoulders slump dejectedly, and though he keeps his gaze low, Eddie can still see the film of mist staining his innocent eyes.

“Har, what’s wrong?” He waits for an answer, and when he doesn’t receive one–an oddity for his perpetually chatty son–he tries a new tactic. “Wanna show me where your artwork is? I must be gettin’ old, because I couldn’t find it on the board out there.”

“‘S not there,” Harris mumbles, scratching off a flaking piece of the Rosita tattoo on the back of his hand. “I didn’t get to finish.”

Eddie watches as the tears start to slip down his cheeks, and he brings him into the hallway before Ms. Marion or Ms. Paula sees what’s going on. He can’t be certain, but his paternal instincts tell him that they’ve contributed to Harris’s sad state. “Why not?”

“I-I t-tried, but M-Ms. Mar-Marion and Ms. P-Paula got m-mad at me.” The words come out between choked sobs. “‘C-Cuz I c-couldn’t sit d-down.”

“What do you mean?”

“I k-keeped st-standing up, ‘cuz m-my legs wanted to st-stand.” The explanation tumbles out of him so quickly, as though he’s trying to beat the clock. “And they s-said if I did-didn’t sit down, I c-couldn’t do art. But I k-keeped f-f-forgetting, and th-they t-taked away my pay-pay-paper and said, ‘sit in the c-corner!’”

Eddie’s breath hitches, and he has to clear his throat before speaking again. “Did…did that happen in Ms. Sweetheart’s class? The legs thing?”

“Mhm,” Harris manages, “b-but she let me stand and d-do ju-jumps to get the wig-wiggles out. She just t-t-telled me not to do ju-jumps with s-s-scissors, ‘cuz of s-safety.” His breathing increases to a rapid pace, face flushing red as his chest heaves. “B-But Ms. M-Marion ye-ye-yelled at me!”

Eddie’s brows pinch together, and he gently presses his calloused palms against Harris’s narrow shoulders, desperate to prevent him from hyperventilating. “Harris, you gotta calm down. I can’t understand you when you’re crying like this!” Despite his efforts, his frustration bleeds into his tone, and he winces when the latter sentence ends with an unwanted snap. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s just an art project.”

“Harris?”

The sound of your voice draws the attention of both Munsons. You let out a small oof as Harris flings himself against your legs, and though he practically flew the five foot distance between his father and you, now is not the time to remind him about using his walking feet.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” You crouch down, taking his hand in yours, and notice his quick, shallow breaths. “We’re gonna breathe together, okay? Eyes on me.” You demonstrate inhaling for three seconds, holding for three seconds, and exhaling for three seconds. “Now let’s do it together.”

He hesitates but ultimately follows your lead, and you guide him until his breathing slows enough for him to sputter, “I t-tried to sit, b-but I c-couldn’t.”

You haven’t the slightest idea what he’s referring to, but Eddie fills you in. You feel the heat of anger creeping through your body, not just for the way your co-worker treated the sweet boy, but for her insolent approach to teaching as a whole.

“We can go to my classroom,” you offer, silently sighing in relief when the boy nods in agreement. “I don’t know if I have the supplies to make the same project as Ms. Marion, but if you have a few minutes, you can draw something now. I bet Mr. Will would love to help you; he’s a super-duper artist.”

Just as you’d predicted, Will jumps at the opportunity to help Harris with his impromptu art project, encouraging him to draw something that makes him happy. While he does that, you comb through the mess left behind from the Halloween party you’d thrown. You’d sooner toss one hundred cupcake wrappers in the trash before attempting a conversation with Eddie Munson. He’s simply too unpredictable; kind and thoughtful one day, harsh and guarded the next.

One of the wrappers in your hand drops to the floor and you reach forward to pick it up, pinching the pleated material between your pointer and middle fingers. You can feel Eddie’s eyes on your form, the way the backs of your thighs are slightly exposed when you bend over, and you stand up quickly.

“Are you the Magic School Bus lady?” He takes in your lavender dress with planets and stars stamped all over it. Oh. He wasn’t checking you out; he was just trying to figure out who you’d dressed up as. Good. Anything else would be inappropriate.

So why does a twinge of disappointment radiate through you?

You glance at your costume; with all of the commotion, you’d forgotten you’d even been wearing one “I mean, would I even be a teacher if I didn’t jump at the chance to be Ms. Frizzle?” You motion over to Will, decked out in green from head to toe with two yellow horns glued to a headband atop his mop of brown hair. “Have you met my trusty sidekick, Liz the Lizard?”

Eddie laughs. “Yeah, Byers actually used to play in my D&D club back in high school. Made some pretty sick art pieces to liven up that dingy excuse for a room.”

You look between the two of them, trying to do the mental math. “Will, didn’t you say you’re twenty-four?” And if Eddie is thirty, that means…

“I, uh, had a little trouble graduating,” Eddie sheepishly admits, ruffling the back of his hair and offering a tight grimace. “But I got there eventually. Class of ‘86, baby!”

“Worked out for me,” Will shrugs with a grin, looking up from Harris’s drawing. “You were the best DM Hellfire ever had. Although, rumor has it that Erica Sinclair gave you a run for your money.”

Harris picks up a yellow marker, furiously scribbling a circle in the left-hand corner of his paper. You try peering over to see the whole drawing, but he presses his whole body against the table, successfully thwarting your plans. “No peeking!” he warns, not putting his feet back on the ground until you’ve averted your gaze. “‘S a surprise.”

You put your hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. I’ll be surprised.” You raise your eyebrows at Eddie, who shares a similar response in return.

“Dunno when he got so bossy,” he snorts before calling out to his son, “Har-Bear? Five more minutes. We gotta get home to trick-or-treat with Grampa Wayne.”

“Ooh, that sounds like fun!” you echo as Harris grabs a purple marker from the box. “What’s your favorite candy?”

“Hmm.” Harris uses his free hand–the one with the cast–to tap his chin, continuing to color with the other one. “M&Ms. But only the plain ones. Daddy doesn’t let me have the peanut ones ‘cause he says I could choke.”

You shoot a sly, knowing look at Eddie. “I’m sure that’s the only reason. Such a selfless father.” You cross your arms over your chest and cock your head innocently. “And what do you do with all of these confiscated peanut M&Ms, Mr. Munson? Donate them?”

Eddie tucks his lips into his mouth to mask his grin. “Listen, the jig is gonna be up at some point,” he mumbles out of the corner of his mouth, loud enough so you can hear but soft enough that Harris can’t. “Let me enjoy my free candy while it lasts.”

“No judgment here,” you say with a small laugh, “they’re one of my favorites, too.”

“TA-DA!” Harris shouts, startling you, Eddie, and Will. He holds up the construction paper and smiles widely. To anyone without kids–or who didn’t teach preschool for a living–it would look like a bunch of colorful scribbles. But you can tell that he’s drawn a group of people standing by a tree (or a really, really tall flower) underneath the sun.

“Wow, Harris! That’s amazing!” you clap your hands together to punctuate your enthusiasm. “Who are all those people?”

Harris’s pointer finger travels left to right across the paper as he names each person: “That’s me, Grampa Wayne, Daddy, you, and Mr. Will!” The stick figure that represents you has a purple scribble on it, which you realize must be the costume you’re wearing. “An’ we’re all smiling because we’re happy!” Sure enough, each person has a curved red line at the bottom of their face. But there’s something else that catches your eye.

All of the people have a small space between them, except for you and Eddie. The circle that Harris drew to represent your left hand overlaps with the circle that is Eddie’s right.

You glance at the real Eddie, and if he notices, he doesn’t give any indication. “I love it, buddy.” He takes the drawing and inspects it closely. “Yup, this one’s definitely going on the fridge when we get home.” He flicks the paper for good measure. “Go clean up the markers so we can head out, Axl Rose.”

Among the noise of markers clattering back in the bins, you lean in to Eddie, inadvertently inhaling the scent of his cigarettes and cologne. For a brief moment, you’re transported back to the night fate had led you to cross paths; the thought of his lips on your neck in the stairwell has you clenching your thighs and swallowing thickly as you murmur, “I can ask him to make a new one with just you, him, and his grandpa.”

Eddie shakes his head. “N-No. I like this one.” He lets one hand drop to his side and it grazes yours. His rings brush your knuckles, and you instinctively draw back at the sensation of the cool metal and the zing of heat that pulses at his light touch. “Sorry,” he mumbles, not making eye contact.

“S’okay.”

He blinks a few times and redirects his attention to his son. “What do you say to Mr. Will and Ms. Sweetheart for letting you do your art project?”

Harris’s little chest swells as he inhales deeply, storing up as much oxygen as he can fit in his lungs before bellowing, “THANK YOUUUUUUU!”

Eddie brings his palm to his ear canal, rotating his forefinger as though trying to repair a punctured eardrum. “Love the enthusiasm,” he says through gritted teeth. “Seriously, though. Thank you both so much.”

“Of course,” Will says warmly, picking up the marker bin and placing it in its space on the shelf.

“Anything for Harris.” You smile, motioning towards the little boy already by his father’s side. “Have fun trick-or-treating tonight, bud! I can’t wait to hear about all the yummy candy you got.”

Harris scrunches his nose in contemplation. “Are you going trick-or-treating, Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Nah,” you laugh, “I’m gonna stay home and give candy to all the kids who come by.” And pray that Grandma doesn’t curse them out, you silently add.

“Oh.” Harris pauses, grabbing his dad’s hand. “Okay, bye!”

Eddie chuckles as his son pulls him towards the door. “That’s my cue. Um, Happy Halloween,” he adds awkwardly, waving once before disappearing down the hallway.

There’s so much more that he wants to say: you’re the best; you saved the day; you should be my son’s teacher instead of that old, bitchy bat. But he didn’t have time. Maybe another day. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Wayne arrives just a few minutes after Eddie and Harris get home. As soon as his gruff voice comes over the intercom, Harris excitedly buzzes him in. “Grampa Wayne’s here!” he yells, even though Eddie’s standing right next to him. He grabs the pillowcase from the couch; it was originally white, but after Eddie accidentally threw in a red sock with the white laundry, it’s tinted light pink.

No sooner does the older man cross the threshold into the apartment, Harris is trying to drag him out again. “Let’s go, before all the good candy is gone!” he whines. His eyebrows pinch together and he drops his grandfather’s hand. “Oh, wait, I gotta show you something.” He scampers off into the kitchen, and Wayne winces when he hears the rattle of magnets falling to the floor.

“I’m okay!” Harris calls out, running back with a piece of paper in his hand. “Look what I drawed at school today!” He gives Wayne the rundown of who’s who.

Wayne analyzes each person in the picture, stopping at the overlapping circles between you and Eddie. “This is great, Har-Bear,” he muses. “Are, um, are Daddy and Ms. Sweetheart holding hands?”

“Mhm,” Harris casually confirms, taking the drawing back. “‘Cause they’re married.”

Eddie chokes on air as Wayne does a double-take. “Congrats, Ed,” he jokes, clapping a hand to his nephew’s shoulder. “Gotta say, I thought I’d at least get an invite.”

“Shut up,” Eddie grumbles, rolling his eyes. “Harris, why do you think that Ms. Sweetheart and I are married?” He wracks his brain for answers, but he can’t come to a logical conclusion. Did I talk about her in my sleep? Oh, shit, what if it was when I had that dream—

“Because you gived her a present,” Harris says, eyes innocent and wide. “And when grown-ups love each other, they give each other presents.”

“Oh, he gave Ms. Sweetheart a present, huh?” On the surface, Wayne’s words are as innocuous as Harris’s, but Eddie hears the teasing buried just beneath.

Harris nods. “Mhm. He gived her a tape!”

“It was the Toni Braxton one that she came into the shop for…that day that, uh…” Eddie raises his eyebrows at his uncle, who nods in acknowledgment. He brings his focus back to his son. “It doesn’t mean that we’re married. People have to go on dates and fall in love before they get married.”

The young boy absorbs this information. “So you should go on dates and fall in love with Ms. Sweetheart!” His face lights up at the idea of it, and it breaks Eddie’s heart to let him down.

So, he doesn’t.

“Why don’t you hang that back up so we can get outta here and get you some candy, huh?” He forces a smile and watches his son scamper into the kitchen before turning back to Wayne and shaking his head.

Harris peels a magnet off of the fridge, the one Eddie bought him on their Daddy-Son day. It has a sea lion balancing a beach ball on its snout, with HAWKINS ZOO printed in bolded letters along the bottom.

Lowering his voice to a whisper, he speaks directly to his drawing. “When Daddy and Ms. Sweetheart fall in love and get married, I’ll finally have a mommy.” He presses his hand flat against the paper as though he’s sealing in the wish. He stays like that for a moment until his dad calls his name, and he clutches his pillow case as they head out the door.

Eddie assumes that the love and marriage talk is done for the evening, but the feeling of relief doesn’t last long. The trio of Munson men is halfway down the stairwell when Wayne starts instigating. “Hey, Har, is Ms. Sweetheart pretty?”

“WAYNE!” Eddie grits his teeth and shoots a sharp look at his uncle. The last thing he needs is for Harris to get his hopes up about a blossoming romance between his dad and his former teacher.

“Oh, yeah!” Harris gleefully agrees, oblivious to the mounting tension. He grips the railing and jumps from the second to last step onto the tiled landing below. “Super pretty! Like a princess.”

The eldest Munson turns to Eddie. “Didja hear that? Pretty like a princess.”

“I heard him,” Eddie replies tersely.

“Daddy?”

No. Don’t ask me. Harris Wayne Munson, do not ask me what I think you’re going to—

“Do you think Ms. Sweetheart is pretty?”

Although he anticipated the question, Eddie still freezes. If he disagrees, Harris will inevitably want to know why not. And if he’s being honest with himself, he can’t name a single ugly thing about you.

He does think you’re pretty. He thinks you’re beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning. And even though he’s literally seen you naked, fully on display for him–a memory he revisits more often than he’s willing to admit–it’s the thought of what you did today that solidifies your beauty. The way you’d effortlessly calmed Harris down without Eddie even having to ask. The frown on his face almost instantly became a smile, the flow of his tears ceasing and turning into the giggles that brought sunlight into Eddie’s life. You did that.

Any woman can be sexy, but you? In that moment, you were perfect.

Fuck.

“Daddy? Hello?”

At the sound of Harris’s voice, Eddie realizes that he physically hasn’t moved from his spot on the stairs. His hand is gripping the banister so tightly that it leaves an imprint in his palm. “Yeah, buddy,” he manages through his Sahara Desert throat. “I think Ms. Sweetheart’s pretty.”

“Like a princess?” Wayne’s eyes twinkle mischievously. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to tease his nephew about a crush, and he’s not passing up this limited opportunity.

“Yeah. Like a princess.”

Education outsiders might think that Halloween is one of the worst days to be a teacher. The lethal combination of sugar and excitement barely contained in tiny costumed bodies seems like a recipe for disaster. But any teacher worth their salt will tell you that there is a day far, far worse than Halloween: November 1st.

On Halloween, there is the expectation for fun. There’s a costume parade, classroom trick-or-treating, and even a little party. The kids are out of control, but who cares? It’s Halloween.

But on November 1st, there is work to be done. And you’re expected to teach the months of the year to 10 four-year-olds who are suffering from candy hangovers and won’t stop asking why they can’t go trick-or-treating again today.

You and Will are preparing for battle as students trickle in, excited to show off the candy stashes they acquired the night before. Abby Carver cries because she ate her Reese’s cup and now she’s sad that it’s gone. Joshua Harrington is continuing to “sling webs” at the other kids despite your incessant reminders that he is no longer Spider-Man. A fight over a KitKat bar breaks out not even five minutes into the day, and you confiscate it before someone causes serious bodily harm.

Two fingers lightly tap on your shoulder—too high up to be a kid—and you whirl around with an irritated, “what?”

“Whoa,” Eddie says, concern etched into his otherwise soft features. He takes a small step back, nearly tripping over a rogue Lego that somehow made its way out of the toy area. He stumbles but catches his balance easily. “Everything okay?”

“‘S a warzone out here,” you try and joke, but you feel it fall flat. You’re too tired for humor. Grandma may not have yelled at the trick-or-treaters like you’d feared, but she did get increasingly angrier with each knock on the door. After the fifth time of her snarling at you to “shut the hell up” (like you could simultaneously be on both sides of the door), you’d relented and just put the candy bowl on the welcome mat, scribbling “TAKE ONE” on a yellow sticky note, adhering it to the plastic container.

Two decades earlier, Halloween at Grandma’s house had a completely different connotation. She’d have a little pizza party all set up for you, and she’d buy a big bag of your favorite candy, in case you didn’t get enough during your door-to-door quests. And she’d always let you watch whatever spooky movie your heart desired, regardless of your parents’ rules.

“That’s what grandmas are for,” she’d said with a wink, and the two of you curled up to watch Little Shop of Horrors. Her demeanor matched the hokey magnet on her fridge that read, If I knew how fun my grandkids would be, I would’ve had them first. You’d stay like that until you both fell asleep, only being roused by your parents arriving to pick you up. The good old days, before Grandma waking up involved watching the confusion in her eyes as she tried and failed to place you.

“C-Can I help you with something?” Your guard goes up immediately when you notice that Harris isn’t with him. The time you’d spent together after school yesterday had been nice, fun, even, but you couldn’t trust that today would be the same. Not after what happened a few short weeks ago.

“I, um…I just swung by to give you this.” He reaches into the inner pocket of his denim jacket; it’s the same one that he lent to Harris when he’d forgotten his at home. A flash of yellow paper catches your eye, and he unfurls his palm to reveal a small bag of peanut M&Ms. “You said they were one of your favorites, right?”

You look at the treat, not willing to reach out and grab it. What if it’s a joke? An elaborate ploy to reel you in, just to shout “gotcha” when you finally let your walls come down?

“Are they poisoned or something?” you quip, crossing your arms over your chest. “Did you spike them with Ex-Lax?”

Eddie’s lips part in surprise before he collects himself. “Guess I deserve that,” he mumbles. “But, no. They’re not. I swear on James Hetfield’s life.” He drags his fingernail over his heart in an X-formation.

You take the bag, inspecting it for any sign of tampering, but you come up short. The edges are sealed, and there are no pinpricks as far as your eyes can see. “Dipped into Harris’s stash for me?”

“Hey, these bad boys are technically mine for the taking until he figures out that he can eat them without dying.” Eddie chuckles lightly, peering at you through impossibly long lashes. “But, yeah, I was hoping you’d accept these as part of my apology. Or apologies, I guess. For, uh, for not calling when I said I would, and all of the awful shi—awful things I said to you.” His voice is barely above a whisper as he steps closer and says, “I am so fucking sorry.”

You make a small tear in the bag, tapping it against your palm until an M&M falls out. Popping the blue candy in your mouth, you allow the shell to start dissolving on your tongue before crunching on the peanut, hoping you can process what he’s said by the time you’re finished chewing.

This is what you’ve been waiting for—an actual heartfelt apology. His brown eyes reflect nothing but shame and remorse, and you can tell by the way that he’s fidgeting with his rings that he’s anxiously awaiting your reply.

His vulnerability softens you slightly, and considering you haven’t keeled over after ingesting the candy, you throw him a bone.

“This fun size bag covers the ‘not calling’ part, but I’m gonna need a lot more candy if you want me to forgive you for what you said at the music store.” You keep your tone light; teasing, even, but there’s a layer of truth to it. He can’t merely waltz into your classroom with a gift and expect you to forget his hurtful words.

Eddie nods, his frizzy curls brushing the tops of his denim-clas shoulders. “I know. I’ve said some pretty terrible things in my life, but that might’ve been the worst. And, um,” he fumbles his words, desperately searching for the right ones. Semantics has never been his forte. “You didn’t deserve that. It’s not true; your grandma didn’t want to forget you. And…neither do I.” When you raise your eyebrows, he starts to backtrack. “Because you’re so great with Harris; like, you understand him and stuff. He’s always talking about you.”

Daddy, do you think Ms. Sweetheart is pretty? The question replays like a song he can’t shake from his head, its melody familiar but the notes still keeping him on edge. Pretty like a princess, only instead of saving her, I’m the one who needs to be rescued. So much for Prince Charming, huh?

The M&M melts in your mouth while you formulate a response to his candid admission. Sweetness seeps into your taste buds as you try to straddle the line between careful consideration and overthinking. Speak too quickly and you might say something you’ll regret. Take too long and you’ll make this even more awkward.

“W-Well, I’m glad to hear that.” Short, simple, to the point. Your words are slightly slurred by the candy obstruction, but what else is there to say? You could add that you forgive him, but you’re truthfully not sure that you do. His words scarred, had taken your already mangled self-worth and snapped it into pieces, and so did his reasoning for hurting you. Despite the love and kindness you’d shown his son, Eddie had fully believed that you were responsible for spreading personal information that would wound him. It was exactly as Jeff had said: Eddie struck below the belt at the first sign of conflict, so determined to protect himself that he didn’t even realize that he was attacking the people on his side.

The sound of books clattering to the floor snatches your attention from him, and you whip your head to your little classroom library to see two kids standing over a pile of fallen books, guilty looks stamped on their faces. “I’ve gotta go,” you blurt out, dashing off to assess the damage. You’ve never been so grateful for your students causing mischief.

The hour hand crawls to the number two; at one point, you swore the clock was moving backwards. The chaos of the morning was only a preview of the rest of the day’s fiascos, but you and Will had navigated as best as you could.

“Jesus,” he murmurs once the kids have all been dismissed, gingerly rubbing his temples, “that was brutal. I can handle the day after Halloween; I can handle Fridays, but when they coincide? Nope, never again.” He slumps into a chair dramatically, letting his arms drape over the sides.

“Gonna have a glass of wine when you get home?” you joke, wiping Play-Doh residue from a tabletop.

Will nods. “Or a whole bottle.” His focus shifts to your desk, and he nods his chin in that direction. “I see you have something to look forward to tonight, too.”

You follow his gaze, widening your eyes when you see the object he’s referring to. A bag of peanut M&Ms–much bigger than the one you’d inhaled this morning–sits on top of your desk calendar; resting next to it is a cassette. You walk over, curiosity getting the better of you. The cassette is Guns N’ Roses’ Appetite for Destruction; you recognize the iconic cover as soon as it comes into view. It’s not your usual music choice, but you’ll listen to almost anything.

There’s a piece of paper taped to the giant yellow M&M bag, folded in equal triads. Messily scrawled across the front in black ink is Ms. Sweetheart. You gently pull the adhesive loose and open the letter, nervously running your forefinger across the irregular edge where it was obviously torn from a composition notebook.

Fun size mistake=fun size bag of candy

Family size mistake=family size bag of candy

I’m really good at fucking things up, but really bad at fixing them. I wish I could say that I didn’t mean to hurt you, but we both know that I did.

You don’t have to forgive me, but I need you to know how sorry I am.

-Eddie

P.S. Not sure if hard rock is your thing, but I saw this at work and it reminded me of the kindness you showed our favorite little Axl Rose yesterday.

“Who’s it from?” Will asks, breaking into your thoughts. “A secret admirer?” He brings his clasped hands to his cheek in mock dreaminess.

You manage a laugh as you fold the note back up and tuck it under the calendar. “If it is, he’s really bad at it, because he signed his name.” When did he even sneak in here to do this? Kind of scary that someone could walk in and you didn’t even notice.

“Aha! So it is a guy!” Will pumps his fist triumphantly, though you’re not quite sure what he thinks he’s won.

“Just Eddie Munson, thanking us for letting Harris draw here yesterday.”

It’s not a total lie, but Will sees right through it. “Uh-huh. Thanking us? So that note is also for me? Can I read it?” He starts towards your desk, outstretched hand reaching towards where you’d tried to hide it, but you playfully swat them away.

You glance at the clock and frown. “If you leave a little early, I won’t tell anyone.”

Will flips you off; over the last two months, you two had developed a sibling-esque relationship that came out more once the kids had left for the day. He grabs his backpack from the supply closet and slings it over his shoulders. “You’re lucky I’m exhausted, or I’d stick around and keep bothering you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You roll your eyes, knowing full well that he’s itching to leave regardless. “Gotta save up your energy for when Marshall visits.”

Will blushes at the mention of his long-distance boyfriend’s name. He still wasn’t out to many people, but when you’d casually mentioned the date Jess had with a girl named Robin, he’d felt comfortable opening up to you. “I can’t wait!” His grin is so wide you swear it’ll stretch right off of his face. “Thanks again; you’re the best.”

That leaves you alone with your gigantic bag of candy, a Guns N’ Roses cassette, and an apology that you have no idea what to do with.

Once again, Eddie Munson has given you more questions than answers.

taglist:

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@breezybeesposts @wednesdaymunson @feltonswifesworld87 @take-everything-you-can @bebe07011 @krahk @81rain @dylanmunson @oscarisaacwhore @eddiesguitarskills @everheart12 @etherealglimmer @hollster88 @wh0re4life @siriuslysmoking

@bibieddiesgf @theactualf0ck @winchester-angel @starlitlakes @avalon-wolf @hazydespair @josephquinncore @daydreaminglisa @sidthedollface2 @eddiebaemunson @mandyjo8719 @daydreaming-mood @aol19 @corkadymu @starcourtnights @eggo-segual @rockstarmunsons @metalhead-succubus @boinkybarness @oohworldofpisces @costellation-hunter @toobsessedsstuff @meadow20 @theweasleyskettle @lost-in-the-stars03 @elizabethmidnight2017 @aysheashea

@chamomileh0ney @dream-a-little-nightmare @emma77645 @kurdtbean @sheneedsrocknroll92 @tlclick73 @luceneraium @lolly-in-a-strange-land @dylanmunson @bakugouswh0r3

@strangerthingsstories5255 @imaginexred @haylaansmi @adaydreamaway08 @itsalltaken @harmfulb1tch @mimischaos @averagemisfit03 @steddiegarbage @vigilanteshit @ellendemeyer152 @sierrahhh @stevesmunson @hiscrimsonangel @ffrvtvt @mrsjellymunson @idkatee @quentinswife

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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offical-ouroboros · 3 months

Note

Hi, could you do more of the unknown HC or fanfic?

Unknown x Reader HCs - An Unhealthy Obsession

CW: creep unknown, unwanted touches, UVX 'drugging'??, general horror warnings idfk, yandere/manipulative unknown

this may become a mini series

~♡

※ He just wouldn't leave you alone!

※ It didn't matter if you were in a match, or at camp. You always felt like you were being watched.

※ When you tried talking to others, they made you feel even crazier.

※ At least... That's how you heard things.

※ Truth was, you were probably just intensely disoriented from the Unknown's UVX.

※ If she talked, it seemed so clear... So pleasant.

※ When anyone else did, it just made you feel small and scared.

※ His own way of getting you comfortable near him.

※ It's not like it entirely wanted to- Just hasn't been...

※ In love is a strong word.

"I will not be... Denied my... Happiness."

※ Depending on how you respond... Won't really matter.

※ It'll get what it wants in the end- With someone, at least.

※ You make it feel something nice. A warm feeling that soothes its aching form.

※ With enough time it may even put more effort into fixing its body up to look a bit more human, if that's what you want.

※ Or, if you'd prefer the opposite, it'll relax itself more and look more warped and... Wrong.

※ Anything for you, "Tiny mouse."

※ It could take a few more days of meeting you, weeks, months... Or, immediately after the first trial before she decides it's been enough and just tries to take you.

※ Entity allowing, it works.

※ The Unknown is fast. Precise. And while part of him enjoys the hunt, he also knows what he wants. He wants you. He wants to feel human. He wants humans to think he's human.

※ What's more human; more alive and well than having a partner?

※ To it, not much. It was likely someone's fault, maybe even your own that she got the idea.

"Love is a core human emotion."

※ It'll sneak up behind you, axe discarding on the ground so it can hold you properly, twisting its limbs around your entire body and clinging.

"I missed... You."

※ Try to pull away all you want, he doesn't even notice.

※ Sometimes it had on different outfits- Different forms. If you had a preference, it would try to stick to them around you. Find anyone you might have a crush on and kill them. Take their form.

※ It looks just like them! Don't you love it now?

※ It... Vaguely resembled whoever it killed.

※ If you're at the point where he's taken you, you probably won't have much of a chance at getting away again.

※ They don't understand why it's a problem. Don't understand why you might be scared. Why you cry, and shake, and kick, and fight, and run.

※ But it never gets upset. Just confused.

※ Arms once more wrap around you, keeping you trapped both in its own personal place in the Entity's realm, and in its arms until you either calm down or tire out.

※ Just like how it weakened you before, if the Unknown can't get you to settle it might have to... Eugh... UVX you again.

※ The strange fumes make it hard to focus on anything.

※ Anything but him, that is.

※ Soon enough, you'll just have to look at him. Look at him. Look at him. Look at him. Look at him. Look at him.

※ Please.

※ Look at him.

※ Just relax. Curl up into their grasp. It'll weaken, and feel nice. Warm. Inviting.

※ She genuinely wants to love you. She's trying.

※ They just need a little help understanding boundaries.

#dbd #dead by daylight #dbd unknown #dbd unknown x reader #dbd unknown x you #x reader #x you #cw yandere #cw creep #yandere unknown #yandere unknown x reader #exophelia #monster lover

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britcision · 2 years

Text

Oh we like cursed Jazz content in this house

So Jazz’s gotten her degree and a nice totally safe internship at Arkham Asylum, as one does

And one day while she’s hanging in the interview room waiting for her next patient, who comes in but former fellow doctor Harleen Quinzel

Is Harley actually back at Arkham or half way through a break in? Doesn’t matter

Maybe Ivy needed a hand with a particularly well protected shady polluter

Maybe she’s breaking Killer Croc out for poker night

Maybe she’s just visiting to punch Joker in the face

What matters is the heat is on and Harley’s gonna be hanging out in this room, and here’s a cute young psychiatrist and Harley can’t resist a punch line

And Jazz Fenton? Jazz knows when she’s being played with, and she’s fought way worse than Harley

Hell, 10 minutes in she’s reminded so strongly of Danny she’s gotta call him after work

And Jazz has done her research, she knows who Harley is, and is very touched by her concern

But then there’s another rogue attack, the prison is in shambles, and it’s time for a change of plan

Harley’s happy to tell Jazz where to find an emergency buzzer and to barricade the door behind her, hoping the newbie will be safe

Cuz that works out in Arkham for sure

Before Harley can dip the door busts in, someone’s looking for a hostage and Harley’s stepping up for some more active protection of her new friend

Right up until they get shot in the face before Harley can connect and fall smoking to the floor

Jazz is no Poison Ivy, but beautiful, dangerous redheads are Harley’s kryptonite and she’s begging for Jazz’s number

Harley looks back at Jazz and her lipstick gun and oh now she’s in love

Jazz gives her the cute smile and says isn’t Harley taken, because Jazz kind of is now but they can be friends

Harley, competitive, will accept the number and demands the lucky fucker’s name cuz they’d better pray they’re good enough for Jazz

…

Three weeks later, Harley’s at the precinct with vital information about someone’s latest great caper

But she’ll only give it up to Jason Todd

(People know he’s alive only because this idea was precisely 12% funnier than Harley trying to hunt down Red Hood in Crime Alley

Harley’s a god tier psychiatrist and has known who the bats are for ages, but like fuck she’s going to Wayne Manor)

There’s been no hint that Harley was really involved and things are getting tense, but this is Harley Fucking Quinn who exists solely in places she’s not meant to be

They can’t risk not going if she might have something

So Jason, cranky about crimes, puts on his best people face and comes down to an unsurveilled (except for Bats) room to ask wtf

Harley stares him dead in the eye

“I’m gonna steal your girlfriend”

Then just drops street addresses, trap locations, and the fucking key to the warehouse crime was in

Bruce: confused but happy it worked and Harley’s still not back into major terrorism

Jason: fucking befuddled

Jazz: loves it

Ivy: fondly resigned

All other bats: never letting Jason live this down

The ongoing Harley/Hood prank war is fucking epic in proportion

Ivy and Jazz hang out whenever they’re busy and oh dear sarcastic peppy psychiatrists are also Ivy’s kryptonite

So the second Jason even vaguely upsets Jazz he is well aware she has two extremely loving lesbian moms just waiting to snatch her away

Call it Gotham Bachelorette

#dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp #dp x dc prompt #and fuck it maddie fenton comes by one day #and ooooooh lawdy the girls know where jazz gets it from #jazz fenton #harley quinn #the sirens also routinely bully bruce that he can’t adopt jazz #cuz a) she’s dating his son #and b) no black hair that makes her theirs #danny also becomes insufferable about this in very short ordee #being the ghost king means you can be as annoying as at least 3 baby bats combined

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overtaken-stream · 2 months

Text

α!Gagamaru Gin x Gn! β!Reader headcanon

Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure don't @ me.

Warnings: Gagamaru is a bit weird, Silly even(he's insane)

There is always that distinctive scent lingering on you, the smell that you try to explain but your vague ability stops you from pointing it out precisely. It must be strong if your nose can pick it out. So misty, cold, and incredibly familiar. No matter how many times you wash the school uniform and scrub your skin red, it comes back the next day, at what time you can never point it out, however, it's evident that it's from school.

Gin is all-natural through and through (except when it comes to his hair), and the perfumes often irritate his sensitive nose, same with sweet-smelling shampoos and body wash, he believes that they are artificial smells that stain people's true character, he has also found that those who use fake odors have many insecurities to hide, be it their second gender or their natural aroma is an unfavored one in society, it does not bother him, but he has never favored deceit. Gin believes that his smell is quite pleasant, probably influenced by all the time he and his family spent hiking when he was a pup. It reminds him of the scent of rain, petrichor was what the doctor called it when he presented. A compliment that his brain only remembered because of the correct adjective used to describe his recently discovered asset.

He remembers it all too well, the overwhelming mix of raw and false fragrances in his middle school class, packed in a classroom with no windows open. He couldn't help the scrunched nose showing on his face every day, trying to find clean air to breathe without the biological chemicals burning off his nose, for the first time in his life, Gin could clearly express his emotion all thanks to newly flowered instincts and his personal preference. It was a shame it had to be distaste. As a pup, he dreamed of having long limbs to hike with, cross the rivers, and climb on rocks without his father helping him, but if this is what it's like to be a grown-up, smelling all the smelly smells that smell bad or good, he would rather be a pup forever.

His keen hearing and eyesight are no match for his sense of smell, but now he could pick out his parent's residual odor on the school campus, hours after they've left.

Maybe it was his bias that made him favor Betas more than Omegas and Alphas, the natural and soft undertones in a society full of suffocating chemicals were liberating for Gin.

His nose was able to smell the uplifting aroma that you contained, weaker than ever hidden behind countless scents. It stayed like that between you and Gin, him enjoying your smell from the other side of the classroom while you took notes and never glanced in his direction, your nose is weaker than others, never truly being able to sense the intense pheromones swirling around.

His communication is not the best, however, he does not care enough to improve it anymore. Some view his nonchalant attitude and simple words as a negative trait. He wonders what you will think of it.

With a bag tossed over your shoulder, you stroll the chilly hallways, getting closer and closer to your destination. But just as you are about to grab ahold of the handle to open the door to the classroom, it harshly unlocks itself. An unexpected occurrence makes you softly jump on your feet before even noticing the figure standing on the other side, staring down at you with a curious tint in his round eyes, he casts a shadow on you.

``Oh I'm sorry, I didn't expect anyone...`` He says.

``It's okay...`` There is not a lot to say about him, even if you are his classmate, you don't know much about him and are not planning on knowing. As you make room for him to pass, you can feel his shoulder press against yours before he finally frees the entrance and walks away from the class. It was a confusing experience, but nothing to note of.

Gin figures that his favorite activity is scenting, his mother and his father were the first people he tried to scent, and kept their scent on him as an eleven-year-old pup up til the last year of middle school.

He is aware that leaving his pheromones on your clothes isn't the best strategy, but neither is leaving his scent on your skin while knowing nothing of you. He hopes that maybe he can change that, perhaps you will recognize that the cold smell comes from him.

Gin is a person who listens to his instincts, it's a skill needed for his beloved hobbies, however lately as you come to school without his scent, the active feeling of annoyance is hard to miss, he wants nothing but to drag you into his bed and cover you with himself, until your nose smells nothing but him on you the whole week, til someone can't differentiate Gagmaru from you. Gin wants nothing but to become one with you in those mornings. It's a shame he can only touch a part of you "accidentally" for it.

He wonders if his scent ever comforts you.

Gin will always find a way to scent you no matter what, so you might as well stop trying to clean it and start seeking him out since he is the only one whose scent matches with the one clinging to you.

The nonchalant alpha has never taken any bait thrown his way, so when his classmates start looking judgemental of his actions, Gin never remembers their words, he has already answered them once and Gagamarus don't like repeating themselves.

Maybe that's how you got to the bottom of your situation, rumors and rude words about him flying through the school until they finally got mingled with your name. So that's all he had to do to make you approach him? Hmh.

You speak so calmly when he left no roundabout way for you and made you go straight to the point.

You ask him to stop scenting you?

He likes you, maybe even loves you.

You don't believe in love at sight?

That's okay, he'll make you believe it.

The next day he puts his plan to work and brings only the best snacks for you to enjoy during lunch. Try to be nice after all, it's his first time courting someone.

#gin gagamaru #anime #anime x reader #bllk #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock gagamaru #Gin gagamaru x reader #gagamaru x reader #gagamaru gin #bllk x reader #Bllk omegaverse #omegaverse #omega!reader #bllk x you #bllk x gender neutral reader #gn reader

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pavlovianfuckery · 3 months

Text

lets be mean to dream

as usual there is no plot to be found here, only smut. i am so rusty and it shows but oh well, and also as per the usual, i'm welcome and you're sorry

It's hard to pinpoint the exact moment where things had changed, but somewhere along the way what had started as an uneasy sense of companionship had grown into something more. It still felt surreal, especially when he would be totally absorbed in his work for days or weeks at a time. He would always come back to you eventually though, and if his shoulders seemed a fraction heavier you'd be there, to give whatever he needed. Neither of you had said it out loud but when you were alone, every small and private surrender spoke louder than words ever could.

Not that words are on your mind right now, because he's kissing you, nestled in a secluded corner of the library, the surrounding shelves hiding you from view. There is a quiet desperation to it, the way he presses in close, as if getting close enough would let you somehow absorb what's on his mind. Despite holding the collective unconscious of every living being, he is remarkably bad at outright telling you what he needs. It's equal parts sweet and frustrating, because he isn't shy, not precisely. Going outside of his function and asking for something solely for himself still doesn't come easy, but if there's one thing you've learnt from your time together it's to be patient with him.

"Will you slow down a bit?" You hold him gently back, giving yourself time to catch your breath. It's a gradual thing, but finally he simply rests his forehead on yours, eyes closed, his unneeded breath ghosting across your cheek. This is another thing you've noticed, the way he deliberately seems to make himself more human when he wants something from you. For a moment neither of you speaks, then you sigh and bump his nose with yours. "I can tell there's something. Talk to me?"

"There is something. I want..." he trails off, hesitating for a split second. The word 'want' sounds almost foreign in his mouth, as if it doesn't belong there. Wetting his lips he continues, still not looking at you, "I want you to hurt me."

"I can probably do that, if you elaborate a bit."

While things in that area aren't new to you, he's never asked for anything like that before. The thought doesn't lack appeal though, your mind almost instantly goes to bruises, marking his flawless skin. It's not much of a surprise when he frowns.

"How so? It should be fairly obvious what I am asking for."

You do your best to not roll your eyes at him. This isn't the first time he's been impatient and vague, so it's perhaps not entirely successful.

"To you, maybe. But I'm going to need a bit more detail than that. You want me to hit you? Or, I don't know, call you names?"

"Yes." He doesn't offer any more specifics, but at least it's a start.

"To both?" That gets you a nod, but not much more.

At least you know that he's not being coy or trying to be an ass, it's just...how he is.

"Fair enough. But let's keep it light for now. I'm not going to punch you in the face or get a cane out, especially not here." It's not clear if he had been considering either of those things as options, but better safe than sorry. "You good with that?"

"That is agreeable enough, for now."

"Great. So..." you peck his cheek before slowly kissing your way down the side of his neck, lips barely brushing his skin. "Do you remember that time on the stairs?"

"How could I forget?" He shivers almost imperceptibly at your touch, his lips twitching into a small smile.

"Then you remember what we agreed back then?"

He sighs, leaning back against the shelves.

"Nightmare." When he speaks, his adam's apple bobs and you have to fight the urge to chase it with your mouth.

"Good." You kiss him again, deep and slow. And then you slap him.

It's barely a love-tap, one on each cheek, just to test how he responds. It's only a small hitch of breath, eyes fluttering closed for a second, and he doesn't stop you. If anything he leans into your touch, daring you.

"Again."

At the next few strikes his cheeks gain just a hint of colour, and you can't help but wonder what the rest of his skin would look like, flushed and pretty, all for you. The next blow ends up a bit harder than you intended, catching his mouth. You half expect him to stop you this time, but instead his eyes gain a glazed-over quality as he spreads his legs slightly. You do it again a few times on each side, letting yourself be a bit rougher until his lips are puffy and red, his teeth faintly stained with pink.

"You alright?" You know that you couldn't hurt him any more than he'd let you, but it's hard keeping a tiny sliver of worry out of your voice.

"Perfectly," he grabs your waist and presses himself against your hip, letting you feel him. Even through those tight jeans he insists on wearing, you can tell that he's hard. "Unless you deem this a cause for concern?"

The cheeky attitude probably warrants another slap but instead you slide your leg in between his, guiding his hips with your hands.

"Go on, then."

He only hesitates for a moment before grinding down on your thigh. It's entirely undignified, the way the height difference forces him to slouch down, knees bent in order to get more friction. As he ruts against you until he's slightly out of breath it's easy to forget that he isn't human. When you finally take pity on him and kiss him, his lips are almost fever-warm against yours and the faint taste of iron lingers on your tongue. You run your fingers over the growing damp spot on his jeans.

"If you want something more you're going to have to ask." You give him one last slap. "Unless you'd rather stop now?"

"No." He's not quite squirming, but he's still trying to rub against you. "Touch me."

Knowing what he means doesn't mean that you can't tease him, just a little. Instead of giving him what he wants you slide your hand under his shirt, to the smooth plane of his chest. You can feel his heartbeat against your palm, as if nothing but his skin is keeping you from closing your fist around it.

"But I already am?" Trying to keep your expression innocent, you lightly ghost your fingers across one of his nipples, back and forth. When he lets himself feel he's always so responsive and this is no exception, the little nub stiffening readily as he shivers under your touch. Figuring that now's as good a time as any to experiment a bit, you do the same to the other side but this time you drag a nail lightly across it as well. That earns you a low moan and a twitch of his hips.

"You know very well what I meant." There is no real annoyance in his voice though, so you let yourself play with him just a few moments longer. It's almost hard to stop, especially when it's so clear that he's enjoying this. When you give him a pinch he lets out a small gasp, brows knitting together. "Touch me."

You take your time undoing his zipper, the sound of the teeth parting loud in the quiet of the library. Finally, his erection springs free, throbbing in time with his heartbeat in the cool air.

"Poor Dream," you trail a finger over him, all the way from root to flushed tip, "that looks uncomfortable. Would you like me to help you?" Not waiting for an answer, you tap his mouth with your finger. "Open."

This time there is no hesitation, his lips parting eagerly to let your finger inside. When you add a second one, he accepts that just as well, letting you trace the edges of his teeth and the soft slickness of his tongue. You sigh to yourself, pinching his nipple again, making him pant around your fingers.

"You look lovely like this, you know. One more." Not wanting to push him too much, you settle on three fingers, gathering as much of his saliva as you can before pulling them from his mouth with a wet little 'pop'.

When you finally wrap your slicked-up fingers around his length he lets out a long shuddering breath. He's nice and thick in your hand, skin soft against your palm as you stroke him slowly from root to tip. Swiping your thumb over the slit causes his hips to buck, and when you tighten the grip so the dripping head pops through the ring of your fingers the noise he makes is a wavering broken thing.

"The mighty King of Dreams," you tease, "all it takes to turn you into a useless mess is someone getting their hands around your cock."

For a moment he almost looks annoyed, but when you twist your fingers around him, his mouth goes slack and all that comes out is a breathy moan, eyes falling shut. As you keep working his cock, the rest of his composure crumbles until he's like putty in your hands, desperate little sounds falling freely from his pretty mouth.

"Somebody could walk in at any moment, you know." Your eyes flick between your hand and his face. "What would your subjects say if they saw you like this, leaking like a sieve for me?"

Every time he gets close, you dial the touch back until it's feather-light, denying him release until he's trembling against the shelves, the steady dribble of precome forming a small puddle on the floor. As his cock starts to swell again you squeeze the base, holding him off one more time. He makes a frustrated noise and ruts uselessly against your hand, body tense like a bowstring. Cradling the back of his head you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling his head back.

"You really need to come, don't you?" Kissing your way down his exposed neck, you can't help but smile at how easily he falls apart for you when he gives in and lets it happen. "Do you think you deserve it, though? Because I'm not sure."

"You would leave me wanting?" He really must be getting painfully close, his voice barely more than a rasp, "I have never known you to be cruel."

"Ask nicely and I might let you." You circle the tip of his cock with the pad of your thumb, torturously slowly, careful not to end it just yet.

"Please?" His voice is breathless but still too firm for your liking and you tut disapprovingly, squeezing around his shaft, teasing.

"Please, what?"

"Please, let me come." This time he sounds almost desperate, and you figure that's good enough for now.

"Come for me then," you grab his chin, forcing him to look at you,"but eyes on me."

Rather than finishing him off quickly, you keep your pace slow and steady, patiently working him until he's right on that razor edge. His eyes are unfocused and so dark that they're nearly black but he does as he's told, letting you see every small change in expression as he gets close. He has either forgotten exactly where you are or simply stopped caring because when he finally comes, he is loud. Despite your earlier quip, you weren't keen on anybody actually walking in on you, though. Slapping your free hand over his mouth, you do your best to quiet his moans as he spills all over the marble floor.

"Shhh, love..." You hush him as you stroke him through it, dragging his release out until he sags against your shoulder, utterly spent.

When he gathers himself enough to lean back against the shelves, there is nothing regal about him, all wild hair and rumpled clothes, cheeks and mouth high with colour. It suits him though, the satedness in his eyes and almost relaxed set to his shoulders.

"Still good?" You kiss his cheek and gently tuck him back into his jeans, taking extra care with the zipper.

"You." He pulls you to him and buries his face in the crook of your neck. With a deep sigh, he continues, "You...indulge me, more than anyone I have ever known."

"No more than you do for me." You stroke his hair, but rather than smooth it down, it just seems to make things worse. It doesn't deter you though. When he presses a quick kiss to the side of your neck your heart just feels full, of him and the words that, while unsaid, hang almost palpable in the air between you. With his voice muffled against your skin, you can't really hear what he says next, despite straining your ears. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, next time you need not be so gentle with me."

Next time? You can hardly wait.

#dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #sandman x you #sandman smut #dream of the endless smut #the sandman fanfiction #my shitty shitty writing (affectionate)

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sleepingdeath-light · 8 months

Text

before work ; 18+

requested by ; anonymous (kinktober entry)

word count ; 906

content ; sexually explicit content, anal sex, quickie

fandom ; marvel cinematic universe

pairing ; shang-chi x cis male reader

read also on ; ao3

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

Between his early morning shifts as a parking valet and all of the graveyard shifts you’d been working lately, it was rare that you and Shaun got any alone time. Hell, the only time you ever got to see your boyfriend were in those blissful twilight hours between sunrise and whenever his alarm went off — and those brief moments did little to satisfy your need for each other.

So Shaun had decided to take things into his own hands and set his alarm ten minutes earlier than usual. Ten more minutes to do whatever you two wanted: to lounge, to chat, to cuddle, or to fuck — with the latter being what he was really hoping for.

And, thankfully, it seemed as though you were on the same page.

—————

It had taken him less than five minutes to turn you into a complete and utter mess: face and the pillow it was buried in covered in your saliva, neck bitten and bruising, body drenched with sweat, ass and the backs of your thighs caked with lube (Shaun had been less precise than you’d hoped when applying it right after waking up), cock starting to leak as you got closer to climax — and you didn’t need to see him to know that Shaun wasn’t fairing any better behind you. All of his panting and grunting gave that away clearly enough, helped in great deal by the fact that his pace was already starting to falter which made it very obvious that he was just as close as you. Closer, even.

But you were too caught up in the early morning mood to do anything but admire him and let yourself enjoy the experience: look over to the nearby mirror to let your bleary eyes take in the muscular figure of your boyfriend, dark hair sticking to his forehead and his body flexing as he quickly, roughly, fucked you into the bedroom, almost glowing in the golden light of the sunrise just peeking through your blinds; lazily push your hips back against him each time his harsh grip would relent for a brief few seconds, so close to collapsing fully down onto the bed and only held up by his grasp on your waist, but still trying to participate as best you could in your wreaked state; reach one trembling arm beneath you and wrap your fist around your throbbing cock, pumping your shaft in a vague attempt to match the speed and intensity of your boyfriend’s thrusts — fisting, jerking, thumbing the slit at the tip, and occasionally massaging your balls to push yourself further only to give up pretty much immediately as your mind grew too foggy to focus on anything beyond basic movements and making noise.

So close to the edge that everything felt tight and tense. So close that everything felt so damn hot, both inside and out, despite minutes earlier flinching away from Shaun’s hands because the lube was so cold and it was already winter and ‘couldn’t you have put it somewhere warm or something last night?’ (a remark that had earned you a very brief but loud and hearty laugh). So close that you could barely form a coherent thought beyond ‘please’, ‘more’, ‘fuck’ and his name, all of which slipped from your bitten lips and were muffled by the pillow you still managed to bury your face in (mumbled between a string of cusses, moans, groans, pants, and grunts as he continued to fuck the thoughts from your mind). So close that you lost the ability to consider anything beyond you and your boyfriend, and the feeling of his thick cock stretching your ass out over and over again in the most delicious way.

So far gone that you no longer had it in you to notice the messiness of the bed around you and joke about it: the still open bottle of lube slowly leaking onto the blankets by your right calf, the discarded condom wrapper half-covered by one of the pillows, the sheets coming up at the corners of the bed, the duvet hanging off the side of the bed frame with most of it brushing against the floor. None of it mattered to you because it wasn’t him — his large warm hands on your hips, his wet mouth on your back, his throbbing cock inside of you — and so it might as well have not existed at all.

Completely caught up in the moment until he hit that spot inside of you and you felt something snap as you were sent helplessly spiralling over the edge of climax, shortly followed by him as you felt him stutter to a stop as your name slipped past his lips alongside a slurred string of words you couldn’t quite understand in your state. Finishing just in time to hear that final warning alarm blare beside your head, the sound distant and muffled like your head was underwater as you collapsed forwards and Shaun collapsed on top of you — both exhausted and panting and out of fucks to give as you rode out your highs and basked in that sweaty, breathless afterglow.

He had ten minutes until he had to go and meet Katy for work; plenty of time to start feeling human again — you might even have just enough time to cuddle for a bit before he left.

… or maybe you’d just fall back asleep and let him get ready. Either or.

#sleepingdeath #minors dni #minors fuck off #minors don’t touch #ageless blogs dni #ageless blogs will be blocked #male reader #male reader smut #smut #marvel smut #marvel x reader #shang chi smut #shang chi x reader

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multifandomtrashwritings · 11 months

Text

Pros & cons of laboratory mishaps (Pt.1)

Dottore x Fem! Reader (NSFW in future)

I've tried to keep reader as vague as possible, but she's bisexual (for the fem segment) and her hair is longer than Dottore's. Also uses a dendro delusion.

A/N: Does anyone whose into Genshin also have an interest in BBC's Merlin? Because the whole premise of this fic is the troupe of 'magically feeling each other's touches' that is common over there griping me by the throat and shouting 'Dottore'. This part is also mainly intro stuff since Tumblr has a word limit... But I'm posting the smaller second bit with this anyways :)

If there was one thing your time at the Fatui had taught you, it was that you could never anticipate what life would throw at you. When you’d first signed up (mostly out of necessity) and were given a shiny new dendro delusion you could’ve never predicted that it would lead to becoming close with the infamous second harbinger. And yet here you were, regularly meeting with either Dottore himself or one of his many segments to have various tests taken to try and work out why your delusion didn’t drain your life force no matter how much you used it. And more importantly, how to replicate this ‘fluke’ you’d experienced. It was once such routine meeting that set off a chain of events so bizarre, you’re sure only those involved would believe, a chain that led to perhaps the most confusing relationship status one could have.

Ever since you’d discovered that your delusion didn’t drain your life force like they did your comrades you’d been transferred from being a generic recruit serving under whoever had menial tasks at any particular time to working pretty much directly under Lord Dottore himself. At first the decision terrified you, you’d heard the other new recruits’ gossip about how they’d prefer to work under any harbinger but Dottore and the horror stories many brought back whenever someone was unlucky enough to be assigned to the rare instance of Dottore needing a recruit’s help, or more accurately Dottore’s assistants requesting extra help. You’d never been lucky (Or unlucky) enough to have experienced such things firsthand, but it’s all that you could think of as you nervously made your way through the basement level of Zapolyarny Palace with your pathetically small duffle bag of belongings.

Despite your concerns your first meeting with the harbinger went quite well, or rather what you’d at first assumed was the harbinger and later learnt was in fact a segment, Beta to be precise. Beta was the most ‘normal’ of the bunch, having the most social awareness and least extreme emotions. For the first week you only ever saw Beta, and whenever there wasn’t a need for any samples from you, you were pretty much free to do what you liked. As long as you kept up your training to continue to monitor how your delusion reacted to increasing strength.

And that was the routine you settled into happily, spending at least half a day everyday training and stopping by the lab pretty much every other day for someone to take some blood or stick some sensors on you and monitor various things. At first you only ever delt with Beta, and that was fine since the rumors could very well be true about the ‘real’ Dottore and you were happy to stay in your bubble with the relatively nice segment. After a few weeks though you were introduced to another segment. This one was more like what you’d feared, Delta’s mood changed as quick as the snow pelted the palaces windows, and the moon-like mask he wore only served to exaggerate his crazed smiles and intense eyes. Still, Delta wasn’t unbearable, and you soon worked out that playing to his ego was a guaranteed way to make any encounter with him almost pleasant.

The next segment you met was on accident, after you went out to the training grounds later in the day than you normally would due to a snowstorm. You were met with a small child with a familiar mop of mint blue hair and distinct glowing earring sitting in the snow making a crude snowman. The young segment couldn’t be any older than 10 years old and watched you train intently. After you’d finished and were sitting on a bench to enjoy the gardens while you caught your breath he approached you slowly, introducing himself as Epsilon and bombarding you with questions about your delusion and fighting style, having heard about your unique situation from the other segments. From then on Epsilon had decided he liked you, and often watched you train, eventually convincing you to become an informal mother figure for him, which you were hesitant to do since who knows what the actual Dottore would think of it, but Epsilon was persuasive, and you never heard anything after he started regularly spending time in your small quarters with you.

After Epsilon you met the last few segments all at once, due to them all being in the lab when you’d gone in for your weekly blood test. There were four segments milling around the lab, doing various things and you took a moment to observe them as you tried to decide who you were supposed to be asking to take your blood. There was a segment dressed in a outfit clearly reminiscent of the Sumeru Akademiya’s scholars robes, who you later learned was Alpha, a similar looking segment with more travelling style gear called Gamma, a tall segment noticeably much older than the rest with a distinct beaked mask over his eyes and a very complicated looking outfit called Omega and the last one made you do a double take, it was a woman (a quite beautiful woman your bisexual heart told you) but still clearly a segment who you learnt was called Xi. Omega had taken your blood that day and mentioned something in passing about ‘Prime’ who you assumed was the real Dottore wanting to meet you himself at some stage. His words made you worried, but not as much as when you first learnt you’d be working under him, after all Omega was supposedly the closest in age to Dottore and he was nice enough, if a bit awkward at actually conversing with you on personal level, and you were sure he wouldn’t be worse than Delta, who over time had come to tolerate you, bestowing you with the very friendly nickname of his ‘favourite test subject’.

The day you met Dottore you’d had no time to mentally or physically prepare yourself, having been expecting to see Beta or Alpha you’d trudged down to the lab in your pyjamas after waking up late due to a headache. Swinging the lab door open without really looking inside you only realized something was different when no one scolded you for wearing your pyjama shirt into the lab, since apparently it was more difficult for them to pull the sleeves up enough to draw blood since it was so thick and had nice long sleeves. Glancing around the lab to see where the segments were only to realize there were none and instead at the desk in the centre of the lab, the one none of the segments ever used was unmistakably the real Dottore. He was leaned over the desk writing something, and his hair was mostly similar to Omega’s just a bit longer and quite messy. He wore a long lab coat, and it was fully buttoned up so you couldn’t make out what he was wearing underneath, but as you approached slowly he looked up and noticed you making you freeze for a second before forcing yourself to continue approaching. As you stopped just in front of his desk he gave you a quick once over, and you cursed yourself for not bothering to change into more presentable clothing, you may have gotten comfortable with the segments but this was the actual harbinger! And your first meeting at that. To your relief though he doesn’t comment nor seem to have any reaction to your clothing choice, just motioning you over to a stool and silently drawing the few vials that was always taken for analysis. Afterwards though he spoke to you for the first time, his voice recognizable as similar to the segments, but also completely unique. “I intend to move on to testing the effects of some potions on yourself and your delusion. I expect you to prepare yourself to make observations round the clock when the time comes.” He says, his voice smooth, but noticeably tired. You nod quickly, not wanting to annoy the harbinger and he dismisses you, letting you hurry out of the lab and continue with your day.

#dottore x reader #dottore x fem!reader #dottore x y/n #genshin x reader #dottore x you #genshin dottore #il dottore #genshin imagines #genshin impact

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shiny-jr · 2 years

Note

can I ask whole alphabet with lillia vanrouge? Maybe imposter au?

Warning: Yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Lilia Vanrouge.

Note: By imposter au, I'm going to assume you mean they have sentience. So the imposter au but without the imposter part. I've kind of been trying to keep it so that there would be no difference, no matter the au. It's a little difficult, but I'm managing.

Letters: A - Z

✂ Affection. How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

✄ When you asked the universe for someone who would love you, you didn’t expect the universe to toss you a short enigmatic being that’s thousands of years old and may or may not have committed war crimes, someone who dresses like an edgy teenager and has the same interests as one, who also recently decided to try and blend in with young mages at a school. And yet here you are, now trapped with this crazy(?) old bat.

✄ Lilia is a naturally caring figure. After all, he has cared for several people in his lengthy lifetime. This ancient fae is one of the most open with his feelings and plentiful in his affection. He just thinks you're simply to die for! You’re so endearing and adorable that he constantly finds himself cooing over you. Kisses, hugs, and other gestures of affection are fairly common. He enjoys surprising you this way. Pressing a big kiss against your cheek suddenly so your face heats up in embarrassment, surprising you with a hug as he appears seemingly out of nowhere, a fleeting whisper and giggle by your ear when he’s no where in sight. He loves to take in all your expressions and reactions, and besides he can’t help but tease you a teensy bit.

✄ He doesn��t get worried much, but he does concern himself with your needs and wants. Although he isn’t tripping over himself to follow out your every will, he does quickly and efficiently complete your requests. He’s not desperate, particularly violent, or rash, but he’s obsessive and a little delusional. Perhaps that’s the worst part. He isn’t tiring himself out just to see you smile, he doesn’t lash out, but he’s just utterly fascinated by you. He truly believes he’s doing what’s best for you. Words can’t describe his strange form of love directed at you. He’s an enigma. Sometimes it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking or feeling. He doesn’t ever become cross at you, he treats you almost like a child that can do no wrong. But maybe that’s precisely what you are in his twisted vision. A precious youngster he must care for, whether you want his love or not.

✂ Blood. How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

✄ Extremely. Let’s not forget that despite his youthful appearance, this is an ancient fae we’re talking about. He’s witnessed countless deaths, catastrophes, and wars, his hands are stained and would be overflowing with enough red to drown him. He’s a decorated veteran who's fought in many battles. Lilia can go from taking on and easily defeating a group of attackers, and in just ten seconds he’s back by your side to force convince you to lay your head on his lap and rest.

✄ However, he won’t kill just to kill. He’s both strong and intelligent, so he can easily ward off any enemies with words alone. Besides, he doesn’t actually want to end a life if he doesn’t have to. He can very easily kill any troublesome people that try to interfere in affairs solely between you and him, but death isn’t needed. It’s more of a last resort, which is never needed since Lilia always gets rid of the problem one way or another. Instead, he’ll usually resort to warnings that sound vaguely threatening. Lilia will casually bring something up, a weakness of his enemy, when warning them. Something like: It would truly be a shame if your signifiant other were to discover you went missing. Believe me, I know, the thought of losing an irreplaceable loved one is simply unbearable. I’m sure you wouldn't put your own beloved in such a situation, would you~?

✂ Cruelty. How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

✄ There’s a 50/50 chance that you would be kidnapped, and it’s a thing that happens on a whim. If you are abducted, well, now that your officially under his care (he was determined to make this happen, preferably when you agreed to the idea), you’ll be treated like a princess/prince. You didn’t even know it was possible for him to become more affectionate and teasing. Lilia has raised and watched his own fair share of youths, so no matter how you behave, he’s prepared. He won’t ever mock you. There’s no need to feel ashamed or frightened, this is for your own good, you know.

✄ Don’t be so sad, he’ll wipe your tears away as he comforts you in your sorrow. Is this truly so bad? You’re not alone, you now have him. You also have the others he raised, Malleus, Silver, and Sebek, to keep you company and protect you whenever he’s away. This is your home now, and he’ll be your family.

✂ Darling. Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

This one isn’t really that big of a deal. Having Lilia around is every so slightly vexing. He tends to mess around with you a lot. It’s never enough to the point of frustrating you or making you angry, but it is tiring and even a bit annoying. It seems that he’s always trying to catch your attention in the oddest of ways, it’s practically become a game for him at this point. Even if you try so hard to ignore him, you simply can’t. He won’t let you. He just wants to bask in your attention, so why not get it with a little fun? You can’t ignore him when he appears out of nowhere, right in front of you of all places. His big deep red eyes gazing up at you with an eager twinkle in them, and since he’s so close you can’t help but notice the little fangs on his smug grin.

✂ Exposed. How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

✄ Sometimes, there will be moments where you think you figured this fae out. You may try to predict his behavior, words, or actions, only for him to do something completely unexpected. It’s like he knows, he knows that you’re trying to piece him together but he doesn’t let you, only making it harder for you to figure him out. At times you truly do believe you understand him, especially when he’s been particularly soft, like when he’s fixing your hair or humming to you. He’s genuine, he makes himself vulnerable for you but it’s as if he goes back to this unpredictable mystery as soon as you decide to end the moment. Just how much is genuine? Does he even bare his heart to you? These are all questions you’ve yet to get an answer to.

✂ Fight. How would they feel if their darling fought back?

✄ Entertained, actually. When you try to fight back, argue, or do anything of the sort, he listens attentively with this smile on his face that almost feels mocking. It becomes clear that he’s hanging onto your every word, carefully watching your every move. It’s as if he’s listening to a child throw a tantrum, a kid crying over spilt milk. Still, he waits patiently until you’ve finished and he applauds your efforts! It’s humiliating, it makes you feel as if you were truly nothing by a baby whining, but these are important matters! This was your freedom you were talking about! He’ll then pat your head and smile as he asks: My my, you certainly had a lot to say and a lot of feelings bottled up, dear. Did you get everything off your chest? Was it fun? Are you calm now? There’s truly no winning this.

✂ Game. Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

✄ Oh, no, no, of course it’s not a game...! Initially, at least. Well, it can become a game with enough provocation and insisting on leaving. Really, he tries so hard to make it comfortable for you here, he was beginning to believe that perhaps you were starting to settle in nicely, only for that not to be the case. But if this is the way you want it to be, so be it. He’ll play along until you tire yourself out and willingly return to him. Lilia will allow you to make escape attempts, just to see how your mind works and where the flaws (that allow you to get closer to escaping) he must fix are. Then when you believe you’re so close to achieving freedom, he appears to return you home, squashing your hope. You may have thought you were close to winning, but Lilia was carefully monitoring you the entire time. So truthfully, you were never once close to the freedom you desired.

✂ Hell. What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

✄ Lilia treats you gently and he cares for you greatly, even if he is bothersome at times, he always means well. It seems like he’s never ever angry, not even when you act up against him. But he is to be feared, even though you know in your mind that he would rather stab himself than actually physically hurt you. But let’s remember, you are his dearest, no one else. Perhaps your worst experience with him, failed escape attempts and irksome teasing aside, was catching a glimpse of the violence he was capable. Again, he would never even think of lifting a blade or casting a spell against you! But others? If he must, they will not be spared.

✄ Lilia had left you in the care of Sebek and Silver while Malleus kept you company. Silver was relatively understanding and easy to sneak away from given his habit of sleeping, plus he tended to trust you a bit more. Sebek was harder to shake off, but when Malleus had taken his leave for a moment, Sebek was determined to follow. You knew by now that escape was useless, especially since Lilia would be back any moment now. However, there was something you wanted to see. Both Lilia and Malleus had warned you to not check the orb today, a magical crystal ball the ancient fae had gifted you so you could see him whenever you missed him (like that would happen). But for the first time, you were tempted to use it to satisfy your curiosity. Now that Silver was peacefully dozing off, and Sebek with Malleus were out of the room, it was the perfect opportunity to check the crystal ball. Carefully approaching it, you stared at your reflection before murmuring, show me Lilia. And just like that, you saw him in the orb. All you saw was red on his fists as he stood over the figure of a stranger that lay still in an unnatural position, before a hand from behind you quickly enveloped the orb, blocking you from seeing the rest. It caused you to jump, the sight you saw for a split second making you feel dread. The hand had belonged to Malleus, and he merely gazed down at you while speaking, “Understand that a being like him who’s lived for many millennia and has done many deeds in his lifetime, will have enemies. Enemies that will find out about you and kill you if given the chance, as you are his weakness and you cannot defend yourself. So for your own sake and his, listen the next time he instructs you to do something.”

✂ Ideals. What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

✄ A peaceful simple kind of life is all he wants. In his eyes, it will be short due to the fact that you're human and he’s fae, he knows that, and it kills him. But he tries to live in the moment, the way he’s always lived. So he doesn’t think too much of the future. Although nothing would make him happier than seeing you learn to accept him with all his strangeness and begin to get along with those he had a hand in raising. If you could get along with his son Silver, learn to tolerate Sebek with that prideful nature of his, and even become friends with prince Malleus, then he would be satisfied.

✄ After that...? He’s not sure what he’ll do after. He doesn’t even want to think about it. He doesn’t want to force tortuous forbidden spells on you that would destroy your humanity in exchange to let you live longer, but at the same time he hates the thought of a world without you. There are legends and stories of reincarnation... perhaps he’d dedicate all his time and effort into finding you again.

✂ Jealousy. Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

✄ No, actually, which may not be that surprising. In fact, you’ve never seen the ancient fae get jealous before. Lilia is confident in himself. He’s also a bit showy, so even in the public eye, he won’t hesitate to nestle into your side and have your arm around his shoulder or float behind you with his arms wrapped around your neck like a scarf as he nearly hangs off you. It’s clear that he’s trying to signal that he’s yours and vice versa, and it’s especially obvious judging by his self-satisfied grin.

✂ Kisses. How do they act around or with their darling?

✄ Playful and doting. When you are present, his toothy smile will be constant and he becomes a bit more mischievous. He’ll keep up appearances in public... sort of. Not really though, unless you insist. But it incredibly obvious that he’s involved with you, as if the close lingering touches and the innocent batting of his eyelashes he gives you aren’t signs enough. In private, it’s as if his affection increases even more. He’ll urge you to sit on his lap as he games on his pc; when he has his face against the crook of your neck and you least expect it, he’ll blow raspberries just to startle you or make you laugh; or in more peaceful times he’ll simply hold you in his arms as he talks about anything and everything.

✂ Love letters. How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

✄ Honestly, you probably should have seen this coming from a mile away, before the romantic gestures there were pink/red flags. After all, sometimes this fae has no filter, he just speaks his mind. There was always something he’d say that was off, too many compliments, but you simply brushed them off as him being kind. That is until the letters began arriving. See, Lilia is old, and he’ll admit that he greatly prefers courting through the traditional manner. Actually, it helps him gain your attention, because who doesn’t appreciate bouquets of flowers, long letters sealed with sweet smelling wax, and his attempts at serenading you by screeching singing a song he practiced in his club? It’s probably safe to say that you were intrigued by his attempts, and perhaps even interested in reciprocating. You needn’t know about the darker details of his growing obsession with you. This is all going so well! This is where the 50/50 chance of kidnapping you or maintaining a seemingly normal (as normal as it is to date an ancient being) relationship comes into play.

✂ Mask. Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

✄ No, actually. The Lilia everyone else knows is the same Lilia you know, except you see him as far more affectionate. He has nothing to hide. At least, that’s what he says, but he’s still a mystery to you and most everyone else. Anyways, the only time he may act different, is if someone is a real threat to you. This can’t just be anyone, it takes someone powerful for him to take on this frightening persona, and you won’t see how quickly he goes from cooing over you to plotting this enemy’s death and where to hide the body.

✂ Naughty. How would they punish their darling?

✄ Punish you? No, no, no! Come now, he wouldn’t to that.

✂ Oppression. How many rights would they take away from their darling?

✄ He wouldn’t. I mean, he could, he most certainly could limit your freedom, but he wants to give you the benefit of the doubt. Besides, it’s not like you can get very far anyways, whether he be there or it be the others. Please, believe him, he truly only wants the best for you. He doesn’t want to upset you, so he won’t risk it by taking away your rights. He’s seen how people have withered without certain rights and freedoms, and he doesn’t want that for you. The most he’ll do as punishment, is lecture you.

✂ Patience. How patient are they with their darling?

✄ Very. Extremely. His level of patience must be as long as his life, it’s astounding. No matter what you do or what you say, he won’t ever snap. In fact, he only continues to smile at your pathetic efforts, which makes you begin to lose your temper. There is nothing you can do that will cause his patience to dwindle. You aren’t sure if he has the patience of a saint or if he’s just keeping face so you won’t win, but you’re starting to think that the answers leans more towards the former. It seems that he almost knows what you’re thinking when you wonder if it’s a calm facade of some sort, and his content little smile turns to somewhat taunting. As if daring you to try and get him to crack. It felt as if his eyes were telling you: Go ahead, tire yourself out, it’ll be cute to see you try~

✂ Quit. If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

✄ Escape? Not happening. Leaving? He won’t let you. But death? Death is practically certain. It’s almost guaranteed that Lilia will outlive you. He’ll mourn like anyone else would, but then he’ll quickly wipe his tears and get to work. What’s he doing? Why, trying to find you again, of course! He never particularly believed in or paid attention to the stories of reincarnation in the past, but now he’s researching endlessly. To him it doesn’t feel like you’re truly gone, it just feels like you’re on a lengthy vacation and he’ll see you again soon. The thought of reuniting again fills him with such joy, it makes his heart throb just like it used to when you began exchanging love letters. The reminder that perhaps you’re out there somewhere again, is enough to keep him going until he finds you.

✂ Regret. Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

✄ No, he feels no remorse. This was for the best, it was for you. It was necessary, for your wellbeing. Here with him you would be safe, you could be happy too. There is no letting go. He wishes to spend as much time as possible with you, he wants to treasure every single moment and create as many memories with you as humanely possible. Please, grant him this wish.

✂ Stigma. What brought about this side of them?

✄ Like previous times, I’ll answer this one the same. It depends on the au.

✂ Tears. How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

✄ Oh dear, oh dearest, oh darling, don’t cry! Lilia has this unexplainable ability to comfort and calm those around him, whenever he sets his mind to it. You’re no exception. He using his thumb to wipe away your salty tears, and he’s still smiling. It isn’t mocking, but rather, it’s a soft and gentle smile that soothes you. He slowly shakes his head at your state, speaking softly to you. He isn’t teasing you, or mocking you, but he’s genuinely comforting you with kind words of comfort. Using his magic, he got a box of tissues to float closer and a warm cup of your favorite beverage set itself in front of you. Come, tell him what’s caused your sadness. He’s a wise being, so he’ll come up with suitable solutions. There’s always the chance that he caused it, the stress of the sudden change may be too much. If it is, he won’t mind, he’ll simply have to try harder to make this place more homey for you. He’ll simply have to do everything in his power to make you happy here.

✂ Unique. Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

✄ Let’s see... Lilia gives you a lot of freedom, in fact, you have actually freedom. You’re simply being monitored wherever you go and whatever you do. Which is still surprising, considering that he may or may not have kidnapped you. For a yandere, it’s rare for them to be so lenient and forgiving. Especially considering that Lilia’s form of punishment is lecturing.

✂ Vice. What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

✄ Escape? Haha. Funny. Yeah, noooo. But, if you want something you can just ask. If you’d prefer the more roundabout way, you can simply leave little hints lying around. Lilia quickly pieces it together and he catches on swiftly, he’s amused and will give in to practically anything you ask for, except leaving, of course. But anything else? Consider it done and yours.

✂ Wit’s end. Would they ever hurt their darling?

✄ No. Never. As stated before, he’d rather hurt himself than ever hurt you. If he had to choose between causing you a bit of physical pain or give himself ten times that amount of pain you would’ve felt, he’d choose to brace the pain himself every single time.

✂ Xoanon. How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

✄ Lilia adores you. He reveres you like royalty, and you would know. After all, you know how the ancient fae is with the literal prince of the valley. Because Lilia is so well respected in the valley, he’s able to afford luxuries for you. You practically live in the palace, any silly or stupid demand will be carried out, and every day he will always remind you of the love he holds for you. Winning you over is important to him, but your safety and happiness are first and foremost. Once he’s sure you’re somewhere safe and you’re slowly adjusting to the environment, only then will he focus on winning you over.

✂ Yearn. How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

✄ Does not snap. However, the longest he’ll pine after you before resorting to traditional fae kidnapping, is one year at most. Why? Because as mentioned before, he wishes to spend as much time as possible with you. That’s why! Human lives are so short and fragile, so he has to make the most of it!

✂ Zenith. Would they ever break their darling?

✄ Can one be broken with love? Well, maybe, but Lilia won’t break you. He’s much too gentle and careful with you for that. Please, try to understand this fae. He truly loves you like he’s never loved anyone before. It’s an intense and overwhelming sort of love, something he’s never experienced before and he knows is not normal but he can’t resist. You make him happy, and he wants to make you happy. So won’t you learn to accept this old soul and his fantastical odd ways?

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere writing #yandere prompts #twisted wonderland #twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #yandere lilia vanrouge

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teaboot · 2 years

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I don't remember a lot, but from what memories I do have, the world as a baby or a toddler is a fucking nightmare.

NOTHING is designed for you.

Stair steps if you can't walk are a one-way nightmare. Crawling up? Sure. Crawling down? Well, you can go head first and fall, which is terrifying, or you can slowly scoot backwards and feel for the next step with your feet, which feels pretty much exactly like an adult going down an unfamiliar staircase in the pitch black dark.

Stair steps if you CAN walk are damn near knee height and you have to haul your entire body through steep lunges and squats to get up or down.

Food time? Someone plops your ass in a chair and puts a plate of food on a table at your neck level, hands you a wiggly flat stick and tells you to eat, but don't make a mess. You can't move the plate and you can't stand up or use your hands, even though those are straight up the most accessible and intuitive options. Fuckin' A, thanks.

And car seats, FUCK, the ones with the weird lap bar? One buckle goes between your legs and it's an eternal wedgie. You need to stretch or you get a cramp? Fuck that, you sit in one position for however long it takes. Better not drop your shit with your fumbly bastard hands because you're not getting it back, and then it's just you and the Padded Sensory Deprivation Restraint for all eternity.

And gods above, Christ, TALKING. Even if by some miracle you know EXACTLY the words you want, your tongue is like a lump of meat in your mouth. You KNOW what you want it to do, but it rolls when you don't want it to and you have to focus so much attention if you need to make it perfect.

And you WILL have to make it perfect, because some fucking adult who you know DAMN WELL doesn't consider you a real, thinking human person will ABSOLUTELY ask, "Did you mean this?" Or, "It's pronounced like this", or, HEAVEN ABOVE, "That's a big word!"

Like YEah Bitch, It's a HUGE word, who gives a shit? How does the length of a word matter more than the meaning I was trying to communicate? Can we not get sidetracked, here? Were you actually listening?

Shit. Fuck. And every random stranger and their dog grinning and staring and waving at you like they expect you to do a trick? Getting WAY too familiar? Some people are fine, but others had just the worst vibes. Skin-crawly. Ugh.

Jesus, I haven't thought about it this long in forever. Saccharine, bubbly children's media that literally spells shit out like you've never heard of anything before? Condescending grownups who coo every time you try to communicate?

Fine motor skills. Jesus, does nobody else remember picturing something perfectly in your head, knowing precisely what you wanted to do and how to do it, just for your stupid half-yours, half-not hands or feet or fingers betray you completely? The FRUSTRATION?

Your brain doesn't work, your body doesn't work, you get fevers and chills and aches and your teeth get sore and fall out, everything is too big and you have no freedom over your own body or life.

You're aware of so many of your own limitations, but at the same time there are things that you don't know exist that you're also limited in, and all the while everyone expects you to keep up and not question it.

Everyone is in such a hurry to speed up through the things you want to linger in, and is so painfully slow when you're ready to move on.

And all the while, this vague, faceless shadow lingers over you: That you will someday be Different, Not Yourself Anymore, but One Of Them, and this someday-you will Finally Understand everything you don't, and everything good and wonderful that you really, truly do enjoy will be gone, just like it's gone to Them.

And all you can do is promise yourself that you'll remember. That you'll fight this inevitable transformation into The Other.

You promise yourself that you will hold onto who you are and bury it deep, and that maybe if you're strong enough you won't fade away like they did.

You might succeed. You might save yourself.

But you will come out on the other side changed nonetheless, and you may find yourself feeling very alone in this new world.

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lukevonhagen · 1 year

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my take on marius von hagen: part one, his approach to romance

marius has been with me for over a year now and he pretty much occupies my thoughts 24/7, and this was something i have been itching to write for a while. so... strap in, grab your juice box and your cheetos and let's get this show on the road yeah?

Fair Warning, this will not be under a read more, so i apologize in advance if it gets pretty lengthy. (edit: this post is abt 1.8k words long, wow sorry lol.)

this is going to be a character analysis... sort of; it's an analysis of the version of marius that lives in my brain rent free. given that this is an introductory post to what i believe might be a series of my insane marius ramblings, i think i should provide some insight as to what said marius is like in order for the rest of this post to make sense.

first of all, i embrace realism and i reject canon. in marius' sweet wonders card, he finally reveals the significance of the z dog tag he's always wearing. while i think it's really magical that he was able to move on from blaming himself for his mother's death by having an epiphany staring at the ferris wheel... well, i like to make him worse and i just don't think, ultimately, that it's likely or realistic. the marius in my head has a very hard time trying to justify his own existence. i'm not saying he doesn't want to live, or that he'd put himself in any kind of danger, but i believe that he works very hard in order to justify being alive (to himself). not only does he still grapple with the loss of his mother and the role he believes he had to play in that, but there's a part of him that also blames himself for giann's disappearance.

marius believes that he is a vortex that sucks in everything, that destroys everything in its wake. we know for a fact, above all else, that marius doesn't want other people to have to go down with him.

i also believe (especially due to this description) that marius personally manufactured the image he has as a playboy, as opposed to it being a reputation that was given by others which he eventually leaned into.

allow me to elaborate.

marius, in his desire to avoid people being chewed up in his life and spat back out, would want to control the situation as much as possible. there are a few reasons why i believe he'd make this reputation for himself, which are 1) having control of the narrative of himself and making sure people do underestimate him is precisely how he maintains the upper hand in many scenarios (because let's face it, no one expects ditzy, arrogant marius von hagen to be able to outsmart them), and 2) it's much easier to push people away when he makes himself seem incompetent and undesirable. he may be one of the richest men on the planet, but sometimes money isn't enough to redeem an awful composition.

all of that having been said, marius additionally has to have severe trust issues due to the fact that he has a lot of influence and wealth people undoubtably want to use him for, and said influence is the source of a traumatic experience he went through as a child that would forever change the way he'd interact with others in the future. if you remember, marius vaguely alludes to an incident in will of the trees.

he mentions it again in the card in the darkness when he and rosa get trapped in a dark cave and he begins to panic, only this time he's a little more detailed about what happened to him in order to explain his anxiety to her.

then, he actually gives the details of what happened in his personal story.

mc remembers the hints marius had dropped to her a couple of times regarding this incident, so she then asks:

i don't believe marius actually blamed himself for his mother until this was said about him. his mother is the root of all things; he thinks that if he was never born, she would have never died, and perhaps she and giann would still be around and would be happy and healthy. he convinces himself that his existence destroyed his family. the stress of his feelings and anxiety makes him extremely sick as a kid.

all of this was too much for a young marius; now, remember when i said that i reject canon? that's important, because i don't think he ever properly recovered from this episode. i fully believe that marius does need and should go to therapy as an adult, and hasn't done so. my headcanon as to why he didn't, and why he gives off the impression that he's fine now and everything is fine now, is because he wised up and realized that he was being a burden on others and his mother's death would be in vain if he did so.

marius, tired of being a strain on the people he loves, pretends to be mentally sound to avoid his father and brother worrying about him. the way he chooses to cope with this is to disassociate himself with these events that happened to him, to the point where he talks about them like it wasn't him personally that experienced it. (i might touch upon this again in a future post if it becomes relevant.) he can't let others know that things bother him, because it can be weaponized; it would make him look weak, and the last thing he wants is anyone worrying about him but himself, or anyone to take advantage of that weakness. consider this as a strategy he adopted from the "conceal, don't feel" philosophy.

that having been said, a personal acceptance to "get over it" to stop feeling like he needs an emotional babysitter in his relatives =/= a lack of resentment towards others for how that was handled. marius nearly died due to the cruelty of a jealous relative, and his family was right in trying to protect him (as burdensome as he feels he may is), and he learns pretty quickly that he cannot trust others.

he still is one of the most influential people alive, and that means there's going to be a slew of people walking in and out of the revolving door leading into his life that are going to want to take advantage of that fact. it also goes beyond just people wanting to manipulate him, but he doesn't enjoy playing along in this circus of social hierarchy, and doesn't enjoy the people hanging around in these spaces. because they're ingenuine, they have no merit to him, and quite simply put he's looking to fill his life with color and sincerity.

i propose that... in order to consider a romantic relationship with someone, despite how much he longs for one, he would need to deeply get to know the person first and it would take a significant time to do so... and i know what you're thinking, it's just like a regular relationship, right? getting to know someone before deciding if you want to be with them? except, to marius, this is extreme; this social sphere he occupies has effectively chewed him up and spat him back out, because he's at the top of the top. his father is the wealthiest man in the world. marius by virtue of being a von hagen is essentially on the same level as royalty, and his family name is not enough to protect him. he has to be sharp, and he needs to be alert and constantly on guard.

he'd have no idea what someone's intentions may be with him when he meets them and he knows better than to blindly trust a person's seemingly apparent good faith, but also... he's so worried about dragging people down that he'd be almost afraid to consider it. it isn't enough that people want to use and abuse him to their hearts' content, but they'd try to tear up anyone else who went in there with him, and marius would be afraid of that outcome. he's already ruined the lives of his mother and his brother in his failure to protect them from the circumstances that removed them from his life. he would be unwilling to cause someone else he cares about to be put in the same situation, and he wouldn't be able to bear it if they also ended up abandoning him.

all of that leads me to say: i believe he would be more scared and avoidant upon realizing he was falling in love with someone, rather than immediately trying to pursue it with all he's got like he would his other endeavors.

the reason? it's so simple to pursue art. art is an arbitrary passion of his that doesn't impede on anyone else but himself, nor is it influenced by any outside forces; marius has full control over it. the same goes for his company; no one is going to sit there and hold his hand with his newfound ceo duties. he's always been capable of pursuing things on his own. romance is different; romance involves putting his young and fragile heart on the line to go after a whole other independent and outside entity not knowing whether or not he's going to face rejection.

eventually, i believe he'll completely learn to get over the hurdle, but in the interest of transparency... i think he's going to need a nudge from the other person first. a sign it's reciprocated, before he has to put his heart on ice.

i think it's on brand for marius to be a tease when you meet him; it is a genuine facet of his personality, but it's also something that feeds well into his reputation. he's assuming that people are going to know exactly who he is when he runs into them on the street, so he doesn't even bother dropping his pretense. but, i do think that extends... he doesn't drop that mask right away, it takes months and months, and lots of patience and understanding in order to unravel the mystery that is marius von hagen. he's going to want to gauge whether or not it's something he wants to commit to, and if it is, he's going to have to be prepared to unpack all that baggage. he would have to believe that this is going to be a happy ending for him, that his fairytale won't be a tragedy, in order to see a path forward. once marius goes into something, he doesn't step out.

so, he won't put up that much of a fight if he starts to fall in love with you, but that doesn't mean he would be eager make that leap of faith without getting a hint that there will be a safety net ready to catch him when he falls.

#marius von hagen #tears of themis #lu jinghe #tot marius #z rambles #i might end up editing this post a dozen times as i think of new things to say

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 5 months

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Hunted by a sunless city that never sleeps (part 4)

Dracule Mihawk x reader. NSFW!!!

Werewolf!AU for the short series that began with Built a haven for your love (until I let you fall apart). Can be read as a standalone.

This is part four of five. This fic is dedicated to @alphaash99.

Title taken by another song by Beast in Black -Moonlight Rendezvous- since it's not part of the main continuity. Kuraigana Island is Mihawk's home in the manga/anime.

Shanks being in a relationship with his crew's doctor is an allusion to this headcanon list and then to this fic, even though they take place in a different continuity.

*****

It is a thunder that awakes Mihawk, the loudest since the fury of the elements has been unleashed on Kuraigana Island, sign of a lightning that must have struck the ground just outside the castle; he opens his eyes, already alert even though he is instinctively aware he is not in danger, and after a moment he sighs, since not even the world's strongest swordsman can control the weather even though that persistent storm is seriously starting to annoy him.

He turns on his side in the dark room, reaching out to take your warm body in his arms and keep you close until he falls asleep... and a moment later he stops dead.

Because once more, the other half of the bed is empty and you are not there, and for Mihawk that fact is not simply a little disappointing (he has grown to like falling asleep with you close, like a child with his favourite teddy bear; it is vaguely embarrassing, but after all there are no witnesses to his little guilty pleasure) or disconcerting (where could you have gone, in the middle of the night? Maybe to relive yourself? Or to take a snack from the kitchen, since you skipped dinner?)... That night, of all the nights, it is terrifying.

Mihawk curses under his breath - a much rarer occurrance than a full moon; how could he be so stupid? He had perceived you were scared for what was about to happen, and that he needed to keep an eye on you, until dawn if needed, but the vigorous sex you had dragged him in (Gods, intimacy was always good and intense between the two of you, but that had been the best fuck of his life, no doubt about it) had put him to sleep without him even realizing, giving you the chance to slip away.

Where are you? Is it already too late? Mihawk's fear is only partially assuaged when, resting his hand on the other half of the mattress, he perceives a trace of your body warmth, which means you must have just left. He quickly stands, grabbing his lounging robe off the back of a chair, and quickly puts it on as he strides out of the room.

"(name)!" he calls out as he crosses the empty corridor "(name), where are you?! Dammit, woman... answer me!"

In the end he finds you, as you try and scuttle along towards the least used wing of the castle; he grabs you by the wrist, resisting when you desperately try to free yourself. You are also wearing a night gown, and when he sees you shiver your lover knows it is not because of the cold.

"Let me go."

"(name), you're going to be fine, let me help you..."

"You can't help me!" you cry, frustrated "No one can; and yes, I'm going to be fine, as long as you leave me alone and I can find a room with a door sturdy enough to withstand the charge of an angry rhino. You... you don't understand; you are in danger, you need to get as far away as you can..."

"I know." he interrupts you, relaxing his grip on your wrist just enough so he's not hurting you, still making sure you cannot escape "I know everything, (name)."

You blink. "What...?"

"I know you are a werewolf. And that you are going to change tonight."

That is the precise moment the storm surrounding the castle and the whole island finally subsides; the rain stops falling, and the cold gale that had already uprooted more than one tree eases in a gentle breeze. You notice nothing of it, though, and not just because your eyes are focused on Mihawk and not on the view out of the window; a bomb could explode in the corridor, and you would ignore it all the same.

For a whole minute you are physically unable to talk, mouth hanging open and your legs that for a moment threaten to collapse under you; you know you are awake, but the statement you have just heard is so unexpected, so utterly absurd, you would easily believe you are dreaming, because... because...

"How." you say in the end, without even making it sound like a question.

"I have a friend who is a werewolf; he told me for your kind shifting into wolf form is usually deliberate, unless one is very young and has yet to learn to control it, or in case of a strong emotion... or during the plenilune, when the influence of the moon is too strong to resist. When you told me you necessarily had to be on your island on full moon nights, without exception, I realized it had to be because that is the only place where you can transform in complete safety. Also, there was your flask."

"My... flask?" you repeat numbly, a moment before realizing "Oh..."

"I... must admit, I was curious to know why you always kept it with you, and kept drinking from it in secret; I feared it was a medicine, and you hadn't told me you were sick in order not to make me worry. So, about one year ago, I waited for you to be busy with training and took it from your bag; I recognized the smell of monkshood, and my friend told me werewolves drink it in order to control the transformation in the days before the full moon, when it is already harder for some of them to keep it at bay."

Mihawk looks expectantly at you, but you are still unsure how to react; there is no one in the whole world you are closer to, except your mother, and you know he is an honourable man who sincerely cares about you, but knowing that he, a foreigner, a human, is aware of your secret is nonetheless terrifying, something you have been taught to avoid at all cost ever since you were a baby.

Also, for the first time since you first met, you are angry - and hurt. The truth is, you don't even need the concoction the island's herbalist prepares for you, since you have never had troubles controlling your shifting (except obviously during the full moon, when you simply can't help it) but you drink it nonetheless when you meet your lover, at his home or elsewhere, just to be sure. And now, you find you, it was because of that very abundance of caution that Mihawk discovered what you are...

"You shouldn't have gone through my things, even if out of worry for my health." you point out, your arms folded on your chest "I wouldn't have expected that of you."

"You're right." he admits; Mihawk looks sincerely remorseful "I was wrong to do it, whatever the reason. I am sorry, (name)."

You wonder whether you are the first person to hear him apologize since he was still child; you sigh, appreciating his repentance even though it can't make him magically forget what he knows... and has known for a year already.

Why didn't you tell me?, you would like to ask, and maybe you will, once you have the time.

"If you know what is happening, you will understand it is not safe for you to be near me." you softly point out, intimately aware of how fast your time is running out; you are shivering, feeling the wolf raising her head inside you "I'm serious, Mihawk; I... I cannot control it. I hoped getting drunk would help, make her ill enough to render her harmless, but I woke up and I was fine."

Your lover takes a step towards you. "I am not afraid of you."

"But you should be. Normally we are not dangerous, but if we are alone when we shift... there is something in the solitude that upsets the wolf and makes controlling their instincts much harder."

Another step. He is now close enough your wolf can smell him, and her reaction, that you can feel burning inside you, separate from your rational mind but somehow linked to it, is somehow blurred... familiarity and fear meshed together, as if she couldn't help feeling a pull towards him, and at the same time her instincts told her to attack. Part of you would wish nothing more than to embrace him, and share with him that part of your life you have been taught to keep secret whatever the cost; the other feels the irresistible instinct to run as far from your lover as you can, to keep him safe... and sparing yourself the need to witness his reaction.

"Mihawk, please..." you murmur; you have never liked begging (unless you are doing it in an -ehm- intimate setting) but this is what you are doing now, you are imploring him, ready to throw yourself at his feet to make him reason "You don't understand. I know how powerful you are, but... have you ever fought a werewolf?"

"Never."

"And you never should. This is the first time in my life I shift away from my island, away from my people; there is nothing more dangerous than a lone wolf, because they can't feel the calming presence of their pack and den. I can't guarantee I won't lose control, and if I do, I could hurt you."

Mihawk nods, as if accepting your explaination, but your relief lasts only for a moment before he steps even closer, and takes both of your hands in his to kiss them. "You know what I feel for you." he murmurs "I understand why you kept this matter secret from me, but I want to be part of your life, even of the scariest, hardest aspects of it. Don't hide for me, please, because from you I never have."

Your skin has started itching, a tell-tale sign of the wolf's fur about to spur and cover it, but you barely notice, only aware of the tears filling your eyes, and of the hands holding yours.

"If I hurt you I will never forgive myself."

"I have been wounded before. I will heal."

"Not if the wolf bites your head off; and if I wound your arm, I could make it impossible for you to use a sword properly, and we both know that would be a fate worse than death. Also..."

You bit your lip, because telling him you were in love with him was easy, not last because you had come to suspect he felt the same, but this confession is immensely harder, because you have no idea how he could react. "Also, I don't want you to fear me." you admit in the end, your voice barely raising above a whisper "I know how brave and strong you are, but... what if you decide I'm not worth it? What if you decide you better stay away, and save yourself the trouble? What if you simply can't look at me the way you did before?"

"(name)..."

Mihawk sighs; he doesn't tell you, but hearing you express your fears has made him even more determined to witness your shifting, to prove that nothing in the world, not even a God descended from the heavens to order him, could ever make him fear you, or make him look at you differently. "I have known the truth for more than a year." he gently points out "Have you ever had the impression I was treating you differently, or that I cared you less than before?"

"... no. Never. But..."

"But nothing, (name). I am not afraid of you; and whatever danger you might pose, I can face it. Now, where were you going?"

You tell him that, when you had awoken suddenly and felt the moon's call, you had decided to lock yourself up in a room at the top of one of the castle's tower, whose heavy doors (whose key you would have by then already tossed out of a window) would hopefully stop the wolf from escaping, keeping her prisoner until dawn.

"And how did you intend to leave the room without the key, once you had shifted back to your human form?"

"I... hadn't decided. I thought I could call until you heard me, and then I would find a way to explain it."

Mihawk smirks, clearly amused by your half-cooked plan. "Well, you have no more need to lie or pretend; I'm here, and I won't let you face the shifting alone."

He is so determined, so uncompromisingly sure of his convinction, you easily see it would be impossible to change his mind, even if you had time to plead your case - which you don't.

"Then you have to do something for me." you tell him, still holding his hand in yours "Let's go back to take Yoru, and my derringer."

"No, (name)."

"Yes, Mihawk. Please, we need to hurry, I have very little time left; don't make this even harder than it already is."

You sound desperate and you know it, but fortunately it works, and your lover accompanies you back to the master bedroom, where you both retrieve your favourite weapon.

"You should start spending every plenilune here." Mihawk mentions, which flabbergasts you.

"Why on earth should I do something like that? I just told you how dangerous it is, what...?"

Your question is answered even before you can fully utter it, when Mihawk glances meaningfully at the unmade bed next to you, and then smirks. "If that is the effect the shifting has on you, I'll be disappointed a full moon doesn't happen every night." he points out, perfectly serious; he balances Yoru against his shoulder, and brushes the fingers of his free hand against your lips "Is this a side effect of your wolf side getting the better of you?"

You smirk, flattered despite the fear and guilt. "Most people do mate during the plenilune, or have sex with their human partners soon after shifting back; it is said the full moon has an aphrodisiac effect, and wolves know no shame about their bodies or desires."

"Hmm, all the better for me then..."

Your conversation has to be cut short, given you can feel the need to shift more and more urgent with any passing moment; you retrieve your derringer from its holster, and follow Mihawk out of the bedroom. Two minutes later, you have both reached the room you had chosen, completely devoid of furniture and other things you could destroy while in wolf form, since they are not exactly indoor animals; you doubt your lover would have the time to slip outside and lock you in, but you make sure he has the key, and then offer him the butt of your gun, to wield together with Yoru.

"I have no silver bullets at hand, and I know you have no particular experience with guns, but if I were to attack you, aim for my heart. I'm serious, Mihawk." you add, seeing your lover is once more ready to argue "I cannot guarantee I'll be able to control myself since I'm alone, and away from my island for the first time. If I were to shift back, and realize I have killed you, I... I don't know what I would do. Please."

Your lover, while clearly unhappy, does take the gun from your hand. "Is your mother a werewolf as well?" he asks, curious.

"She is. Shifting is passed through blood, and since most people on my island intermarry, there is actually more than a fifty percent chance of any child being born a werewolf, and even more if both parents have the wolf-blood themselves. Everyone in my maternal family has it, so I would probably also pass it to my children, if I were to... well..."

He doesn't need to ask you to finish the sentence, since you told him about your inability to have children, and the dramatic reason behind it, on your first night together. He was clearly sympathetic, but he never told you whether that disappointed him, whether he ever thought about having children with you; and you never had the courage to ask.

"Anyway, I think I'm ready." you are quick to add; what is the point of lingering on what could never be? You ask Mihawk to keep his distance from you once you have begun shifting, and then you take his face in your hands, kissing him deeply "I love you." you murmur; you have been aware of that for a long time, much longer than you have been able to tell him, but suddenly it is as if your heart were overflowing with affection and desire, now that you feel so in danger of losing him "Please, if you do care about me, look after yourself."

"I am not afraid of you, (name)."

"That is exactly what worries me..."

You sigh, aware you have done everything you could to protect him, but unable to feel any consolation about the fact. Silence has fallen in the room; the whole island appears to stand still around you, a calm after the storm heavy with anticipation; alone at the centre of the room, you sigh, aware you have neither the strength nor a reason to linger anymore, and disrobe, leaving your gown in a corner of the floor. Mihawk follows your every movement, both anxious and fascinated; he has never seen anything as enchanting as your naked body bathed by the pale moonlight, and he will tell you, he promises himself, as soon as he can.

You smile at him, still worried but intimately grateful for his presence in a moment no wolf should ever face alone, and then your gaze is irresistibly drawn to the large ogive window in front of you... and to the shining full moon by now fully risen in the blue-black sky. It is a breath-taking scene, still now that you are an adult who has shifted hundreds of times; the pale light falls on you, and you smile, closing your eyes to better savour its caress on your naked skin...

And then it happens, as fierce and brutal as a bullet in your stomach and at the same time unspeakably pleasurable, as if something hidden inside you had been finally set free after a lifetime of captivity. As a young girl you have heard an older cousin mention the moon's call feels not unlike a powerful orgasm, and at the time you were way too young to understand that comparison, but now you know she was right... and how lucky you are, to be able to experience both regularly in your life.

Still with your eyes closed, you feel the transformation begin, the wolf inside you taking over your human rationality; soft fur, the same colour as your hair, covers your body, while a familiar but still peculiar sensation just above your buttocks reveals you have just grown a tail - long, fluffy, useful to balance you as you run or move over uneven ground, communicate with your pack-mates, and keep you warm in winter. Knowing your legs will not support you for much longer, you get down on your knees, arching your back as you feel your bones change shape to adapt to a quadruped walk. Wolves have twenty-four ribs, just like humans, but the shape of their skeleton is completely different, and the most painful part of the shifting is feeling the bones of your face elongate in a muzzle: your jaw becomes wider, your regular but innocuous teeth grow into fangs... and your ears move higher on your head, taking a triangular shape.

As usual, what makes you realize you are by now more wolf than woman are your senses. Your eyes can no longer see colours, the world having taken a blue-yellow hue that makes it hard, sometimes, to recognize shapes and objects; your sense of smell, on the other hand, is much more powerful, allowing you to perceive the presence of a rabbit at thirty paces from you, or the rain in the air after a storm... or the delicious chocolate cake the cook has prepared in the afternoon to celebrate a birthday on the next day. In wolf form you can't eat or drink what your human self can and even enjoys, while you appreciate raw meat... especially from a prey you have fallen yourself.

In less than two minutes, the shift is complete; you open your jaws, tasting the smell of dust on your tongue, and then throw your head back, vocalizing a long, triumphant howl that spreads in the night all around you, a serenade to the moon in thanks for the gifts she has conceded you once more. As the piercing note resonates in the night, you lift your ears, waiting for the wolves nearby to answer your call, so that you can find each other and reunite the pack.

But no one answers. You howl again, and a third time, still with no results, which immediately puts you on edge. Where is everyone? It is already unusual no one is in the room with you, since most families and groups of friends tend to gather together to spend the plenilune together, and your den (that is, the fortress where you were born, the largest building on your island, where your family has resided for centuries) is always full of wolves, members of your pack or friends who came to celebrate the moon's gift together.

Not this time; this time, you realize as you stand on your four legs, stretch your muscles and look all around you, you are all alone - which is the worst situation possible for a wolf to be in, despite the comforting presence of the moon that you can see through an opening (the wolf doesn't have the concept of window, just like she doesn't know what a ship is, or a gun, or anything man-made in nature) in the stone wall above you. Where is everyone? Did no one came? Or did the pack decide to meet somewhere else, and no one told you? Where is your mother?, you wonder as anxiety starts mounting inside you; where has she gone? She would never leave you alone. On every single plenilune of your life, ever since you were a tiny wolfnik barely out of her womb, she has always been close to you, her familiar and beloved face has been the first you saw after opening your glowing yellow eyes; even now that you are an adult, the future alpha of the great pack, and don't need guidance or protection anymore, you are still used to have her next to you. You need to have her next to you, or at the very least, you need to know she is safe, that no accident has occurred her and no larger animal has made her their prey.

Something very strange is happening, something new that you cannot comprehend, and that makes you nervous, your fur standing on end while a low growl escapes your jaws. Where are you? This is not your den, nor any place you have ever seen on the sea-surrounded land your pack inhabits; it is a large but stone-enclosed place, completely empty and smelling of old, as if no one had inhabited it for many moons. The dust in the air makes your nose itch; you can see no exit and the three openings, out of one of which you have seen the moon, are too high for you to jump to them. How did you come to this place? Who brought you, and only you, here? Have you been kidnapped? Perhaps someone wants to hurt you? If so, they will soon discover they have bitten more than they can chew...

You are, of course, perfectly safe, and simply victim of what your people calls the loner's (or traveller's; you are unfortunately suffering from both of them at the same time) confusion. The plenilune ritual is not simply a physiological obligation, a need you can't fight and might as well satisfy in the comfort of your own home, but also a spiritual experience, an occasion to honour your origins and seek communion with nature and your own kin; it is a time for celebration, for strengthening the bonds of family and friendship, and to leave behind the rationality and rules of human life, the need for order and law and prudishness, to simply feel, and enjoy, and be. Also, wolves are a territorial, social species, more at ease in their own home than in the vast world outside, and surrounded by the people they love and trust than on their own; which is also why most of your people prefer experiencing the shift at home, beyond the natural need for safety and secrecy, and and surrounded by family and friends.

This has never been truer for anyone than for you, who have spent every single plenilune of your life in your fortress, the place were you were born and have always lived, with your mother by your side and your loved ones surrounding you; those elements are as inextricably part of the ritual as the shifting itself, so much you couldn't imagine it without them... which in turn means that finding yourself in wolf form, alone and in a place you don't know, is completely unexpected, as well as scary. In theory, you should be able to make sense of that state of affairs; even in wolf form you are not a mindless creature, unable to reason and remember your life as a bipedal being, and you had hoped that, once shifted, you would remember that the storm had forbidden you from returning home in time for the ritual, and that you were in your lover's home, away from yours but safe and taken care of.

You don't. Perhaps because it is your first time, or simply because the anxiety and fear of the last hours made it easier for the wolf's instincts to take over, thinking rationally and interpreting the new, unexpected situation around you has never been so hard, and after a minute of confusion, the wolf decides she doesn't like not knowing where she is, and what has happened to the rest of her pack - at all.

A moment later, she realizes she is not alone.

#One Piece #One Piece Live Action #OPLA #Dracule Mihawk #Dracule Mihawk x reader #Mihawk #Mihawk x reader #Steven John Ward #Bellona's stuff

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his-red-right-hand · 4 months

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his red right hand Chapter Five

You awoke with a groan as your alarm blared from your bedroom, your tv hissing with the familiar white noise of static. Must’ve fallen asleep watching the movie. It would almost be peaceful if your alarm would just shut the fuck up.

You forced yourself upright with a hiss of pain, your side twinging uncomfortably as you moved in a way that aggravated the stitches there. Pausing to let the pain recede, deep breaths, you mostly stumble into your bedroom. Collapsing onto your bed, you hit your alarm maybe harder then it deserved. Just had to remember to breathe. Lying there until the pain subsided down to an ache, you looked over at the red numbers of your alarm clock, yup, seven thirty, it was still set for your regular shifts. Well, at least you had a few hours to get yourself ready without tearing out the stitches holding you together.

Plus, whilst the cut He gave you on your neck hadn’t been serious enough to require any sort of intervention, you still needed to work out a way to hide it. You didn’t want every customer and co-worker to know you almost got your throat slit. The cut on your collar bone had needed some butterfly stitches, so spaghetti straps were out for a while as well.

And you needed to shower. And to eat something, no matter how unappealing it was. Dying of an infection seemed almost anticlimactic after meeting The Ghost Face, and you were not immune to judgy nurse face, so you would be taking your antibiotics. Maybe you could buy some granola bars or something on the way home from work; they seemed like the least offensive option that required zero effort.

It was slow work getting yourself up, cleaned, and fed. Well, for a given measure of fed, you found some leftover noodles in your fridge that still smelled mostly okay. It was a good thing that you were working a half day today, other wise you’d be late. Hopefully you’d get faster at this as you got used to working around the hole in your side.

On the bright side, you had worked out how to avoid awkward neck wound related enquiries. You dug around in the vague pile that was your jewellery box and found a choker make of thick black velvet ribbon. You thought it might have been a gift from someone; a little goth for your tastes normally, but it covered what you needed it to and wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. And also thank goodness for low rise jeans, you didn’t want to imagine how uncomfortable you would’ve been with a waistband pressing up against your stitches all day. Along with a mostly clean t-shirt you were only putting your Docs on from being ready to head out.

Now just to try and fill the hours until you needed to leave.

The urge to break your no getting stoned before work rule was high.

Heh, high, funny, not.

You couldn’t get your brain working for long enough to read anything, hadn’t been able to for so long now. One of the few joys you had in life taken away from you, just like everything else. A small, treacherous part of your brain decided to remind you precisely where on the kitchen counter you’d left the bottle of pain meds you’d been given and that you had a bottle of vodka in the top drawer of your freezer. You quickly pushed that thought aside, you’d meant what you told Jed, you weren’t going to kill yourself. You just wouldn’t be particularly upset if you found out you had a terminal illness. Or if a local serial killer decided to kill you.

After all, what was the point of this endless empty waste of day after day after day after day.

Fuck, now you really wanted to get stoned.

You moved over to your tv, switching it on and, more gingerly than you’d like, settled yourself onto the couch. A bit of channel surfing, looking around for something nice and mindless you could half pay attention to until it was time to leave. Just turn off your brain for a little bit as you checked out the tube. Just try and mellow your vibes right the fuck out without any chemical assistance.

How the fuck did you normally get into work without being a complete wreck? Oh right, you were normally too exhausted to really think; and then interacting with the general public killed what remained of your brain cells. And once you were done you got really fucking high. You hoped this would be the only half day you had to work; you weren’t sure you could do your job without throwing things at people if you were actually awake for it.

MTV ended up being your saving grace, a nice procession of music videos to soothe and file down the sharp corners of your mind. Maybe you should go to the record shop once you were done with work for the day, you hadn’t been for such a long time now. Maybe you could see if you actually enjoyed music again, the way you used to.

Nope, that was just being fucking depressing again.

You lifted your head to look at the clock on the wall, about 20 minutes until you should leave. Fuck it, you could be early. You had probably gotten all of the not depressing thoughts you could out of your brain, an hour and a bit wasn’t too bad. You headed to your front door, grabbing your watch out of the little bowl where it lived with your keys and wallet, putting it on before shoving the latter two into your messenger bag. your Docs went on with only a little pain thanks to some careful manoeuvring. Then, a few careful moments considering your collection of cassette tapes before taking Temple of the Dog down and opening the case, slotting the tape into your walkman.

Say Hello 2 Heaven filled your ears as you put on your headphones, the music easing a few more of your jagged edges. Taking a moment to check your appearance in the mirror hanging by the door, yup, no knife wounds visible. Time to do this.

Opening your door and stepping out to another hot Florida day, its intensity quickly muted by your sunglasses. Locking your door behind you, you started your walk to the bus stop that’d take you into down town. Maybe you could try picking up a copy of the gazette before you got to the book store, check out how your interview with Jed went. Might even be worth getting a subscription, it was apparently the best way to keep up with your local serial killer, if the general gossip you heard about town and the odd headline you’d seen were to be believed.

Not that you generally believed guys who promised you a lot of fun, the last time it had even been close to true it was your Dad telling you about having your birthday at Showbiz Pizza. But it might be nice to try and keep track of him, you know, seeing as you’d met him and all.

A vague plan for day in mind, you relaxed at the bus stop, letting the music wash over you as you got on the bus, tapping your bus pass; and rode it into Rosewood proper. Getting off a few minutes later, you walked down the high street, heading into the convenience store a couple of blocks away from your job to grab the paper, picking up some granola bars as well whilst you were there. Now at least when your shift was up you could head straight home. After you paid for your purchases you walked another block to the Sunrise Diner, home to shocking amounts of cholesterol and a passable cup of coffee. And somewhere you can read through the paper for a little bit before you actually needed to get to work.

You settled onto a seat, pulling your headphones down for a moment to smile at the waitress and order “Just coffee, thanks.” Taking a moment to flip the tape that’d come to an end, Times of Trouble starting back up, and weren’t that the truth. Adding cream and sugar to your coffee, you took a slow sip. Dang, that was somewhat better than mediocre. Eh, Dale Cooper you were not, but you were drinking it more for the semblance of energy than for the flavour. Pulling the paper from your bag, you let your eyes take in the headline ‘Roseville Ripper Strikes! Three Dead and His First Survivor’ before skimming through the article. You’d read it properly later, to give it the attention it deserved. But given that you were present for the events it was reporting, you felt okay skipping the recap.

‘...families are heartbroken. The Gazette was able to speak to the survivor of the attack, who is in hospital in stable condition and recovering well, who has requested to remain anonymous.’

You hadn’t, fuck you could do that, but damn did you own Jed for that one. You didn’t exactly want to become famous as “That Girl Who Didn’t Die When Stabbed”. Should look into buying him a bottle of something nice to drink, like Scotch or something? That was what journalists drank, right?

‘...to remain anonymous. They were not part of the initial attack, nor are they a resident of the building. They told the Gazette that they were invited to the party by a friend attending courses at Roseville University; and had stepped out to get some air when they noticed a flash of light. They went to investigate, assuming that there was perhaps something untoward going on. But nothing could prepare them for the horror they found. The brutality of the attack already over, and instead a monster viewing his victims.

They spoke about the terror of the realisation of what they were witnessing froze them to the spot; and they were then attacked by the Ghost Face Killer. Apparently content to leave this new victim to bleed out; he then retreated from the scene, perhaps fearing being discovered by others?

Luckily for them, their fellow party goers quickly discovered the scene. An ambulance was called to rush them to the hospital where they underwent emergency surgery for their injuries. They were very frank about their confusion upon initially waking up; having believed that they seen their last the previous night. They credited their survival less on any form of luck or blessing, but instead they believe themself to be “Too much of an afterthought” to warrant a more thorough attack.

When asked if they had any advice should anyone else be unfortunate enough to encounter the killer that is haunting our town, their response was simply “Run as fast as you can.” A chilling take away from an encounter that that person is unlikely to ever forget.’

Reading it in print like that, it was easy to pretend it hadn’t happened to you. That it was all just a very vivid, if in somewhat poor taste, dream. That you got your fun new scar in the making in some sort of regular misadventure that involved too much alcohol, and the unironic use of the word hijinks.

Ugh.

You were halfway through your first coffee refill, trying to get your thoughts in some semblance of order before you inflicted yourself upon the general public, as you looked up at the clock. Shit, time to face the music. You pulled a five from your wallet, leaving it next to your cup as you folded the paper back up into your bag and headed out.

Roseville Books was Roseville’s premiere bookshop, if you didn’t count the Borders in the mall, with respectable genre collections and a somewhat knowledgeable staff. Even if they did tend to err on the side of sarcasm when it came to answering dumb questions. Was the large True Crime display about unsolved murders in the front window potentially in poor taste? Yes. Did they have to partially disassemble it at one point because they sold out of all the titles in it? Also yes. There’s nothing quite like a serial killer on the loose to drive interest.

You hear the jangle of the bell on the door as you push it open, heading inside, the soft sounds of Top 40 radio filling the air. The shop stereo was restricted to that after some uptight asshole had complained about the staff picks for music. Shoegaze was apparently not for everyone. You gave a quick wave to Zoey behind the counter as you headed into the backroom to hang up your bag in your cubby and get your ever so chic green work vest, proudly displaying your name badge.

Devin looked up from their desk, smiling and looking relieved as he saw you. “Hey there! You doing okay?” Oh no, he was getting up, please don’t go in for a hug, okay, he was just getting up to talk. Thank fuck.

“A little slower than normal, but not too bad, thanks.” You managed a tight smile, not really wanting to admit that the only reason you were here was that you were terrified that if you lost momentum on the sort of life you were managing to scrape by with that you would never be able to get up again.

“Okay, well, you’re going to replace Zoey up on the tills, got a stool for you to sit on and everything; and she’ll handle floor questions and join you on the tills if it gets busy. All good?”

“Yup, sounds great. I’ll - ah - get right on that.” You took a step back, not really sure how to best retreat from the conversation. Like, it was nice they cared, it was definitely better than working for an asshole, but you didn’t quite know how to react to your boss being the one to show the most concern for your welfare out of everyone you knew, including yourself.

You were stopped by Devin clasping a hand to your shoulder, giving it a little squeeze as he said “I’m really glad you’re alright.” You manage a quick nod and bustle your way back out into the shop, letting out a long breath before schooling your features into customer approachableness. You walked next to Zoey by the tills, seeing your aforementioned stool, hopping up to perch on it.

“You good there?” she asked you, her concern mostly cursory.

“Yup, all set. And hopefully back to full speed in not too much time.” The doctors had said you should be most of the way recovered in about 3 weeks, the internal damage taking a little longer. Apparently you’d only been mildly stabbed in the kidney.

“Heard you got attacked or something?”

Fuck. Can’t just admit to meeting a serial killer seeing as you actually had anonymity. Spin something, spin something fast. “I got lightly mugged. Luckily you can’t lose shit if you don’t have shit to steal.”

“Aww jeez, that sucks. At least you didn’t run into that Ghostface guy or something.” Oh Zoey, if only you fucking knew. “I’ma go stretch my legs then. See you for the lunch rush.”

You give her a quick flick of the wrist wave, spinning on the stool to face the front of the store, propping your elbows on the desk next to the register as you rested you chin in your hands. The stool was good, the phone was in easy reach if anyone called, and you could probably reach the special orders shelf without getting up. You should’ve bought gum for something to do.

Two phone calls, yes you did carry bibles and no Mr Books was not available, later and the Lunch Rush started. There were a couple of office blocks nearby, one of which had a book club amongst the workers; and both of them had a significant population of Harlequin Romance enjoyers. Not exactly your thing, but given some of the stuff you’d indulged in, you were in no place to judge. But most importantly, they had two alternating lunch shifts, half at twelve, the other half at one; and they descended like a swarm, taking the moderately bustling shop to two hours of midweek retail hell.

At least you only almost brained yourself once reaching into the special orders shelf.

And honestly you deserved an award for not throwing anything at all the people who felt the urge to loudly question why you had the apparently gall to dare to sit in their field of view. And just maybe, you wished a personal visit from the friendly local serial killer to the one who all but demanded you pull your shirt up to show her your stitches to believe that you actually were injured and were on limited duties. All because she had to wait for Zoey to get her some books from a high shelf.

God, you hated the public.

Two o’clock came slower then you’d like but faster than you dreaded, Zoey heading off for her break; and Devin coming up front to pull your normal duty of fixing the chaos that was formerly well organised sections. At least that’d keep them busy enough to avoid having to make small talk.

Whilst your last hour crawled, it was mostly occupied by a phone call that had you pecking out queries on the shop computer, it there almost entirely for the database of books they could order in. It would have been a lot easier if the person on the other end could actually remember the author or title, but that would be asking for a miracle and they did not happen in retail. But you did eventually get the, hopefully, right title ordered; and if it wasn’t then you at least hoped you weren’t behind the counter that day.

“So, do I get to do a full day tomorrow?” you asked as Devin came back from reorganising the horror back corner, that you were very proud of the selection of.

A moment’s thought. “Full day. Mostly behind the counter, but we’ll see if you can manage a little floor time. Deal?”

“Deal.” That was the moment your stomach chose to let out a growl, holy fuck were you actually hungry? Must have been expending energy trying to heal yourself.

Zoey came back from her break looking about as enthused to be back as you were to be alive, but you at least waited for her to come back out to slip off your stool. And you only needed to take a short pause to get yourself upright and able to walk. And she had the decency to not give voice to the look on her face, the one that said you looked like shit. The nurses had said light exercise was good for your recovery, you couldn’t get much lighter than standing up and walking.

“Gonna head out the back way, see y’all around.” A quick wave good

You took a few moments in the back to rest your forehead against the wall, taking one deep breath, then another. It was fine. You were fine. Time to go home and get so stoned you couldn’t think, then just rinse and repeat. Back to as if nothing happened to you in the first place.

Taking off your vest, you hung it back up in your cubby hole and picked your bag up as you started to head home. Your tape player and headphones were where you left them, at the top of your bag, slipping your headphones around your neck but not starting any music yet. You had an appointment with a burger.

Three doors down from Roseville Books was The Original Canteen. Not that there had ever been any kind of canteen there beforehand, but their fries were decent and they did these sinfully thick milkshakes that made your straw stand straight up. Also one of their line cooks was your weed guy.

You were injured, it was therapeutic.

And luckily for you, there was a shared back alley behind the row of shops, meaning if you were willing to negotiate through the various line cooks, bus boys, and wait-staff who used it for their well deserved breaks, you could buy weed straight from work.

You saw who you thought was one of the dish pit guys, taking a smoke break in the lull between lunch and dinner rushes. Not that rushes ever stopped smoke breaks as far as you were aware.

“Hey there, is Chad in today?”

The guy regarded you for a long moment, letting out a puff of smoke before answering. “Yeah, he’s in the kitchen doing prep.”

“I’m a friend of his, would you mind asking him if he could make me that barbecue burger he does to go, and if he’s got the stuff in for that nice side salad?” The burger was real, and very good, but the salad thing was the dumbest code word, and you could tell by the guy’s face he thought so to, but Chad was the one who set it, so that’s what it was. It’s not like anyone was going to actually tell him, given that he was the weed guy for the entire kitchen staff as well.

“Yeah sure, lemme just go check,” the guy disappeared inside the kitchen, and you could hear vague yelling as you pulled up your headphones and leant against the alley wall to wait for your food.

Ten minutes passed and Chad came out of the kitchen, holding a styrofoam take out container and greeting you warmly. “Hey girl! Just can’t keep away from my cooking, huh?”

You let out a soft laugh, his swagger semi-deserved. “And all your other amazing qualities,” sarcasm dripped from your tongue and he looked mock offended, clutching a hand over his heart. “So, how much do I owe you?”

“Five for the burger, twenty five for the side salad,” he said with a wink, taking the thirty bucks you passed him, giving you the box in exchange.

Feeling the little plastic baggy underneath, you smiled at him. “Thanks Chad, have a good shift.”

“Always do!” he called out in reply, heading back into the kitchen as you headed out the alley, back onto the main streets. The bus ride home was as unremarkable as the ride into town, music helping the journey to pass quickly.

You closed and locked your front door behind you, leaning back against it as you let out a long breath. One more day survived. Of seemingly countless remaining. Maybe you should leave the door unlocked, maybe someone would come in and murder you. Wouldn’t that be nice?

You dropped your bag on the little coffee table in front of your couch, putting your freshly acquired baggy of weed next to your gear box, and the burger box on the couch as you perched on the arm of it to take off your boots. Time to pick some music, roll a joint; and fucking relax. Then find something shitty to watch on tv, pass out on the couch; and just go about existing.

Standing after kicking your boots off, you went over to your vinyl, running your fingers slowly over the titles as you considered them for a moment. You could’ve sworn you’d put them back in order yesterday, but obviously you hadn’t. Well obviously, you were trying to tell yourself something, so you took Facelift by Alice in Chains from its odd spot and set that playing. The guitars of We Die Young started to blare through your home, how you wished that was true.

Back to the couch, you rolled a joint quickly and headed out the backdoor to your yard, burger box and lighter in your other hand. You sank down in your chair, kicked your feet out in front of you and closed your eyes for a few moments. Okay, burger on the side table, time to get stoned as fuck.

You spent a few minutes just smoking, holding the smoke in your lungs until the burn got uncomfortable; exhaling slowly and watching it curl into the air. You already felt more mellow, which was good, you thought this might have been a two joint day, which you couldn’t afford to do very often. You propped the blunt on the edges of your ashtray, and finally started in on the precious burger. It was still warm, but had had long enough for the cheese to get properly gooey, sticking everything together. Perfection.

It was kinda nice, sitting there with the mellow buzz crackling inside as you sated your hunger. Was this what being alive was meant to actually feel like? And how fucked were you that it took getting stabbed to actually give you an appetite? Not that it was going to last, it never did for more than a couple of days before you went back to just living on coffee and instant ramen. You’d learnt the hard way it was easier not to keep in anything that could perish just on the off chance you actually felt like eating.

Halfway through the burger you put it down, taking another drag off the joint before heading back inside quickly for a glass of water. Stupid body needing liquids to not choke. You let out a cloud of smoke as you came outside, followed by a couple of coughs. Okay, maybe a small mistake to hold it for that long whilst trying to actually do things as well. Yeah, well the music was good, the food was good, and the weed was good; of course you had to fuck it up a little.

Side A of the album finished about the same time as the food, one last puff on the joint before stubbing out the roach. Time to switch to side B. You left the back door open, letting the woods call to you still as you flipped the disc. Not that disappearing into the woods would actually do anything for you other than get you cold and lost. But it was a kinda romantic thought to daydream about.

Heading to the couch you slowly lay yourself down on it, mindful of your stitches, staring up at the ceiling and letting the music just wash over you for a bit. Just letting the thoughts flow out of your head, a little bit of nothingness for a while.

Maybe this was what being dead was like.

---

Your phone rang, and you let out a groan. Fuck, when did it get dark? The stereo was just playing the soft hiss of the needle looping around the empty last track. Damn, you really zoned out there.

Right, fuck, the phone. You really just wanted to let it ring out, you normally did. But Jed had said he’d call you if he needed to check in with anything; and he’d been nice enough that you’d feel a little bad letting him go to the answer machine. And you needed to thank him for the whole anonymous thing. Ah fuck.

Hefting yourself upright, ow ow fucking ow, gotta move gently still had a stab wound, you let out a few curses as you stumbled over to the phone. Picking up, and proud that your voice only sounded a little strained, you managed a “Hello?”

Silence for a beat.

A breath.

Then that voice that had been haunting your thoughts and dreams.

“So, what’s your favourite scary movie?”

#ghostface x reader #ghostface #danny johnson #danny jed olsen johnson #danny johnson x reader #dbd #dead by daylight #fiction

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itsyourearthtoo · 5 months

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Dinosaurs are not extinct.

The fact that Dinosaurs, the rulers of Mesozoic earth are extinct is not at all a 'news' to you, right?

Yeah, I mean considering you or your distant cousins belong to the Holocene earth and actively taking part in this Anthropocene, you have been technically taught right since your childhood, that YES! DINOS, THE GIANT LIZARDS ARE EXTINCT. And, even if I write something on this, won't make a big deal. But what will make quiet a big deal is, if I write and actually go onto claim that NO! DINOSAURS AREN'T EXTINCT! Now this is what that sixth grader would say, "Yes, I want more of this... go on I'm listening."

By now, you might be thinking that this is a big statement I have made. But what if I tell you, go and ask this same question to a paleontologist or maybe some evolutionary biologist. Trust me, try it out and you'll see, it's not much of a shock to them as it was to you. Dinosaurs are not extinct, they know it. But do they say it? NO (and this is what this blog is all about)

You see, in the world of Paleontology or (to be more precise)Dinosaur Paleobiology there are two very vaguely defined things. And by saying, 'very vague' it's actually quiet serious. I mean if at least one of these two would have been crystal clear to us, I wouldn't have been writing this blog today.

First, the very meaning of the word Dinosaur! yes... it literally means "A Giant Lizard" (as you all might already know). Why Sir Richard Owen, why did you do this? I mean there's a whole different story to this though, but yeah the great paleontologist of his time could have come up with something more better and clearer.

Now, if you are that average sixth grader wondering what's actually wrong with A GIANT LIZARD, well let me shatter your childhood learnings and say that, dinosaurs are related to lizards but not that related enough to actually call them lizards!

Avoiding, scientific stuffs here (you'll get bored otherwise) let me get this straight. Assuming you are aware of a phylogenetic tree, look at this below -

Just look at where Lizards and the group of Dinosauria or Non Avian Dinosaurs are! In our planet's great evolution story (with regards to Geological Time Scale of course), lizards and dinosaurs both went on to follow separate paths of development.

Now the sixth grader might argue, "Oh cmon! but they do have a common ancestry at some point right, like mentioned here as Diapsida?" Well its true, but going with this, it all comes down to that one single-celled microorganism or maybe that RNA molecule made of just proteins from which life eventually began and the fact then becomes, YOU are also a lizard or fish or any insect. Not so happy with that ain't you. Trust me, my brain's okay digesting this but you or an average sixth grader won't be proud calling themselves a disgusting house fly :)

This is what I call 'A Game of Perspective'.

Perspective, to actually define events with regards to our evolutionary history. This is... what I feel, the most difficult thing to do in paleontology, apart from the fact that you define something one day and tomorrow you dig something out related to your newly defined 'thing' which actually makes you rewrite the whole definition, previous day going in vain.

Hence, the giant lizard, based on the above phylogenetic tree, does live. It's not at all extinct. Komodo dragon, take this for an example if you aren't satisfied with your house lizard. Now, this obviously doesn't bring back the famous Tyrannosaurus Rex or Velociraptor right? They are indeed extinct. But, if you are attentive enough to actually see 'Birds' in the above phylogenetic tree branching out of the Dinosauria group, ask yourself, "Is the chicken, that I love to eat from KFC extinct?"

The answer is an undebated NO and this is where the 'second vague' thing comes in - Where to draw the line and define birds as a whole separate species?

Look at a closer division of Dinosauria in the above figure and you will see that 'Aves' has actually branched out from 'Theropoda', which itself has branched out from 'Saurischia'. Aves, is what you might already know, refer to the birds. Now the main point of confusion is at what point in evolutionary history did a chicken become a chicken from its theropod descendants. The game of perspective comes up here, and we look into the definition of birds with regards to theropods (group of Dinosauria), because we know that they are their evolutionary successors. (look at the above figures again if you still don't believe)

Birds as Archeopteryx and all of its descendants.

Pretty cool right? I mean if you follow paleontology to some extent you might know that Archeopteryx is the missing link fossil between a bird and a dinosaur. But is it a bird or a dinosaur?

More precise - Is Archeopteryx a bird or a theropod?

The issue here is, recent studies have shown that Archeopteryx is more related to Dromaeusaurids (a small clade of feathered dinosaurs) than modern day birds.

2. Birds as feathered dinosaurs.

As good as it may sound, feathers! It is the most confusing body part of a Dinosaur, because more and more fossils show that they had feathers attached to them. Even your favorite T-Rex is now believed to have it! (Note - Jurassic Park is just a movie, there's a whole lot more to dinosaurs than to just get chased by them in a park)

3. Birds as flying dinosaurs.

Again, it is difficult to determine exactly which dinosaurs were capable of flying (as opposed to simply gliding). Also from a modern perspective, penguins for instance don't fly. But they are birds!

4. Birds as crown dinosaurs, meaning the last common ancestor of all extant birds and its descendants.

This is somewhat the most favored definition by paleontologists till date, but the problem here is, it ignores many feathered and flying dinosaurs that are more closely related to modern birds than to Archaeopteryx as birds.

Just look at how the highlighted region fades as we go from modern birds towards Archeopteryx and so on.

So, YES... saying that the Ornithischian group of dinosaurs is extinct, isn't wrong at all. Even the Sauropod group of Saurischian dinosaurs are extinct. But the Theropods, the same evolutionary line of Tyrannosaurus Rex isn't extinct, unless paleontologists can actually draw the line to separate modern day birds from them.

Paleontologists are still trying to figure this line out and believe me, this is quite challenging. I would like to quote here, studying what's underneath is much more difficult than something just above your head. You see, your goal isn't far in paleontology... it's hidden and that's what makes it more difficult.

Now, is it even necessary to actually draw this line. I'm afraid it is, otherwise blogs like this will come up more and disturb the already disturbed lives of paleontologists, dinosaur paleobiologists out there.

And... till the time this line is drawn, respect the chickens that you eat as they are your living dinosaurs. (I mean, I am not promoting veganism here, but just respect them, yeah... can't think of anything else)

Figure References - Figure 1 (in order) taken from Macroevolutionary patterns in the evolutionary radiation of archosaurs (Tetrapoda: Diapsida) by Stephen L Brusatte | September 2010 Earth and Environmental Science Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh 101(3-4) Figure 2 (in order) taken from www.opengeology.org | Image by Callan Bentley Figure 3 (in order)taken from Dino101: Dinosaur Paleobiology 200/201 University of Alberta | Modified from Hackett et al.2008

If you have made it this far, thanks a lot. Feel free to ask me any dumb thing. Trust me, dumb questions often lead to great discoveries!

Anyways, this is it for my first blog.

For the love of Earth Science :D Byeee

#dinosaur #earth #geology #science #writing #museums

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bonezone44 · 9 months

Text

‘No b o d y’

Joel x afab!Reader

image credit

Word Count: 1348

Summary: A phone call with your mom goes poorly and Joel attempts to comfort you. (no use of Y/N)

Tags: childhood trauma, childhood sexual assault (vague but likely triggering), familial neglect, mommy issues. Angst. Grief.

A/N: Possibly the same mother for Muddy Waters' Reader ?? I'm undecided. Also, I know Reader's trauma is specific, but oh well. Turning this into 3rd person wouldn't have the same effect. 🙏

stand-alone but could be read with 'Stages of Grief'

+++++++

You weren’t like other girls. Weren’t like most other people, you realized. Their loneliness could be turned into romantic tunes–songs about longing, loving and losing. Their yearn for love could be placated by a friend. Woven into a conversation among other pains and tender spots that ailed them. They could use their voices to share their dismay and people listened. People nodded in understanding. In sympathy. In connection.

They weren’t given wide, fearful eyes and uncomfortable silences—leaving them wondering if they said too much.

Other people had lungs in their chests. Hearts. Organs. Blood. They could breathe deep, allow their whole torsos to rise and fall with clouds of fresh air. They could find relief by walking outside, enjoying the green of nature or the loud chatter of civilization. They weren’t overwhelmed by crowds or small groups or even the presence of a single other human being. Alone in a room.

The walls didn’t close in on them. They didn’t suffocate. They might be tense or awkward or do something silly.

But they didn’t try to sit so quiet and so still in the hopes that they would disappear completely. That maybe, just this once, they really could teleport to somewhere so far away and new and start life all over again. ‘I’ll get it right next time. I promise,’ they’d pray to their angry, unforgiving god. ‘I won’t make the same mistake again.’

—--

You weren’t like other girls.

You were barely human, to be honest.

You felt frozen in time. Frozen into the dirt on the ground.

Your arms and legs were there, you assumed, flailing and uncooperative. But your entire chest cavity was caved in. Charred. A gaping nothingness in place of a soul.

“What is wrong with her?” Your mother said. “She is too old to still be actin like such a baby.”

Your whole family was standing tall, facing away from you, discussing your behavior as if you weren’t there. As if you couldn’t hear them.

As if it wasn’t brutally fucking obvious that you were missing the entire center of your body.

“I don’t know, but she is actin ridiculous,” you heard your mother say as she and the rest of your family walked away.

Leaving you alone.

Unprotected and exposed to the elements.

You didn’t bother crying for help. You had gotten used to being ignored. Left to deal with the nothingness on your own.

—-

Most people ignored you when they walked by anyway. Too caught up in their own lives to acknowledge your presence. Some gawked and stared at your open wound before scurrying away.

Others looked at you with pity—recognizing your pain, but unable to do anything about it.

Because any time someone tried to help, tried to get close enough to address the issue–you’d snap at them with your teeth. Lash out and attack with words so vicious and so precise.

Because you hadn’t been just lying there, waiting pathetically for someone to save you. You had spent your time studying the other humans. Their motivations. Their lifestyles. Their insecurities. You didn’t have a body, so your words were your weapons.

You weren’t going to let anyone get close enough to hurt you again.

Not like the ones who had scooped out your insides to begin with.

Taunting you as they held you down. Laughing as you tried desperately to break free.

You weren’t like other girls who dreamed of their wedding days and who wanted attention from the cute boys at school and who got all excited about losing their virginity.

Yours had already been taken from you.

Ripped away by teenage boys who thought you’d be too young to remember. Who thought their actions wouldn’t have consequences. (Boys will be boys!) Who got away with it, too, because anytime you’d try to tell someone or show somebody that new thing you learned about, they’d stare at you shocked and upset. Blood drained from their faces. They’d slap you and beat you and tell you to ‘Never ever do that again!’

—--

You were too young to know that what happened shouldn't have happened.

—--

Denial was strong in a mother in a small town who couldn’t fathom anything so horrible happening to her daughter. By people she knew to be cruel and twisted.

It was strong for a woman many considered to be a healer, a progressive-thinker, an intuitive.

Clairvoyant.

Clear seeing.

Claircognizance.

Clear knowing.

For how well she could see someone’s future—she couldn’t see her own daughter’s present. Couldn’t see the blatant agony you faced day after day after day.

“What is wrong with her?” she wondered.

Eyes and ears ignoring all the tell-tale signs.

“Why is she like this?” she asked.

—

You were lying in bed on your side, body half-wrapped in blankets.

Joel stepped into the doorway, footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor. He sighed. “Guessin the phone call didn't go so good.”

You threw your hand up. Sniffed.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure,” you murmured, scratching your cheek. You could barely breathe–your nose all stopped up from crying.

Joel climbed into bed and laid behind you. His body cradling yours. His chest was warm against your back. He rubbed his hand up and down your arm. He kissed the back of your head.

“I just… I want her to hurt,” you began through your tears. “I want her to hurt like I hurt.”

“I know, darlin.” He squeezed your bicep and rubbed his thumb back and forth across your skin.

“It's not fair. It's not fair that she can just say she didn't know. She had to know. She had to.”

“I know, baby.” He kissed the back of your head again. You felt his breath as he spoke. “You wanna take her number out your phone?”

“What? I can't do that to my mom.”

“Yeah, you can,” he said. “You don't owe her anything. You don't owe her your love or your forgiveness. You don't owe her a phone call or a birthday card. You don't owe her shit.”

“But she had it hard, too,” you argued. “Her mom was so much worse.” You shook your head. “She was awful to them.”

“Don't matter.” You felt him shrug behind you. “Don't matter what she went through. You don't have to be her friend. You don't have to be a daughter. She doesn't have to be anything to you.”

“But it's my mom,” you pleaded.

“So what? You're on your own now. You can do whatever you want. You don't need anythin from her anymore.” He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close. “I got you now.”

You sighed. “Thank you, Joel,” you said with your hand on his arm. “I… appreciate you.”

It wasn’t going to be that easy. Wouldn’t be that simple to cut this woman out of your life and out of your mind. You two were so alike, so aligned, so many parts of yourselves tied together.

But… Joel was right. You were on your own now. You didn’t live under her roof. Didn’t live in the same town or same state anymore. You didn’t have to go to Sunday dinners or help her with the groceries. You didn’t have to do anything.

She could call you but you didn’t have to answer.

She could try to plan a visit, but you could say you had other plans.

Maybe next time.

Maybe next year.

Maybe next life.

And it felt good to let go. To start severing that connection inside your gut that begged for her approval and attention and affirmation.

You felt a tingling sensation in your stomach. You felt yourself firm up.

It took years but you had rebuilt your chest cavity. You got all your organs together and tossed back inside your ribs. Poured back in a whole bucket of blood. You had found people you could trust. You had found ways to let others get close without you biting off their hands.

Maybe you could start over in this life. Right now.

Maybe Joel could be your new family.

But maybe you just needed more time.

+++++++

#joel miller x afab!reader #joel miller x reader

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