#i am in TATTERS in PIECES

[biitchcakes]

Thank you. ( @danversiism💖 )

( personals DNI . )

[moderntimeadventure]

Eheheheh kids swearing is funny

[always-a-joyful-note]

Ok. I was NOT expecting the writers to address the "eternal idol" idea. I was ready to once again just let it go despite knowing that such an idea is, after all, unrealistic (see the various posts about it somewhere). But the fact that Idolish7 actually said point blank that "people change and to expect eternity for them is cruel, even if they seem to be shining stars beyond humanity" is just......yeah.

Something about the acknowledgment that even a happy ending is sad because it IS an ending, but how it isn't a bad thing. I love this story a lot, actually

[inconspicious-random-thoughts]

Broken staff

It more than likely been mentioned elsewhere but I want to talk about Alastor staff.

Vivienne mention the staff is part of his essence. Now it is split into two along with a deep gash from holy power across Alastor torso. He made sure to salvage the broken pieces before shadowing away.

I REALLY hope they do more angsty shit next season with this. Alastor power is severely weaken until he recuperates. That Alastor is covering this vulnerability from the others. Notice in that group hug, his obvious tattered clothes and gash is hidden and he back to his 'normal self' facade after his chilling and rattled part of the song. No one knows how Alastor battle went....except for the Vees. Dun Dun DUUUUUN.

I would love to watch Alastor trying to power play, manipulate and figure out his freedom. All the while hiding his weaken state. It frustrates Alastor greatly as healing seem agonizing slow. Because holy wounds heal slower or some BS like that. The hotel constantly rely on his powers that he would still provide and he continue to use his reserves to cover up his secret.

Husker was the first to notice something up. Be as observant and ability to read people, and just know Alastor. He catches the momently grimace is Alastor moved his torso wrong or an involuntary flinch, clutching his chest in pain. But Alastor recovers these moments quickly. It's in a blink of an eye type movements, that only Husker catches. It's all so obvious to Husker. The extra strain smile when Alastor performs magic. How exhausted from the exertion afterwards. Husker keeps a wary eye on him but doesn't say anything. We know what happen last time he brought up a touchy subject before.

Charlie was next to notice but it took a while. It took some obvious clues. Something like Alastor faceplants to the ground unconscious from over exhaustion after a more complicated spell. Or maybe some more dramatic...

The Vee's. They know Alastor took heavy hits. They will use that to their advantage. They possibly make a move against him and he unable to defend properly. Vox would be mocking loudly what he witness, revealing Alastor secret to the hotel. Naturally, Charlie would be hurt with a "Why didn't you tell us?" after a gasp.

I really hope they do something with it. It doesn't have to be a full season arc, they can probably even manage it in one episode as a focus with subtle clues from a few episode before it.

I be so annoyed Alastor bounce back like his fight with Adam never happened. I am a sucker of Alastor barely keeping it together and nearly losing his shit. HE. IS. BARELY.KEEPING.IT.TOGETHER. But he still keeping together...we haven't see him break yet. Can you imagine the weight of stress finally breaking him?

His staff (which is part of him) is splint in two. Just like how is internal conflicting dilemma of being powerful sociopath demon with a plan vs growing affections of the residence of hotel that complicates his plans.

All of his careful planning will go to shit, he will lose all control-He going to absolutely alone when he finally breaks down from losing control of everything and the audience will see him drop that smile.

He mention to Charlie that a smile is a way to keep control and that's when we see him drop his. As much he careful with control he doesn't even control his own soul.

Edit:

Omg, So when I originally wrote this, I knew staff was incorrect word I want to use but at the time I kept drawing a blank what to call it.

It's a cane

A cane is something be used to support themselves with, a crutch. And Alastors just splint in half. The thing that's also part of his essence and probably help channel/control his powers.

The angsty poetry is fucken delicious

~I am nearly foaming from the mouth from the thought!

[stormhearty]

Parings: Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 2k+

Triggers: angst, mentions of war and death

Summary: The after-effects of your death hit Prythian hard, the loss of your light indefinitely, leaving the world less bright, and the loss of your power echoed throughout the land. Azriel now has to cope with the loss of his mate — the hollow feeling of the mating bond leaving him nothing but a shell of his previous self. The Inner Circle have to rebuild the trust they had with the other courts along Prythian — especially concerning Day Court. Helion, acting as your father, has to bury your body within the warm soils of Day Court as his people pay tribute to the loss of the Seer of Prythian.

Note: The epilogue to “Pushed to the Edge”! I am very happy to be ending this one-shot-turned-series! Thank you guys so much for supporting this!! This epilogue also included a little insight on the reader’s POV of the last section of part 3. I hope it sheds some light on why she decided to do what she did. Also, I am always happy to write more about Seer!Reader if anyone would like more. But please do enjoy the epilogue.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

The dark wind bellowed through your hair, a deathly chill running down your spine as you watched the shadows guide Azriel through the streets of Valeris. You stood on the hill that you had winnowed to, watching him wreak destruction against the Death-God’s army. Feeling a slither of shadow against your arm, you looked down and gave a tiny smile — a rare one that tugged on your lips after your resurrection — as you brought it to your lips and pressed a kiss against the flutter of shadow, “Take me to him… It’s time…”

You had known of your connection to the Death-God the moment you had been resurrected from Death. The feeling of the ancient, tattered cord that connected your two beings — one that was hollow and empty. You were unaware of what that bond meant, whether it connected your souls to eternal servitude or something else, you kept that bond a secret — weaving shadow and darkness around that cord, hiding it from the Death-God.

The only time you realized the importance of the connection was during a vision — the only vision you ever had since your revival.

One that would take not only your life but the very life of the Death-God — one that was by the hands of the person that had broken you.

You kept that vision close to your heart, hiding it within shadows from the Death-God, using it as an arsenal against him. You watched as destruction and death seeped through Prythian and you felt the distress bite your very soul.

This isn’t what you had wanted, you never wanted Prythian to be destroyed — all you wanted was revenge against those who struck against you — those who had betrayed you. Not all this loss of life.

Not against Helion, or Thesan, or Tarquin… not against the rest of the High Lords.

No… you had to put an end to this.

You had used the bargain with Azriel to your advantage, using him to fight for you — the vision you kept so close to your heart started to sing alive as if you were walking down the correct path to end this destruction.

And so when the shadows winnowed you to where Azriel stood, the shadows cloaking his body, the Truth-Teller rightfully in his hands, another smile tugged on your features.

This had been it. The vision that came to pass — that last vision — of you and Azriel, finally ending the rein of darkness that Kosechi planned to coat your world in.

You had stepped closer to him, watching his body stiffen, his Spymaster instincts taking over his form. You heard the whispers of the shadows in his ear and you couldn’t help but look down at your chest, the shadows finally unraveling themselves from the last piece of light in your soul — the final mark where Azriel would strike.

Lifting your head, you watched the Shadowsinger lunge for you, the Truth-Teller stabbing you in your light, the shadows around it shrieking in agony, pain, and sadness. A gasp escaped your lips at a vision passed behind your eyes — the same pain rushing down the now open bond between you and Kosechi, the same wound inflicted on his immortal body.

It has been done.

Your knees buckled and you felt the shadows slip from Azriel to your own body, feeling the whisps chill on your skin. Eyes looked up at Azriel, seeing the disbelief and agony in his features. It was satisfying to see… to see him in so much pain.

Everything passed in a blur, not knowing that the Death-God had come and gone. All you can focus on is your mate — former mate. You felt his hot tears on your cooling body and you just stared up at him, pouring all your emotions out — inflicting as much pain as you could with your final breaths.

It was done. It has ended. And your time as Prythian’s Seer, its unknown Seer, has finally come to pass.

Your duty is done.

Helion felt like he couldn’t breathe.

He felt as if his whole world was being taken away from his very eyes as he watched the Spymaster hold your dead body, howling at your loss. The Day High Lord felt his body shake as he took a step forward, looking around at the piles of corpses — of Kosechi’s followers on the ground — before focusing back on you.

He heard the winnowing of Rhysand and the rest of the High Lords, as they surrounded the breaking Spymaster.

“… Azriel…” Rhysand’s voice cracked, trying to call his brother out of the agony he was feeling.

The Spymaster looked up, seeing all the High Lords before going to his knees, continuing to clutch your body close to him, “Please… I beg all of you. Please bring her back… the kernel of life…” He begged, tears dried on his cheeks, determination in his hazel eyes.

Rhysand’s face pinched with pain at the request and Helion’s hardened.

“How dare you, Azriel…” Helion’s was hard as steel, the Spymaster’s body flinching, “To plead to bring her back to life when you had been the one to break and hurt her… Forcing her hand to kill herself…”

Azriel shook his head, pressing his forehead against your own, your body cool, devoid of life, “I know… I know. Give me a chance… give me a chance to do everything again. To make things right with her. Give her a chance to live again. That’s all I ask. I’d do anything, give anything for her to be alive again.”

He wailed, pleaded, and whispered against your skin, hoping that the High Lords would listen to his request. All he wanted was to feel your heartbeat again, bask in your light, to hold you in his arms again. To love you again. He knew it was possible, the High Lords have done it twice — with Feyre Under the Mountain, and with Rhysand after Hybern. Using that kernel of life to bring you back from the dead — to bring you back home, bring you back to him.

Azriel waited, but all he heard was silence, the blow of the wind loud in his ears. He heard footsteps towards him and he looked up to see Rhysand, his features pained as he kneeled to his brother.

“We can’t… Azriel…” he confessed, his voice pained as he saw the light dim in Azriel’s features, “She has already been resurrected once… Twice is against Mother’s will. There’s… nothing we could do…”

“No… that can’t be. Please, Rhysand!” he looked up at his High Lord, “I’d do anything… anything to bring her back…. Take mine! Take my life, to give to her! A life for a life…! That will work right?” He was frantic, thinking of anything… any way to bring you back to living.

“Stop, Shadowsinger…” Helion’s voice ordered, the command echoed through every fae in that spot. Rhysand closed his eyes, fighting back every urge to follow that command. The High Lord of Night stood up and stepped back, feeling Helion’s presence behind him.

Azriel growled and looked up at Helion, instinctively wrapping his arms tighter around your body.

“You had multiple chances to make it up to her. You watched as she begged you to listen, to listen to your mate. But you ignored it, you pissed off your chances for her. You do not get another shot, not in this life… and probably not in any other lifetime you will have with her.”

With a snap of his fingers, your body was winnowed from Azriel’s arms to his own, Helion gently holding you in his arms as he looked down at you with so much sadness and regret.

The Shadowsinger tried to scramble back up, to want to fight the High Lord, only to be held down by Cassian and Rhysand, “Don’t…” Rhysand commanded him, “…We have no right to her anymore. Not after everything we have done…”

“What did you do?” Azriel snarled at his High Lord.

“Your High Lord made a bargain…” Helion disclosed as he turned his heels, stepping back from the Inner Circle, “You and the rest of Night Court have no claims over her body, not when (Y/N) was originally from Day Court. Her body will be buried in Day soil, where she rightfully belongs. And you, Shadowsinger, are banned from entering my Court. And so will the rest of your family… The only person that I will allow to visit her body will be your High Lady. As Night Court’s emissary…”

Azriel felt his heart drop to the ground. No. He already lost you, and now he cannot visit your grave, to mourn for you.

“I will have no bargaining with you, Shadowsinger. Not when your High Lord was the one who allowed it,” Helion looked over his shoulder at the three brothers, “No matter what you do, this bargain will be the last with the Night Court. You have lost all my trust with this matter…”

And with that, Helion winnowed away — with your body in his arms.

Azriel stared at the spot that Helion winnowed away from as he felt hands come off his body. He collapsed, pressing scarred hands into the dirt. He felt his whole body continue to shake, the sadness, the anger not leaving him — he felt as if his anger was never-ending; anger at Helion for taking your body from him, anger at him for banning him from Day Court; anger at his High Lord for creating the bargain in the first place; anger at you for dying in his arms, forcing him to be the one to take your life.

“Azriel…” Rhysand called his name before he stepped back away from his brother when a growl escaped Azriel’s chest.

“Why… Why would you make that bargain, Rhysand…” he murmured, tilting his head up to look at his High Lord with a glare, hazel eyes blazing with that anger he felt throughout his body.

Rhysand sighed and knelt once more to be eye-to-eye with his brother, “I had to, Azriel. I couldn’t argue with Helion, not after everything we did to (Y/N)… She was originally from Day Court, she is tied to Helion’s Court — - “

“But she’s been with us for five hundred years, Rhysand… She had a home with us… She was my mate…” Azriel tried to reason with his High Lord, hazel eyes shifting from anger to absolute despair.

“— - You have no right to claim her as your mate… Not anymore. Not after cheating on her with Elain…” Rhysand reprimanded his brother, “I have no claim to her to be under my Court after I had failed to protect her. We have lost her, Azriel. We lost her the moment we had failed as a family to notice her pain… We had failed her entirely. I regret immensely on how we have treated her the last moments of her life… I regret every moment since her death on how I treated her as her High Lord, as her friend, as her family…”

There was so much pain in Rhysand’s voice and Azriel let out a painful cry, one that echoed so deep in his soul.

“I let Helion take her body to let her body be at peace in her home, her real home, Azriel. A place where she is not in pain, one where she isn’t surrounded by those who had betrayed her. Your banishment from Day Court was part of that bargain — I didn’t want to do that to you, brother — -” he placed a hand against Azriel’s trembling shoulder, “— - I didn’t want to separate you from her, but I had to… For her.”

Another sob escaped Azriel’s lips as he dropped his head, his forehead resting against the cool ground, “How can I continue to live?” he whispered, “My whole soul is breaking, Rhysand… The echo of that bond hurts so much. I never knew how much it would hurt… If I knew, if I knew this would be the outcome of my infidelity towards her, I would never have done it. If I knew my infidelity would cause her to die in my arms, I would have never done it.”

Rhysand sighed and looked up to Cassian, the General looking at his brother with so much sorrow. The two looked at one another before reaching toward Azriel to heave him off the ground. All Azriel wanted to do was collapse, but he knew he couldn’t — he didn’t have any right to do so. He was the cause of this, he was at fault.

“You will continue to live…” Rhysand urged, “You will continue to live and mourn and regret. We all will. That’s all we can do for (Y/N)…”

Azriel looked at Rhysand, before glancing at Cassian, who nodded, “We all will continue to live with our betrayal. Live and regret.”

And all Azriel could do was tilt his head back, looking up at the gray sky as raindrops fell — as if the universe knew how he felt at that very moment.

Feyre stood in the back of the ceremony, watching as Helion lowered your body into the ground — one decorated so beautifully, in a simple white tule dress and on top of your head a halo that mimicked the sun. You looked gorgeous, lying in the casket as if you were just sleeping.

The High Lady listened to Helion’s speech — the love and admiration evident in every word he spoke about you; on how he had found you, protected you — he told your story, every happy moment but also every sad and devastating moment.

She could see how Helion held back so much anger when he brought up your time at Night Court and Feyre couldn’t help but pang of pain in her chest. She regretted every moment of listening to it all over again — Feyre knew she could have made a difference. She tried to help you, tried to reach out to you — but her effort wasn’t big enough. She could have tried harder, to fight for you — but she failed at that.

Everything was a blur after the speech, people had slowly filtered out after they had paid respect to the loss of your light, the loss of your life. Feyre felt her feet bring her to your grave. She looked at the statue that stood at the head of your grave, one was a mirror of your body that was now in the ground. That same dress, that same crown on top of your head.

You were like a goddess that glowed under Day Court’s sun.

Feyre felt a figure next to her, turning her head to look at Helion who looked up at that statue with sadness.

“… That was a wonderful speech, Helion,” Feyre complimented, her gaze returning up at the statue.

The Day High Lord did not say anything back to the High Lady.

And Feyre continued, “… — - I know that no matter how many times we apologize, you will never forgive us. And I understand… (Y/N)… was the best thing that you had given us, the best thing that Azriel had in his life — “ Feyre watched from the corner of her eye that Helion’s hand fisted tightly against his side at the mention of the Shadowsinger, “— - We will do our very best, to gain your trust again. We will mourn for centuries for what we had done to her, we will continue to regret.”

Helion let out a broken chuckle and shook his head, “… I don’t think I can trust any of you again, Feyre… Not when you had taken her away from me. This child was the best thing that has happened to me, besides knowing that Lucien is my son… (Y/N) was my daughter, I raised her as my daughter… And it hurts, knowing that she passed before I did. You… never want to bury your children… And that’s what I had to do today. And I will never forget how that feels…”

He turned his head towards Feyre, “… Be glad you were able to be part of this ceremony, High Lady of Night Court… It was for (Y/N), she would have wanted you to be part of her burial. If it was me, I would never let you in my Court again, but this is all for her.”

Feyre nodded her head, “And I am, and forever will be, thankful for your kindness…”

Helion gave a stiff nod of his head before looking back up at the statue for a moment before turning on his heels and walking away.

The High Lady sighed and looked up at the statue as well, “I hope you are at peace, (Y/N)…” she whispered a prayer one more time before turning as well, walking out of the wards of Day Court before winnowing away, the echo of a sad lament for you singing through the lands.

[fishsticksloser]

That episode where raph goes feral bc he was lonely how would it play out with his s/o, like he becomes territorial,it can be fluff or spicy whichever one you're comfortable with.

Prize

F!Raph x gn!reader

Warnings: smut, feral Raph, p in, biting and claws, a little rough, turtle noises?, swearing, would this be a predator/prey thing...?, Raph focused piece

A/N: My sister wanted Raph to make turtle noises, so turtle noises there will be. Figured it would be best with feral Raph. This is kinda short so I apologize. :)

Raph had been left alone again. Not purposely of course, but he was separated from his team. The team said that he'd been lost for at least a few days, they weren't sure. Because of Raph's feral behavior, you and his brothers were the one sent out to find him. Going through the old bunker levels and tunnels that had been collapsed before Raph was able to move the rubble, you could hear hissing and growling.

Raphael turned his head toward your approaching footsteps, he tilted his head slightly; a confused expression on the broad face. His large tail swished, the spikes along the side of his tail were pointed directly at you. The feral tone in his voice did not seem to be welcoming of your visit.

"Hey, big guy..." You smile softly, kneeling a little ways away from him. You didn't want to alert him, you didn't want him to mistake you for a threat. You watched him smell the air, seeming to somewhat recognize your scent. The low rumble of his growls turned into quiet chuffs.

Raphael slowly crept towards you, his tail continuing to sway as he examined the surroundings. His claws dig into the dirt of the tunnel, his mouth opened slightly. A low rumble emitting from his chest, his eyes locked onto you asking an unspoken question. What were you doing here?

"Raphael?" You whisper, sitting down on the ground for him. You hold your hand out for him to get a better smell. "Do you remember who I am?"

Raphael looked at you, tilting his head in confusion at the words you said. He was able to recognize your scent, but he wasn't able to understand the words you spoke. He took a step closer, his claws digging deeper into the dirt as he began to examine you. Your scent was familiar, but Raph couldn't remember exactly who you were to him.

"Mate... I'm your mate, Raph." You explain softly, feeling him press his beak to your hand. "Mate... Your partner." You continue, wanting him to recognize you as his person, his lover.

A low rumble comes from his chest, the muscles in his shoulders flex as he tilts his head once more. This was his mate, his partner. Raphael began to sniff and circle you, his claws tearing up the land as he moved.

"That's right, big guy. Yours..." You whisper, moving to gently cup the side of his face.

Raphael moves closer, pushing you onto your back as he continues to sniff, lick, and nip at you. His body is practically hovering over you as he examined his lost lover. Raph lowers more of his weight onto you, he's trying to show his affection.

"Hey, big guy..." You smile as he starts to nuzzle your neck. He chuffs and sniffs against your skin, his claws tearing at your clothes. You'd never dealt with Raph after he'd been feral for so long, maybe it was normal? "You... Want them off?"

Raph chuffs in reply, continuing to tear at your clothes with his claws. But his teeth soon joined, tossing the tattered clothes aside. He presses his beak to your stomach, a low rumble filling the air again as he churrs. You gently pet his head, but Raph suddenly pulls you close, growling loudly.

"Oh shit…" You hear Leo say and more footsteps move closer. Raph's growls get louder as he pulls you closer. You were his mate - his. He had claimed his prize, he wasn't planning on sharing. "Raph, buddy…"

"I'm okay, get out of here before he rips your heads off." You huff at his brothers. They were reluctant due to how Raph was acting, but you assured them that you were okay and they quickly made their escape. "All yours, Raph." You sigh as his growls become chuffs again. His tail swished vigorously, still prepared to fight for what was his.

He wanted more... More love, more affection, more...

"You're okay, big guy... No one else is here, I'm all yours." You try to reassure as he moves to chuff against your thigh. You were his and he was taking you. His tough tongue licks along your body, you were his.

Raphael continues to lick along your thighs, his tongue flicking and tasting. His tongue felt like sandpaper, it was an odd sensation, but Raph made it enjoyable nonetheless. He seemed so eager to please and love, his warm breath fanning over your skin. His large hands gripped your legs, moving them further apart. He wanted more, he wanted it badly.

He slowly made his way back up your body, sniffing, chuffing, licking. You gently touch him, not wanting to overwhelm or anger him. He gently pushed you over, making you lay on your stomach. Raphael began to press more of his weight against you as he slowly mounted you. You gasp, your hips slightly lifting at the intrusion. His claws dig deeper into the dirt, sniffing and licking every part of you he could reach. Raph was still on guard, prepared to fight any intruder or rival that came near you.

Raphael began to slowly thrust, making sure that every movement was slow and steady in order to please you. His broad body remained on top of you, slowly gliding in and out. His snout nuzzles the back of your head, his large hands gripping your hips tightly.

You were his. There would never be another. He would mark you, keep you safe, loving you in a way no one else ever could.

Raphael continued to make slow and deep thrusts, wanting to make sure you felt his affection. He didn't want to go too quickly in fear of hurting you. His snout presses into your neck, making sure you felt every thrust. Chuffs and moans filled the air, echoing throughout the tunnel. Raph was pleased, this was what he wanted. To protect and love you. With the chuffs echoing along with his heavy breathing, and with every small sound you made, Raphael could tell he was doing something right. He was using everything to claim you as his.

Raph took his time, ensuring that you felt every moment of his love. Every time you made a noise, he felt proud of himself. He felt like a king and having his partner right there with him. With a hard moan, Raphael pressed his hips against you harder. His warm breath like a blanket on top of you, it was a welcoming sensation. He continued to pump slowly, using every bit of his form to please you.

A low rumble echoes around you as Raph quickens his pace. He was getting closer, the chuffs becoming shorter and faster at the same rate of this thrusts. His breathing becomes more erratic, his hand grips your hips tighter. His claws digging into your skin a little. He was so close, just a little bit more. He wasn't going to be able to contain himself much longer.

Raphael's pace began to pick up, he was at his limit. He couldn't contain himself anymore. He began to pump even deeper, even faster. His breath became more frequent as he neared completion. His tail slowly swayed back and forth as he pumped even harder.

Raphael could feel you climax, he increased his pace by just a little bit. His large hand held you tight, he wanted to show you how much he wanted you. His sharp teeth dug deeper into you shoulder, growling deeply.

He could feel himself losing control. He was losing focus, all he was seeing was you. His mate.

Raphael continued to pump, feeling the pleasure of your soft body. His breathing became more erratic — the muscles along his broad back flexed as he slowly picked up his pace.

Raphael could feel the release start to happen. All he could feel was the sensation of your soft flesh, your gentle whimpers. The snapping turtle mutant let out a primal growl as his hips slammed against your ass, pushing himself even deeper inside you. Raphael's breath became more shallow. His churrs filled the air as his hot seed filled you, slowly dripping down your thighs.

Raph began to slow his pace as he finally finished, his large body was twitching and trembling as the adrenaline finally started to fade. His claws loosened their grip and he moved his mouth off your shoulder With a slight chuff, Raph lifted off of you.

He proud. He had done it, this was his mate.

Raphael laid next to you, his large form seemed so content and at ease as he rested on his back. His large head resting on your back, his thumb gently caressing your soft skin as he started to come back to his true self.

[abyssmalice]

(passing thonks abt how tol toni dug a little grave for smol toni’s ajax and when she told her, smol toni would spend hours to literal days just sitting next to it. doing nothing. just sitting, looking at it. maybe sometimes stabbing the ground next to it with a knife in a monotonous, almost unconscious fashion. theres nothing really in her head while shes doing any of this she’s just sitting there. just sitting. watching it. lowkey glued to it.)

[maxislvt]

I've been thinking so much about omega Wanda and alpha reader and I was thinking about omega Wanda buying alpha reader hoodies and stitching in her last name on the chest just to show that Reader is hers, it started off as just a small w.m on the sleeve but then it grew and moved to the left side of reader's chest where Wanda always places her hand when she leans in to give a little peck to reader throughout the day

warnings: omegaverse, nonsexual dominance, suggestive

i wrote this in like 2 hours

As much as you hated to admit it, your wardrobe needed upgrading. Before Wanda, you were all work and no play and your clothes reflected that. All the formal attire you had was bought at the last minute for missions and barely fit. All your lounge clothes were just workout clothes you felt comfortable to sleep in. You had four pairs of shoes and two of them were technically a part of your costume. 

It was only a matter of time before Wanda had to intervene. 

“Sweetheart, I understand that these clothes mean a lot to you but you have to get rid of something to make space for new stuff,” Wanda said. She was having a hard time getting through to you. Alphas were quite territorial and had a hard time letting go of their things. She understood why to a certain extent. These were the clothes your mother had given you when you were rescued. It wasn’t easy for Wanda to get rid of them either, but some of your clothes were barely holding together. “Look at this,” she gasped. “I can fit my head through this hole!” Wanda put the hoodie over her head to show the truth of her statement. 

You chuckled at the sight of Wanda. “Can’t you just patch it up? There’s no point in buying a new one if it does what it’s supposed to.” You simply shrugged when Wanda groaned. The need for new clothes wasn’t above you, but admittedly you didn’t know how to go shopping for clothes. “Look, I’ll get new clothes but I’m not going to just toss all of the stuff I got already.” You began putting your clothes back on the hanger. It was easier said than done considering Wanda kept snatching clothes away from you. Some of them you let go, but when it came to a particular leather jacket, you refused to let it go. “Nuhuh” — you pulled the jacket back towards you — “I’m keeping this one.” 

Wanda pulled back. “It’s not even real leather. I promise you we’ll find a better one when we go shopping.” She was usually careful with your things, but the leather was peeling and the sleeves were stretched to their limit. She wouldn’t blink twice if it ripped in half right now. You were far too cute to be caught dead in such a tattered piece of clothing. She tugged at it again. “We’ll get you a new one,” she said, this time her words were more pronounced. A clear warning.

Of course, you were just as stubborn as Wanda. You wanted your jacket. Not a new one, not a better one — it had to be that jacket. “You’re not the boss of me. I want to keep the jacket and that’s final.” You said as you finally yanked the jacket free from Wanda’s grasp. You had the jacket, but now there was a bigger problem. Wanda wasn’t too pleased with your defiance. “Look Wanda I—”

“Bend over, and you better not miscount.”

After a brief conversation, you and Wanda agreed to go shopping. 

Wanda wanted you to explore different stores so you find clothes that interested you, but she wanted to get the essentials first. That unfortunately meant spending a dreadfully long time in a tailor. To make matters worse, it was 8 am on a Saturday. That was when you usually woke up, but that was for training. Not for playing dress up. The tailor was nice, but no amount of kindness could make you less upset about the detour in your schedule. The worst part was that Wanda insisted that you have plenty of accessories to go along with the new suits you bought. You were too upset to even bother looking for regular clothes. Wanda agreed to take you home after the fitting, but she hated seeing you upset. 

Wanda knew she had to apologize and there was only one way to do it.

It was supposed to be just the one jacket. It was a decently priced repair and sewing her name initials on it was a quick process. Then she found a few of your old hoodies and got a little carried away. Each time her name got bigger and bigger. By the fifth one, her last name covered the entire backside. She was thankful only a handful of your hoodies were truly salvageable. Once she was done, she simply placed them back into your closet while you were off on a mission. 

You noticed that they were back in your room almost immediately. The thought of Wanda owning you so blatantly made you blush, but you liked it. You began wearing them all around the tower. Whether it was a debriefing or while you were working out. It felt good knowing you were owned.

Wanda was just hoping for a little more.

“When I made these, I was thinking you’d wear them outside.” She wrapped her arms around your shoulders and snuggled into your neck. Wanda’s lips brushed against the mark she left on your neck months ago. “We’re not a secret anymore.”

You let out a deep breath to keep calm. “I’m more worried people will try and copy the design.” It wouldn’t be the only time a company copied something of yours for hero merchandise. “I love them, but all it takes is one picture of me in this thing, and suddenly everyone has one.” Your head leaned back against her chest. Sometimes you wished you were just a stay-at-home alpha. You had no idea how to take care of a home, but you’d be more than willing to figure it out if Wanda could have you to herself.

[unoislazy]

The Outsider

(Part 1)

Hiccup Haddock x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: You wound up on the shores of Berk after something… had happened to you. Thankfully someone had found you and reported your presence to the Chief.

————————————————————

Life on Berk was running just as smooth as ever. Well, other than the occasional fire spreading here and there, Vikings roughhousing over the smallest inconvenience, it was as peaceful as an island full of Vikings and dragons could be. That was until one random day, you washed up on shore.

Of course you weren’t noticed right away but it certainly didn’t take long for someone to eventually stumble across you and your tattered piece of driftwood lying helplessly on the sand. You were in pretty bad condition, you hadn’t eaten in days and had several visible injuries that would cause further problems if they weren’t dealt with.

Thankfully the person who had found you knew to bring you the Gothi, the village healer, as well as informing the chief of your unannounced arrival.

You certainly stirred conversations among the Vikings as news spread quickly of your presence. Many murmurs of disapproval circulated as many people believed it would be a repeat of what had happened the last time someone had wound up stranded on the shores of Berk.

Now you lay in Gothis house, on a cot she had set out for you as she tended to your wounds. You were still very much unconscious so you had no idea you had gained some visitors. If you were awake you might have been honored to know one of those visitors was none other than the chief of the village himself, Hiccup Haddock.

Hiccup and his very close friend, who had insisted she’d come along, Astrid Hofferson. Hiccup and Astrid had a somewhat complicated relationship over the years, having dated for a little while when they were younger but decided to break it off because of their differing visions for the future. Thankfully they worked out their issues and managed to still remain very close friends. Astrid often lended a hand in any errands Hiccup often got overwhelmed by, and they worked well together.

Now here they were, standing in front of your unconscious body, questioning what on Earth they were going to do.

“They look to be in pretty bad shape.” Hiccup said, his finger tapping his chin as you looked down at you. His eyes very carefully took in the intricate details of your face, trying to discern whether he’s seen you before. Maybe you were a dragon trapper?

He then looked at your hair, the color and texture not ringing any bells for him. He then looked at your eyes, well more accurately, your eyelids. They lay still and motionless as you continued to sleep which he found quite odd, but then again he figured you were too weak to even dream at this point. Although, he found a sense of curiosity when it came to your eyes, what did they look like? What color were they? Were they pretty?

Stupid questions to ask in a situation such as this.

“Well who knows how long they were out at sea.” Astrid finally replied. It seemed as if she too was looking over your features, not recognizing you in the slightest. She shook her head as if she was answering her own question. Hiccup then let out a sigh, knowing his next point was not going to go over well with her.

“They’re going to need some place to stay while they heal.”

“What?”

Called it.

“I said they’re going to need some place to stay.” Hiccup repeated, as he looked over to the blonde haired girl who looked as if she just watched Hiccup get carried off by a dragon and returned in a matter of seconds right before her eyes.

“You can’t be serious.” She began, the amount of shock evident in her voice suggested she was almost disappointed that Hiccup would even think of such an idea.

She continued, “What do you mean stay? You can’t possibly be thinking about keeping them here.”

“And what if I am?” The man argued, at least attempting to stand his ground. It wasn’t too often he was taken very seriously when he made decisions, but his stubbornness usually won out in the end.

“Uh hello, do you not remember what happened last time we helped someone who wound up stranded on our shores?” Astrid questioned, her hands planted firmly on her hips as if she was a stern mother scolding their child. Hiccup was usually quite a smart leader, but in instances like this, his morals often clouded his judgment.

In Astrid’s eyes, putting others' needs before your own can be very selfless, but when you put someone else’s needs in front of your own, as well as potentially everyone else on Berk? That’s where she starts to have a problem.

“I hear you Astrid but we can’t believe that everyone who winds up on our shore is out to get us, besides look at them. Who would injure themselves for the sake of taking over the village?” He asked genuinely, gesturing towards you. Thinking back to when Heather had arrived, sure she came in an overturned boat, but at least she had a boat. You had come on a literal piece of driftwood and nothing more. If someone was trying to use you as bait, they certainly weren’t prioritizing the success rate of you even arriving on Berk in the first place.

“I don’t know Hiccup, maybe someone who’s really committed? Maybe someone who has no other choice?” Astrid argued.

“If they have no other choice then we have to help them.” He responded. It was at this point Astrid was beginning to see that Hiccup had already made up his mind and arguing with him was going to be the same as arguing with a brick wall.

And yet she persisted.

“Hiccup, we can't put our noses into everyone else’s business, if they’re in trouble that’s their problem. We don’t always have to get involved.” She tried, but Hiccup's gaze was stern and unwavering. It was clear that he truly believed in his cause and he was going to stick beside it.

“We do when they wind up on our island Astrid.”

Astrid sighed, turning away from Hiccup for a moment as she gave the option a thought. Once she turned back towards him she raised her hands in defeat.

“Okay, alright. But I’m still going to heavily question them the exact moment they wake up.” She joked a bit, earning a small chuckle from Hiccup as he turned back to face you. Normally when Berk had a guest, he would offer his house to stay in.

However, maybe Astrid was right to at least be a little cautious this time so he decided against it. Maybe it was best for them to stay here, it would also give Gothi time to watch over them to make sure they’re healing properly. Once they heal, then they can discuss the living arrangements.

“Guess all we do now is wait.” Hiccup sighed before finally looking away from you and then back to Astrid. “It could be days until they wake up, let us know if anything happens.” Hiccup requested, now looking down at Gothi who gave him a smile and a nod. With that confirmation, Hiccup said his goodbyes and began to walk outside, but not before taking one last look at you.

He had convinced himself that he kept looking at you to see if he recognized you and for no other reason at all.

Three days had passed by and you still had not woken up. Hiccup and Astrid had been by several times, a few times together, but usually on their own time. You wounds were making very slow healing progress but you were still not receiving the proper amounts of food.

It was beginning to get worrying.

That was until randomly around noon on the third day, your eyes shot open and you quickly rose from your cot, ultimately regretting your decision as you became very dizzy almost immediately. You tried to steady yourself by proposing your arms up behind you, but eventually gravity seemed to have taken full control of your body and dragged you right back down to the cot.

Once the dizziness had dissipated a bit, you looked around at your very new surroundings. The last you remembered was… well you couldn’t quite remember really. You could hear the faint voice of a man in your memory, but you couldn’t place who it could have come from.

As you continued to look around the very homey little cottage-like house you were now in, you eventually noticed a very short woman walking towards you with a bowl in hand. As she neared you she had to continue to shoo away several little lizard type animals that continued to try and swarm her to steal the food.

It took you a moment before you realized those weren’t just lizards, they were dragons.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you watched the woman handle the beasts with such care and affection.

Great, you happened to wind up in some crazy woman’s cottage in the middle of who knows where.

You carefully sat back up, steadying yourself to prevent you from getting dizzy again as you looked towards the woman.

“Where am I?” You asked, but your voice was hoarse and scratchy from not having been used in days. The woman merely stared at you with a smile as she held the bowl of what looked to be like soup, towards you, urging you to eat.

You shook your head, trying to get her to answer before you asked again, “Where am I?”. In return she shook her head, now practically shoving the soup in your face. You finally took the soup from her, hoping that now she would answer you, but instead she turned right back around and began working on something else.

You simply stared in confusion before looking around you for some way out. That’s when you saw it, the door. Sure you couldn’t really run but the woman seemed largely occupied. Besides, you could argue you just needed fresh air.

Easy.

Or so you thought.

You carefully put your feet onto the ground, the floorboards creaking beneath you as you slowly put your weight down. You carefully began to push yourself upwards into a standing position, occasionally wobbling here and there but you were managing. You almost felt like some kind of sea creature learning how to use their new legs. You hugged the wall as you slowly but surely made your way towards the door, swinging it open and walking out.

You didn’t know what to expect, but you were hoping to see a village of some sort, maybe even a large woodland area, but you quickly realized you had been very mistaken. Oh sure, there was a village, but it was currently several hundred feet below the house you were currently standing in.

“Why in god's name would they build this so high up?” You wondered to yourself, and just as you had managed to stick your head even the slightest bit over the edge to peak below, you heard a loud roar from an animal you had never heard before.

You scrambled away from the edge, afraid that you may have upset some sort of creature that lived under the weird balcony that was a part of this house. It didn’t take you long to realize that the roar you had heard did not come from below, but instead it had come from above. Your head shot up to look for the source of the noise and your eyes widened as you made eye contact with a…

“Night Fury?” You shrieked, well as well as you could've with such a broken voice. With all your might you brought yourself back up and scrambled back into the house, slamming the door behind you. Suddenly this woman didn’t seem crazy because you could’ve sworn you saw someone riding that Night Fury. You’d have to be insane to even think of doing something like that.

Maybe sitting down and just having your soup was the best option right now, besides you were probably just hallucinating. After all, Night Furies went extinct years ago… right?

You sat down, finally beginning to take in some of the very warm meal that the strange woman had prepared for you, and you couldn’t lie it was pretty tasty. Well tasty in Viking terms of food. The warmth of the meal actually began to calm you down a slight bit before you heard a knock at the door that you had previously slammed, followed by a slightly concerned and confused voice.

“Uh, hey Gothi? Are we able to come in, didn’t mean to scare your guest like that.” The voice said from the other side of the door. The only thing you could really tell from it was that it was a young man. You then looked towards the woman, who you assumed to be Gothi, as she hobbled over to the door, now opening it.

Once the door had been fully opened, you locked eyes with the man now standing in the doorway and it immediately clicked. You weren’t hallucinating, that man was actually riding a dragon. And no one else was reacting to this?!

[2kmps]

BOUNTY

hot outlaw x engineer!reader | 2.8k

story summary; shortly following the death of your mother, you come to learn that you're the illegitimate offspring of a railroad tycoon with insurmountable wealth and power meant to inherit it all. after a hasty departure from home to begin your journey across the continent of san-am, your train is stopped and boarded by a mysterious man in black tatters who claims to be there kill you.

story warnings; mentions of death, mention of bodily fluids and excrement, heavy worldbuilding, mentions of conspiracy to murder, kidnapping, neo-western setting, old-west slang used, usage of unique slang, not really proofread or edited, concept piece for a much larger project.

if you enjoyed, please interact & reblog this post!! ❣️

Mother died a week before the lawyer showed up on your doorstep with an inheritance letter and half-hearted condolences for your absentee father’s poor prognosis. A day after that, your life was stowed into a pair of suitcases and a heavier hard case that you barely justified bringing aboard the train. In three weeks and three layovers, you would be across the continent in St. Corpus, the industrial heart of San-Am, where your father awaited you on his deathbed.

Horace Grissom had fathered a new age of industry and outward expansion in lands once believed to be sprawling metropolises centuries long gone. They had been left behind as skeletons of steel and rust from a time of global war, reclaimed in totality by the roots of elder trees, the decay of salt and sea, the precarious will of mountains, and the great sinkholes and corrosion of sand and time.

Traces of that old world had survived thanks in part to the rigorous efforts of archaeologists and conservationists at the University of San-Am in Grimerise. With each new discovery, opportunistic vultures like your father blotted their pens to their tongues to their pocketbooks and readied themselves to own the patent of it like history had a price and could only belong to them. Indeed, anything could be bought, because with those fragments of history, he built the San-Am Continental Railroad which crossed through each of the five territories and was considered the premier way to travel. 

You were never allowed to ask questions about Horace under Mother’s roof as the very mention of his name would set her ablaze in some pettish, garrulous tantrum that, oftentimes, ended with you going to bed before dusk without dinner until the next day. She loved that bitterness up until the very moment she died, clawing your clothes, your skin, her nightgown, her own throat because she couldn't breathe and there was nothing you could do to save her from succumbing.

“Go in peace, Mother.” you said, kissing the back of her sun-speckled hand even as she tried digging her nails into your face. “I love you.”

She did not waste peacefully, nor did she end by staring up rapturously at the ceiling as though something else waited for her beyond it. Mother passed in blood, vomit, excrement, and all her hatred while you bade her farewell and considered who was best to call to have her body carted away to burn with all the others that had also succumbed that day. You made sure to label that as the cause of death on the official paperwork.

After that, you had made quick work of piling all of her things into boxes to be incinerated as well, certified the house was safe and in a liveable state (besides her old mattress, which was the first thing you disposed of because of the smell) for another family to move into. 

Once all of that had been finished and you gained the time to rest, you got a knock at your door, a bald, sinewy man with a round hat claiming to be Joseph Whitwald—estate planning lawyer, he made sure to specify more than once—and that you needed to leave post haste to your father's estate in St. Corpus before he perished.

“You have significant placement in his will, illegitimate or not. This is what he wanted, this is what shall be done,” said Whitwald assuredly as he rooted through the pockets of his pants and white suit vest for something. He found it and made a sound and a flourish, revealing to you a red ticket. “Take this. It's for one of the elite cabins in first class. Your father wanted you to have the best amenities that the San-Am Continental has to offer.”

Even with such luxuries available to you with the sound of a bell on string, you eventually found yourself exchanging tickets with a young woman traveling solo for the first time. She went red in the eyes, asserted her appreciation, and scooped you into a hug before taking the ticket and her belongings to the first car. 

The passenger car was considerably noisier with children running amok, drunks and musicians belting tunes while dancing in the center aisle—doing poorly to keep their balance as the train navigated the terrain beneath the rails, and ladies in bustles and fashionable blouses screaming like hens over fresh gossip. The stewards were frustrated that they couldn't get their trolleys through all the bodies, whereas some passengers let their stomachs roar through their mouths as they assailed anyone nearby (especially the poor lads just trying to deliver food) with complaints.

You liked everything happening around you; it was a good distraction from the way life had twisted your arm behind your back. The cacophony of laughter and anger felt like home, a comfortable companion to sit there with you on the empty, thinly padded benches while you stared uselessly at the inheritance papers—uncomprehending.

A gasp shot up your throat and made you bite your tongue as you were launched forward onto the adjacent bench (also empty) when the train suddenly began to slow—brakes engaged with such quickness that the wood beams under your feet vibrated up through your soles into your bones and teeth and skull until you became lightheaded and collapsed back into your seat. 

The squeal and grind of steel worsened your confusion, turned the fuzz in your head into dull drumming—aches that pulsed to a beat you couldn't figure out, but it deadened the screams all around you and bodies hitting the floorboards in thunderous heaps. 

And then, there was silence. 

The other passengers kept their voices low as they climbed back into their seats, children were smothered deep into their mother’s bosoms as they wept, and no one dared to investigate what had brought the train to such a violent stop.

“Mummy, what's happening?” asked a girl from the benches behind you. She couldn't have been older than ten, from the sound of her. “Mummy, why—”

“Lottie!” the mother hissed at her daughter, “Shhh! Say nothing else, child.”  

From a few seats away, closer to the front, you recognized the gruff, muddled voice from one of the drunkards who had been dancing in the aisle a while ago. Now, he had a bloody nose and a nasty knot growing on his forehead.

“What the hell is the big idea of them scarin’ the piss outta us like this? Do you see my face? They gonna do somethin’ to fix it?” he complained, then swigged liquor from a flask he had smuggled on. “I should go up there and give ‘em a piece of my mind. Bastards.”

“Peace, friend,” soothed a musician with an unfamiliar accent and stringed instrument. “Don't be hasty. I'm sure there’s a good reason why they had to stop. Let them find a solution, we’re just here for the ride.”

Just as the chatter was rising up again, commotion from the first class car stifled it hard, prompting some folks to abandon their seats near the door separating the cars to crowd into the rear. You were tempted to flee with them, join their pack so if they were going to find a way off the train, you'd be mixed up in their stampede and have a better chance to get away.

Except, you simply packed away your inheritance paperwork and sat there with your chin tucked to the collarbone, the visor of your baseball cap pulled lower over your sunglasses to seem as nondescript as possible. Meanwhile, the sounds from first class grew intense; glass shattered, passengers screamed and shuffled around, something you knew to be true because you felt the floor rumble under your feet again.

And then, the passenger car door slid open without the ferocity you had expected. The door scraped along its metal rail, allowing the body to pass through in heavy, languid steps. You paced your breaths to hear it all; the boots and clinking spurs striking wood with dull thuds, a baritone hum that you were convinced you could feel reverberate in your own chest as it came closer, the scuff of thick fabric and creaking leather. 

You waited for it all to pass, to move on like a slow-moving rain cloud amidst a humid summer day, but it stopped at you instead. The tips of the man's boots were within view, as were slithers of tattered, black fabric from a long duster that fell short of his shins. 

And then, there was the barrel of a gun. The breaths you had been holding shivered out of you, cold dread sank deep into your stomach and bones as the gun flicked upward a few times.

You obeyed and raised your head up to look at the man—tall, broad-shouldered, a rugged face with dark features mostly obscured by the shadow of his wide rim. 

He tilted his head, gun higher as he flicked it down and you understood that to mean to take off your sunglasses. When you did so, offering him a full view of your face, his lips lifted crookedly into a half-smile.

“Well then,” he took the bench adjacent to you before holding something up to your head, seemingly a piece of paper, and shifted his gaze between you and it just twice. “Aren't you something special? Found you, darlin’.”

“What?” you frowned. “Found me?”

“Yeah, the resemblance is uncanny. You're definitely his kid. It's all in the eyes, really.” He said, turning the paper around to reveal a photograph of a man who you did share an eerie likeness to. It was the sameness in the eyes—the color and shape and emotion they evoked through a simple still image. “Horace Grissom had an illegitimate kid a long time ago. Turns out, not everyone is so pleased for that to become public knowledge. Turns out, someone wants you to bite the ground.”

“I've done nothing wrong!” you bristled.

He settled on the bench and hiked an arm up across the back of it. “That's usually how it goes, hun. Puttin’ holes in types like you really ain't my favorite thing to do. You'd be surprised how many people get put in your exact situation. Well, eh, not quite. ‘Cause not everyone is Horace Grissom’s kid.”

“Who hired you?” you demanded. 

His lopsided smile remained. “Can't tell you that, darlin’. Confidentiality an’ all that.”

“So, then, you're a bounty hunter?” At this point, you weren't sure if you were trying to stave off an inevitability, or he had just riled you up that badly. “How much are you getting?”

“Enough to live the high-life for quite a while, I'd say.” He continued, “but I ain't no bounty hunter. Them folks gotta play by rulebooks an’ a bunch of codes and whatever. Not my thing.” 

“A criminal, then,” you said. “An outlaw.”

He shifted the rim of his hat away from his eyes and leaned towards a pillar of golden, midmorning sunlight that came in through the window. “Sure, if that's what'll make you feel better about this entire thing.”

You could actually see him now—the contrast between the ambery hue in his rich complexion and pale green of his eyes. His skin had some weather to it, enough to prove that he had seen the worst of every season for years on end without it wearing him thin, along with thoroughly kempt hair on his face and loose waves that draped slightly beyond his shoulders. 

“I…” the longer he stared at you, the less you were able to think. That was ridiculous considering you had survived the soul-crushing burden of engineering school and all of the personalities therein. “I can offer you something better than what you were hired for.”

He did a fast sweep of the colossal heaps of fabric hanging from your frame, a style you preferred to keep eyes off of you on the best and worst of days. It didn't do much to deter him as it did others. 

“Oh, yeah? Whaddya got, hun?” 

You lifted your shoulders and stacked your bones right. “I've got a vast inheritance that I'm not interested in. Horace is dying and I’m in his will to receive half his properties, along with his shares in the San-Am Continental Railway and Subsidiaries. If you can get me to St. Corpus, you can have the inheritance—every last gris.”

A shrill whistle echoed around your head, tuneful and mocking. The sound of it whittled your confidence back down to nothing, filling the space of your throat with a vise that you couldn't seem to swallow around. That same great unease you had felt before weaseled around in your chest, coiled your ribs and then plunged straight down into your gut. 

“Good offer, but it ain't on the table.” The way he spoke was easy and slow, a thick drawl that suited every bit of him up to even now. He acted as though he weren't essentially holding a gun to your head, threatening your life in the name of money—or something else. “Gris is always good to have lyin’ around, but, honey, it don't really mean a lot to a man like me. Why, then, d’ya think I take on work like this? Why do ya think I trek halfway across the five territories time and time again? What really keeps a man goin’ out here in this godforsaken place?”

You felt yourself shrink in your seat as he leaned forward over his thighs, coming closer still like he had a secret to keep. “It's for the thrill. The hunt. The challenge of it all. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't actively seek out men to shoot or… nice types like you, but part of the fun is trackin’ down, the other part is just havin’ a chat—just like this.”

Then, he had the picture of Horace held out to you between two fingers. “Tell ya what, I see that hard case you brought aboard. I know what it is, but I want you to offer me somethin’ more interesting than a bunch of gris.”

You scrunched the photograph against your palm once you had it, hoping the sweat off your skin would ruin his face and make the ink run, but looked to the aforementioned hard case instead. 

It was made of a hard plastic shell with strips of rubber outlining the odd shape of the thing. Inside was your handheld welding gun—one of many—that you had decided to bring along for little reason besides thinking it could be of use at some point during your time away. It wouldn't be enough to handle larger jobs such as the ones you were accustomed to in the workshop back in Grimerise, but it could fix a wagon or two, glue some pipes together, and do some damage if need be.

“C’mon, darlin’, sell yourself to me.” he pressed, gesturing his impatience with winding fingers. “What do you do for a living, huh?”

“I'm an engineer,” you continued hastily, “I-I can solder, weld, braze, cut, and saw. I can do anything if I have the right equipment.”

In turn, he asked, “Does that mean you can cut open a safe?”  

“If you give me what I need, I can do anything.” you said. 

A new sort of look overcame his features, one of great fondness and admiration that made the green of his eyes take on the milky luster of jade. You had the hope that this unique softness would gain you freedom from a shallow, empty death; a chance to go forward to seize the assets sworn to you by a man you'd never known.

His hands came forward to take your wrists, the weight of them first heavy and then cold as a pair of handcuffs were locked around you, knocking bone when you lunged back into your seat and fought against them. 

“I've got myself quite boon!” In the next moment, he had hauled you up across his shoulder, retrieved both your suitcases, and called one of the stewards to carry your welding gun after him. “Time to go. Gotta introduce you to the crew and get ya settled in.”

“Wait, I don't even know your name!” you shouted and thrashed from shoulder.

He grinned. “Jericho, darlin’.”

a/n: so, this is a concept piece to a very large neo-western project I'm currently in the process of outlining and fleshing out. most things mentioned in this little oneshot will not be present in the final piece, the quality will, of course, be substantially better.

jericho is an outlaw with an extremely complex background story and will definitely be one of the more interesting characters I've ever written. he's not necessarily the sort of man you want entangled in your life, but he's loyal to a fault once you have his trust. his personality tends to revolve around "taking things as they come", which is a great nuisance to those around him. he likes a good challenge, strong liquor, and good medicine.

here's a brief glossary if you're interested:

san-am: the continent where events take place. no one knows what it used to be called because most historical documents have been lost. it's divided into five territories with a "capital".

grimerise: the central hub of commerce, home of the governing bodies. it's a large city dead center of the other four territories. mc was born and raised there. the university of san-am is also here.

st. corpus: the industrial heart of san-am, found down south near the seaboard. mc's father lives there.

"gris": currency in this world. its components are coins and bank notes. it is a relatively new thing to come about because the bartering system is still the preferred method of trading.

[sugar-plum-writer]

You Are Ravishing

Theme: Comfort Fic [Body insecurity]; One-Shot Paring: Sukuna x Fem!Reader; established relationship; Fluff; Slight NSFW A/n: A comfort fic of Sukuna comforting fukcing you to show you how beautiful you truly are

"You are divine darling"

[To everyone going through these problems- you are not alone, you are a beautiful person, okay? It is hard when the past habits suddenly come back to haunt you; when you look in the mirror and suddenly you feel like you are the ugliest person on Earth. It is hard, just know- as long as you are healthy nothing else matters. You just be the best version of you <3]

SUKUNA

He was annoyed, well he was annoyed by the littlest things, but today he was even more annoyed the more he looked at you. Jaw clenched tight; arms crossed as he looked at you laughing.

Your laughs were music to his ears, but your laughs right now were fake which he despised

He was never the type to hide his feelings and seeing the one he loved so much hide her feelings from him, annoyed him to his core.

“Y/n what is wrong?”, sharply he looked at you with an annoyed expression

“Wh-What do you mean what is wrong?”, you laughed, “Nothing is wrong Sukuna”

“Fake”

“Fake? What do you mean?”, shocked your eyes widened

“Your laugh right now, again it was fake”, pulling you by the wrists- eyes locked on yours

“I can see it” Pinning you against the wall he leaned in

“Do I look like a fool to you?”

“No-No never!? I said everything is fine!”

“Y/n.”, with a sharp voice his grip on you tightened- nails digging into your wrists

“Either you tell me what is wrong-”

“Or”

“I will make you tell me what is wrong”

His gaze was unwavering- as if he could look through all the lies you gave, cutting them all down with ease, why was he like this? How was he so easily able to cut through all your lies and dig his hands into your heart and soul? Read you so well- It was shocking

He knew you better than you did yourself

“I-“, biting your lips you looked into his eyes full of tears

“You-you are so mean!”, all the tears spilled that you had so desperately tried to control- tried so hard to maintain this facade- all crumbled down breaking you

“Y/n” Confused he loosened his grasp- wiping the tears away instantly

“Why are you crying?”

“I-“, sobbing through your tears you spoke

“I hate myself; I hate myself so much, I hate everything about me”

“What- how did you even reach such a conclusion pet?”, bringing you close he just hugged you; you were so fragile right now- as if just one touch could shatter you into pieces

“Who said this to you? I will kill them”

“Wh-no”, gasping you looked at him

“I am serious, anything that annoys you- annoys me, and whatever annoys me dies, darling”

“Who is it?”

His eyes were devoid of mercy, he did not care who died, all he cared about was your happiness and his happiness. Caressing your hair he smirked- it was a chilling one, you knew he was not joking- if you actually asked him to kill someone, he would really kill them.

Hell, he would even kill their relatives as a bonus just for you.

It was terrifying the amount of power he had. But what was even scarier even for him, though he would not admit it- was the amount of power you had over him.

A single tear from your eyes- and whoever made those tears fall would drop dead

Mercilessly

“No-No one needs to die…the past is the past…” Signing you hugged him back burying your face in his chest

“I just- I cannot love myself- I feel so ugly”, you whispered

“My face, my body- I am so ugly, I cannot even look at myself-”, clenching his robes tightly, your voice cracked as more tears fell

“Without wanting to rip myself to shreds”

“Ugly? Where?” lifting your chin, he kissed you

“You are ravishing y/n”, biting your lips he kissed you even deeper, caressing your waist- and squeezing your hips

“And the only thing that is ugly in my eyes-” Smirking with a snap of his fingers your clothes were in tatters

“Is that fabric covering that body of yours”, taking of his robes he towered over you

"Clothes are worthless, just be naked for me", kiss lips hooked to yours again- kissing your tears away

“Darling you are beautiful, ravishing- let me show you how ravishing you truly are and remove those worthless doubts”

Link to Masterlist!

[sturmdunkel]

hello hello here are my pieces for the @malevolentbigbang

i am so happy i got to work with these amazing people! both the writer, quakergoth on ao3, and the artist i've worked alongside for this project, resetoaster on tumblr and insta, were a delight to work with!! :DDD

here's the link to the great and wonderful fic, you shall walk with me tomorrow

i've really had a wonderful time participating in this event and i hope to participate again in the future!! :DDD

here are the image id's for the art pieces:

[ID: The outline of a person's side profile filled in with light green on a dark blue background. Inside the shape, a man in a suit smokes a cigarette, dark smoke obscures his eyes. / End ID]

[ID: the first picture depicts a black and white comic. The first 4 panels is of a fist banging at a wooden door. The 5th panel is of a hand grabbing that fist with a speech bubble that says “Stop that”. The last panel of the page is of Arthur, a white man with slicked back dark hair and a suit leaning over John, a white man with disheveled dark hair also wearing a suit. A speech bubble says “ You’re drawing unnecessary attention to us.” / End ID]

[ID: a colored drawing depicting Arthur’s body, a white man with brown hair and a wet brown suit, laying unconscious in a boat. He has a bloody wound on his abdomen and his hands cover it. On the water the orange reflections of a fire are visible./ End ID]

[ID: the figure of a white man, dressed in a suit running through a weird landscape. There are two suns in the sky and yellow tattered fabric strewn across the sand, blowing in he wind and obscuring the man’s vision. On the drawing you can read the verses: “ I am sister to the rain/ Fey and sudden and unholy / Petulant at the windowpane / Quickly lost, remembered slowly / I have lived with shades a shade / I am hung with graveyard flowers / Let me be tonight arrayed / In the silver of the showers”. /End ID]

[ID: John, a white man with brown hair, yellow eyes and wearing a brown suit is holding up a lantern. Light is casting hard shadows on half his face and body. Around him are the faded out figures of himself holding up the lantern. The background Is of a starry sky and a jagged mountain range. / End ID]

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: escaping Hawkins was impossible, but he did it. when a ghost from your past shows up unexpectedly, bringing with him old memories and holding up a mirror to the train wreck life you’re living… you find it hard to trust him again.

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ no minors, depictions of poverty, child neglect/ endangerment, drug use/abuse, alcohol use/abuse, endangerment, 18+ sex working, 18+stripping, violence, smut. no use of y/n reader has a name that’s introduced in the first chapter, and another “nickname” that is lightly used throughout this series. eddie also has a nickname given by reader.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: memories flood back of when you were younger, Eddie wants to talk but silence holds merit.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: here i come, but i ain’t the same

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨: cold before the warm

masterlist

The nub end of graphite scrawls against a crinkled back page of paper. Ripped haphazardly from a composition book labeled: Language Arts—E.M.

The yellow pencil was pocked with teeth marks, having been between a pair of teeth that weren’t yours, mind not even gathering the germs that could be harbored in the pressed wood. 

Your tongue had been poked out for nearly three minutes according to the watch on Eddie’s wrist. Your brain working overtime trying to find the best phrase that would stump your friend in the game of Hangman. 

The alphabet was written in a hurry on the left side of the page, parallel to the hanging post. Beneath that were evenly scratched dashes on the blue printed line, waiting for their companion of letters to be filled by Eddie’s correct guesses. 

Putting the pencil down with a satisfying smack, you look up from your masterpiece confidently.

“Okay, I’m ready!” 

Eddie chomps a piece of Big Red loud between his teeth, unhooking his tangled feet from underneath himself and stretching out his skinny legs, jeans from the previous school year hacked into shorts for the summer, “took long enough.”

You make a face and flip him a suggestive finger, the nail chipped and painted pink from the last time your neighbor Michelle let you play with her nail polish, and in return you listened to her gab about her boyfriend while she combed her hair like Marcia Brady. 

“Don’t be a poor loser because you’ve lost the last four games, Clove.” 

He laughs when your eyebrows turn into a pout, the heel of your worn sneaker kicking into his. The same black pair of converse, yours a few sizes smaller, faded and tattered, fitting your feet in a way that was uncomfortable for the arch of your foot, years of wear accustomed to another’s foot print that belonged to the boy across from you. 

Letters are guessed and lines filled in. Eddie insists that you make the hangman have a face complete with nose, mouth and eyes realizing that he is close to eating his words from earlier. 

“Would you like the hangman to be wearing socks and a hat?” You ask honestly, hiding a smirk behind the paper. 

Eddie scoffs, working a bite mark into his bottom lip as he racks his brain for what kind of dumb phrase you conjured up, “I quit on terms that you’re a cheater.” 

The insult was harsh, not worse than the words that you heard around your kitchen table or ones that ricocheted off the thin walls when you were on the cusp of dreaming. No, this word hurt. Stung into your skin like a wasp, repeating its terror until you were swollen and skin ached of heat. 

Tears sprung to your eyes, clinging to your lashes ready to drop. The paper clenched in your fist as you shoved it under Eddie’s nose, proving your innocence. 

“I am not!” 

“Sure you are,” he takes the paper from you, folding it roughly into an uneven shape and shoving it between the couch cushions behind him, “Cheatin’ Clove. Has a nice little ring to it doesn’t it?” 

Before Eddie can say anymore, a can of Coca Cola is thrown at his head hitting him with a thud, followed by your whimpers and the sound of your feet clapping against the dirty linoleum. 

“Clove! ow! Wait!” 

The screen door scratched your palms as you twisted it open. Jumping from the stairs and landing hard in the dirt, you didn’t bother bringing your bike home. Choosing to run the short distance instance instead, shutting the front door with a heavy slam. 

Tears soaked your pillowcase before you drifted to sleep, curled up on top of the patchwork quilt on your bed. 

Eddie. 

His name was trapped in your mouth, dry along your tongue, unable to force its way out. 

He was a ghost to you, memories that were buried and dormant were now flooding back at full speed, pinging around your brain firing each nerve tucked away deep, landing you a migraine behind your eyes. 

Seven years. 

Seven fucking years, since you had seen those doe shaped eyes, brown muddied colors still lost in a child’s innocence and wonderment— barely aged from the last time you had seen him. That memory burned into your retinas, like fuel to a pained flame. 

His hair was longer, well past his shoulders now, fringe of his bangs still thick on his forehead. His knuckles were covered in tattoos, the little you can see of his neck is also full of dark wisps of ink.

He says your nickname, the one only he knew. A joke between best friends. 

You try to open your mouth, fighting like hell to will anything to come out, but nothing does, the words choke against your throat, caught against each other in a tangled string of sharp edges.

“uh— I—E..”  

His eyes grew bigger than they already were, waiting for you to say something, anything. It was as if time stood still, all the pain from years prior coming back.

Images of Eddie, his smile, the bloody gash on his knee from his longboard, small memories, painful ones that could bring someone less strong to their knees: all flash behind your eyes.  

The pain from all those years ago was searing through you like a knife. Memories that you kept buried away were suddenly throttling you like they had just happened, the wounds that were licked clean were now fresh and open, blood flowing freely.

Before hot tears can spill down your face, you spin wildly on your heel, walking fast and turning back to the bar. The tray slamming onto the back counter with a loud bang, snapping.  

Your breath was erratic, heart racing. Whatever lingering high you had was gone. Emotions you hadn’t felt in years coursing through you demanding to be felt. 

Why was he back? 

You didn’t know the purpose of his return to Hawkins, only registering how hurt you felt that he was. The day he left still stung your spine, sending shivers all over your body. 

Did he ever think of you? In the seven years he had been gone did you bleep on his radar even once?

Hanging your head your fingers tap nervously on the lacquered wood, trying to calm yourself down before you work yourself up anymore than you already were. 

“Be right back,” you called over your shoulder to Jolene, head down walking fast to the cooler. 

The chilled air made your skin prick with goosebumps but you couldn’t care, the only thing you could feel was your heart shattering to pieces all over again. 

The floor was cold under your body, shelves and beer boxes held you up as you fell apart. Deep shuddering breaths in and winded ones out, you don’t wipe the tears as they free fall down the apples of your cheeks—dragging black eyeliner and mascara with them til they trickle from your chin. 

The callus of your life made it hard to feel, even harder to cry. But once the gate was open, it was challenging to close. A dam of pent up emotions broke free out of you like an angry flood, full of irreparable damage, forgotten feelings and an exploding heart. Taking with it years of questions, hopes and dreams. 

Scenery wasn’t the only thing that was altered in his time away. You evolved, having to peel off layers of naivety and fear. Would he care if he knew? 

Wiping another sludge of wet makeup from under your eyes you catch the tattoo on your hand. 

It burned on your skin. Prickling like it hadn’t been ten years since you’d gotten it.  Years that seemed like a different lifetime ago.

It practically was.

The boy who did them was long gone, and the man in his place was someone you didn’t even know. 

—

It was you. 

The only person in all of Hawkins who made it bearable. What should have been a joyful reunion was clouded over with painful memories. Of course there were good ones, but mostly the bad out weighed anything happy. 

You had always been the little bit of sunshine that broke through on a cloudy day, the only person he trusted with silly secrets, trusted with anything.

He couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that you were here. Not just in Hawkins. But working here. 

A surge of rage filled his stomach but was quickly washed out by pain as you stomped away, looking as if you had seen a ghost, a part of your past that you didn’t want to remember. 

Was that what he was to you? A painful memory, one that was more sour than everything else that happened? 

Jeff’s voice is muffled in his ears, as if he’s trying to speak underwater. He can’t wrap his head around this whole thing. The guilt eating him alive. 

Eddie clears his throat and takes a generous sip of beer, trying to stop his hands from shaking, chilled sweat creeping down his back. He fiddles with a napkin, ripping the end into small shreds and rolling them up like a kid would for a spit wad. 

He could map out every scar on your arms and legs, tell anyone the exact color of your eyes, in sunlight and in a dark room. He knew your favorite song, that you were afraid of the dark and that your front teeth didn’t come in for almost three months after he had helped you pull them out.

You had taught him how to hang upside down on the monkey bars behind the trailer park. He taught you how to play his guitar, and if he thought hard enough he could remember the smell of your shampoo. 

You were everything to him.

Bestfriends since the cradle, made up handshakes and secrets sworn to the grave. But years, tear spilled miles and the guilt of broken promises wedged a distance between you. 

One that couldn’t be made better by the letters he sent that went unanswered. And it definitely wouldn’t get fixed in one random night when fate lead him to this fucking dump, back under your nose.

It hurt not seeing the sparkle in your eyes, but he could only blame himself. 

“Sorry, what was that?” 

Jeff motions for Eddie to lean in, doing so he jerks his head to the bar where you are standing stone-still hovering over a counter with your back turned to them. “She looked familiar, right? Did she go to school with us?” 

“Yeah,” he admitted, trying to shove down his emotions with another gulp of beer, “she did.” 

Jeff leans back, “Chloe? Cassie, Chasity… no. Claire? Shit what was her name?” 

Eddie’s eyes fell to the smudgy tattoo, he rubs his thumb over the ink, “Clove.”

“That’s right!” clapping his hands together, “knew it was something weird.” 

Eddie let himself smile. Small and weak, his lip ticking up on one side. He rubbed the tattoo again, remembering that day like it was yesterday. 

—

The summer breeze blows hotly through the makeshift curtains, sending the loose paper on the dresser scattering like desert tumbleweeds across Eddie’s bedroom floor, joining the litter of car magazines and unwashed clothes taking up space in the tiny room. 

“gotta sit still Slick, or this won’t work.” 

You were biting through your lip, trying to muffle a cry from breaking out, “ow..it hurts!” 

It was your idea to get matching tattoos with your best friend, and it was Eddie who said he could do them no problem. He had already tattooed a heart on Dave with his girlfriend's name through the center last month—never mind that she dumped him a week later. The sobs coming from trailer 11 didn’t ever seem to end. 

“Well yeah,” Eddie chuckles, clearing his throat and puffing behind a cigarette, “what did you expect it would be done with? A marker?”

Your right hand rested on his bent knee for precision. The other was clamped tight over your eyes in hopes that if you didn’t see how it was done, it wouldn’t hurt so bad. 

The warmth of your sweaty nervous palm on his jeans felt hot, as if you were being burnt alive. But, despite the pain from the needle going in and out of your skin, Eddie was gentle. 

His shoulder provided comfort as you leaned your head onto it, slowly wetting his shirt with your tears. You curl your body into his side, knees stabbing into his ribs, head pressed tight to the side of his neck, hand fisting the sleeve of his shirt for support as you intake a sharp breath when he finishes the curve of the dainty heart. 

“Need a break?” he asks, setting the needle down on the carpet, rubbing a pattern with his thumb on your hand. “I made some Kool-Aid yesterday, your favorite kind.” 

Lynyrd Skynyrd plays softly in the background and Eddie strums along on your palm to the guitar solo. 

Muffled against his cotton shirt, your voice is hoarse from the tears, “orange?” 

He chuckles around a cloud of smoke, “hell yeah, picked some up yesterday morning before my shift, got a few packets for your place too, I know how much Lolly likes it.” 

“Speaking of,” you uncross your legs to stand, “I gotta go check on her.” 

Eddie stands up with you, a whole head taller than you were, you pluck the cigarette from his mouth and slot it into your own, inhaling the tobacco expertly into your lungs as you examine the small tattoo on your skin.

“‘m not done yet, but what do ya think?” 

Blood and ink were smeared around it messily, but it looked identical to the one he had on his left hand, yours only missing the clover. 

A smile stretches across your lips and you feel the burn of tears from in your eyes, “it’s perfect, Eddie.”  

He opens his bedroom door, grabbing the cigarette from your mouth and squishing it into the heaping ashtray on his nightstand. “you really think so?” he whispers.

“Are you kidding? It’s amazing!” 

He blows his lips in a raspberry, long legs walking down the dingy carpet hallway to the kitchen, “let those prissy bitches try to pick on you now… nobody wants to fight someone with tattoos.” 

The girls at school weren’t nice in elementary school and they somehow got nastier with every year. You went from being “stinky girl” to “trailer skank” overnight. 

A far cry from any sort of originality, but that’s how Hawkins was, ruled by the dim and dumb, daddy’s bank account used as a hierarchy status. 

You always brushed them off, keeping mostly to yourself and to your best friend. Eddie took it upon himself to conjure up a frenzied retort that would have them scoffing in disgust. 

With Eddie, nothing else mattered, he didn’t care if your clothes didn’t fit right, or if your ponytail looked scraggly. He didn’t give a shit what people thought of him. You were just two neglected trailer park kids, but to him, you were important. 

“You're an artist Eddie, could probably make a lot of money doing this someday.” 

The idea fell silent between you, both knowing in your hearts what path your life would lead you down. Stuck in the nightmare of what went on behind the thin walls in the trailer park.

Peering over the counter you can see Lolly. Sleeping just as soundly as she had when you laid her down. The stolen playpen from the yard sale on Cornwalis turned out to be worth the uncomfortable bike ride back to Forest Hills with Eddie standing on his pedals and you on the handlebars holding onto dear life as he raced back home. 

Her chubby cheeks were pressed against the yellow floral sheet, little curls twisted into two tiny pigtails, milk dribbling slow from her puckered lips. 

You smile at the sight of such innocence, wishing that you too were unaware of what life was actually like, and knowing that you would do anything to keep your little sister safe from this reality for as long as possible. 

“Can’t believe she cried that long, usually she loves pb&j’s..” Eddie points to your head, trying not to laugh, “you still have peanut butter in your hair by the way.” 

Lolly had thrown every last bit of her sandwich in a temper tantrum fueled by a lack of sleep. Her aim being perfect with you as her target. 

Twenty minutes with your head under the bathroom sink and Eddie cackling as he squeezed shampoo on your head apparently wasn’t enough to get the sticky treat out.  

“Little shit,” you huff, a smirk on your lips, turning to the fridge, and reaching for the sugary orange drink from the shelf, shutting the door with your hip, “think she might be cuttin’ some teeth at least that’s what Patty said last time she babysat.” 

Eddie reached for the plastic cups that were nabbed from Benny’s after one of his busboy shifts, holding them steady as you poured the juice.

Only spilling a little, you lifted the end of your shirt to mop the counter up. “Kids are weird,” Eddie says, smacking his lips with an orange mustache after a long swig, “remind me never to have ‘em.” 

Snorting through your nose you swallow harshly, a quirk to your eyebrow, “having kids is totally normal, all of our neighbors do.”

He thought quietly before speaking again, “yeah, and nobody is ever around..” he shakes his head. “We’re gonna leave here someday, you and me.” 

You roll your eyes, “sure thing, Slim.” 

Eddie talked crazy like this sometimes. Always dreaming bigger than you could even fathom. Head permanently stuck in the clouds, wishing, hoping for something better than the cards you were both dealt. But you on the other hand, your feet, in hand-me-down shoes, never left the ground. 

His voice was stern when he spoke to you, eyes pleading, and you had never heard him like that before. 

“I’m serious, I’ll die before I stay here,” he moves forward, holding your biceps as he looks down at you, dark eyes wide, almost wild, “I promise you, we won’t end up like this...okay?” 

—

He couldn’t blame you for the way you reacted when your eyes met his. Seeing you tonight hurt more than he could have ever imagined it too. To be honest, he didn’t expect you to still be in Hawkins, but then again— where would you have gone? 

“…you still there dude?” 

Eddie’s eyes shift to Jeff, plastering a smirk to his lips to hide the pain etched so evidently on his face, “yeah, I just uh— tired I guess.” 

He scanned the bar for you, still seeing your frame behind the counter, this time turned around handing a round of beers to a couple of college punks. 

“How far is the drive?” 

Bless Jeff for trying to keep this conversation alive, but Eddie’s mind was anywhere but here at this table. 

Questions he never thought to ask, suddenly poured into his mind. Did you finish high school? Where were you living? How’s Lolly? How old is she now? How have you been? 

He felt sick that he didn’t know the answer to any of them. Guilt devouring away at him like a flesh eating amoeba. 

“Six—no, probably seven hundred miles.. give or take.” 

Had you applied to college? Were you still living in the trailer park?  

“Damn,” Jeff said, scrubbing his hands down his face, “gonna have to visit you sometime, show me around all the cool places… you ever been out to LA? My girlfriend, well ex now, we went a year ago around Christmas time she really loved...”

Although Eddie didn’t know the answers, he figured maybe Jeff would. 

He shakes his head, interrupting his friend, hand raised in apology, “hey, uh wh— whatever happened to her?” He hooks a thumb in your direction in the most nonchalant way he could, even though his entire body was fidgeting in anticipation. 

Jeff raises an eyebrow, “Clove? Oh umm, shit… well I think, no.. yeah no, she didn’t graduate. I remember hearing that she had dropped out, and now she works here apparently.” 

A smirk forms on his lips and he points behind him to the back corner, “forgot to tell you, rumor has it this place is more than just a strip joint,” his dark eyebrows wiggle, “if y'know what I mean.” 

For the first time tonight, Eddie noticed girls coming and going from the beaded doorway, vacant expressions on their smudged faces. Trailing behind were drunk men with glazed eyes and sweaty foreheads, readjusting the threads of their belts and slacks. 

He scans the bar with wild eyes in search of you. Hoping and praying to whoever would listen that you weren’t a part of this. You couldn’t be. 

Who is he kidding? 

If you were still in Hawkins, still under the weight and scrutiny of the inner dealings that started in the trailer park, you were very much involved. 

Realization hit him like a freight train. His stomach clenched and warped with the dreaded grief and guilt he still carried. Deep down he had figured this was what your life had come to. Lying to himself in thinking that you had gotten away from all of this. But seeing it firsthand, in the flesh—he couldn’t bear the thought of it. 

Choking back vomit, he slides from the booth hastily, practically spilling his beer all over the table in his desperate attempt to find you. 

“shit!” Jeff shouted, “dude, you alright?” 

He wasn’t. 

He stumbles from the table, tripping over his own boots and knocking into one of the burly bearded men at the bar, sending his drink tumbling to the ground. Glass and liquor covering the floor like the sparkle of a fresh snow. 

“What’s your problem asshole!?” 

His fiery red hair matched his temper, and the weathered roughness of his cheeks, “ever been inside a bar, tough guy?”  

Before Eddie can whip up a witty retort, Mr. Big Red comes back for more, grabbing him by the arm and shoving him into the high counter of the bar, “hey honey, better stop serving this prick, he can’t handle his liquor like a real man.” 

The swinging doors open and there you are again, struggling beneath the keg you’re carrying. He wanted to jump up and grab it from you, but Eddie was still pinned to the bar by the guy's hand on his bicep, tightening more and more. 

Your eyes reach his and it’s like you don’t even see him. 

“Agh, c’mon Mick,” you say, a warm smile on your lips, “I like ‘em nice and drunk, that’s when they tip the best.”

You set the keg down with a metallic thud on the floor, grabbing a bottle of Jameson and two shot glasses. The mahogany liquid pours smoothly, much like the dark eyes watching you, and heat crawls up your neck. 

Sliding one towards Mick, you hold the other up by your black painted fingers, Clinking them together with a ‘cheers’ and bringing the glass to your lips, allowing your eyes to finally glance towards Eddie. 

He was taller now. His shoulders, more broad, filling in the teenage lithe muscles that fit his frame then. His baby face disappeared entirely, now his chin was stretched with a sharp jaw, which was currently clenched like he was holding back anger, his throat bobbing in a dance of tattooed skin. 

You swallow the liquor in one gulp, relishing the burn as it slips down your throat, the same fire that’s staring from across the counter. Eddie hadn’t taken his eyes from yours.

A twitch forms in your eyelid and you blink it away, setting the glass down hard on the wooden countertop.

You lean your body across the bar, collecting the glassware that’s accumulated since you had been hiding in the cooler. Placing them gently into the warm sudsy sink to wash before filling the small dishwasher below. 

Mickey was already turned back around, talking loudly to Wendy and trying to get her to sit on his lap for five bucks. His grip on Eddie’s arm turns limp when you slide him another shot, just for good measure. 

The bar is chaotic, loud and boisterous, but the air between you and Eddie is quiet, stagnant, no warmth from you. Icicles could form from your frigid silence. 

He knocks his knuckles against the bar, big gaudy rings clacking along, keeping in rhythm to the music playing overhead, but you don’t give in. Don’t humor him by asking how or why he knew Rock Me Amadeus.

“Hey V,” you call out to your work partner, “get this stranger a drink before he gets a parking ticket.” 

Swiveling away from him, you squat down to maneuver the keg to where it needed to go, rocking it on its rounded edge and swiveling it into place. 

Veronica’s voice is cheery and dripping with sex appeal as she asks Eddie what he wants to drink, and you can’t misplace the deepness of his voice, and the polite way he tells her that he’s fine for the evening. 

Cracking the top of the keg, you hook it up to the correct tap, shoving with all your might to get it in under the cabinet and slotted in properly. 

Spending more time than necessary below the bar, you avoid the warm chocolate eyes waiting for you up above. 

What were you supposed to say to him? Thank God you’re home? What the hell did he even want?  

An ant is huddled around a spilled drop of grenadine, you watch as it collects the sticky treat—what you wouldn’t give to switch places with the insect for a few hours. 

If one thing was certain you would need a little encouragement to make it through tonight and the haunting memories that shuddered through you every time you looked at Eddie.

Your purse was in the cubby over to the right, nimble fingers find the familiar plastic of the bottle, screwing off the top and clicking three pills into your hand. 

A greedy palm finds your lips, your eager tongue accepting the drugged gift. Swallowing without any liquid, your spit was more than enough to coat the tablets, watering upon knowing the relief you’ll be met with. 

More shouts and hollers boom through your ears, this time in celebration. 

“Where’d you go sweet cheeks? Need a round, Bobby just found out his girl isn’t pregnant!” 

Duty called, and you knew those dark eyes were still waiting for you, hide and seek was done for now, and in a few short minutes, you’d feel like you were flying. 

Boots planted firm on the sticky tiles, you push yourself up, fully expecting a litter of questions. But when you face him, he’s quiet. Silently watching your every move. 

Not in a way you’re watched by every other slimeball in this town, his eyes never once flicking over your curves or the deep v of your shirt. 

Eddie was admiring the woman you’d become. The shy girl he once knew was replaced by a force to be reckoned with. Did you become that way because he left? No longer having him around to stick up for you?

He pushed out those thoughts, thoughts of you alone. 

The way you fleetingly moved from drunk to drunk, collecting tips and pouring drinks, you were a natural. no longer the girl that was afraid of spiders and slept with a nightlight. What should have been a comfort in his heart stretched into an angry bruise against his soul. 

Warmth riddled your face into a smirk as you dug jabs back at the guys, making them pay up front before they tried to slink away to the back rooms. 

Eddie couldn’t miss how the smile never reached your eyes, that glassy lost look couldn’t fool him, another ping of guilt cutting through him like a knife. 

You were elbow deep in the warm water now, fingers pruned and slicked with soap when he finally speaks. The counter had cleared up enough that he wasn’t squashed between some greasy assholes, the regulars fighting to get to the best seats closest to the stage.  Tiffany on her second set of the night, her shiny heels spinning in the air to Girls, Girls, Girls. 

“So I’m a stranger now?”

Your fingers slip on the smooth surface of a glass and it hits the bottom of the sink with a thud at the sound of his voice, thankfully not breaking. Looking up, the smile fades as you stare back at him, fully allowing yourself to take him all in.  “what else would you be?” 

“Gee, I don’t know, Slick,” his hands twirl the rings on his left hand, “a friend.” 

Your laugh is filled without humor, sheer mockery as you shake your hands above the sink ridding them of suds and water. 

“Friend…” the scoff is thick in your throat, swallowing a ball of vomit before you continue, “that’s rich isn’t it?” 

“Clove..”

“…y’know…I had one of those once,” you say, eyes dead behind your irises, moving to the spouts of the draft beer, “at least I thought he was.” 

“Can we talk?” he pleads. 

“..think I’ve heard more than enough…” slapping down two heavy beers in front of him, you glare into muddy brown eyes, trying not to let yourself feel the pain in your chest, “these two are on the house.” 

Without a second glance or even a fuck you, you stomp towards the dressing room, leaving him sitting alone to sit alone at the bar, and for a split second you allow yourself to feel good it. His turn to be left in the dust this time. 

taglist: @mmunson86 @sidthedollface2 @winchester-angel @mrsjellymunson @joannamuns9n @tlclick73 @mewchiili @spacedoutdaydreamer @emxxblog @maybeisthemoon @str4ngergirlw0rld @chrrymunson @insertcoolnameherethanks @kellsck @prestinalove @mandyjo8719 @onegirlmanytales @mopeymopeymouse @veravee-blog @taintedcigs @eddies-acousticguitar @oeuryale @kthomps914 @bangaveragewhitewine @lil-quinnie @corrodedcoffincumslut @definitionwanderlust @madaboutjoe @littledemondani i @eiightysixbaby @usedtobecooler @succubusmunson @hereforshmut @alyisdead

[venturelovebot]

A/N: LETS GOOOOOO ANOTHER REQUEST DOWN ONLY ONE MORE TO GO!!! Thank you again for requesting and I hope you enjoy reading! Link to request here!

Premise: Reader is extremely tired, but they have good reason to be. Good thing they have someone to protect them now!

Warnings: Probably went a little too ham on the nightmares 🫠 Body horror, blood, death... spookies... scaries... Venture is there to comfort you though! Other than that it's safe to read!

Even in the all consuming darkness you could still tell Sloan was facing you.

As your eyes adjusted you could see the general shape of their face, their closed eyes and their mouth slightly agape. It was about as peaceful as you had ever seen them before. Their hand lays on the pillow next to their head and you reach out to touch it for comfort. Their fingers twitched slightly before closing down and holding yours back.

For a brief moment you feel more secure, so you let yourself slip into sleep.

And then it happens again– another nightmare. You couldn't count how many days you've been having those because they all blended together at this point.

...

You're running for your life.

The void black street is only briefly illuminated by warped and fuzzy yellow streetlights. The sidewalk is eroded and dead grass grows through the monochrome cracks. Behind you is an amorphous fog that never seems to cease its relentless chase to kill you. You cry out for help, like always. There's no one there, like always.

You're unfortunate enough to trip and smash your face directly into the tattered concrete. Blood pours out from your mouth as your teeth crack into miniature pieces. Your skinned knees are making it difficult to get back up but somehow you recover just in time to dodge the fog and continue further down into the abyss. It feels like an endless one way road stretching out for miles and miles. You cover your ruby tinged mouth to prevent anymore blood from spilling out, but somehow in the process you swallow hundreds of bone fragments and begin to choke.

You lunge over and desperately claw at your throat before a wave of cold envelopes your body. The fear and pain are agonizing, freezing you in place from pure panic. You open your brutalized mouth to scream before it all fades away in a mere second.

Your eyes flutter open.

2:45 AM.

With your free hand you wipe the cold sweat off your face. It's not even half way through the night and you've already experienced your first nightmare. You think about waking up your beloved before ultimately deciding against it, you didn't want them to have to go to work running on steam.

You squeeze your eyes shut again and pray for time to fast forward to morning already. The sound of your pulse fills your ears with noisy, rhythmic static that drives you up the wall.

Please, just be morning already. I won't tell anyone if a miracle happens. I promise.

Your thoughts are even louder than the beating of your own heart. For a desperate moment of comfort you slide closer to Sloan without waking them from their sleep. A soft sigh escapes your mouth– if only you could sleep as peacefully as they could.

If only.

You were back in the dream world before you realized it. It certainly didn't feel like you were dreaming at all.

This time you find yourself locked inside a bedroom that you weren't familiar with. Wherever it was, it didn't seem to be occupied for quite some time. Dust particles drift slowly in the air and the only available light source is coming from a rapidly flickering table side lamp.

It's deathly quiet.

You slide out of the unfamiliar bed without making a sound. There was a sickening feeling of dread that filled the pit of your stomach. You tried your hardest to make as little noise as possible, but the creaking wooden floors provided no security. Slowly step by step you made your way down a hallway and into what appeared to be a living room.

The television was the only light in the rest of the home. Soft static white noise echoes out into the emptiness of the unknown. At least there was enough noise to cover your footsteps here. You took a minute to look around more– A sliding glass door showed the world as pitch black beyond the overgrown green grass of the yard. It somehow frightened you worse than being inside of here.

You move from the living room to the kitchen, feeling around in the darkness for any sort of light switch to no avail. Your eyes have a hard time adjusting but you can make out a landline phone dangling off of its holder. Without thinking you bolt towards it and hold the handle up to your ear only to be greeted with a low pitched disconnected tone. The buttons do not appear to dial correctly, and the numbers appear warped and blurry to your dreaming eyes.

"For fucks sake–"

Paranoia overtakes your entire mind, body and soul. You slowly turn around and the overhead kitchen light flickers on to just barely illuminate a figure sitting at the kitchens island.

If your body would let you scream then surely you would have in this moment.

The figure is slumped over clutching an empty can as if minding its own business. To the left a spatter of blood leaks out of the head from the temple, apparently having been shot without even noticing something was desperately wrong inside their own house. Seemingly against your will, your feet inch closer to the deceased and it becomes discernible.

"Oh my God..." You speak like your mouth is full of cotton.

Your eyes shoot across to the sliding glass door to a figure walking around the house. They disappear into the darkness and fear strikes your very core.

Run. Now.

It's all your brain can tell you to do– so you do it, and you run back into the bedroom you first woke up in. The curtains provide some cover but you can't shake the feeling that the murderer already knows you're in here. It's just a matter of time before you're dead, too. You hide on your hands and knees between the wall and the bed, trying your hardest to open the closet door for somewhere to hide before a window suddenly shatters.

You had no time to register what had happened before a gunshot rings out.

You shot up out of bed and hold your eye as if it had actually been shot. Tears are now overflowing and you're heaving in attempt to catch your breath... but being awake was only a tiny relief.

5:25 AM.

Dark circles are present underneath your eyes.

You are tired. So incredibly, overwhelmingly, horrifically tired.

"[Y/N]?" Your beloveds gentle voice brings you back down to earth.

You take a deep breath just like you were taught to: in through your nose, and out through your mouth.

"Yeah?" You glance back at them laying in bed. Their eyes are just barely open.

"What's wrong?" The sleepiness in their voice is evident.

You feel guilty for accidentally waking them up. For a second you wonder if it was worth it to lie but you decided not to, considering how upset you appeared.

"Just a nightmare. Go back to sleep." You turn away from them again, laying back down and pulling the cover over yourself.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sloan nudges closer to you and wraps an arm around your waist.

You instantly sink into their touch, and all the fear and panic evaporates into nothingness.

"I saw your dead body." You state bluntly, remembering the slumped over figure and its uncanny resemblance to your beloved.

They nuzzle into your neck and place a gentle kiss to your skin.

"I'm here. I'm okay, I promise."

It's surprising how six simple words could bring so much relief.

"Can you stay home today? Please...?" You beg, holding on to their arm as you feel the drowsiness returning.

"Sure thing." They nuzzle you one more time. "I'll be right here, okay? I'm not going anywhere."

You close your eyes again.

"I'll protect you while you sleep, so don't worry!"

You nod and let your head become heavy on your pillow.

...

You found yourself dreaming one more time.

But this time, there is light. A figure in the distance approaches you.

It's Sloan.

And they warmly reach their hand out towards you.

[cool-fancier]

The Lovebirds' Audience

Synopsis: The girls joke around about your relationship with Bada, making fun of your chemistry and sly glances. Despite being referred to as a "power couple," you enjoyed each other's company and shared intimate moments that showed your bond. Despite their humorous comments, you valued their understanding of your special love story.

You and Bada's relationship had always been the talk of your very close group of friends. Whenever they were around each other, you and your friends, including Bada herself, couldn't help but become their unofficial narrators.

"Oh, there they are again, smiling and giving each other sly looks," Lusher said. "It's like watching a K-drama, for real."

Kyma: "Just look at how Bada leans in closer, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her—"

Tatter: "Girl, we know. They're in love. But do they have to be so disgustingly adorable about it?"

"I, for one, am living for this love story," said Minah. "It is like seeing a fairy tale come to real life."

Cheche: "I don't blame them at all. Y/N unnis has that effect on people. Look at Bada's face right now, for example."

"Bada unnie's face is practically glowing," says Sowoen. "It's like she's found the missing piece of her puzzle."

As You and Bada spent time together, they couldn't resist but chime in more with commentary:

"The way they steal little touches when they think no one is looking," said the Lusher. Classic."

Kyma said, "I've never seen Bada Unnie whipped like this before."

Tatter: "Remember when we used to call her the group's 'unnie'? Look at her now, she's more baby than anything else."

Minah: "They complete each other, like two pieces of a puzzle fitting perfectly."

Cheche: "They're like the power couple we never knew we needed."

"Their love story is one for the ages," Sowoen said. "I hope they realize how lucky they are to have found each other."

However, while the girls continued to narrate the love lives, Bada and you were alone, speaking in whispers and exchanging tender glances:

A stray hair was carefully tucked behind your ear by Bada as she leaned forward. Your laughing filled the room, and when your hands came together, your fingers intertwined as if they spoke different languages.

With a warm smile, you made patterns on Bada's palm as your eyes met in a quiet exchange that told of an infinite love.

"They're currently talking in silence," says Sowoen. I can't with these two."

The girls were joking around, but Bada and you found comfort in each other's company. You two were an example of an unimaginable love, a relationship that extended outside of the boundaries of their busy lives.

** "Okay, but seriously, do they even notice we're here?" questioned Lusher.

Minah said, "I don't believe so. They're in their own little world."

Bada couldn't help but be moved with appreciation as the other girls proceeded to jokingly recount their love story. The love they had found in each other meant more than how often they had been teased.

"GIRLS, I'M UP TO HERE WITH YOUR NONSENSE," said Bada.

You and youths girls burst into laughter, their teasing momentarily paused as you enjoyed the light-hearted moment. You and Bada exchanged knowing looks as a way of recognising your special bond.

In the end, Yours and Bada's love story continued to unfold, with the girls serving as both narrators and enthusiastic cheerleaders. Even though You and Bada were the target of funny taunts, you guys wouldn't have it any other way. After all, the girls were there to witness all of the delightfully charming moments of a love story.

[kobb4ni2]

Honestly, would love to see One Piece characters simping for Serpent reader, bc I am too LMAOOO I love this character OR like, Serpent reader dropping some insane lore randomly and everyone's like "ayoo what the-"

[ FEM READER! ]

TW: Mild suggestiveness, kidnapping and blackmailing

IM SO HAPPY THAT PEOPLE ARE LIKING SEA SERPENT! READER YOUR ASKS ALWAYS MAKES ME SO HAPPY YUPPIE XD XD

Since Sea Serpent! Reader is practically hundreds of even thousand of years old, she has a lot of information, but not a lot a lot (I want Sea Serpent! Reader not to be that powerful/knowledgeable) I mean Sea Serpent! Reader only traveled the whole world ONCE before she went to hibernation.

BUT Sea Serpent! Reader lived during the viod century with Joyboy so that alone makes her an enemy or a top secret to the World Government, that’s why she’s under deep surveillance at the Marine base, Imu-sama and the Gorosei would visit her at her costumized room, remember Shirahoshi’s room? Yea that but much more bigger.

The Gorosei knows that Sea Serpent! Reader has a chokehold on them and so with that the Gorosei managed to keep Sea Serpent! Reader on a leash by blackmailing her, they know how strong Sea Serpent! Reader is so the best they can struck upon is her heart for those she saved they will use anything especially a buster call.

With those scenario in hand, the higher Marines would be the only ones she could see, which makes the Marine have more obsessive levels because of how much time they spend with her.

Akainu always reminding Sea Serpent! Reader that she’s on a leash and if she ever tries to do something funny the buster call is ready to be rung. Akainu doesn’t even need to kidnap her, she’s already kidnapped because of the higher ups.

Aokiji before, would also visit you, he’d try his best to warm up on him, but underneath that calming attitude he has, a deep desire to keep you and make you ONLY dependent on him, can really escape with your tail is covered in ice, you’d be much more easier to freeze for how much water you need because of you natural habitat. But after he left the Marines, the whole world already knows about he which pisses him, and the way that the whole Blackbeard crew wants you on their crew in every drunken conversation makes him break the glass that he was holding, his captain is even worst Teach would ask details about you, and when he has to answer it, he would see the dark intent in Teach’s eyes.

Kizaru in the other hand, is somehow like Aokiji, he is very lax indeed but he also needs you to be his, he would visit you almost daily, if he’s in a mission he’d call you, that’s why he’s always late to meetings because of how much time passes when he’s with you, Kizaru too is ruthless he would try to see if you can also get hurt by his light. Kizaru is a complicated one to read so you would never see what he would say or do whenever he calls or visit you at your room aka prison cell.

Fujitora knows how he’s the only Marine you trust, he doesn’t care if it’s because of pity or what but he loves it, he knows how bad being greedy is and he knew first hand, he saw many people full of greed, those people are one of the many reason why he blinded himself, but he can’t help it, he can’t help but be infatuated by you, your voice, smell, touch alone makes him want to be with you even longer, if he can turn back to time, he would met you first then blind himself so the last thing he would ever see is you on your glory.

Lucci is very much like Akainu, he would remind you how much people they could end if you ever slip one unwanted information out your lips, the lips that Lucci desperate wants to be bruised by his rough lips, he want your hand to soft touch his whole his tattered one tremble with pleasure while he’s underneath you…

Kaku is the same coin with Lucci, he’s was not born like an assassin like Lucci but grew up to be like one, he always make bullshit excuse to visit you and he knows that you always have your guard up when it comes to CP0 and that’s where his sweet talking goes into play, he’s always play like he had no other choice but be an assassin and those cruel oh days when he had nothing to eat because of Lucci being better when it comes to a competition. Kaku just needs comfort from you so why not hug him? Just ignore that he’s in a complete love struck when he gets a sniff of your fair [colored] skin.

Oh how much you make the top dogs of the Marine putty and yearning for you…

LOOK AT MY TIKTOK MUTUAL EDIT YALL🔥🔥