#i just lost a large chunk of my skin

[theamphibianmen]

It's shedding season. Again. Blah.

[smuddee-papabear]

Thinking of a dragon that's hoard is entirely made up of knights who came to slay him and were all fucked out of their minds instead. (male dragon X male reader)

Just imagine you're a knight sent to slay a dragon who has killed an unholy amount of your fellow knights. You're not feeling too great about your chances but you weren't given a choice by your king, who just wants the beast's horns mounted above his throne.

You found the cave easily, even getting in was a breeze, but instead of piles of jewels and other fineries you see a good chunk of half or fully naked men lounging casually.

You're almost too shocked to notice the unmistakable feeling of something looming behind you. But notice it you do.

Whirling around isn't an option. A large clawed hand curls around your torso as a single claw slips your helmet off. Hot breath hits your newly exposed neck.

"Hello little knight. Did the king send me another treasure for my hoard?"

The men in the cave turn at the voice, and with heavy shock you realize that you recognize several of them. A blonde man lounging nude next to a natural pool was the very knight sent out before you.

His knowing smile does nothing to ease your confusion.

The dragon lets out a low growl as he turns you around. "Look at me little one."

You brace your sword for an attack but the creature stuns all action from you. His emerald scales seem to glitter in the dappled light, massive curled horns framing the sharp face lowered to stare back at you. There's an elegant grace to his poised musculature; powerful but sleek.

His body is long and slender. It's nothing like the stocky build you were expecting to encounter. Lost in awe you almost miss the sound of your sword clattering upon the stones.

His amber eyes crinkle as if in amusement. There's an animalistic playfulness in them that holds you hostage. "Quite a lovely little trinket you are. Come, we'll get those awful chunks of metal from your body so I may see you properly."

Before you can object you're scooped up in those massive claws and taken to a smaller pocket in the cave out of view to the others. You were back to complete confusion.

Dragons were supposed to like treasure, gold and jewels and silver, not knights.

Your armor is removed with a delicate and practiced air. This was most definitely not the first time the dragon unclothed a human knight.

Stripped bare you suddenly feel self conscious. The way the dragon's gaze trails every curve, every scar and blemish, causes a fire to burn across your skin.

A low rumble fills the cavern. "Yes, you will make a fine addition to my hoard."

Movement draws your eyes to the dragon's lower legs. A spear tipped cock was unsheathing, already dripping to the stones. It was small for his size but still massive compared to yourself.

Was he expecting you to take that? You figured it would end up splitting you in two. Again before you can protest you are firmly pressed into the fur lined bed.

His long tongue trails down, the warmth giving you goosebumps as it travels over your sternum to your belly and even lower. A whine slips from your lips as your own cock hardens in response. The dragon lets out a rumble.

Something slides to your ass. For a moment you panic, thinking it to be the dragon's cock already, and twist to see. It's not his penis.

You realize it's a claw, worn down to a dull point for safety. As your entrance is teased you fight against you own thoughts. You shouldn't enjoy this! You should be slaying the beast!

But you can't deny the warm weight that settles in your lower stomach, the barely contained whimpers. Many knights have lovers but you chose not to. You wanted to be fully dedicated to your training. Unfortunately that didn't mean that you didn't feel the urges, it just meant you never acted on them before.

And now you are so desperate to feel it that your orders are slipping from your mind.

Your dragon licks and teases until you're shaking. Once you're a begging mess he pulls his claw back and positions his cock. You moan as it goes in.

It's so large it burns but not in a way that makes you want to stop. In, in in, until he bottoms out. You never thought you'd feel this full. Your dragon waits until your muscles ease to start a steady pace.

His rumbles combine with your groans. You scramble to grab ahold of him, finding his forearms, and arch your back. New sensations wipe the last of your concerns from your mind.

"Ple-please-!" Your breathy whisper causes your dragon to shudder. From the side of your vision you see his pupils blow out.

No longer gentle, you dragon's eyes roll up as his hips buck the thick penis into your hole over and over. The calm pace turns into a fever pitch. You squirm from the overwhelming pleasure rolling over you in thundering waves.

You feel a climax building and with a breathy gasp white ropes shoot out onto your dragon's scales and your own belly. That only encourages him more.

He takes quite a few more minutes, amazing minutes, to cum himself. A roar shakes the cavern.

Your dragon doesn't collapse on you so much as lays down but his weight still bears down strong. Both of you are breathing hard.

"The claiming process is long, trinket. I need to be sure it properly sticks." Your chest heaves in anticipation. A few hours, the rest of the day, you weren't sure how long long was but you find yourself too cock drunk to care. The dragon's tongue laps your chest again.

In the end, "long" is a three day haze of pleasure and climaxes. Being sent to slay the dragon, you decide, was the best thing to happen to you.

[guzzlingplastic111]

~That Dress~

MINORS DNI

part two of that you weren't mine- you and kit are like together now- its the readers turn now 🤭

someone gave me the idea of a more dominate kit and I couldn't agree more. she's so cocky and we love her for it. I couldn't figure out how to like "reply to them" so I'm putting it here-

also guys- is anyone obsessed with her nose ??? she has such a nice nose I love it

After that night, kit had been consumed by the realization that you were hers. And that she was yours. Not a moment had been wasted after that. Brief unexpected moments of her tugging you into a broom closet before becoming lost in the frenzied moment of kisses and breaths. 

It seemed that while jade had gotten one problem fixed, she now had to deal with an entirely different new and unexpected one. From going to extended lengths to get you both to stop bickering and fighting, to finally get rid of the constant migraine, to having to find a way to get you both off of each other. 

Poor jade had found herself in many unfortunate situations where she opened a broom closet for a bucket or a broom, only to find you and kit entangled in each others arms, or that one time in the barn when she had gone to get her saddle. 

That experience seemed to have been enough for you both to dial it down a little bit, save them embarrassment from each other of stumbling across another situation like that. 

But it didn’t stop you two entirely. 

One night, after a recent ball, kit had decided to lure you into her room through a more creative scheme. Instead of just bringing you to her room, she wanted you to find yourself there. 

Upon the arrival to your room, you had been cornered by a couple of servants, muttering apologies and a messy explanation as to what happened to your room. Nevertheless, you went in anyway and saw that your bed had been completely destroyed. The frame had been reduced to nothing but large chunks of wood. It seemed almost as if someone had went in there with a sword and swung it around. 

Not wanting to spend the night in a random bed, you found yourself venturing to Kit’s room, the skirts of your dress bunched up in your tired hands as you walked. You knocked on kits door, stepping back as you waited for her to answer. A quick shuffle from behind the door sounded before she opened it, hair messy as well as her shirt, as if she had hastily thrown it over. 

“Hey,” she greeted, voice breathy. 

“Hi,” you replied, “so…someone practically demolished my bed and I was wondering if I could…sleep here?” 

“Yeah,” kit nodded and opened the door wider, allowing you inside. 

You didn’t fail to notice how her eyes fluttered at the sight of you in your dress, even though she had seen it hours earlier at the ball. 

She shut the door behind you with a snap, causing your attention to snap towards her and the lust full look in her eyes. You swallowed back a nervous smile. Kit looked like she was going to eat you alive. 

It didn’t stop you from your stomach flipping with anticipation. Before you could even get a word out from your lips, kit hd you in her arms once more, soft lips pressed against yours. She kissed you as if she had not seen you for weeks. As if this had been the first time in years she had glanced upon you once more. You cupped the sides of her face, kissing her back before she pulled away. 

Kit instantly attacked your neck, leaving a warm trail of hot wet kisses down the side of your neck, her tongue darting in and out between her lips to touch at your skin. You panted beneath her, growing warm and skin buzzing. Your legs were starting to grow weak as you clung onto her, groaning softly when she sucked in the right spot on your neck. 

“Kit,” you mewled out. 

Her hands gripped at you harder, moving back up to kiss your lips once more before you stumbled backward, trying to show her where you wanted to go. 

“You looked ravishing in that dress,” kit mumbled against your skin “I had to spend a whole torturous evening just watching you in that.” 

You shuddered, gasping once your legs hit the edge of her bed. Kit peeled herself away from you, her fingers working the back of your dress before you let it fall to the ground, your chest heaving with deep breaths of excited anticipation. Kit’s eyes slowly walked up and down your now exposed body (im not going through the fantasy undergarment crap okay) making you feel more exposed. You shyly shifted your eyes away from her, using your hand to cover up some part of your body when kit reached forward to grab your hand, a taunting smile on her face. 

“Oh I don’t think so, darling,” she grinned before pushing you back into the bed. 

Kit was kissing you again, and you were kissing her back. Your hands went in her hair while her fingers softly grazed at your body, nails biting in too soft places, leaving half moon circles in their wake. You groaned into her mouth, body shifting underneath her as you swiped your legs together, hoping to gain some friction from how painfully slow she was going. 

“What’s the matter?” Kit muttered against your lips, “are you that needy?” 

You whined, bucking your naked hips against hers. Kit grinned before giving you a sweet kiss in your lips. While she was still looking int your eyes, kit slowly pushed her ring finger into you, watching as your head fall back, eyes rolling to the back of your head, a loud moan coming from you. 

“Fuck, kit,” you cried out. 

Kit begins to move in and out of you at a fast pace, watching you as your eyebrows crunch up together, elbows propped you up as you fought to keep yourself steady. 

“Let it out, baby,” kit instructed as she kissed at your breast. 

Following her words, you groaned loudly, feeling her finger inside of your where you had needed her  most. Your body burned before her, chest rising and falling as you swelled up with pleasure inside of you. 

“Kit,” you cried out as you felt her lips attach to your nipple, her warm tongue swirling around it. 

You moaned loudly, cut off by another one of her fingers sliding into your wet pussy. unconsciously, you grabbed at her arm to try to steady your shaking body. Your legs shook from under kit, her never fading smirk growing as she watched you fall apart. 

“Keep going, gorgeous,” kit purred “I know you can, you’ve done it before.” 

“Kit please,” you breathed out, not caring with how needy you sounded. 

“Yeah?” She leaned in closer to you, continuing to move her steady fingers in and out of you “please what, love?” 

“Fuck,” you groaned, dropping your head back on the pillows, “me.” 

She gave you a sloppy kiss, bringing you closer. Kit went at a fast pace, having you moan against her lips was something she didn’t think she could ever get used to, not that it was something she would want to get used to. Your arousal was dripping from you as your hands clenched at the sheets. You felt something inside of your stomach begin to tightened, making your sounds come out faster and shorter. 

In the midst of your build up, you felt kit pull out of you. You looked up at her with disappointment, only to see her lowering her face between your legs. Without another word, you felt kit lick against your folds, ripping a shuddering whine from you. 

Kit ate you out like a starved woman. She dove her skillful tongue between your thighs, swirling it to drag out your orgasm. 

“Kit!” You cried out, your hands flying to her hair. 

Her hands grasped at your thighs, keeping them apart as she ate you out. In a matter of seconds, you had came, not comprehending the rippling pleasure that had tore through your body. Kit pulled away from you, wiping her mouth before giving you a quick kiss. 

“You did great,’ she whispered against your neck. 

You hummed in response, your body falling limp with fatigue. You only managed to get a few words out from how tired you were, 

“I love you, kit.” 

[heresthestorymorningglory]

Put Your Finger On It

Summary: Fingering is a pianist term...right?

A/N: I finally watched La La Land and well, Seb is loud...very loud.

As per usual, it's NSFW 18+ @ken-dom I blame you with the utmost love for this one, however you're not 100% to blame, late night chats with @webbo0 in the Goosecord also sparked the idea for this one. Figured our favourite man's birthday is as good a day as any to drop a double feature.

Enjoy my loves <3

You leaned over the small table, gently blowing out the last of the candles in the centre. Seb sat at the piano on the stage lost in his own world bathed in a blue light. You set your tray and bar rag on the bartop watching him intently.

He lost himself so easily in music it almost made you jealous; you had never been so passionate about anything. 

You had sent the last of the waitresses home for the night; it was just the two of you left in the club.

You watched his elegant fingers slide effortlessly over the keys, tie loosely hanging on his neck, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. You ran your tongue between your lips, teeth gently sinking into your bottom lip as you stood leaning against the bar, transfixed God he was something else. 

This caught his attention, pulling him out of his thoughts. He looked up from the keys with a raised eyebrow. “What are you doing?” 

You climbed the tiny steps to the stage; Seb’s back to you, completely oblivious to your presence.

Your heels clicked across the hard floor as you stepped up on the bench, perching yourself on the corner of the piano top, legs crossed at the ankles, feet resting on the piano bench. 

“I was listening to you play” you sighed, stretching back over the glossy top “Oh wait, would you like this better?” 

You scooted back on the smooth top, swinging your legs around behind you as you laid flat on your stomach, feet kicked in the air as you leaned forward with your elbows up, your chin in your hands. He just rolled his eyes. “Is there no one left for you to annoy?” 

You hummed pretending to consider his question before scrunching your nose with a shake of your head “No” 

You grunted sitting back up, swinging your legs back over in front of the keys directly in front of where Seb sat. “I don’t know how Lucy does that, it isn’t comfortable” 

“Lucy also laid on the floor” Seb sighed obviously irritated with your antics “Not on top of the piano” 

You laughed lightly with a small squeak “You did not watch Charlie Brown” 

“Everyone watched Charlie Brown” he muttered not paying you any attention “Now, get off my piano” 

Again, you pretended to consider his request before you shook your head “Nah” Instead crossing your ankles, resting your still heel clad feet in his lap. 

He picked up both your legs, his hands warm on your bare skin, moving them to the side out of his immediate way. 

You sighed, lifting one leg, bracing it on his knee as you lifted the other to unbuckle your shoe before dropping it to the stage floor with a loud clatter. Intentionally sliding your now bare foot up his thigh as he sat on the small bench, you did the same with the other shoe, dropping it next to the first. 

“Heels hurt” you said simply, watching him press his lips together in irritation as your now bare feet rested on his thighs, your position still impeding his ability to actually play. “It’s getting late”

He didn’t answer, but you watched as his eyes traveled up your bare legs, the hem of your blue cocktail dress coming to rest just above your knees. 

You slid your foot slowly along his thigh, gently biting your lip watching him, his head dropped, a chunk of his blonde hair falling across his forehead. You jumped a little when his large hand closed over your foot, stopping it from moving. 

Finally, he looked up, making eye contact, but still not speaking, his long slender fingers wrapped loosely around your ankle. 

Your eyes stayed locked on his as you bit your lip gently, his fingers flexing against your achilles tendon before his hand started to slide slowly up your leg, his eyes never leaving yours. 

Your heart fluttered in your chest, beating a little harder under his blue eyed scrutiny, but you kept your composure; even after his other hand slid over your knee mirroring its partner on the other side, his fingers dangerously close to creeping up under the hem of your dress. You sat silent, in a battle of wills. Your bare feet resting on his thighs, his impossibly warm hands resting on your bare knees. The room was so silent you could have heard a pin drop. 

You purposely dug your heel a little harder into the top of his thigh, pushing you foot closer to his mid section, in turn forcing his hand to push further up your thigh and off your knee, fingertips disappearing under the fabric of your dress. This was torture. 

As if he’d read your mind or the thought was written clear as day on your face, Seb slid his hand up your thigh; dress bunching at your hip as his fingers teased the sensitive skin finally causing you to break eye contact, closing your eyes as you tipped your head back taking in a deep breath, fingers curling around the edge of the piano top. 

Seb’s other hand sliding tantalizingly slowly up your other thigh, your dress now sat evenly bunched across your middle. 

You looked back at him, both hands sliding up either side of your hips, fingers curling around the elastic of the waist of your panties before he stopped. 

Your core throbbed with anticipation. His movements were so fluid, every touch seemed intentional, like he had planned for this all along even though it had been you who had invaded his personal space first. 

You shifted your feet from his thighs to the more stable bench, not missing the hard on now concealed under his suit pants, giving yourself a little more stability to lift your hips in a silent invitation for him to continue.

He tugged the lacy fabric off your hips before you settled back on the piano top, lifting your feet as he slid them over your ankles before stuffing them into his pants pocket. 

His hands take a firm grip of your hips, pulling you to the very edge of the piano before pushing your knees apart, putting you on full view from his vantage point. 

He hummed with approval and you felt your stomach clench, every inch of your body suddenly aching with desire, aching to be touched. 

“Seb…” you whispered  

“Shhh” he shushed softly, putting a finger to his lips as he looked up at you “Let me work”

If you could find your voice, you would have laughed in disbelief; instead, your mouth just hung open silently before you closed it again. 

“Holy fuck” you breathed, a hand pushing your hair back off your face as Seb stood from the bench, fingers still moving. 

Seb’s fingers ghosted up the inside of your thigh playing some melody only he could hear causing you to let out a shaky breath as they crept closer to your core.

His featherlight touch made you gasp, arching back; making you moan louder as he immediately plunged two fingers deep inside you.

You thrust your hips forward shamelessly, forcing him deeper, his fingers curling in just the right way, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut and lay back across the glassy top you were sitting on. 

He had positioned himself between your legs, reaching to bend one knee, your heel coming to rest on the slick keys, the mangled noise mixing with your moans. 

The hand not between your thighs pinning your hip to the piano as you tried desperately to roll into his touch. 

“Seb, please” you begged, swallowing hard. 

He leaned over you, tie still hanging loosely from around his neck as he shook his head. “No”

You frowned slightly, looking up at him “What?” you breathed hard 

“I said, no” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying hard to make sense of his words in your blissed out haze. “What do you mean n-” 

You were cut off by your own strangled cry as he thrust his fingers harder, hooking them hard against your g spot. Then it dawned on you what he had meant. 

“N-no, don’t” you pleaded, thighs squeezing hard around the hand between your legs. Still his hand moved with ease. 

“You’ll cum when I tell you to,” he thrust his fingers hard, making you cry out, “And not before” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, swallowing hard as you leaned back 

The hand on your hip moving to your jaw as he leaned over the piano “Look at me” 

You gasped, his unrelenting fingers still thrusting as he spoke, the hand on your jaw squeezing tighter, you conceded, opening your eyes. 

His breath was warm on your already overheated skin as he spoke “When I’m up here, I’m working; is that clear?” 

You nodded as much as his grip would allow, as a violent twitch shook your body. His grip became a little firmer when you didn’t answer. “Yes,” you managed a whisper, but that hadn’t been to Seb’s satisfaction. 

“I’m sorry I can’t hear you; is that clear?” he repeated

“Yes!” you cried out; fighting to keep your orgasm at bay 

“Yes what?!” his volume matching yours, his voice booming around the empty stage. 

“Seb, please” you almost wailed, fingers now gripping the edge of the piano painfully. 

“I can go all night,” he threatened “Although I doubt even you have that kind of restraint” 

“No, no, no, p-please” the foot you had resting on the keys, slipping from its place, kicking the empty bench hard, knocking it askew on the stage.. 

No longer caring how desperate you sounded he had taken the upper hand, assuming you had ever had it at all. 

“Yes, what?” he repeated, his voice had dropped to a menacing whisper; his fingers sliding from inside you with a lewd squish.

Your breath caught in your throat as your body relaxed slightly and he let go of your jaw “Yes, sir” you whispered, swallowing hard. Heart pounding in your chest as you tried to even your breathing.

Fingers curled around your wrist as Seb righted the bench in front of the piano, pulling you up into a sitting position; your core throbbing painfully, begging you to find release. 

You watched as Seb unbuttoned his fly, just enough to free his throbbing cock before he sat on the bench. 

He pulled you into his lap, you immediately collapsed against him, moaning into his neck as he buried himself inside you with a grunt as your warm heat enveloped his length. 

His hands on your hips, fingers digging into your flesh. Your entire form shook with anticipation, ankles hooked around Seb’s back, clinging to him, desperate for release. 

“S-Seb please” you whispered, shuddering against him 

The slow roll of his hips was agonizing; you had resorted to whimpering, on the verge of crying you were almost certain. 

“Not yet, Darling” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his hands sliding up your back, opening the zipper of your dress before pulling it over your head, dropping it on your shoes. 

He stood, leaning you against the piano, you flinched, the surface cold on your bare back fingers instantly curling against his back as a powerful thrust forced you backward. 

“Not yet” he whispered, answering your silent plea as the edge of the piano bit into your bare skin; Seb braced against it, giving himself leverage. 

His thrusts were already erratic, watching you fall to pieces in his skilled hands, unable to do much else had been enough to almost drive him mad.

Less than half a dozen hard, determined thrusts, each one making you cry out louder than the last, His weight pinning you exactly where he wanted. “Now”

“Christ” he breathed, bending slightly to kiss you gently before leaning his forehead against yours. “That’s one hell of a birthday present” 

You never knew a single word could hold so much power; voice cracking with relief as you wrapped your arms around him tightly, legs dropping from around his waist, thankful for his weight pinning you in place as your orgasm finally reached its peak. A loud grunt against your shoulder as he slipped from inside you, his release coating your entire front.

He collapsed catching himself on the edge of the piano with both hands. 

You smiled, draping your arms around his neck kissing him again “You’re welcome”

[xspeter]

hey kat <3

could i request a Steve Harrington hurt comfort or angst where r and Steve and the others make it out of the upside down(s4), but r is injured and she doesn't realise it until they actually get back to hawkins.

the adrenaline's just masking any pain they're all feeling, but when they climb through the gate at eddies trailer and reader falls on the mattress, she winces. Steve asks her about it when they finally get to his house, after it's all over and done with.

you can totally ignore this if it's not your cup of tea. but thanks anyways love<3

✩ I hope this is alright, i wrote it as soon as i woke up 👩‍💻. didn’t proofread it so im really sorry for any mistakes !! thanks for the ask <3

Steve’s hurt. It’s the only thing your mind can focus on beneath skull mountain. Steve’s hurt and you weren’t there to protect him.

The bats had held onto him as if he was the best thing they’d ever tasted, and even with your pushing and pulling, it took way longer to get them off of him then you would’ve liked. Your mind couldn’t even focus on your own injuries, particularly the large gash on your thigh from the bats claws, but instead on Steve’s face constructed in pain.

“I’m sorry,” You breathed, wrapping your shirt scrap onto his gaping wound. His normally tan skin was paled, brown eyes dilated slightly.

You watched as the shirt began to seep into a light pink color and tightened it more to stop the blood flow, and Steve hissed as you did. You froze at the noise, mind running with different outcomes and worries.

“Hey, hey,” Steve reassured, back sliding down the rock so he could be eye-level with you. He winced as he did. “I’m okay.” He spoke softly, reaching a hand out to cup your cheek. “We’re all okay.”

You gazed around at all your friends, Robin and Eddie are nursing each others wounds, while Nancy takes care of her own. You’d always admired the girl for her resilience and independence.

To be honest, sometimes you almost felt jealous of the girl. Steve had been in love with her for so long before he finally started to fall for you last summer at Starcourt, but sometimes you couldn’t help but feel like those feelings they had for each other never fully went away.

You sucked in a breath, “I know. It’s just.. what if-”

“Don’t think about the what ifs,” He spoke, pink lips slightly glossy, “We’re here now, and we’re okay. Alright?”

You squeezed your eyes shut and focused on your breathing. Sometimes, it was still hard for you to comprehend that this was your life now. After the disaster at Starcourt and you’d been exposed to this entire situation, sometimes you still just couldn’t believe how many times these people had put their lives on the line.

“You promise you’re okay?” You asked solemnly, shoulders slightly slumped. Steve just grinned and rubbed your arm gently, “I promise,” He eyed your figure, “Are you okay?”

You nearly scoffed. Steve had chunks of flesh missing from his stomach and he was asking if you were okay? “I’m fine, Steve.”

He squinted his eyes at you suspiciously, “Are you sure? We’ll take care of it if you are. Don’t be a hero.”

“I’m not being a hero. I’m just not hurt.”

Steve, being so exhausted and delirious from the blood loss foolishly believed you. He kissed the side of your head softly and followed you as you followed Nancy to the Wheeler residence.

His first sign should’ve been when you nearly stumbled down the stairs. He’d been there to catch you, eyebrows knitted as he helped you steady. “What happened?” He asked.

You let out an awkward chuckle, going a bit pink at everyone’s concerned gazes. “I’m fine,” You spoke softly, “Just lost my balance.”

Nancy hummed, but she didn’t look convinced. Once everyone left the room to figure out what the hell Steve was yelling about, she pulled you aside. “You’ve been quiet ever since Skull Rock. Did you get hurt?”

You swallowed. The adrenaline rush you had felt was slowly waning away, leaving you to feel every bit of the long gash on your thigh. “I’m fine.” You spoke, thankful that your black leggings hid the dark red substance slowly leaking from you, “Just exhausted.”

Nancy still didn’t look convinced, her eyes glimmering slightly as she sucked in her bottom lip, “If something’s wrong we can figure out a way to help you, okay?” She took a breath, her eyes downcast. “If.. if you’re hurt and- and god forbid something were to happen to you Steve would never forgive himself. You can’t do that to him.”

You knew she was right, Steve didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to lose someone else after everything he’s suffered, but you firmly believed you’d be okay. If anything, you’d just need a few stitches and then everything would be okay. Which is why you say, “I’m fine. Promise.”

❣︎

You were more than just relived when you made it to Eddies trailer. You were practically ecstatic. You were ready to get out of this hellhole and finally take care of your wound.

But, you should’ve known that nothing would be okay, not after Nancy’s vision. You and Steve watched as she fell over, the both of you attempting to shake her awake while everyone else rushed to find a song.

But, Nancy wouldn’t need it, and instead would wake on her own with a message from Vecna.

Steve let Nancy go first, her body hitting the mattress softly. Robin helped her up, offering her hand which Nancy gratefully took.

Next, it was your turn. Steve helped you down, his cold hand on your lower back gently dropping you down.

But, unlike everyone else, you couldn’t get up from the mattress. The fall winded you, and the pain on your leg increased tenfold. You let a quiet whine when you tried to stand on it, immediate tears springing to your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Steve called down in a panic stricken voice.

“I’m- I’m fine.” You replied hoarsely, attempting again to stand and being unable to.

Eddie gazed down to where a large pool of blood was beggining to form on the mattress beneath your leg,band his face immediately paled.

“Shit, shit, shit,” He chanted, “You gotta get down here, man!” He called. Eddie graciously slipped his ringed fingers under your back and knees, carrying you away from the mattress and towards the couch.

You barely heard Steve’s body hit the bed as he jumped down, but you felt his presence as soon as Eddie set you down. “Shit, how long has- why didn’t you-”

You could feel Steve’s panic, and it made you want to scream. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to be okay, and everything would’ve been fine.

But even now you can feel the unnerving exhaustion the blood loss is making you feel, and you know that’s not going to happen.

“I’m sorry.” You spoke softly, eyes glassy with tears as you began to accept your fate.

Steve was yelling for them to get help, his own eyes wet and wide.

He attempted to put pressure on the wound, and at this point you couldn’t even feel the pain anymore. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He chanted, voice wobbly.

“I’m sorry,” You swallowed, “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“I told you not to be a hero!” He cried, “You- you said you were okay.”

“I know,” You shushed softly, “You’ll be okay.”

Steve froze for a moment, letting your words process. You didn’t say I’ll be okay, you said He’d be okay. While the change was slight, he understood what it meant.

“You’ll be okay too,” He attempted, voice weak. “We’re gonna be okay, and we’re gonna get that apartment in Indianapolis that we talked about, okay? We’re gonna move outta Hawkins like we said we would.”

You smiled softly at the memory, remembering all the sweet nights where you laid naked in his bed, drawing soft patterns on his back. You’d talk for hours about your futures. About marriage and kids and growing old together.

You just wish you could’ve seen it happen.

“Can you remind me?” You asked softly, eyelids heavy. “About our life after we get married?”

Steve let out a quiet sob. He’d stopped his attempts at putting pressure on your leg, he knew it was too late. There wasn’t anything he could do.

“We’re gonna-” He sniffled, hand reaching for your own and squeezing it tightly. “We’re gonna get married in the forest, just behind Hoppers house with the Gazebo. And we’re gonna move into a beautiful apartment in the city, with green shudders and- and-” He paused momentarily, a tear slipping down his cheek.

You squeezed his hand softly, encouraging him to keep going. He took a breath, glassy eyes staring at your paling face. “We’ll have three kids. Two boys and a girl, and they’ll have a cat named Penny. They’re gonna- gonna get older and they’ll all go off the college, and we’ll have so much space we won’t know what to do with ourselves.” He chuckled softly, “We’ll spend every day with each other. Doing all that sappy, old people stuff. And- and we’ll grow old together and we’re gonna live happy, okay? I just- you just gotta-”

He allowed himself to risk a glance at your face, and he wished he hadn’t. Your eyes were closed, a soft smile tugging on your pale lips, and he knew what it meant.

You were gone. Just like that.

And even as the police arrived and Eddie attempted whatever story he could put together onto why you all looked so.. well, roughed up, Steve couldn’t even listen.

All he could focus on was your body slowly being zipped away.

[leech-drinker]

nosramus fluff to fuel an addiction

@twotruckschillinginahottub has a crush on a decrepit old man stalking the dungeons but he is so babygirl and I am an enabler<3

Time doesn't seem to flow the same down in the dungeons. The last time you saw daylight it was midday, the hot sun high in the sky. In stark difference, the dungeon air is cold and dry. You could've been down here for several hours...days...perhaps even a week.

In the present moment you are stumbling in dimly lit tunnels, you run your hand across the wall to find your way. You see movement in the darkness and freeze, you're certain that there can't be anything actually there. You must be seeing things.

"Are you lost?"

A voice lingers in the air, it steals your breath and your heart surges blood into your aching limbs.

The body of the voice comes closer, at first you believed it was another one of those eerie squid like beasts. But, after you squint you realize the figure is humanoid.

"How did you even find yourself down here? You don't even have a weapon...you must be lucky."

If your voice wasn't so weak you would've laughed.

On second look this stranger was the prettiest thing you've seen in the dungeons, a nice change of pace from the other horrors you've witnessed. Obviously they have been here for a long time, messy pale blonde hair hangs over the floor and obscures his smooth skin and sunken eyes. He wears a simple brown robe but what is so unique about it is that there is not a tear or stain on it. As if this garment was just made yesterday. You look down at your own worn down boots and blood soaked cloak and blush. In a large city this man would be quite ordinary, but here, down in what you assume is probably the fourth circle of hell disguised as a mineshaft, a well maintained man in simple clean clothes seems astonishing.

"My name is Nosramus. Would you like to follow me to my lab?"

The fleeting thought of this man strapping you to a desk and dissecting you doesn't prevent you from nodding your head. You follow him...out of desperation. Or at least that's how you justify it in your head. Desperation and nothing else.

You stumble about in the darkness again, this time following the blonde hair dragging along the floor. The both of you walk in the winding road of the dungeons for a while and stop at a heavy metal door.

You watch Nosramus pull a key from his sleeves and unlock the door. Immediately the door opens as if it were weightless. Light floods out and stings your eyes. Behind the door is a polished library of stone and other various contraptions used for science you assumed. Nothing sharp or pointy looking, that was a good sign.

"Take a seat. I can get you something to eat."

You sit on a wooden stool as he walks over to a stove. He grabs a kettle to pour himself a cup of yellowish tea.

He returns to you with a soup, it smells of pig fat and steamed vegetables. The bowl is slightly misshapen when you hold it, unable to contain your impulse you sip the broth until all that remains is the chunks of potato and carrot. Nosramus watches you with an amused smile.

"I assume you like it?" He says as you pick up the wet vegetables with your hands.

You look up at him and nod, suddenly embarrassed for eating with your hands.

"You don't seem to talk much...perhaps if you get some rest you will become more sociable?

In the lantern light of the library Nosramus emits an unnatural glow.

"It's probably rusty by now but I have a cot behind those shelves if you want to sleep there."

You reason with yourself, this man has let you into his residence, has fed you and is now asking you to nap in his room. In the absolute worst case scenario, the soup was drugged and after you pass out he will brutally murder you. You tilt your head in thought, despite how...peculiar he looks...his smile seems sincere. You've already gone this far trusting him so why stop now?

Warily you nod your head once again. His genuine smile appears once again and you feel a slight twitch in your chest and your ears turn red and warm.

He directs you to a corner where an old but clean cot lies against the wall. To your left you see a wide map of the known world carved into the wall.

"Rest well, understood? I'll be doing some reading...I hope you do not mind if you hear me reading aloud." He explains as he holds a thick book.

You sigh deeply as you relax into the cot...it creaks slightly. You face Nosramus once again before closing your eyes.

Minutes later you hear his voice again as you balance on the edge of sleep. He speaks in a language you do not know in hushed tones. You hear the sound of fluttering pages.

Somehow, you have never felt safer.

[oldworldwidgets]

TEDDY TIME TEDDY TIME

howdy pardners this is theodore dawson, my courier from new vegas :3 he is very large and very angry yet very soft and very gay and he is so precious to me

here's his playlist!! once again it's chronological so u can listen to his story like a fun yeehaw jukebox musical. i think his is my favorite of all my character playlists

alllll the teddy stuff (appearance, stats, story before the canon events of the game, fun facts) can be found under the cut!!! if you feel so inclined to read The Long Version written like a story where my longwinded ass spends about 7k words talking about themes and character motivations (and some soft gay longing perhaps), it's up on ao3 here.

appearance

31 years old; birthday sept 25, 2250

6’6 with broad shoulders, generally built like a securitron.

patches of vitiligo splash across his face, chest, and arms

bennys bullet hit the right side of his face, carving a path from his eye to his ear, where a chunk of his ear is missing

because of this, he's blind in his right eye. the blind eye (a light, milky blue) is always a bit more closed than the seeing one (a dark grey/blue)

dark auburn chin-length hair and a short beard, both peppered with white because of his age and vitiligo. a big chunk of hair behind his ear is white as it grows from the scar.

he wears a horse or cow-skin vest with a great khans patch on the back

signature black cowboy hat, either on the top of his head or tied around his neck so it hangs down his back

gold jewelry - dangly cross earring in his left ear, upside down cross on a leather strap around his neck, big ass belt buckle

bright red shotgun shells on leather belt slung around his waist for his shotgun, dinner dell

stats

SPECIAL: 8, 1, 4, 5, 9, 2, 10

favorite perks: confirmed bachelor, animal friend, ferocious loyalty, intimidating presence

story

his dad was raised in utah and was very strictly mormon. when new jerusalem collapsed, dad moved himself, his wife, and his first son to the mojave and found work on an NCR sharecropper farm.

teddy was born fifth of six kids: four older brothers and one younger sister. he, his sister hannah, and his brother noah all have very visible vitiligo.

the kids were all also raised strictly mormon. his whole childhood, they were very poor. "at least we have each other" poor. his dad blamed it on the NCR, who owned the house and land and animals they ranched. they owned nothing, and the NCR paid them little more than that. teddy was quickly disillusioned with the NCR, then with the three of his brothers who decided to join them. one brother stayed back to inherit the ranch.

turns out, the NCR was paying; dad was just gambling it all away. he was so deeply in debt to all the families on the strip that they all decided to cut their losses and burn his farm to the ground.

that's... that's the story teddy decided to tell hannah, anyway (he wouldnt tell u this but he totally burnt that shit down on purpose). mom, dad, and one of his brothers were lost in the fire. teddy and hannah made it out, waved goodbye, parted ways.

teddy took his horse, old red, and began running jobs for whoever needed them. he never tied himself to one organization aaand his jobs weren't always above the ethical board. really, it was luck of the draw that, on any given day, he was the one defending the caravan instead of stealing from it

when he eventually went searching for his siblings, he found that two of the three brothers that had enlisted, predictably, were killed on duty. noah, though, had absconded almost immediately upon arrival due to a nasty chem habit

he found hannah "working" in front of gomorrah on the stip - her vitiligo made them instantly recognizable to each other - but she pretended not to know him because she was ashamed. he understood and gave up, but not before she hinted that he could find noah at the old mormon fort

he did, in fact, find noah there, medically detoxing under the care of some hot, blonde doctor (bweheheh....). they reconnected and it was..... really nice, even when they talked about how ashamed their dad would be if he could see them. it didnt matter. the family disappointments were the only family survivors.

teddy and arcade quickly grew very fond of each other, with arcade even being the first one to call him "teddy" after he told the doctor his name was theodore. he decided, despite its cutesy nature, to keep it.

after finishing his open jobs, teddy decided to stay with noah at the fort and run jobs for the followers when they needed it. he got reeeal comfy with arcade, and their subtle, playful flirtations eventually became noticeable to others. his brother, angry and sick from chem withdrawal and still fighting his religious upbringing, could not handle finding out that his baby brother was gay. when he did, he angrily shouted slurs and threw bottles at them until he was sedated and returned to bed.

teddy left the fort that night while everyone but the night watchman slept. he struggled to recover from what happened and drifted listlessly for a while... until he heard the news that noah had fled from his "rehab" program in the fort the day after teddy left, overdosed, and died.

the news spurred something in him, and he went looking for a real family and place to call home. after excelling in his initiation trials, he found one with the great khans. for two years, he was their resident rancher, runner, therapist, you name it.

then: 2278. the bitter springs massacre. teddy was away when it happened, and he still hasnt forgiven himself for it.

he spent the next three years drifting - again. hunting NCR. somehow racking up bounties in seemingly every single tribe in the mojave. his infamy, believe it or not, helped him survive: when he came across those who would kill him or turn him in, they seemed to prioritize who got to turn him in and collect the bounty over keeping themselves alive. whoops!

it was exhausting, though. drifting, killing, taking on the wasteland completely alone (except his beloved animals) took a heavy toll on teddy. he'd always been a killer and an outlaw, but he'd always been paid to clear other people's consciences. now, he felt he was only killing people to run from the consequences of his own actions. it was exhausting.

so, when three strangers – one in a loud, black-and-white checkered blazer – tried to knock him out and bind his hands, well… he had no reason not to let them.

*aint that a kick in the head starts blaring*

fun facts

hes not a big chem guy but hes such an alcoholic. in game he keeps at least 10 whiskeys on him at all times but would prefer to drink a sarsaparilla over using a stimpak.

he needs glasses pretty badly for his one seeing eye but he’s too stubborn to wear them

his scars always look a bit irritated because he doesnt take care of himself

he was a big pistol guy before benny shot him, but after he went blind in his aiming eye and started suffering from bouts of dizziness, he became a shotgunner. they require a far-from-perfect style of aiming

[leslutdepointedulac]

WIP Wednesday

This is for my r63 mermaid au for next month and I'm super excited about it!

“I want to help you.” Louisa says again. “Will you let me do that?” 

Those large brown eyes bore into her green ones, and a soft clicking noise comes from somewhere deep in its throat, followed by a small nod. 

Louisa exhales slowly and nods as well. “You can understand me.” It’s not a question. This fact should be surprising to her, yet it makes sense to her somehow that it can. It’s clearly a very intelligent creature; perhaps it has had human interactions before. “Okay that’s good. Thank you.” Her tone is sincere. “Will you be alright here on your own for a few minutes? Only I need to go and get some things to help you with.” 

Another nod of its head. 

Louisa gradually moves to stand, being very careful not to make any sudden movements, and takes the few steps needed to get back to the mermaid. She kneels down beside it and gestures. “Would you like me to help you sit, it can’t be all too comfortable lying on those wounds on your tail.” 

The creature makes another soft clicking noise and blinks up at her with its round eyes. Louisa takes this a yes and carefully manoeuvres it into an upright position to sit against the rock. She takes the bottom of her dress and rips off a strip. “I’m going to wrap this around that wound on your tail, if that’s alright.” She nods at the area where a chunk is missing. “It isn’t good to leave it bleeding out like that, you know.” 

When the mermaid only looks at her and gives her another small nod, Louisa lifts the tail and places the strip of fabric on the sand beneath it. “My name is Louisa.” She says, as she lifts the ends to wrap around the tail. “Do you have a name?” 

There’s a clicking noise again, only this time, it sounds almost like a word. 

Louisa thinks about it for a moment before her face lights up and she finishes tying a knot in the fabric. She sits back and looks at the mermaid. “Armande. Is that your name?” 

It chirps and clicks with a soft swish of its tail. 

“Armande it is then.” Louisa smiles at her. She reaches out tentatively and moves a strand of auburn hair away from her eyes and behind her ears. Armande’s ears look almost like fins in their own right. Now that she’s really up close, Louisa can also see that, when the sun catches her just right, it reveals pale, iridescent scales covering Armande’s skin. She lets out a gasp of pure delight and hovers her fingers over the surface of her skin, mindful not to go too close to any wounds. 

Armande lifts a hand and places it over Louisa’s, gently encouraging her to touch if she wishes. It’s got a slight texture to it, smooth yet with small ridges where the scales overlap. “It’s. . .” Louisa finds herself lost for words. “It’s so beautiful.” She breathes, finally. Her eyes lift to meet Armande’s, and they simply sit and look at each other for a moment, soft smiles dancing on each of their lips. 

[cshfvck]

𝐔𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐰 - 𖤐- 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐕𝐚

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾ 　☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

Genre: Angst/Comfort

a/n: AH. Okay hi, I have never used tumblr and I haven't wrote anything in ages so I thought I'd rewrite an angst - comfort fic I wrote! Hope you lot enjoy my first post on here

cw: breakdown/yelling/anger/abuse mention/possible emetophobia warning?, possible spoilers for the storyline of Dontis (?)

Gender neutral reader!

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾ 　☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

You really are pathetic, hm?

A wolf watched you. I don't mean just watched... i mean it would snarl and watch you, staring as if you were prey. Maybe you were, who knows? You call yourself prey because this is all you can do. You've always been prey to him. The would would watch from afar, baring its teeth and hating every shed of dignity that remained on your use, shattered body. Other times it'd just sit afar, shaking in pleasure. Lust over coming it's abusive ridden brain. Distorting the torment of pleasure instead of violence. That's all it could do. Claws snagged a bottle, acting as if they were the trembling hips of your body and how you would call out his name. The name rolling of your tongue like some cheap, plastic vomit. The bitter taste violated his mouth the same way he violated yours. You curl up and hold a spoon, allowing the spoon to scoop out every shed of used skin on your body. This was all you could do.

Corrupted purples and yellows littered you, thighs, shoulders, every inch of your body. Hands crushed flesh, grabbing as much as it could as gluttony took over. Who knew greed could corrupt someone. Your flesh faltered and collapsed under such a bruising touch. You vomited as you scooped out chunks of bruises, bugs crawling underneath. This was all you could do. A wolf bared it's teeth at you. Claws ripping away dignity. Leave you your sin. Leave you your hands. Leave you. You begged the wolf, it grabbed the spoon and scooped used bruises and flesh back inside of you, it put it all back. That's all you could do. You choked out a sob as the wolf grabbed you but-

*alarm sound*

Your mouth was dry, salty tracks running down your cheeks as red cheeks burned. The lump in your throat turning to bile as you shot up in the bed, grabbing the bin beside you and heaving, nothing came out. It was all to much, you looked around after hearing footsteps and got out of the bed, footing slow and unsteady, eyes unseeing. Please stop. All the movement you were doing should be forbidden. Cries echoed in the room as you felt a large and pat your waist, not registering the persons voice. Please stop yelling. Sobs echoed from your body, your frame broken and half collapsed to floor while begging and pleading, you heard your name... that voice.

"Y/N.."

Dontis. A blur of h/c hair fell to the floor. Heaving, crying. Dontis quickly got up from the bed, eyes darting and not seeing as dontis crouched at your side. Your eyes flickered and fell shut, slowly curling up on the floor beneath you. A whisper. It was so.. so gentle.. no. You cant fall for it again. But... it felt too good to resist the comfort.

"There you go love... calm down.. shh shh shh.. it was a nightmare.. poor baby.."

His voice was so familiar. The strong accent making your abused ridden mind clear up. The voice almost felt as if it was wrapping you up. Yet, it spoke again.

"It's okay, Y/N."

Dontis whispered again. His voice comforting, not a lace or hint of threat or abuse in it. You cried harder than ever now, realizing it was Dontis, your shaking limbs slowly being held and touched by Dontis as he took your cheek in his hand, gently stroking soothing circles into tear stained flesh.

"Dontis-"

Your voice was broken and hoarse, cracking as you spoke. Those e/c eyes locking with Dontis' , feeling yourself getting lost in his comfort.

"Shh... I'm here. Take as long as you need too calm down..."

Dontis got permission for a hug as you nodded, his arms and hands pulling you into his lap while you both sat on the floor. Your trembling body curled up and cuddled against Dontis' chest, hands gently running over your sides, soft kisses being planted on your head, seeming to melt away the tears you shed earlier. All the comfort made you slowly forget your dream... Dontis' hands being the only thing you focused on. His touch comforting not lustful or wanting.

You soon drifted off to sleep, e/c eyes falling shut, a gentle snore coming from your exhausted body. Streaks of moonlight shone down on your face, highlighting the dried tears on your face, making them seem like glistening rivers as you lay in Dontis' arms, his eyes admiring your soft, red, puffy face. Rosey lips kissed your nose, Dontis' grip becoming stronger on you, not wanting you to ever feel like that again. Dontis gently sat you both in bed, his broad frame easily engulfing you in a giant cuddle, his hands seeming to soothe you.

It's almost as if everything Dontis touched turned brand new.

You were once used, now brand new...

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾ 　☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

HI!!! I hope this was okay and you all enjoyed! This is the first time ive posted in a while so i hope its okay! :D

feel free to send me any requests and as always...

thank you for reading x

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾ 　☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

[readyplayerziggy]

Gift for @gluttonygirls:

"Hello? Hellooo? Wake up."

You felt sluggish and not just in the 'I just woke up and don't want to move' way but more in the 'my limbs feel heavy as rocks' kind of way. Your hands barely responded to the mental commands you sent their way and forget your feet, those were a lost cause.

"Hey. Wake the hell up already. That's the last time I ask you nicely."

A head of green greeted you when you finally managed to get your eyes open, the woman looking down at you where you lay on the bed(?) through eyes half-lidded in exasperation instead of arousal.

"Finally. Thought I was gonna have to melt some of the ice down for water. That or waste some of the soda."

You could not, for the life of you, recall who this woman was or what she was doing here. Unfortunately you also couldn't ask her that since the moment you opened your mouth to do it the mother of all burps got out, taking what little brain activity you'd manage to work up with it.

BRRRUUUUUUUOOOOOOAAAAARRRRRRPPPP!!!!

Groaning, you struggled to lift a hand to your mouth to wipe off the drool on your chins...Wait chins?

Feeling your face up you could feel much more than the one chin you last remembered having on your face, at least three. And that wasn't all, you hand was bigger, chunkier than before, with sausage fingers that could barely bend and were almost consumed by wrist flab, leading to an arm twice as thick as your previous neck!

And when you managed to strain your neck enough to look down, you'd see the rest of you was just as much of a mess. Your tits had ripped multiple holes in your shirt, your gut was covered in food remnants and spread out like a blanket made of fat, going half a yard tot he ceiling even with gravity pushing it down, spilling out to cover your hips, pushing your chest into your chins and covering your thighs halfway to your knees.

And speaking of your thighs, though you couldn't see them very well due to the belly blanket taking up most of your view, you could feel how huge they were, feel the heat of your gut against them, the sweat pooling in the roll of your legs, the stings of cool air where your naked flesh broke through what was left of your pants.

"Oorrrruuuppp...You're not falling asleep again right?"

Your attention was taken off your fat as fuck body and brought back to the woman, currently turned away from you and giving you a view of one the fattest asses you'd ever seen, each cheek clearly larger than you were right now and jiggling like jello in her pants as she shuffled in place. Her hips outsized the width of her shoulders twice over at least and each fat thigh was so thick you'd need to clone yourself to wrap your arms around one.

The fat wasn't limited to her butt either. Turning around you could see a sagging apron gut in the making jutting forward, dark skin gleaming in the light thanks to the sweat going down it and obscuring the waistband of her pants, along with her pelvis, from view. The skin rippled as she pat it with one hand, the other cramming what looked to be a very large chunk of cake into her mouth, blue frosting dotting her nose and crumbs getting caught in her generous cleavage as she did so.

"GRRRUUUUUUAAAARRP!! Guessing you're finally ready to go again so let's not waste anymore time. Open up and keep it that way okay?"

Stepping towards you with a rolling cart packed end to end (much like your gut will be) with pastries of all kinds and more than a few gallons of milk, sodas and ice cream, thighs smacking together with each step, whatever dread you could feel pooling in your stomach was immediately smacked down by the hunger welling within. Gripping your chins, the emerald-haired woman (whose name continued to elude you) forced you to face her as she plucked a cupcake the size of a coffee pot off the cart, waving it under your nose and even taking a lick of the frosting before pushing it into your mouth, smirking as she heard you begin to slobber against it.

"Happy Birthday. Fatty~"

[pumpkin-patch-cat]

C R A V E

Beelzebub x GN reader one shot

(NSFWish. No severe warnings)

I wrote this for the heck of it 🤷🏾‍♀️.

(A/n - as usual, please pardon any grammar and punctuation mistakes. Thanks!)

How had you managed to let your mind wander so carelessly? And why were you still staring at them? 

"Them" being Beelzebubs fingers; the ones currently wrapped tight around a Gigadeath burger. Squished against his mouth as if it were his last meal on earth. 

The usual.  

You were certain he had just asked you a question. Unfortunately, that question ended up lost in translation the moment he acquired the chunk of sustenance. And for the life of you, you couldn't remember what he had said. 

Instead, a few minutes prior, your focus had reluctantly shifted to his thicker than normal appendages as they tapped impatiently on the table you two shared.

Beelzebub had invited you out to Hell's Kitchen for a bite to eat, which you happily accepted. He took the time to ask you, and yet your mind kept turning to mush each time a bit of grease from the acquired burger gushed from in between his fingers and over his knuckles. 

'Those should be my juic- Where did that even come from!?'

Quickly, you shoved the merciless thoughts away, opting to focus on your own burger. 

Compared to Beels hulking hands, your own hands were considerably small. You struggled to keep the contents of the sandwich from falling to its demise back onto the table while the demon across from you secured his portion with ease. 

'Focus...focus' 

"Hey, y/n? Are you good over there? Looks like you're having problems." 

"Huh?" 

"I said it looks like dinner is getting the best of you. You're dropping all the best parts." 

With your attention finally preoccupied, you peered down at the messy mound of toppings starting to form beneath the burgers position. Damnit.

"Oh, shoot...I didn't even notice." You knitted your brows. Beel chuckled, wiped his hands on a napkin, and then reached for your sandwich. 

"Wait, I'm still gonna eat that-"

"I know, but I want to help" 

Beel did things usually without thinking much about it. So when he reached in front of you to open the top most bun of your burger, and skillfully place the toppings back in their rightful spots, you were certain your brain short circuited. The couple silver rings he wore on his middle and pinky fingers glinted in the light of the restaurant as he worked. Ever the perfectionist when it came to food preparation, and a firm believer in not wasting food, he made sure no toppings were left behind. 

You watched closely as the burger seemed to take shape back into the work of art it was before. Now neatly nestled between two thick, large hands that held it toward you, you bit your lip.

"There, now eat up." He beamed, proud of his handy work.

You blinked, mystified, after finally catching up with Beelzebubs actions. He'd hold it for you while you ate. A simple gesture to him, but something on an entirely different level of intimacy for you. You swallowed hard. 

"Are...are you sure? I can honestly do it myself."

"Don't worry about it. I'd feel bad if we came all this way just for you to spend the entire time fighting with your food. So, take a bite...before I do." The demon chuckled, urging the sandwich closer, but you knew he was serious.

With a nod, you leaned up and forward. The grease from your burger had begun to drip against his fingers now, slowly decending over his knuckles and leaving a shimmering trail against his skin. 

Only a few inches more and you'd over come this moment and you would be satisfied, with embarrassments avoided, right?

That certainly would be the case if the sound of your heartbeat hadn't drowned out the sound of your name being called softly moments later. 

Without realizing it, your eyes had closed the moment you took a bite. Your mouth moved on its own, coming in for a second bite simply for your lips to connect with his knuckles, your tongue lapping out to catch the excess grease. 

"Y-y/n?" 

Your breath ghosted over his skin gently after you swallowed, finally meeting the magenta and purple gaze of the demon across from you; suddenly aware of your mistake.

'Crap…'

"Beelzeboo, I'm sorry! I-" 

"Was it good?" 

 He peered at you curiously, cutting you off; burger still in hand.

After a few seconds of the question buffering in your mind, you answered.

"It...it was, thanks" 

The demon simply nodded before setting the burger down. Although not before ripping another smaller piece from the sandwich and holding it up before you. 

The look on his face was perplexing. Curiosity mixed with...something else. 

"Here...eat" the piece of food in his hand moved closer to you, however, it was moved away when you attempted to capture it with your own hand. 

"Nah uh, I'll hold it...you eat." 

You stared dumbfounded at the smaller offering, your eyes flickering back to his when he urged it closer. 

"You look like you're hungry…" he tilted his head slightly, offering you a small, toothy smile to punctuate his gesture. "I'd be happy to help…" 

You gulped with anticipation the closer his hand came. And when the bit of food passed your lips, you sighed, closing your eyes; basking in the flavor. 

Beelzebub watched on gingerly, noting the moment the food slid down your throat. And while the food was gone, he kept his painted fingers pressed against your grease stained lips. 

His eyes remained on your plump tiers, calculating his next move. But as though you could read his mind, your tongue simply laved out gently over one of his waiting fingertips; his index finger slowly disappearing into your mouth. 

Thankfully, you two found a quieter spot toward the back of the restaurant. Mainly because Beelzebub's eating habits tended to unnerve customers. 

The longer beel studied your face, the bolder you felt having the appendage pressed beyond your lips. 

Never in your wildest dreams had you seen this coming, yet here you were, sucking shamelessly on the demons finger; twirling and curling your tongue around it in a dance a pure seduction.

"So good…" he murmured.

On the other side of the table, although stone faced, Beel sat enamored by your musings. Sucking the appendage a little harder pulled an almost guttural purr from the belly of the beast who seemed to just stroke his lips idly in thought. But in reality, Beel was wiping away the bits of drool threatening to dribble down his chin.

His hunger was growing at an exponential rate and not for food. 

On the contrary, both meals had since been forgotten. 

"Y/n..." his husky voice drifted across the table, pulling you from your task. When your eyes connected again, you were reminded instantly of the supernatural prowess the man across from you possesses. Although the room was lit well, his eyes shone bright, glowing magenta and purple; pulsing with primal need. 

"I think…we should go."

It wasn't a suggestion, but a command uttered the moment his finger was reluctantly pulled from your mouth. 

"Go where?" The sudden movement of the large demon pushing away from the table to stand quickly had you pressed back against your seat. With his hand now outstretched awaiting yours, he only grinned. 

"Well, you still look hungry, and I'm all too willing to feed you exactly what you want" 

[astyrial]

memories to be made minho x newt (meeting) prompt: first day word count: 800 warnings: memory loss masterlist | requests are open written for minewt weekend @minewtweek part 2

    a rich natural smell runs through newt's system. he can't pinpoint just where he recognizes it, but it fills his lungs. his heart beat rests at a comfortable level as he feels the grass beneath his palms. it's both soft and itchy, irritating his mind. newt's cheek rubs against the ground beneath him as well, and for a second he wonders just where he could be. 

  how did he end up there? where did he come from? and the most vital question swirling within his brain is.. who is he really? newt's heart quickens, the sudden realization that he doesn't know anything past his first name. newt.

  he quickly opens his eyes, a forest staring back at him. it's fairly thick, supplied with low hanging limbs and thick understory covering the ground. newt's eyes narrow at the woods, but he can't quite see anything else in the darkness. his hands push off against the grass flooring until he's on his feet. it feeling as though it left an indentation in his right cheek. 

  his hands flip over to show markings of blades of grass embedded in his skin. his blink a couple times, his slender fingers pulling at the grass. how long had he truly been there? the teenager's brain fills with more questions, ones that he couldn't answer no matter how hard he thought. 

  newt bites his lip for a second, turning around to see if there was more forest. instead he sees a green plains and other people laying awkwardly on the grass. some are standing up, waking up other boys that newt can't seem to recognize. he takes a step towards them while his eyebrows furrow. his eyes narrowing at the bright light wherever it was coming from. 

  but when his eyes finally focus he can see a large structure a couple miles away. it's straight across besides a large chunk in the middle missing, vines running down what appears to be bricks. "hello?" his own voice echoes through his head as he looks out towards the other people who happen to be awake.

  the three boys look over to see him, their hands either crossed or on their hips. however the one that sticks out the most to him is the closest one. his hair is jet black, his skin a rich tan. newt's breath hitches slightly upon seeing his fairly muscular arms nearly hidden beneath a tan shirt rolled to his elbows.

  "another one has finally risen. minho, you mind telling him what's going on?" a figure stands towards the back, his arms crossed in front of his shirt. 

  the black haired boy, now named minho, nods, his eyes never falling from newt's. before newt can do anything, minho is already making his way over, a smile on his face. "i've been forced to hang out the two of them for the past hour, great to have someone else around," he holds out his hand, and newt takes it, a small shock occurring between the two of them.

  "yeah, where are we?" newt questions, his eyebrows furrowing at the boy in front of him. 

  "sorry to be the bearer of bad news but none of us know, the only thing any of us can remember is waking up here. and our names, which if you could tell, my name is minho. and it appears to be some box with a maze, an opening on each side," he looks out at the rest of the boys sleeping in the grass. 

  he sighs, unsure whether this was some elaborate dream or he truly lost every memory he could've had. "wait, a maze? like a giant maze?" newt instantly thought that someone was playing a trick on him, sending him into a coma or something. 

  minho nods, his eyes flickering between newt and the brick walls. he sighs before returning his eyes to newt's, "yes, i mean nick hasn't gone through it and i don't know if i wanna be the first... but we can't do much right now. what's your name?"

  "i'm newt, would say my last name if i ever think of it," newt purses his lips, an intense feeling of dread filling him, "do you ever think we'll get our memories back?"

  minho leans a little, trying to decide if he wanted to be brutally honest or sugarcoat the situation. instead of doing either, he simply wrapped his arm around newt's shoulders and starts leading him to the other boys, "i think we'll make a lot of memories together regardless."

  minho looks over at newt, giving him a smile that made him feel a little less worried about their situation. a little less worried about what could possibly happen to the two of them. sadly the two of them could never see their futures coming…

[decadentpandawasteland]

Hi! I actually have a tiny backlog finally, so here's the next section of For All That Have Fallen! Thoughts and comments are always welcome! As always, thanks for reading :)

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A few days passed, but they didn't register with Nicolas. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt the stare of that crimson orb bore into him. It just sat there, unblinking and unmoving. Nicolas had recalled a few meditative techniques during those few days and had tried more than half a dozen of them to no avail. No matter what he did, that orb watched him. It gave him an uneasy feeling. There was a feeling of a predator watching its prey, as if he was being evaluated from the inside out. The orb never moved, but he knew he could feel it coursing out his mana channels. The feeling was like when someone walked over your grave.

The old priest came walking into the day room. Nicolas was flipping through a notebook before looking up. The old man's deep wrinkles were now the size of canyons, his eyes were cloudy, and the only semblance of hair he still had on his head was a few white strands. His right arm was no longer blackened and brittle, but the skin looked almost like wax. The man couldn't channel mana through it, even if he had enough to spare. 

A thought crossed his mind. “That chunk of soul wa-”

A red orb. 

Nicolas stood from his seat and stretched trying to shake off that feeling of existential dread. He suddenly felt ravenous, but not for food. He wasn't even sure what he wanted was real. From drinking from the goblet to learning a spell that all scholars consider lost to time itself. This isn't who he was or what he strived out to be. He was so lost in thought that he hadn't even noticed. Was this what he really wanted? Power at any cost? Enough to change everyone's perspective.

Ragnar let out a soft cough and Nicolas's head shot up. His gaze was hard. It was as if his eyes were large icicles, waiting for the perfect moment to kill him where he stands. 

“What?” Nicolas asked impatiently. 

“You must return to the College and complete the final task our glorious Lord has set upon your shoulders,” Ragnar stated in a mechanical tone. It was like he wasn't even remotely injured. Then Nicolas remembered the screams. 

Ragnar handed over a small black envelope. “Opening this envelope will automatically make this a sealed pact. Failure to complete this task will cause one of the runes on the pact to break. We both know how much better than anyone, whoever broke it would be better off dead.”

“What if I refuse to do it at all? Nicolas asked. Before Ragnar could answer, the red sphere took up every millimeter of space within Nicolas's mind. It was terrifying. The light fluctuated and pulsed as it spoke. 

Then I shall use my gift upon you, rendering your mana channels as nothing more than wasted space within you. My flame may only be put out if I demand it so. 

Reflexively, Nicolas stated “Yes, my Lord,” before he was shoved back into his body. Having his consciousness forcefully taken out and forcefully returned was very discombobulating  to him. To add on to the disorienting feeling, something he hadn't thought of at all slipped through his lips. My Lord?

“My advice to you, since you seem so torn,” Ragnar began. Nicolas just held up a hand. 

“I'm returning to the College. My disappearance probably hasn't even registered with… Quin,” Nicolas said, grabbing the sealed envelope. It felt much heavier than it should be, almost the weight of a brick. It still retained the density that a normal sealed letter should. 

“I should get back before it's noticed.”

“Just as before, I shall be here. Do not fret, for he watches over you even now,” Ragnar said. Nicolas just ignored the ramblings of a deranged man. He grabbed his wide brimmed hat and attempted to leave, whatever kind of building he was in. 

After a few false starts, Nicolas had managed to get out. He had looped back through where he had came in, leaving through what looked like a water drainage channel that hadn't been used in hundreds of years. The ceiling was low and the space was cramped. More than a few times, Nicolas debated on turning around, but eventually he found the light at the end of the tunnel. 

The tunnel opened up into a dried creek bed. Nicolas passed through the opening, he thought he had registered a feeling of… something…, trying to keep him there. As if the darkness of the tunnel was reticent at best to allow him to leave. Eventually he did make it out of the creek bed and Nicolas decided he wanted a good look at whatever kind of building he had been in. Based on the dungeonesque layout of the bottom floor, he was expecting to see some long forgotten castle or fortress.

It was an old, dilapidated chapel. The roof had partially caved in long ago, making the belltower in the front the highest spire. The bell it had housed had been taken a very long time ago. Greenery was taking over the building. A slow but inevitable return to nature. 

A name popped into his mind the same way it had to bring him here a few days ago. Emerald Garden. Nicolas decided to add that to his list of things to research in the library, after showering, and stopping by Quin's office. “This day is going to be a pain in the ass,” Nicolas mumbled as he started the trek back to campus. 

One shower, a change of clothes, and an unhelpful trip to Quin's office, which he wasn't in, led Nicolas into the library. Right before the library, he had stopped to get food. He was starving. It felt like he hadn't eaten in a month, but the sandwich had tasted rancid to him. Still, he forced it down. That hunger only increased in intensity. He tried to push that aside as he walked into his favorite place in the world. 

The Mage's College Library was filled to the brim with everything from scraps of paper with hastily scrawled out alchemical formulas, scrolls of every possible variety discipline available to magic, grimoires carrying the magnum opus of mage's studies. Nicolas walked in as a pair of students walked out. They're long black robes were adorned with a forest green trim, signifying they were studying one of the natural fields. “Hydro or geomancy would be the most useful of those,” Nicolas thought to himself. He turned and watched the male, who knelt down and placed his hand on the grass. In seconds, blooms of iridescent flowers exploded into being. Nicolas shook his head in disgust. “Agricanology. Such a waste.”

From the outside, the library looked small and simplistic. The only real adornment on the building's facade being intricate glass work in the shape of the College's symbol, a book with the pages flipping open. Of course nothing is that simple, as a mixture of magic and light glinting off the glass created an impression of the pages slowly flipping forward. Inside the building, however, it was a completely different story. 

The inside of the building was quietly bustling. The floor was intricately carved, thousands upon thousands of runes and symbols were painstakingly etched and covered with a sealant to perfectly preserve it. All around him were small tables and chairs, rows of books. This and the upstairs level held most of the books used for required course material. Students ran around, professors gave impromptu lessons, even the sylphs used as janitorial stand-ins kept the areas clean and free of trash and debris. It was a sight to behold between this and the upper floor. Both were open to any of the students who wished to use the spaces to study or complete research. 

Nicolas walked by a table covered from end to end with every type of scroll imaginable. A frazzled woman who looked like she hadn't slept in days was scratching at her head. Wisps of curly, frizzy red poking out between her fingers.

“You!” She screamed, before quickly covering her mouth as the sound cut through the low murmur of students. She dropped her hands and this time yelled in a whisper, “You! I need fresh eyes! Please, please, please help!”

“Why me? I'm busy at the mo-” Nicolas began before she cut him off. 

“Honestly? You're the closest person I could see, and I'm afraid I'll pass out if I try and find someone else.” Her voice was frantic. After a moment she added, “You carry yourself like a well worn book and I feel more like a rolled up thousand year old scroll. How about this, you help me with this, I'll help you with whatever. No questions asked.” She stared up at Nicolas from the dragon's hoard of scrolls with the deepest green eyes that he had ever seen. 

“Fine, fine. Nicolas Varro, third year, astralogian,” Nicolas said as he pulled up a chair. 

“Kara Cutwright, second year, wordsmith and bibliomancer.” Kara said. 

“You'll have to forgive me, but I don't think I've ever heard of either of those specialities. What are they?” Nicolas asked. 

A very exhausted but happy grin broke across Kara's face. “A bibliomancer allows me to cast any form of magic by reciting and using either a scroll or grimoire as the conduit. It takes longer than normal to cast and it will always require an incantation, but the versatility is unmatched.”

“And the wordsmith?”

Kara laid her head on the pile of scrolls, a makeshift pillow of knowledge and destruction. “It's technically not a specialty. Not yet. I'm trying to make it one.” She said it with the conviction of a soldier getting ready for battle, despite the fact that her eyes were shut. 

Nicolas knew the only way specialities were created was through decades upon decades of dedication. Master Quin was the closest thing he'd seen to the specialty Nicolas desired of a Soulweaver despite Quin's focus on the Astral Plane instead of the Soul itself. At least Nicolas's choice has a path to follow, even if it is rarely chosen. Cutting a path of your own design was a challenge that he didn't think anyone could achieve. This woman just became a lot more interesting to him. 

“Okay Wordsmith-to-be, what can I help you with?” He asked, glancing at the scrolls. 

Kara perked up immediately, before immediately letting out a massive yawn. She held up a finger to signal to wait a second before twisting in her chair to grab something out of the bag on the back. Something about the motion seemed off. She pulled out a metal cylinder with two thick lines running horizontally across it. She twisted the bottom end and it made a cracking sound. Tiny runes lit up with red light as she sat the cylinder down. After a moment, she unscrewed the top. Steam rose into the air and the smell of coffee filled the table. It was fascinating enough that Nicolas had forgotten about the hunger that had been wracking him since he had left Ragnar's castle or that unblinking red orb in his mind. 

“Okay, so I'm looking for…”

[calypsos-siren]

Chapter One - Calypso's Siren

Plot: I felt like Finnick and Annie's story never received the love that it deserved. I'm a huge fan of Finnick x Annie but struggle with the helpless & hopeless idea of Annie.

This is like my own personal love letter to women who have gone through trauma but are more than their breakdowns.

I'd appreciate if you'd listen to this while you read :)

-------------------------

For a moment, I swear a fog engulfs me - the moisture circling around my head, sinking into my skin, drawing itself down my throat. Every sense elusive as I make a desperate attempt to tether myself to anything concrete. A loud crash from an adjacent room causes my teeth to clamp down on my tongue, feeling the relief of the metallic bitterness that follows suite. For now, I am alive. I am breathing. I try to ignore the taste, but it's a filling my mouth at a pace identical to the man storming towards my open door.

Dad lingers in the doorway, gripping a jar that makes my nose instinctively scrunch. His anger is evident as he scans me up in down, assessing the damage of my latest outburst. He is a specter of disdain and lost sympathy, a relic of who he was before it all had began to crumble. Had he held on, perhaps, even just a bit, he may have embraced being our lifeline. Instead, he turned to a mistress in the form of liquid fire and drowned in his sins.

He leans, hand clenching the doorframe's remnants, oblivious in sickness, wrapped in spite. He silently scrutinizes me in his drunken haze, comparing every twitch of my form to hers. He doesn't need to speak to show this, his green eyes narrow and his mouth is held in a snarl. His face twisted into something that looks remarkably like resentment.

"Your mother did this to you." It comes out with venom. He's slurring so much that anyone else would not catch it - but I've been here before. His words have long slipped down my throat in battered sobs and carved themselves into my very core.

"Nothing to do with you at all. She's ruined every ounce of you."

His words are harsh and the corners of my mouth begin to taste like salt. I force myself to relax my jaw, resisting the impulse to react. Instead, I focus on clawing the wooden base of my battered bedside. The rotting wood easily finds a home beneath my fingernails, releasing the smell of moss and oak.

He waits, waiting for my resolve to crumble. I try. Giving him the breakdown that he wants is what my body screams for. I'm exhausted — he is exhausting. He wants, no, needs proof of any signs of weakness in order to justify his brigade. When the seams start to fray and my shoulders begin to shake, he takes his opportunity.

"I was told women from Seven are strong. Were you strong enough to watch the Games last year, Annie? A woman from Seven dominated that fucking arena. She is what I was told. And I got stuck with you,"

He spits and it lands at my feet.

"Your mom had the looks, I'll give that bitch that. But fuck, her bloodline is tainted." His gestures punctuate his words. Even in death, she bears the burden of his rage.

He forgets to add what was unsaid. Every fiber of your being reminds me of her and I cannot stand it.

"I'm fine, Dad. Really."

I repeat and we pretend that my voice didn't crack twice. I try not to acknowledge that he wants me to beg for forgiveness for being born from my mother. The distance between the foot on my bed and the hallway seems immeasurably large, freezing, but I try my best not to quiver. I fail at that, too.

I'm too busy shoving my face between my knees to notice his retreat, instead it's signaled by the sound of a slamming door and the attempted start of a dying boat engine. It begins my opportunity to drag myself to the wash. I subtly wipe up liquor and spit, dragging along an old sock as I move. Numbness encases me, but perhaps that's for the best. Isn't it?

I catch my reflection in the shards of recently broken glass littering the hallway. Inside this house, my reflection burns.

I grab a chunk of ice from our small insulated fridge and forcefully breathe through my mouth. The smell of fish is too apparent for my taste - combined with an uneasy stomach still recovering from our fight, I refuse to take the chance to inhale the slimy scent, instead focusing on my thoughts as I hold it beneath my eyes. Ice helps with swelling, though I question why it seems less efficient on swelling associated with tears.

The burn of the ice begins to settle into my bones and I welcome the pain, a change from the usual shroud of nothingness. However, it does little to soothe the thoughts ricocheting in my head. Today is the day of the Reaping - and my breath hitches at the reminder.

"This is the first year that you took out tesserae. It's not going to be you. Even if it was, someone would volunteer."

I don't bother to turn, instead opting to watch Kaia in the mirror. The scorn of pity looks less vicious in the reflection.

"I'm going on the boat before the Reaping. Come." Her voice carries a demand tempered by sympathy, the illusion of choice offered. She steps forward, pulling my body towards her in what little comfort she knows how to give.

And it is comforting. Kaia is the only sense of security that I've felt for a very long time. I'd like to think that I can offer the same to her, though I have a hunch that she's too busy being protective to benefit from it. She pulls away and stares at me, unapproving but lacking judgement.

"Sit down." She ushers towards the closed toilet as she reaches for a drawer. I follow her instructions, ignoring how heavy the air feels.

Kaia moved in silently, a gentle hum echoing through the porcelain enclosure. I kept my gaze averted, trying to avoid meeting my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I didn't want to confront the bruises on my skin, the dark circles beneath my eyes, the sickly pallor that had become a constant. But despite my best efforts to evade it, glimpses of my reflection taunted me in the periphery.

Kaia's comb moved through my hair in patient strokes, her silence a comforting gesture. We didn't need to talk about it.

She shook her head gently, the comb stilling for a moment. Her lips separated, paused, before opting for silence. Instead, she began braiding my rust shaded hair. I watched her olive hands dig into my locks, going through the motions that she surely has memorized. Separate the top half of my hair, then create a fishtail braid on each side, meet to create one large fishtail that sits on the scrunched waves of the bottom half.

She snaps the elastic before looking in the mirror. I look away when her eyes fall to the floor.

"Alright. Yeah, you're alright. Let's go."

Kaia moved through the decrepit shed, each footstep a sure marker of her location. It had seen better days. It was likely to never see them again. It seems like the only thing we are capable of is destruction here. Everything around us seems to twist, snap, and shatter before we follow suite. Ignoring the ghost in the hallway, she snaps the front door open and rushes out, essentially running towards our docked boat. I pause in the doorway, watching. She naturally excludes the grace of a victor, easily maneuvering through the dock to fetch our swaying raft. Her presence demands reverence and I say a silent thank you to the spirits of the sea for offering her this protection. Towering and dark-haired, she embodies the hue of olive skin—a testament to our small oceanfront life. She's long been ineligible for the Games at 22 and I begin to suspect that the spirits only look after their own.

My attempt to follow halts abruptly as I begin to catch up to her. The sensation of the sand against my bare feet offers a comfort that is rarely given and I try to soak in this moment. Just in case my name is drawn from that crystal bowl, I want to remember this. Weather worn slabs of wood and the smell of salt in the air, screeching fowls in the distance as they fight against the waves. This is me, and this is home.

She looks so happy. Her entire body stretches towards the waves as the tide pulls aggressively today. The spirits know, today. Kaia doesn't seem to mind; instead, she seems to greet the splashes with a warm welcome. It doesn't take long for her yellow sundress to be stained with sea salt. It's an obvious reminder of the day, once again, our usual attire tucked away and our best hanging over frail skin.

Kaia taps the boat's wooden boards, wordlessly urging me to snap out of it. Move. I climb aboard and hug my knees back to my chest. The sun has barely crept in and the air still bites at my skin, but it's a reprieve from the sweat and panic of this morning. I hardly notice when she pushes the small vessel further into the waves.

"I'm going to miss this." I murmur, though I'm not sure whether I'm talking to myself or Kaia.

"Miss what? You're so much like mom is, Annie. You worry too much."

"Like how Mom was."

"Like how Mom was."

There's an understood silence. I lean back, hoping for the sun to consume me. Can it burn me up? Spread my ashes amongst the wind before I ever stand before another Reaping.

"Do you ever miss her?" Kaia is the first to break the silence. I contemplate whether she can read my thoughts or if the look on my face gives it away.

"Sometimes. It depends. I don't know."

And truly I don't. Mom - a mix of honeyed coastal florals on good days, ash and whiskey on bad ones. She'd wander around with crimson pouring from her skin, a glaze over her eyes that verified that she wasn't fully aware of the things in front of her. But in her daze, in whatever nightmare consumed her from week to week, she would brush my hair and sing lullabies. She would rock herself from heel to heel while throwing her arms over me, matching her rhythm to the boats that swayed through the window. And we would just exist in each other's presence. And we would pretend to not notice the smell of blood in the air, or how rough the gauze was against my skin.

"Do you know why? Why was she like that, Kaia?"

Kaia's features soften, hesitancy evident, her eyes going distant before allowing in a deep breath. I decided to lean back into the hull, letting myself be set aflame with my eyes closed. This small act of privacy is the best I can offer.

"Maybe not today. Or any day. There's never a good day to talk about Mom unraveling, I guess," she scoffed. I'm not sure who at.

"One of her friends was a tribute in the 59th Hunger Games. In true District 4 fashion, she teamed with the careers. With us. We are the careers, you know. Despite how shitty our life is here." The lack of hidden cameras often gave Kaia an increased confidence and rage.

"She made it pretty far, I've seen the games. I found an old copy of it before we found Mom with a piece of rope wrapped,"

Anger surges, her breath hitching.

"Forget it. But I found the copy. She was stabbed - repeatedly. Mom watched it, lost it. It was easier for Dad to protect you, you were still young. You didn't get it yet. Me? I would catch her in the middle of the night, curled up on the couch, a copy of the games flashing from the TV. Over, and over, and over..."

I rolled over to take a peak at her, only to see her trying to catch her composure. Decided it's best to bury my face in folded arms instead. This is already hard, and she doesn't need someone staring at her in pity to make it worse.

"She was stabbed. The tribute from Two threw knives that hit its target but not with the intended accuracy. There was so much blood, I'm not sure exactly where she was hit. She bled out slowly. The recording has her screams, her begs for someone to kill her. Nobody did. Sometimes I would find Mom on the kitchen floor, carving her legs."

I winced.

"Sorry. She was in a lot of pain. She's not in pain now."

"Dad is."

"Yeah."

"I look just like her," I move my head to rest in my folded hands. "He has a hard time with it. I see the way he looks at me."

She leans back and doesn't deny it. But we know. With every sway to the rhythm of the ocean, every soft lullaby in the pitch black of our home, every breakdown.. every unraveling.

"I wish Mom fixed it rather than handing it to me. It feels like some sick generational curse."

"Maybe it is."

"Maybe. When we were little, I always loved how Nana would pinch me, telling me that I was their own piece of District 7 in District 4. They seemed so proud that we represented our parents, that you represented a piece of Dad and I represented a piece of Mom" The last part came out dirtier than intended. Kaia holds her tongue.

"Then she took a kitchen knife and carved herself to pieces in disgust with herself. So now here I am, wondering what this means for me, the identical copy of mom, when mom hated every piece of herself."

"Funny how that turned out. I'm the embodiment of a drunken abuser, you of a self-destructive lunatic."

We laugh and let that be.

The sound of the ocean surged forth, filling the gaps in conversation with its ceaseless rhythm.

The boat swayed softly - offering a small amount of solace. The wind whips through my hair, occasionally blurring my vision. I silently ask if it would be too much to go out this peacefully.

My feet dip into the water, soothing the burn beginning to develop. I wonder if they'll try to make it interesting this year - purposefully rig the drawing to someone in particular or force the names of a victor's family. There's a lot of them, now. My skin seems to burn in response, as if the sea begins to whisper a silent reprimand. It's not as though they'll ever admit to it. That likely wouldn't happen this year, or maybe it would, but nobody from District Four has made it past the Cornucopia since Finnick Odair.

A 14 year old is considered a child in the games, the Capitol's show that they can brutally murder the youngest of our children without resistance. A sharp stab collects in my chest as I recall his games, he was too young to understand that type of pain. It was my second year of eligibility, I was only a year younger than him. That moment developed my fear, as though if a boy from the class above me can be subject to that brutality, than so can I.

But he won, and he survived, though surely benefiting from the help of a wealthy family's training capabilities and hailing from a Career district. He continued this luxurious life, if you don't believe in the rumors, that is. Whispers between the women of our district, spoken behind closed doors of how the Capitol sells him off in return for his defiance. The defiance of refusing an agonizing death for show.

Everyone praises him when he comes home, lines up the street on the Victor's Village with gifts. I think some of them are pining for those rumors to be true. It's silly, watching girls line up stuffed manatees to the home of a man who comes home with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. He tries to hide it, but when you live in a cycle of exhaustion, you learn to recognize those who do too. 

[buscemifan]

i bought these navel oranges the other day.

i had no groceries and they were the first thing i saw at the market. an eight pound bag of navel oranges

i didn’t see the price. i saw 50¢ per orange and about lost my mind. i needed fruit and i love a good deal.

wasn’t as pleased when it rang up as a full ten dollars, but there i was, now eight pounds of citrus richer.

i forgot what a pain in the ass it is to peel the damn things.

orange peels are so thick and yet so unwilling to come off in large chunks

you chip away, getting acid under your already dry nails and juice everywhere

and even when you peel them there’s that yucky filmy skin on the orange that you just kinda eat around

but it’s a good orange. great, in fact. so delicious and juicy and succulent. the kind of thing that forces you to remember you’re alive, experiencing things.

the first orange i ate from this bag, the juice that sprayed in the air quite literally burned my chapped lips as i was peeling it. i was terrified i had randomly developed one of those adulthood allergies. but i had enough faith in the orange that i ate it anyway. and it was divine.

so i’ve been picking away at my oranges. i offered them to my housemates, but so far have seen none missing. 8 pounds is a lot of oranges for a twenty year old girl. and i have to fucking peel all of them? just for that momentary, fleeting joy as i bite down on fruity flesh and feel juice drip down my chin?

this poem isn’t about oranges. well, it kind of is. i did truly buy an eight pound bag and i am truly enjoying them and i do truly hate peeling them. but this poem isn’t really about oranges. it, too, must be peeled.

[edupunkn00b]

Everyone Leaves, Ch. 4: Virgil

Colorized version of Wolf-in-front-of-Moon, Clément Bucco-Lechat CC 3.0

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Virgil appears and demands to know what Remus has done to Logan. He finds Logan happily sleeping, sprawled over Remus' lap. And a frighteningly happy Remus.

CW: intrusive thoughts, wolf bite, blood, swearing, unreality A continuation of @lost-in-thought-20's incredible story for the @tsspromptmonth 🌸 Spring Cleaning 🌸 event. ---

The door rattled in its frame, chunks of cement from the walls clattering to the floor in a dusty avalanche. “Remus!” 

BANG BANG BANG BANG  

The wolves whimper in the corner. There’s only one Side his wolves fear.

“Open the fucking door, Remus!”  Virgil’s tempest voice shakes his bones but he ignores it. Virgil was all talk. He’s the one who should be afraid. “What’d you do? Impersonate him? Got him tied up in there?”

“Oooo, kinky!” Remus cackles as he waves the door open. “And keep your voice down, Emo,” Logan slept better with the sound of his voice. “The nerd’s finally asleep.” He stares into Virgil’s shadowed eyes, the black smeared with tear tracks. Logan's presence brought company but it also brought light. Dim, but enough to relish in the fear in Virgil's eyes. “Wake him and I’ll spend every night for the next year camped out in your little brain while you try to sleep.”

“Do your worst!” Virgil’s posture stays strong but there’s a warble in his voice and Remus knows his point was made. Anxiety knows better than to take his threats as mere words. “Just put Logan back to normal! Release him from whatever you did and let him go! We need him! Thomas is in a fucking police station getting fingerprinted right now.”

Remus sucks on the tip of his middle finger. “Hmmm… yummy. I always wanted to know what that ink tasted like. Sticky, bitter, kinda like—”

“Shut up!” The tempest voice shakes through his bones and Remus shivers, staring back with green glowing eyes. Virgil takes a deep breath to calm himself. It doesn’t work. “Look, you can have whatever you want, Remus, just let him go so he can fix this!”

“But this is what I want. Right here, in my arms, in my room.” He smiles, mouth stretched wide enough to touch his ears. If he stretched enough, he could even drop his jaw just like Janus used to when he asked.

Back when Janus stayed. Back when Janus gave a fuck.

Virgil’s steps falter and the wolves slink out from under his bed. “See? Even they’re not afraid of you anymore,” Remus reaches out to pet the closest wolf and its ears flatten against the top of its head and it sinks its fangs into his hand. 

Remus smiled as he tore his hand from the beast’s mouth. It was then that Logan woke. “Remus?” He blinked, staring into Remus’ eyes.

“Logan, you’re alright!” Virgil dropped to his knees and reached for him. “We need you, we—” The wolves snarled the moment Virgil’s hand grazed Logan’s and he drew back.

Save for a single glance, Logan ignores Virgil and sits up facing Remus. “You are injured,” he frowns and holds out his hand. A large red box appears before him and he opens the case to reveal a perfectly organized first aid kit. He takes out supplies and begins flushing Remus’ wound with sterile saline. Like tears. Remus hissed under his breath, the water sharp and biting the wound.

“Logan? Wha—How did you do that? Only Remus can conjure in his room.”

“Falsehood,” he said without looking up from his ministrations. "I obviously just did and I am not Remus.” Wound irrigated, Logan began blotting his skin with a soft cloth, pristine white and clean like his room had never seen before. He worked silently for a moment, those laser sharp eyes staring at the puncture wounds on Remus’ hand like he fucking dared them to start seeping blood again.

“I will bandage your wound now,” he said, raising his eyes up. Logan looked at him with a softness Remus hadn’t seen since… Fuck Janus. He nodded.

“Do whatcha gotta do, Nerdy Wolverine,” he grinned, a little too widely. What was the worst that could happen? The bite was already starting to burn and throb. Logan’s nursing would only help, even if it hurt like hell while he did it. “I won’t fight you.”

“Yeah, right,” Virgil scoffed. “Be careful, Logan. I’m pretty sure I still have Remus’ teeth marks from that time I tried to get a chunk of glass outta—”

“I will be careful, Remus.” Logan didn’t get that Virgil was warning the nerd against what he would do and just trained those eyes on him, holding still with Remus’ hand twitching in his palm. “Tell me if the bandage grows uncomfortable and I will adjust it.”

Remus nodded, mouth hanging open but nothing would come out. The only other person who could shut him up was Dee and that was with his powers. Even Virgil finally shut up and just watched, all tense and coiled like he expected Remus to attack their resident logician.

After his wounds were hidden under layers of gauze and those little pads you get at the hospital, Logan pressed down on each of his nail beds, Remus watched, too, as tannish pink went white and then quickly returned. “I believe this  dressing adequate now. I will need to change your bandage in a few hours to guard against infection.” The nerd looked up and actually smiled. “How does it feel, Remus?”

The wolf who’d bitten him slunk out from the shadows, head hanging low and her tail between her legs. She lay down in front of Logan, whining quietly. “Better, Lo.”

“That is a relief,” Logan murmured and laid one hand on the wolf’s head, instantly turning off that high-pitched whine.

“Okay, so you fixed the nightmare’s hand.” Virgil jumped to his feet and opened the door, eyeing the wolf like it had grown tentacles. That’s an idea. Would they be slimy like her insides, intestines flopping through her pelt and hanging to the floor? Or would they match her fur, like boneless prehensile tails sprouting from her back. With teeth.

Virgil was still at the door, reaching for Logan’s hand. “Come fix this mess with the cops! You belong up there with us.”

Logan stared between them and they all stared up at him, watching the cogs in his brain whir as he tried to decide. Even the wolf knew what was what and she slid her muzzle off his lap and stood between him and Remus.

Remus reaches for Logan. He is not going to let him leave, too. He can do what he should’ve done with Virgil. What he should’ve done with Janus. As soon as he gets close to the wolf, she lets out a low growl and clamps down on his hand, teeth piercing the skin like it’s paper. His blood drips to the floor and Logan’s shadow gets longer as he follows Virgil out to the hallway and—

“I am not leaving.” Logan’s sharp voice popped the vision and Remus stared. The wolf was still curled on his lap, tail swish-swish-swishing against the cracked cement. “Nothing has changed. If I am to return, you must listen to me.” She whined again and Logan nodded, scritching her around the ears like he was a fucking puppy. “And you must listen to Remus. Not…” he raised his other hand, silencing Virgil’s protest faster than Janus ever could. “Not to do everything he says, but to listen. He is half of Thomas’ creativity. Some of his ideas are worth exploring.”

“You’ve fucking lost it, Logan! First Nico and now this?” Virgil shoved both hands in his hoodie pockets. “Fine. We’ll figure it out without you,” he muttered and backed away out of the room.

“If you choose not to see reason, then that is your best course of action,” Logan replied calmly, fingers buried in the wolf’s fur. It looked soft like that, plush and comforting like one of Pattycake’s stuffies. The door slammed and Remus looked up. He hadn’t even seen the Emo leave.

“If you choose not to see reason, then that is your best course of action,” Logan replied calmly, fingers buried in the wolf’s fur. It looked soft like that, plush and comforting like one of Pattycake’s stuffies. The door slammed and Remus looked up. He hadn’t even seen the Emo leave.