#it kind of tastes like if salt was angry at you

[canisalbus]

why must Finns always tell people to try salmiakki? you guys sadistic or something?? visited over there some years ago and was given that stuff without explanation or warning and was told "just try it". and then the person laughed at my pain 😭 (and now I sometimes sadistically tell people to try it eheheh)

lmao love your blog tho, your art is very shaped and your dog men are very anguished and it speaks to me as a gay man from a very religious area (not religious myself, tho). also love reading your responses to asks, interesting stuff in there. anyway keep doing what you do! unless it's feeding salmiakki to unsuspecting foreigners, pls don't do that lmaooo

I guess it's just very funny to watch how people react to it! Salmiakki is extremely popular here and comes in many forms (my current toothpaste is salmiakki flavored, so are my d-vitamin supplements), yet it's absolutely inedible to many people who aren't used to it. They aren't offering it to people out of malice and I think in most cases you get a little warning beforehand, that it's a weird local food that might taste strong and unpleasant. I've known people who have moved here and gradually developed a liking for it. It goes well with milk chocolate and that mix might be a more palatable option if plain salmiakki doesn't appeal to you.

[dilftaroooo]

Request: True form Sukuna claiming his offering in front of her village.

im gonna write this as a drabble :3

★tags/tw: uhh implied cannibalism + cervix fucking + sukuna is pretty misogynistic + fem!reader + discrimination against humans(?) idfk + true form!sukuna + loss of virginity

You delicately sit in the middle of the stage, introducing yourself to the slew of men and women scattered about like spilled salt on a kitchen table. Your legs are spread to present to them your blooming flower--still pink and untouched. It twitches under the many watchful eyes of diverse emotions--horror, confusion, lust, envy. They all poured down on you amid a lethal storm, droplets pounding your skin and soaking you thoroughly. You turn your head to avoid the plethora of wicked gazes. The feeling is overwhelming.

Behind you lies a demon. A great being, an entity that holds more power than anyone close or far. His teeth are sharp, his eyes are beady, and his stomach is hungry for the innocence of a fresh maiden. The people of your village brought you here. They made sure your scent was pleasant and that you were garbed in the cleanest of silk--your uchikake was adorned in floral patterns reminiscent of the trees that bloomed near your home.

They knew you'd be deemed a perfect offering for Sukuna-sama, the King of Curses--you're a sweet girl with a pure body, your breasts are full and your thighs are plump. They were sure if their King ever grew bored of you, he could easily dispose of your youthful frame by savoring your flesh and keeping your skull as a precious souvenir. Innocents always taste sweeter than most.

Though your legs were spread, they weren't spread enough for Sukuna as he already gripped your thighs with a strict pressure you weren't unfamiliar with. The squelch that leaves your pussy parts as he further widens your limbs was a sound everyone managed to capture. You're wet and slimy and maybe somewhat aroused. Your King is an attractive beast with a chiseled chin and a beguiling grin. Intricate, onyx lines surface the apex of his taut muscles and the sight makes you clench around thin air. You ponder on what he'd look like if he were a mere human such as yourself.

"All of you!" He starts, his voice booms through the premises and you're surprised by how powerful the echo is despite not being in an enclosed space. As expected, everyone gears their eyes toward the four-armed monster in preparation for his next words. "I want you mortal freaks to watch me fuck this girl you were so kind to offer me. If it hadn't been for this young duckling I would've already slaughtered this putrid village and watched my militia of curses swallow you whole."

He's quick for his size as he brings you onto his hefty lap, and from there you already feel one of his cocks coat itself against your wet slit. He's huge and lingering at the back of your mind, you wonder if you would die at first thrust. His tip is an angry red, livid from the languid teasing performed by its heaving owner from rubbing it across the length of your weeping cunt. It isn't long before his playful ministrations are seduced into slamming inside you.

You weren't even spared a moment of reconsideration for your hymen was already snapped into two, disintegrating upon impact. It would have been a shame to experience your deflowering with a prominent tummy bulge if it wasn't for how much your mind and soul revere the beast overlapping your weak presence.

You were his and he was his own as he violently hammered himself down to the hilt. You bathed him in the blood of a former virgin while he hits that bruised cervix within you. Your back is against that sculpted chest you worship dearly and his sweat rubs off on you is strong with his pheromones.

"Sukuna-sama," You mewl because he's so deep in your pussy that you can't fight back the urge to call out his name. He responds with a finger to your clit and a hand on your breast, making it his duty to circle a thick finger around your nipple.

"I don't remember granting you permission to speak now, did I?" His tone is dark enough to make you believe you've done something utterly wrong but your apology comes out in a series of wanton moans. He chuckles at how the pathetic always act so miserably.

"But since you're clasping around me so tightly," Burgundy red orbs glare at the side of your left cheek, previously moistened with tears of pain and gratitude. "I'll let your sheer idiocracy go. I don't think any of the past wenches you humans throw at me grip my dick this hard. I assume they were used up til they were nothing but a gaping hole." Then he frowns.

"They must think poorly of me."

Sukuna cherishes the screams rushing out of your throat as you take him inch by overbearing inch, stretching you out to accommodate his length and girth. You're nothing but his plaything.

You practically forget the crowd casted in front of you once you hear subdued chattering coming from multiple voices, all laced with different tones with different perceptions. You feel like a common whore.

Throughout, Sukuna never kissed you. He believes he should not taste the lips of a revolting human for it'll taint his palate. He just fucks into you as you bounce like some ragdoll abandoned by a little girl. But if life has fated you with the opportunity to become Sukuna's, your King's, toy, then may you not change the inevitable.

[mokulule]

A Pinch of Salt snippet 1

Chronologically first story in the Salt in the Bones AU @clockwayswrites and I are working on together (go check out the snippet Clock posted) - so much brainstorming, it's so much fun. This story is how Danny and Constantine meets.

“What the hell man, do I look like some kind of restless spirit to you?”

When Danny decided to investigate some ghostly rumors at the abandoned construction site of a nearly completed mall about an hour from Amity, he did not expect to turn a corner and get a face full of salt tossed at him. His assailant, a tired looking, blond, middle aged man in a sandy trenchcoat that had seen better days, just continued staring with narrowed eyes and the hand that had done the throwing still slightly raised.

“Okay, so I haven’t slept in three days, but dude, really?” He brushed his sleeve across his mouth to remove the salt but only succeeded in getting more in his mouth, he stuck out his tongue in disgust.

Still no give from the sad trenchcoat man.

“What are you?” the man finally spoke.

Danny stared open-mouthed, rude much! So that’s what trenchcoat wanted to go with! Fine! Two can play that game.

“Covered in freaking salt that’s what!” Danny shook his head so it rained salt speckles around him.

“It’s everywhere,” he groused spitting at the floor trying to get the taste out. “Seriously, save that for the shades and the fries.”

Having expelled most of the salt, he noted something else. He moved his tongue around for a moment pondering, then froze.

“Is that… Rosemary?!”

He had a sudden sinking feeling in his gut, took a moment to sense past the surface of noir-reject and was assaulted by sheer wrong-torn-wrong. He took a step back in horror.

“What are YOU? Why are you seasoning me? Do you eat people?!” Danny had thought he’d be dealing with a poltergeist, not whatever weirdness this man was.

For the first time he got a reaction.

“I don’t bloody eat people!” Constantine blurted in consternation, taking a step toward the creature posing (annoyingly realistically) as a teenager, who promptly took another step back.“Could have fooled me,” the creature countered, “what with that thing you have going.” He gestured vaguely up and down at Constantine’s entire person in disgust.

It really shouldn’t matter what some not-poltergeist thought of him, but something about him just rubbed Constantine wrong and he bristled.

The next moment the creature spluttered and coughed from the holy water he’d just thrown at him, but huh, no burning.

“Not a demon either,” John remarked, allowing himself a smirk as the creature looked at him open mouthed, eye twitching.

“Where the hell are you keeping this shit, did you just pull it out of your a- wait, demon?” He blinked and stopped his tirade.

“Demon?” he repeated, “demon’s exist?”

And suddenly it was Constantine reevaluating, because that sounded genuine, and the kid, because oh God it was just a bloody kid, might reek of death magics, but now that he was paying attention the malice wasn’t coming from him. It was coming-

A wail, angry, hateful, sorrowful tore apart the silence. It was cold to the very marrow of his bones freezing him in place.Down the hallway energy crackled in a growing storm of malice throwing around dust and debris from the construction. Cardboard, and forgotten tools was sucked into it and it was slowly moving towards them. Shit.

“That’s not a poltergeist either,” the kid remarked quietly at his side. And for a moment he’d forgotten he had a bloody civilian on hand. He cursed, grabbed the kid and booked it in the opposite direction from the sodding spectral storm.

[uglypastels]

Not Wholly Evil |VIII| pirate!Eddie au

a/n - this was a struggle for me, so I have no idea how I managed to get this done so quickly. most likely due to all the fucking amazing support yall have given me, especially over the previous chapter. holy shit i could not ask for anything better <3 thank you

Series Masterlist

word count: 8.2k

"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. mention of severe wounds. minor character death. allusions to suicide. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. near death experiences in water. pirates are pigs: mentions of non-con, but it does not actually occur. malnourishment and weight loss. paranoia. mention of poisoning. abuse. manhandling. lying. mentions of sex work.

Chapter 8: Earthshine

“It took a special kind of madness to try to be a pirate and a good man at the same time.”

― Matt Myklusch, The Lost Prince

The ghost of her hand lingered with a sting over his cheek. The impact awakened him from a dream, but the kiss dragged him back. He was simply hanging there as if from a rope, ready to fall but anytime his body was prepared to hit the ground, a force pulled at him even harder and up and down his soul went. They both tasted of salt water and rum, yet she tasted sweeter, but perhaps “intoxicating” was a better word for it. His head was spinning at the sensation of her touch. He was stuck in a whirlwind, and her lips kept him anchored to the ground. 

Eddie let his hands fall to her hips, closing the cap between them. Her hand, which had marked his face moments before, now rested gently against his chest, nails digging into the material of his shirt. 

How long had he felt the need for this; for her? It was impossible to tell how deep within himself it had come from and how hard he had fought to erase it before, but there was no need to hide it now. The window was only so small, and who knows what would happen once closed. So, Eddie ensured everything he meant with that kiss reached her. No two human beings had ever been closer, tied together by something between them.

It was a heat, a hunger, growing larger by the second. A beast ready to devour everything in its path if not tamed. They might have stopped it if they had been aware of it. Perhaps not. Perhaps it was what they wanted all along.

His hands, steady on her, began to migrate over her hips, down her thighs, on her back. Her hand, meanwhile, trembled as it returned to its place on his cheek. The gentleness of her touch sent sparks through him, a feeling he had not encountered in a very long time and had never imagined to feel again. A kiss so simple and yet…

It was angry, wild, passionate, bold and forceful.

It was him and her. 

It was them. 

It could not have lasted longer than a few seconds, but it could have been a lifetime. He didn’t want it to end, ignoring that it eventually had to. Eddie would happily ignore the scream in his lungs to stay like this, but for once, he decided not to act selfishly. 

They still had eachother in their holds when he took the first breath. There was an interval when he opened his eyes, waiting for her to do the same. He saw how she breathed in his presence and let it sink into her. Then, when she finally opened her eyes, they were the brightest he had ever seen them be. Vibrant with life, stained with tears. Eddie had to compose himself not to show the pain it caused him to see her like that—something he had grown quite an expert in over the past few days. 

But what about the new pain that stung him when she stepped back, and her hand reached for her mouth in shock at what they had just done? He had a brief instinct to follow her and close that gap again, but instead, he doubled their distance. The same question rang through him, however.

What had they done? What did he do? The latter of the questions seemed to be a constantly more frequent thought of his since he had met her. Whatever he did, implied or not, always seemed to be the wrong choice. It constantly only led him deeper into a pit, and with each choice, the possibility of ever climbing out seemed less and less likely. To think that none of this was even supposed to happen. He should have kept his distance from the beginning, should have kept her away, but like any man, he was weak regarding his feelings. 

Was that what this was? Feelings? If asked, many would say he did not possess these. She would be one of them, and twistedly, it made him want to laugh.

He didn’t—laugh, move, or say anything. Neither did she. They looked at eachother, the two-step distance never seeming so great as it did in that moment. There was so much Eddie had wanted to say, to apologise for, and his lips were ready to speak with a light parting when the world returned to them with a slam to the door. With a blink, everything around them became that much more real, and there was no time to process anything. Whoever was on the other side of the door was becoming impatient, slamming their hand harder and harder, making the entire wall shake.

 ‘Come in!’ Eddie hated that the first words that came out of his mouth were this aggressive or that he couldn’t take his eyes away from her and, therefore, could see how she didn’t falter. Two pairs of eyes were locked into place. Only when the door opened to the sight of Harrington, drenched to the bone, did they move. 

Steve’s eyes wavered between them. How obvious was what had just occurred? Eddie felt like he was glowing, set on fire and burning bright. Was it guilt, embarrassment, pride or all of the above? 

Then all three of them stood motionless, observing the others, trying to read each other’s minds in this situation. 

Harrington was the one to break the silence, clearing his throat nervously like he knew his presence in the room was much unwished at that moment. ‘We’ll be arriving on Saint Claire shortly, cap.’

It cost Eddie longer than it should have to find a response, and the words he did come up with were sparse in meaning.

‘Right, yes, of course.’ He began to make his way over to the door when he stopped and turned to look her way, extending the passage with his arm. ‘After you.’

‘What?’ She looked at him in confusion. The one word sounded as if his suggestion was an offence, making Eddie feel hot in the neck. He was losing his grip on things, and this lack of control made his stomach twist. 

‘You are more than welcome to stay aboard, princess.’ Could they tell what he was thinking from the way he moved? Did the slightest twitch in his face or the scratch of his nose give away all his thoughts and insecurities? If so, neither of them did anything. Eddie waited for her to say something, reply with one of her usual snide remarks and try to argue with him. If she had done so, he honestly could not think of how to respond to it. How much longer could they keep performing this little charade? Especially after what had just happened. It was not as if he had planned for things to turn out as they had, but there was hope that some changes might take place between them now. 

Her response came in no shape of words but by her walking past Eddie and Steve, avoiding their bodies swiftly. Eddie followed suit, keeping some distance between her and himself, but Steve kept him up with one foot on the threshold.

‘Hey, you alright?’ He asked in a whisper, not wanting anyone to hear and with his hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

‘It’s fine,’ Eddie shrugged him off. He glanced at the deck to see her standing against one of the masts, looking out at the island ahead. Eddie had not considered the gloom that the storm would bring over it.

‘What happened to your cheek?’ Steve let his chin point out to it, and Eddie immediately regretted his instinct to reach up to his face at the question. What was there to see? He could barely feel the rush from the impact anymore, and when he pulled his hand away, there was no blood, and he doubted a bruise would form, but maybe some redness had started to develop.

‘Nothing,’ he stiffened, dropping his hands quickly.

‘Eddie,’ Steve made another attempt, just to be cut off by his captain.

‘I said nothing, Harrington,’ Eddie pushed his way through. ‘Get back to your post. We’ll be docking soon.’ He walked away but just about heard Steve’s reply that, yeah, he knows. Hopefully, Steve could not hear Eddie’s sigh in relief from the cool rain on his skin. He had not thought that possible after the day's events, but he was slowly cooling down, especially when he met the midnight breeze, which felt good. At least the weather improved, but he still felt his insides twisting and turning like he was caught up in a hurricane. 

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he realised he had nowhere to go. He knew he should stay away from the one place he wanted to be. Again that feeling of lack of control took over him. He felt restless. Hopeless.

Eddie needed to get off this boat. He needed a drink. 

Saint Claire was a small island where people made money through fishing and the constant flow of ships that sailed into its humble harbour. Sailors from all corners of the world supplied the inhabitants with their dire need for food, entertainment and sex. This need resulted in the slow construction of Main Street, which spanned across the eastern coast, filled with taverns, hostels and other required necessities for anyone who might come across it. 

Some called it the Battleground for the amount of broken glass, furniture and other remaining scraps that are always left hanging around after the innumerable amount of fights that break out in the area. The sound of windows or bottles breaking bones was a common melody in the neighbourhood. 

Others called it the Flame, as the light inside the buildings never seemed to go out, no matter the time, pulling in customers like moths to a flame. No matter the time, the night stayed always young. The drinking and singing would not end until the sun rose above the sea, but even then, it was never really over. There was one brief window of peace on the island, somewhere around noon most times, when the ships in the harbour would set sail and make place for the new arrivals, ready for the chaos to start all over again.

For the Hellfire crew, however, Saint Claire was a safe haven. The island saw enough drunken brawls on the daily basis that it did not need to get involved in any of the politics of its neighbouring islands, let alone those further away, and so most shops and those upon it lost their authority the second they stepped a foot on the ground. Because of this, many were under the misconception that the island was a land of no rules, but on the contrary, it ruled under strict self-proclaimed laws, and those who would not abide would pay heavily. One way or another.

This resolved very few arguments between the island’s guests and caused many a fight, but in turn, it resulted in plenty of entertainment for those who happened to walk by or sit next to the fighting parties. Even though Eddie found himself to usually be involved in some capacity, he still found a great sense of enjoyment in it all. He could not read minds, doubted he even wanted to, and had no idea how his crew actually felt about all this, but there had not been any complaints yet in the span of their countless visits to the island.

It had been by pure chance that they had hit the storm while already nearing Saint Claire and that the harbour was just in their reach when things seemed to be tightening down on them. Once the waves had settled and Eddie had made sure that no one had been grievously injured, he made his round on the ship to see what exactly had been damaged. There was the broken barrier on the deck that now gaped out at the sea and was in need of mending. Then something about the angle at which the foremast stood did not sit right with him. It might have been a pre-existing problem or nothing at all, but someone had to check on it before it was too late. Miraculously, the lower deck had barely suffered besides some small leakage that had already been taken care of. In a way, Eddie thought that his office had gotten the worst blow by the small storm that had thrown all his belongings in disarray. He had meant to pick it all up, but how could he clean when she lay in his bed unconsciously. 

The sight of her like that made him sick. She could have listened to just this once, and they could have avoided… all of it, and then he wouldn’t be stuck pacing his ship in the way he was, doing his best to avoid everyone so he could clear his mind—

So, the other reparations would have to wait until the morning. It was late; they were all tired, as the battle against the storm had taken a toll on everyone. There was no use in working deep into the night and possibly making things even worse because of the exhaustion. Instead, they would go into town, drink themselves numb until the sun reappeared, and let the regret of their nocturnal choices set in nicely.

The hellfire sailed into the harbour, and the result of the storm in the town was immediately visible. Already from miles away, Eddie saw how unusually dull it looked. Everyone had gone inside to hide from the rain and wind and boarded up their windows to protect the fragile constructions. But at closer inspection, he saw the slivers of light fighting their way through the blanks and shining out to them like broken beacons.

Their arrival was nothing new, but the comfort of familiarity was missing in Eddie. He had never felt this on edge when stepping down from his ship onto the dock of Saint Claire, never this vigilant. The lack of light brought everything into a different perspective that he did not appreciate. Suddenly every quirk in the empty street seemed to be someone looking for trouble, and every sudden sound must have been a weapon. He kept looking around himself as the crew walked past the darkened buildings. He supposed it didn’t help that he saw at least three ships with royal crests on them, a usual announcement of trouble. But it wasn’t the darkness or the silence that had put his sense on sharp, not even the possibility of encountering any kind of enemy. It was her. Her presence made him that much more aware of all the dangers lurking around.

The reassurance finally came over him when the party reached the last building of the street—The General. It was one of the smallest taverns on the island and usually the least populated one, but nevertheless, it was one of the finest establishments  Edde had ever had the pleasure to visit in his rough lifetime. Walking in front of the rest, he was honoured with the task of opening the door.

As soon as he did so, before he even managed to take one step inside, he felt the wheeze of air pass him by as a bottle hit the wall and shattered into a million pieces at his feet. It could not have been more than an inch away from his ear. 

It was good to be back.

Just like he had expected, there were not many people inside; maybe two tables had been occupied—more than plenty of participants and observants for the fight that was on the verge of starting—when the crew arrived and filled the rest of the seats. Before anything could be said or demanded, a woman walked up, stylishly avoiding the wild limbs being thrown about by the earlier client. The impressive skill at which he had made her way through the room was only enhanced by the way in which she held half a dozen large ale tankards in her arms, all filled to the brim, and not one drop was spilt when she put them down at one of the tables. The party greeted her with a chorus of cheers, grabbing the drinks quicker than Eddie could manage to blink.

The barmaid was still looking down broadly at the few customers she so quickly managed to satisfy when she said, ‘Where is my money, Munson?’ with a matronly smile on her face.

‘Good to see you too, Joyce,’ Eddie leaned back in his chair.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Joyce rolled her eyes, the size of them making the expression that much more prominent to Eddie, and crossed her arms, unimpressed. ‘Spare me the formalities. You owe me, so pay up.’

Eddie had prepared for this exact exchange before he even realised that the Hellfire would make herself seen on the island, so he opted against fighting with the tavern owner and pulled out a leather pouch with a sigh. It jingled loudly at the smallest of movements.

‘There you go.’ He threw it to Joyce, who quickly caught it and immediately opened it to estimate whether the amount was anywhere near the agreed-upon amount. Seeing her do so, Eddie added: ‘Everything’s there, as promised, with enough spare to cover tonight.’

Joyce gave him a look that they would still see about that before looking around at what else the cat dragged into her place. A room filled with hooligans, drenched to the bone, sunk down into their seats, six of them already with their faces covered in her home-brewed ale. But nothing escaped Joyce, and she quickly noticed the newest addition to the party. Immediately, the hostess within Joyce sprung out. ‘Hi there, what I can get you, Honey?’ 

Eddie looked over. Of course, she sat down as far away from him as possible. He hadn’t expected anything less, really. She had found a spot next to Robin, on the opposite side of the room, and had made herself as small as possible among the crew. She gave it a moment before answering Joyce, clearly unsure how to approach the situation, but eventually smiled and simply refused the offer with a kind ‘I’m alright, thank you.’

‘You sure?’ Joyce raised a brow, but it was directed at Eddie, who had just grabbed himself one of the bowls of sunflower seeds. It was one of the reasons he decided to return to this particular tavern as often as he did. Joyce tended to roast them, so sometimes, they would still be warm when Eddie got his hands on them. He was in the middle of cracking one open when Joyce asked her the last question Eddie had wanted to hear here: ‘How’d you get involved with these guys, then?’

‘Rescued her from the pyre?’ Eddie mumbled against the sunflower pit, looking for the next one to eat, hoping his answer would be sufficient. In reality, it only half covered up the truth. 

‘I was taken from my ship.’ 

‘Your ship?’ Joyce pursued, much to Eddie’s dislike. Maybe she wouldn’t say it, but she’d just nod, and the conversation would move on. Either way, he could not interrupt anymore. If he would do so, he knew that Joyce would just shut him down before he even got a word in. 

‘The Red Tail.’ 

Eddie cringed but hoped no one would see it more as he accidentally bit his tongue… which was also the case. He was too occupied cursing everyone out in his mind than to think of the metallic taste pooling in his mouth. He glanced her way, but naturally, she wouldn’t meet his eye.

Did she know the lack of care Saint Claire has for outsiders? Did she expect anyone to ring an alarm bell for her? Or was she simply trying to embarrass Eddie in front of his crew—but maybe it's what he deserved. Still, he did not need his mistakes to be pointed out so blatantly to him, not in front of Joyce, out of all people. 

‘You don’t say,’ Joyce blinked slowly, turning her attention to Eddie, who decided it was best to stick to the bowl of pits for now and not look elsewhere. He did not need to see the way his friend tried to hide her anger. He just heard her say, ‘well, if you need anything, just let me know. And you—’ she spoke out to the rest, much harsher should be noted, ‘better keep it clean in here. Last time it took me four days to scrub up after you, and I will not be doing that again.’

There was an ensemble of mumbled apologies, which included Eddie. In the world, only a limited group of people held the power to make the Hellfire party feel bad for their actions. It was a short list that very recently just added a name to it, but at the top of it was undoubtedly Joyce. Her stance in front of them was enough of a message they had heard before that while she might not start any fights in her house, she could easily be the one to end them. Eddie had witnessed it enough times to know it to be entirely true. 

With one last disappointed look directed at the captain, one that Eddie wished he had missed because it made him feel like a small kid again, Joyce returned to the bar to serve up more drinks.

The first few minutes of the night were spent in exhausting sobriety and sparse conversation, but as more ale and rum was poured, the party livened up. Like usual, the chatter and laughter brought back their much-needed energy and everything that had happened on the boat that day was soon forgotten.

For the most part.

Much to no avail, no matter how many drinks went down his throat and how hard he tried to think about anything else, Eddie held back from the festivities—uncharacteristically so, as was pointed out by several. As much as he had hoped that the alcohol would wash everything away, he felt just as clear-minded as he had that morning when he woke up in the holding cell. At least his back did not hurt anymore. The kink in his neck would just not go away, no matter how hard he tried, but he had only himself to blame for that. 

Whatever he wanted to do that night,  he could not stop thinking about her. His attention kept wavering over to that one side of the room, where things seemed to be a bit calmer but just as enjoyable of a time as the rest was having. Eddie couldn’t tell what she was saying or doing as she had conveniently made sure to turn her back toward him at any given time, but from how relaxed she sat by, it all seemed… fine.

Out of all the things that had and could have happened, Eddie never imagined her sitting at the table with his sort—though he never believed he was that much different from any other man. But how had this happened? When did this happen? It was like the world had suddenly turned upside down, seeing her sit among his friends, his crew, wearing his clothes, talking. Laughing. Almost as if she belonged. 

Almost because he doubted she would consider herself one with the group, he didn’t blame her. This life was no one’s first choice. Certainly not his. And he could not let her fall into it now too. Not that she would, their journey would last no longer than a few more days, and then she’d be back home, and the Hellfire would never have to go near that place again. 

Eddie had really thought that it would be much easier after everything, but the thought of returning there brought a bitter taste into his mouth…or was that just a burned sunflower seed he had just consumed? He spat it out and washed his throat with rum, ignoring most of the things around him as he concentrated on the heavy feeling that the drink brought. 

‘Joyce!’ someone called out, but Eddie was not paying enough attention to notice who. ‘Where is the lute?’ However, the mention of the instrument pulled him out of the haze.

‘ ‘Where it always is!’ Joyce shouted back. The lute hung over their heads on the wall. Already knowing what direction this was going in, Eddie tried to protest. 

‘Can we not do this, gentlemen.’ He was not in any mood for a performance, but that did not matter. The next thing he knew, the strings were pushed into his arms, and everyone awaited with great expectations on what he would play. Eddie hesitated. His fingers were already on the right chords for the wrong song. He knew no one was interested in listening to it, but it was the only one he cared about right then. So, he let his hands flow freely, strumming the notes to be immediately met with disagreement.  

‘Not that one!’ 

‘Play something else!’ 

Right. He thought for a moment but mindlessly hit the strings until something coherent emerged. He didn’t even need to sing himself; the drunken state of his crew allowed them to do most of the work without a fault. He was just there for the show and that he could do. He hummed along as everyone else belted out the words from the heart. It was a silly song they had all come up with one starless night when the waters seemed to have taken them hostage. It was nothing specific, simply a song of monsters that groaned and heroes who overcame their battles without sweat. What they hoped to all be. Maybe one day. 

Playing the strings had always been like second nature to Eddie. He had been able to do it ever since he was a kid, which often brought him comfort. The repetitive motions gave him stability that his life so often lacked, so he focused on that as his eyes lost their focus on her. Had she been watching him? For a moment, he thought he had caught her looking. He must look stupid with this lute in his lap. He much rather preferred a gittern. The hold was more comfortable on that. 

He should have looked away by now. It would only make things worse if she caught him staring the way he was, but she was too occupied. There was so much going on, after all. Some of them had started moving tables around, creating a place to dance. Since when did they dance? Eddie wanted to laugh. Of course, when there was a lady present, when else? 

She tried to object to the invitations but eventually gave in and was pulled into the circle. The shirt was still too big on her, Eddie noticed. She had to keep pulling the sleeve up over her shoulder, and he had to do everything he could to stop thinking about how he wanted to pull it off her. All of it. If she could read minds, which sometimes Eddie genuinely thought she could, he would be a dead man walking. 

But if she could read minds, she must have been too occupied at that moment. Too busy dancing with the rest of the crew. It was similar to a waltz, but since Eddie doubted most of his men had properly rehearsed one in years, it was an awkward two-step at best. Not that it stopped anyone from having fun. She at least looked like she was enjoying herself. Eddie tried to recount if she had, after all, gotten a drink because this could not be the same woman who had been in his chambers earlier that day. Unless he was at fault for this change. 

He only lied to himself, pretending he had not messed with her. It wasn’t supposed to have been like this. Things just kept going wrong, and then he would panic, and the next thing he knew, he locked her in his bloody room for half a night or stabbed her in the ribs.

The sight of her bleeding still came back to him in his nightmares. As if they were not full of memories already, now she was there too. Covered in blood, and all because of him. She would scream until there was a sudden silence, and he’d hold her lifeless frame in his arms… just to wake up and hope that would be the last time his mind conjured the images up. 

It never was. 

Was he still playing? From the dancing around him, Eddie could only assume so. Surely if he had completely frozen up from his thoughts, someone would defrost him from his mental prison. But no one was paying any attention to him, too occupied by her. The way in which she moved freely around the room would put a smile on any man’s face, and Eddie certainly was one of them. How could he not? He should probably have looked away at some point, but he simply could not. And maybe it was for the better that he was so in awe with her, or he would have missed the brief moment when their eyes connected. He doubted she had meant to look his way, but she still had, and he could have sworn that her lips tightened their smile slightly higher, though it could have just been what he had wanted to see. A shadow playing nasty tricks with him. 

Robin, who must have had a few ales too many, was flailing her arms around, singing along drunkenly to the song Eddie played. It usually went exactly like this. Robin would drink, dance and force everyone to join her and “no” was not an acceptable answer in this circumstance. No one could disagree on the matter, not even Harrington, who sat outside the circle.

‘I invite King Steve to the floor,’ Robin demanded. The two women giggled next to each other before Robin went up to Harrington, who was still protesting and pulled him up by the arm. Eddie had to remind himself to keep up the tempo of the song, which was difficult when all he could hear was the blood pumping in his ears at the sight of him coming closer to her—realistically, Robin had pushed them into eachother, but all Eddie saw was the way he held her hand as they danced together. How he wished it could have been him with her. 

He did not know what stung so hard at seeing them together. There was no rational explanation, only the speed at which his heart raised with anger. And for what? He knew Harrington for years. They were like brothers and would sooner choose to die than hurt the other. Eddie could trust him with his life, so why could he not trust him with her? Why did he need to have that trust? What was it that made him lose all control around her? He just wished to understand his own mind.

As they kept dancing, Eddie had to force himself to look away, already feeling the same dark spark that had brought upon a fire that had nearly burned everything down before. All he could do was remind himself of what he had done to control himself. The memory of you lying on the ground, covered in blood that he had spilt. It was a dumb mistake that nearly cost him her life. 

He had never meant to touch her. It had all been a miscalculation of distance, combined with the sheer blindness of his emotions. The worst was he could not even remember lashing out with the sword. One moment he stood there, watching Steve hold her, seeing her laugh at something he had said and the next, she screamed out in pain. He had tried to stop her, wanting to apologise. He had wanted to run after her, but what good would that have done? Eddie couldn’t think straight.

It was Steve that pulled him out of it. 

‘Eddie!’ He had shouted. ‘What were you thinking?’ To which Eddie had no response because, simply, he wasn’t thinking. It took him too long to regain a grip on his mind, and he took one of the bottles that stood next to the dice table. At first, he had just wanted to drink it all, down it in one go, but he thought of her lying there with the wound— it needed to be cleaned. It took everything in him to get down there, knowing he was most likely the last person she would have wanted to see, and that was quickly proven right.

Words failed him in every sense, so he left before he could make it even worse, but the damage had already been done. He returned to his cabin and immediately noticed a difference. He was sure he had removed most of the paper from his desk the night before, yet the ground was spotless.

She had cleaned up for him. 

Eddie screamed out, and his fist hit the side of the wardrobe. Splinters embedded themselves into his skin as he screamed, letting out all the frustrations he felt about himself.

‘What is wrong with you?’ Eddie heard behind him.

‘You’re the last person I want to see right now, Harrington.’ He didn’t turn around to face him, just walked straight to his desk. He noticed the drawer was open, his letter on top of the bottles, but there was too much going on in his mind to be angry at that as well. For now, at least. 

‘Am I to believe you’re angry at me?’ Steve scoffed as he entered the room.

‘What if I am?’

‘Why? Because I stopped her fall? Talked to her? Because you nearly impaled her.’ As far as felonies went, Eddie was taking the crown on that one. He leaned his head down into his lap. 

‘You know I didn’t mean to—’ he cursed. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’ He couldn’t admit to Steve that the sight of them together had struck a nerve. He was supposed to be better than that. Do better. He really thought he was doing better.

He had no idea where his next question came from.

‘Do you like her?’ 

‘Excuse me?’ Steve was taken aback. 

‘Do you like her? Or are you just trying to—’ The idea of Steve taking advantage of her boiled his blood. 

‘You’re going insane, Ed.’ Steve quickly stopped him, speaking as calmly as he could. ‘We both know she’s not just some girl, and I think she deserves better than what we’ve been treating her like. This situation is messed up, but we could try to make her feel better, not like a prisoner. 

‘But if you want me to back off, fine. I’ll let her be. See how that goes, but don’t think about screwing me over when it all blows up in your face.’ He had warned him before walking out again with only one more thing to say. ‘And Munson,’ 

‘What?’ Eddie stopped looking at his hand, which had gone bright red now from the impact of the wardrobe. Steve’s eyes were filled with sadness, exasperation.

‘I’m not him. Just remember that.’

And Eddie did his best in doing so. He could trust Steve but could not let go of things that quickly. It was, after all, the past that made you who you are. Mankind is shaped by memories, and Eddie had too many of those. He wished he could just forget everything and start over, but what would be the point of anything if it was that simple. 

His fingers began to hurt, as well as his head. Whether it was the music he was told to play or his head sobering up, he had had enough for now and handed the lute to the man sitting next to him. It wasn’t anyone from his crew, just another customer, most likely an islander. The man grinned at him with a toothy grin before starting to pluck away at the strings. There had been a slight whine from the rest in the second the music had stopped, but as it resumed, it was all forgotten. Eddie approached Joyce, but not before snatching away another bowl of sunflower seeds from a table. When he arrived at the countertop, she was already pouring him a pint of ale. 

‘So what’s the story here, then?’ She asked as she watched him down the drink in one go. 

‘There is no story,’ he said once he put the cup down, out of breath, already signing to her to pour another. She looked unimpressed but grabbed the tankard anyway.

‘So I am to believe nothing is going on between you and— and her.‘ She said it with so much meaning behind the one word, and since it was them, Eddie understood all of it. 

Joyce’s big eyes had always been intense. When she looked at you, she looked down deep into your soul, unlocking all your secrets with just that one glance. Which is perhaps why Eddie did his best to avoid looking at her too much. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Boy, you really do exhaust me.’ Joyce sighed. ‘Don’t make me point out the obvious.’ She placed down the next drink, and Eddie took it slow this time, only sipping small amounts at a time. Joyce knew that there was nothing else she could get out of him on this matter, but there was so much else she needed to talk about.

‘How did she get on your ship, anyway?’

‘You heard her.’ Eddie didn’t want to explain it. Not to Joyce. He hated repeating himself. So, he took a handful of sunflower seeds and began to occupy himself with those.

‘Yes, I did. The Red Tail. What happened to it?’ 

‘Do you have any more complaints I should take care of?’ He tried to change the subject, and failed at it miserably.

‘No.’ Joyce still answered him quickly before returning to her question. ‘What happened to the Red Tail? What did you do?’

‘Exactly what I told you I would.’ He cracked open another seed. ‘And see how it’s worked out well so far?’ 

Joyce had been leaning against the counter, but at the sound of Eddie’s words, she took a step back, disbelief written all over her face. ‘Eddie…’ 

‘That’s Captain Munson to you,’ he snickered, but she was too used to his attempts at lighting the mood at the worst of moments. And when that didn’t work, there was only one other thing Eddie knew how to do. 

Joyce didn’t even get to finish her question. Eddie got up as her words faded into a weak ‘Is he…’

He just about managed to say his last words before they got lost in the chaos of the party. ‘He got what he deserved. They all did.’ 

More people must have entered The General because surely this crowd did not come solely from the Hellfire, excluding the handful of local drunks.  They must have come in as the music had started. No one in Saint Claire could pass on such an occasion, causing a large commotion. As the door opened and closed constantly, only welcoming more people in, it was suddenly packed from wall to wall. Eddie felt an elbow in his side as he tried to return to his seat, spilling the ale right onto himself. In response, he threw the tankard toward where the arm must have come from, not caring if he had hit the right person, quickly making himself scarce before the person currently cursing out realised it was him to be the perpetrator.

His previous seat was, naturally, already taken. The dancing had stopped as there was no longer space for it unless they decided to get up onto the tables—a most likely option if given a few more drinks. But neither that nor the stain seeping through his shirt was a problem to Eddie. 

‘Where is she?’ he asked, but no one could hear him. He tried again, louder, directing his voice to the crew closest to him. They all shrugged one after the other. How could someone disappear into thin air while surrounded by dozens of people with no witnesses? How did none of his men bother to keep an eye on her?

Finally, Eddie caught sight of Robin, slouched back in a chair, giggling. 

‘I think she—’ Robin’s eyes couldn’t stay focused, and she kept slipping into laughter. ‘I think she went to get some air—as if there is no air in here?’ She laughed. As a matter of fact, the room was only getting hotter, and it was becoming harder to breathe. 

Was that because of a lack of fresh air, however, or was the tight feeling in Eddie’s chest coming from somewhere else entirely? He pushed his way through the crowd to the door. 

It had stopped raining, but the wind had only picked up since the crew entered the tavern. Some buildings had taken off the boards from the windows, illuminating the street with the candlelight from inside, but for the majority, everything was lit by the moon’s silver glow, and barely at that. Anything outside of Main Street was a dark abyss. Surely, she wouldn’t have dared to wander off toward the forest?. Eddie could describe her in many ways, none of which would suggest she was stupid enough to risk her life out there. Who knew what roamed around in the trees and caves. 

For good measure, although not expecting much of a response, he called out her name as he walked down Main Street. Every time he passed by a tavern or inn, he considered walking inside, just to check if she, by any chance, decided to do as well, but he could not think of reasons why she would have.

‘Can we help you, handsome?’ A woman’s voice called out to him. Eddie turned around to meet two women standing outside one of the taverns. Their black dresses were tightened to accentuate their frames and push up their breasts, making them impossible to miss, no matter how hard one tried. They smiled suggestively until they realised who they had approached. ‘Oh, Munson, it’s you.’

‘Tabitha,’ Eddie was glad to see her for once, ‘did you by any chance see a woman walk by here?’

‘Why? Who is she? Another one of your little conquests?’ Her eyes narrowed into accusatory slits, and her large lips formed a sour pout.

‘Tabbie, sweetest, don’t be like that.’ if Tabitha were to explode like she often had the tendency to do, then Eddie had no time to resolve it, so the best solution was to just try and stick to her sweet side, like a fly caught in honey. He glanced at the other woman beside Tabitha, but she did not seem interested in the old lovers' squabble. If that is even what he could call it.

‘You had promised you would come back.’ Tabitha whimpered.

‘And I did.’ Eddie did not have the patience for this. 

‘To break my heart!’ Her voice came out in high-pitched squeaks. 

‘Now, c’mon, we both knew it wasn’t meant to be.’ The next thing he knew, he felt a harsh sting across his face. The second slap he received that night. The rings on Tabitha’s face only added to the pain, but somehow he didn’t feel it as deep as the first one he received. ‘Do you feel better now?’ He sighed.

Tabitha shrugged, crossing her arms. 

‘So, the girl, did you see her? She was wearing a shirt, trousers…’ he tried to describe her. 

‘Oh, her.’ Tabitha grimaced. ‘Yeah, I saw her. Think she was making her way down to the harbour. Was with some guy. They were talking about one of the ships.’ 

‘What guy?’ This could not be happening. 

‘How should I know. He looked a bit stuck up, if you ask me. A bit like you did once.’ She laughed, and her friend joined her sheepishly. None of this sounded good to Eddie. He thanked them, this time without making Tabitha any drunken promises, and ran as fast as his legs could take him to the harbour. How could he have been so stupid? So careless. He let her go out of sight for a minute, and now, just like that, she was gone. Or it would be if he didn’t get there in time. Maybe he could still catch her?

There were many ships in the Saint Claire harbour, the Hellfire, of course, being the most beautiful of them all, and it should have been challenging to figure out which boat she could be on. It should have taken Eddie ages to realise which ship he was looking for, except only one had opened its sails and created a significant distance between itself and the shoreline. Its silhouette was a black wraith against the moon. 

Eddie’s body deflated. He felt so numb from the shock he barely felt himself falling to his knees. It was over. Just like that, she was gone. He wanted to scream, and maybe he had even done so. It was too much of a blur. All his thoughts merged into that all too familiar and seething whirl of anger. 

How had he been able to do this? None of this was supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to be on board that damned ship. They should not have taken her with them. Not locked her up, shunned her out or scared her off. He shouldn’t have done any of them. Maybe it was good he let her escape, but one thing he would never forgive himself for. 

He should never have fallen for her.

He had known better and yet let it happen just like that. How stupid could he have been? At least he could not think of a better punishment for himself than having to live with these thoughts, the regret, for the rest of his life. 

The sand dug into him through his trousers, and he was ready for it to swallow him whole. He would have stayed there if it wasn’t for his crew. Maybe they were too drunk to miss him now, but they needed Eddie. Just as much as he needed them. He couldn’t just abandon them because of his issues. He had brought them into enough trouble because of them as it is. He just had to get over it for their sake. There was nothing he could do anymore but move past it and hope he would forget someday. 

It took some more time for him to be able to walk again. His legs carried him back to his ship, too tired to make his return through Main Street to The General. He had just about enough energy to grab a bottle and sink into it before sinking into his bed. 

It was ridiculous. He knew it. Eddie Munson, captain of the Hellfire, vanquisher of the seven seas… if people could only see him now. Drunk. Exhausted. Alone. Heartbroken.

Funny how history tended to repeat itself.

He threaded the plank up to the ship, keeping his balance as best as possible. His steps were getting heavier with each one he took. There were days when he could have stayed in his quarters for hours, locked away from the world, reading, writing, calculating new routes or decoding more of the cryptic messages he had found in his books. He’d had people give him reminders to come out for meals at times. But now, with everything in there that reminded him of her, how could he go about his days like normal?

How could he be so stupid?

How could he be so stupid to leave a fire burning inside? All it took was one spark, and it could burn everything down. The sight of the candle burning through the strained glass of the door made him speed up his walk up the stairs. Eddie walked in to see the damage, but there was none.

One single candle illuminated the room as best it could, leaving the rest in its shadows, which moved about with the flickering of the light. Despite Eddie having spent hours in the room, having placed every single item inside it, knowing it like the back of his hand, in the dark, it all felt brand new. It was like the darkness was watching him. 

Except that wasn’t it.

On the contrary, suddenly, it was as if the sun had burst inside him. 

Eddie didn’t dare blink, scared that if he moved, she would disappear. Because what else could it be but some kind of hallucination or a dream he would wake up from much too soon. 

‘I thought you had left.’ Against all his willpower, he blinked, but when he opened his eyes again, she still stood there in front of him, and it really was her, only a few feet away, here in his cabin. 

‘I wanted to.’ Her voice was weak, much like he felt at that moment.

‘Then why didn’t you?’ 

‘I don't know.’

Chapter 9 - 18+ version

thank you so much for reading!! if you want more of where this came from, check out my masterlist.

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taglist (part 1)

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[trans-eddie]

steve's not a religious man, for all the years he spent being dragged to mass by his parents. but if he was, he'd want to ask god why he let someone like eddie die for this piece of shit town that didn't deserve him.

steve had watched from across the room as dustin handed over eddie's necklace, in tears. as wayne clutched it in his hand and brought it to his lips, like a rosary, eyes closed in prayer; and steve had broken a little.

growing up the way he had, he was no stranger to guilt. guilt was a steady undercurrent, a familiar beast he long learned how to wrangle, to compartmentalize.

but not this.

this guilt is a serpent, rearing its ugly head in his chest and constricting around his lungs until he can't breathe. it makes him uneasy, agitated. like he's filled with an energy he needs to expell.

the same kind that made him pick a fight with jonathan byers.

the same kind that made him crash his car into billy hargrove.

he knows there's something wrong with him, but he's never learned how to handle his emotions; he just does his best for having been a kid who was handed a bat studded full of rusty nails to solve his problems.

but guilt is not a thing you can beat down like some bloodthirsty monster from another dimension, no matter how it eats him.

so steve does what he does, and he swings his fists at the next best thing.

it's some buzzcut, blonde asshole from the local church, the older brother of one of carver's guys. a few years older than steve, even. he's mouthing off, worked up and angry. if steve was more rational, more gracious, he'd give leeway for the man's own grief, his own emotional response to loss and terror. steve's been through enough to know what it's like, to crave control.

but he's feeling neither of those things, and the man is sending specks of spit out of his mouth as he yells about searching the rubble of the town for eddie munson, the murderer, the satanist.

steve's jaw tenses. his hands clench tight, and before he knows what he's doing, he's rounded on him and socked him square on the jaw.

there's a beat where he processes, where he makes the conscious choice whether to step back and assess his actions, or to follow through.

the man snarls at him, and the moment passes. steve takes two fistfuls of his shirt and slams him to the ground, shouting as he goes.

"don't you dare open your mouth about him again, you ungrateful -" he cuts off with a growl, slamming the man forcefully against the earth again. "you'll never know, you'll never fucking know what he did for you! nobody will fucking know, they won't ever know now, they won't-!"

steve stops when he feels warm, wet trails run down his cheeks, tastes the salt on his tongue.

he stumbles back off the man, hands touching his face.

he hasn't been able to cry yet. it hasn't come, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how many times steve played that last look eddie gave him, over and over in his head, thinking about the fact that the next time he saw those eyes, they would be vacant and lifeless.

he could never cry, because he blamed himself, and what right did he have to cry over what was his own fault?

he'd had crying beat out of him at eight years old, when his father was on edge from his mother's nagging, and steve had been upset about something or other.

he'd smacked him, pinched the bridge of his nose, and shaken steve's head until he'd stopped, wide eyed and scared.

"men don't cry," his father had sneered, dragging rough thumbs across steve's eyelids, drying them of the evidence.

steve turns his head up, up, up, now, bare and facing the heavens, where god looks disinterestedly on from, and he screams. he runs his voice hoarse, the sobs tearing violently from him, wracking his body with sorrowful tremors.

his face is wet, and it's too salty to be rain.

he doesn't feel like a man.

not when he'd left eddie behind and run off to play hero, only to watch helplessly as the people he loved were choked by vines.

not when eddie had been left to make the hard choice, the sacrificial play, just to get them the win; and they hadn't even defeated vecna, only bought them all some more time.

he's not a man, but a failure.

somehow, in the midst of this, steve drags himself back home. manages to climb into his bed, and pull out what he'd stuffed underneath.

he sits there, numb fingers clutching a swathe of bloody denim, and he cries.

he cries until there's nothing left, until he feels like his whole body is dried and and empty, a husk curling in on itself.

he fades into sleep, too quickly to catch the reflective, red glint that enters his bedroom as the the sun sets, or to catch the way a figure moves through the shadows, perching at the end of his bed.

he doesn't hear the low rumble of a voice, raspy and trying to whisper.

"I thought I was the animal now," eddie says, sharp teeth flashing. "but you're a regular guard dog, aren't you, harrington?"

his eyes glow in the moonlight as he watches the sleeping figure below him with intensity.

"will you fight everyone that badmouths me, I wonder?" eddie laughs mirthlessly. "your work will be cut out for you."

his eyes travel over steve's full form, pausing with surprise when he catches the vest he's clinging to like a security blanket.

steve doesn't wake to see the winged body take off out of his upper story window.

he does wake, however, and find that the item of clothing he fell asleep with is conspicuously missing; and, even more alarming, what's been left in it's place: his yellow sweater, the one abandoned to the upside down, swallowed up when lover's lake split apart.

the one he never expected to see again, because things don't just come back when they've been lost like that.

except, maybe, he thinks, running over the golden fabric with disbelieving fingertips...maybe, there is a chance that they sometimes do.

[mishwanders]

• Twilight • Devil’s Teeth •

Summary: Twilight’s transformation goes a bit haywire, but you don’t mind though - you get to help him satisfy his cravings.

Warnings: GN!Reader, Feral Smut. Minors DNI with this one.

Author’s Notes: Written by Mishwanders. Do not take or repost it anywhere as your own.

Twilight wasn’t a werewolf, not by any means. He wasn’t controlled by the moon, bound to it like an angry lover in an eternal dance of longing that ebbed and flowed like tied. Instead, he could transform at a whim, making the cross between man and beast as he pleased with the black and orange shadow crystal that hung around his neck. Even now as he was over you, the crystal never left him and you could feel the stone digging into your skin as pressed his chest flush against your back.

All of that to say, there were distinct lines between the beast and the man that Twilight was, there were rules he had to abide by. But sometimes those lines found themselves blurred, and that’s when he found himself in his most vulnerable and enlightened state, with every single one of his senses heightened beyond compare.

He could hear your breathing as you walked, the subtle gasps, the inflections, the way your heart raced like a prey animal when his gaze fell upon you. The way that it raced even faster once he had you trapped between his body and the closest surface he could find to pin you against, his eyes trailing down you like a hungry predator. He could see you so much more clearly like this, the way your chest rose so much more quickly, how your pupils dilated, how your eyes shined during the orange glow of dusk and the firelight, how your lip parted as if you were asking for him to kiss you. He watched as you placed your hands on his chest, taking hold of his tunic and pulled him in closer.

It wasn’t an offer he was going to refuse, he wasn’t going to push this moment away, because in all honesty, there was a certain craving on his tongue, one that could only be satisfied by you.

He leaned into your pull, his lips meeting yours in a heated kiss. He couldn’t help but draw you in closer as well, his hands finding their place along your hips, at the back of your neck, as he delved his tongue past your lips, getting a taste for his delectable prey. The more heated the kiss grew, the more he wanted, the more he craved you as he dragged his tongue along your chin, down your neck, tasting the salt of your skin, lapping it up like water.

He could smell the scent of your growing more potent with every little action, with every touch. It drew him in deeper to you, pulling at him as if it were his leash to you, yanking him closer and closer to losing all sense of himself to the pleasures he could only find in you. It’s not like he would mind though, he always did love getting lost in you when he had the chance.

It pulled at him to make you his again.

You didn’t seem to mind it though - considering how your hands were in a hurry and hard at work at removing your clothes - as well as his own. With the removal of the fabric though, he could feel every little intimate touch of your skin against his, the soft and delicate way you held him in your arms, the way his shadow crystal dug into his chest as you pressed closer to him. He could feel every bit of warmth that was growing between you, the heat building as you both grew more and more desperate for the other.

He craved you, he was so desperate for more of you. He picked you up in his arms and carried you over to the bed, laying you down like an Angel, one that would soon be caught in the Devil’s teeth. He wanted to have you through the shadows of the night, until the light of the morning came and the sparrow sang. And by the way you were looking at him - you craved him too.

Goddesses, he couldn’t help himself, with that look alone - he gave in to the beast within.

He wondered if you liked this kind of attention, the thrill of the danger when he gave into it. You always did make yourself so open to him and the variety of ways he wanted to have you. You did seem to have a favorite though - one where his chest was pressed against your back, his teeth sinking into the meat of your shoulder, a low growl leaving his throat while his cock was buried deep inside of you, taking every advantage of having so much power to pleasure you. He knew you were sinking into it, the way you hissed and moaned out his name, how you gripped on tightly to the sheets, to the bed frame for dear life as his hips slammed harder into yours with each thrust.

You felt so good to him like this, you tasted divine. He craved you so much and it was always so tempting to keep coming back for more, whether that was when he had you like this or when you had him on his knees with his head between your thighs, ravaging and lapping you up like a thirsty hound.

You were so good to him - he couldn’t stand it much longer.

He released your shoulder from his mouth and nipped at the soft skin of your neck, causing you to whine even more. He intertwined his hands over yours, pressing your palms down onto the bed, trapping you even more, making sure you couldn’t squirm away from him as he continued to chase after his own release with hard snaps of his hips against you.

You were so overwhelming to him in this state, with the taste of your skin in his mouth, the feeling of your body against his, the sound of your voice ringing in his ears, your arousal building and infiltrating his senses - everything about you enraptured him, he was deep in you that he was unable to control himself now. You were a mess for him, crying out his name over and over again, giving into him and the pleasures he provided you while he satisfied his craving for you.

His breath grew hotter, heavier, more ragged as he panted, groaned, and practically growled in your ear with every thrust, hammering his hips into yours, forcing himself deeper into you as he pushed you even further into the bed.

You were such a delight to him and he couldn’t help but give him as he felt the overwhelming sensation of relief amidst his release slam into him. His hips stuttered to a halt against you as he let out a deep groan, his body shuddering from the pleasure running through his veins. He collapsed over you, unable to move as he tried to regain himself. He soon did though and rolled off, panting like a dog as he laid on his back. You moved your head to his side and he could see your tear filled eyes, that blissed out look in them. He wiped them away as he rolled over to face you now, his hand gently caressing your face as his thumb dragged along your swollen bottom lip before he pulled you in for another kiss - one that was soft and gentle. He pulled you in closer to him, wrapping his arms around you, tenderly holding you as rested your head against his chest, hearing how loudly his heart beat for you.

Nothing could get better than this. The two of you laid there together as he laid you down like an Angel in his arms, caught in the devil's teeth.

[mizusnose]

The Devil You Know

“The salt on your lips, the hands that god gave you”

Reader who has been with Mizu through it all—now she helps when she’s struggling in the dead of night. Warnings for panic attack, anxiety, and general distress.

——-

It starts in the evening. It’s Mizu, in the dead of night, the darkness slathered against her edges: the sharp of it jagged and twisted against the corners of the bed. You’re in an inn tonight. A warm fire crackling downstairs, it’s heat a distant thing—one only quieted with Mizu next to you.

Yet, she shakes against you, a thrashing quiet kind of thing. An animal injured: the wet of its blood on your hands, your forearms, the dig of your elbows. She sobs and you search her eyes. Someone so strong and sure of herself becoming a mess next to you, unraveled and thin, like a child returned from war—one you don’t know if she’s truly yet won.

“t’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here, it’s okay.”

You soothe her at best as you can, but the planes of her back shudder, her shoulders work, and you can see her jaw move: a silent scream, a prayer perhaps. To whom, you wouldn’t know.

Maybe it’s the travel that made her this way, but you’d be kidding yourself if you believed that so easily. Mizu was traveling with wet feet, raggedy clothes and only a kasa to her name for kilometers before you both met. Now, years later, you’d scold Mizu for going outside without a proper outfit on.

It’s not the travel.

“Mizu..”

She gasps and moves away from your touch, the edge of the bed dips off into a void. You watch as she falls into it, the slip of her hair hiding the pale of her face, her moon-blue eyes in the night.

You knew. Knew that she’d heard it when you both walked into the room. A snide remark, a nastier reply, the silence on Mizu’s end.

You had let her handle it, but before she could leave to confront them she returned instead and didn’t say a word for the rest of the evening until bedtime. And now—

You’re on the ground next to her. You don’t hold her, know from her attacks before this that she’d only hate it more. So you set yourself down against her, a soft push against the ground and her leg.

She’s naked, partly. A loose cover against her chest, her breasts wrapped, but the bend of her neck is an open maw against her dark spill of hair. She’s crying, and you can’t see it, but you can feel it against her knuckles and yours when you reach out to let her know: i’m here, i’m here, i’m sorry, i’m here.

Mizu never tells you what she’s thinking about whenever this happens. But somehow, you can feel it, the way she’s not looking at you, not speaking, pulling away when you hum a lullaby you remember as a child, one you’d sing to Mizu whenever her nightmares would wake her in the middle of the night screaming and thrashing.

“It doesn’t matter. I love you. It doesn’t matter.”

A flash of anger, a beat of fear, and you wonder as you sit against the rosewood floor tucked against Mizu who is terrified and angry and scared, this is the devil they are so afraid of, this is who they hate.

She shakes her head no, a jerky sudden thing. Her hair hides her face and the red of her nose. You want to kiss it away, smooth her hair back and press your forehead to hers: an apology, a prayer, a beg.

You know the taste of her tongue and the salt on her lips, the hands that gods have given her, and the blood that has spilled over, and still—

“Mizu, I love you.”

You never understood why they all hated her when she is only this: a hollowed out thing, an injury dug into her flesh, a puckered cut that won’t heal.

The shape of her has fallen like night, a dark spill of hair and the quiet quick huffs of her breath. She’s only a child now, one that can love as large as she can manage—it isn’t her fault that they don’t know, don’t understand. A devil, that’s what they call her and yet—

You gather her in your arms when she’s calmed. Hold her like water, scared she’ll slip away. The panic you only feel when she’s like this: volatile and weary, soft and damp.

She has scrapes on her knees from the fall, and the blood that spills over glints in the moonlight. You brush back her hair and you kiss her hairline, the faint widow’s peak, the freckle in between her brows, just above her nose.

And you wonder how anyone could call her these awful things when she’s only this: only yours.

———

try not to write more than 800 words challenge failed

[black-dhalias]

I’d Burn it all For You

Namor X F!Reader

Warning: SPOILERS FOR BLACK PANTHER 2, Angst, death, child loss, mentions of loss and grief, blood.

!!SPOILERS!!

!!SPOILERS!!

¡FINAL SPOILER WARNING!

A spray of mist and fury burn your cheeks as the waves crest onto the beach. Your toes touching the water in the briefest of ways, body stolen by the drowning grief. The loss of your only family has taken you completely.

“My love?” His voice used to bring you great comfort, but now it is only a reminder of what he knowingly sacrificed. Only to bend the knee to the Wakandans. “You must come home to Talocan, you must find it in yourself to rest.” In our bed, the thought is painful and rigid—your life is grossly intertwined with him. All of him.

“K’uk’ulkan, do not speak as if you did not let my brother and sister die…” An unearthly rage has mounted in your chest at the very image of their bodies amongst the fallen, the emptiness of their eyes. “Do not pretend that our daughter… Our child, was not amongst the casualties.” Your chest heaves, a deep aggressively broken part of you has completely snapped in two.

You note the way that his hands twitch, but he does not touch you—and even if he had, you fear you would snap his wrist. He seems to be reaching out for you

You find it in yourself to meet his eye, and for the first time, he does not recognize you. Your gaze is harsh, hardened with grief—you mirror his own, but you have someone to blame. Someone to pass the hate onto. Him.

The way your fingers ghost over his cheek, he leans into the touch—knowing it was probably the last time. If you ever found it in yourself to forgive him, he doubts anything would be the same.

“K’uk’ulkan… You have never been Namor to me, always my greatest love. My truest friend and trusted ally. I followed you. Believed in you. Trusted you to protect my family, our child, me… Until today, you were never not loved. Today, you earned the name Namor.” Your hand drops off his cheek and instantly, he wishes it would return. Wishes he could wipe away every incursion, for no one knew him the way that you did. Understood his values and believed in the cause. “And I hope that name chokes the very soul from your body, a chain to drag you to the pits of the Mariana Trench.”

You turn to the ocean, the taste of salt, tears pouring down your cheeks. You had not cried like this before now, felt the pain until it was certain. Mourn your losses, that’s what he said to the Wakandan Princess—had he forgotten so quickly the losses incurred on them, how they stole his only daughter and child.

“Adora… That is what we named our daughter, carry her name on that same chain. Let it be the anchor… I wish grief would drown you, consume you, as it has me.” You gasp, choking on air and wishing it would silence you completely. “Don’t forget to mourn her.” Her sweet face echoes in the shadows, you see her smile and doe eyes—the brightness she echoes reminiscent of the sun itself.

“I do… I feel your pain, your same pain.” To lose a child is unlike any ache, it hollows out your chest and turns the bitter edge of sword onto your neck. Makes you wish that it would all end, knowing that it won’t. If you did know him, you’d believe him.

“If you felt anything, you would have burned them all. I’d burn them all for her. I’d burn them all for you. Now I will do nothing, just as you did nothing.”

K’uk’ulkan watches you from afar, the sweetest of smiles intoxicates and enchants—you were perfect. You did not plead or beg, but you asked and bartered. You were kind before you were angry, and warm before you were cold.

Genuine love came from every moment spent together, the people sang the song of your story. How you were born months after K’uk’ulkan—the gentle wave to match his storm. You were not weak by any means, but you chose to wear your heart proudly.

He remembered it all so clearly, beautiful and loyal, with eyes that read him. Knew him. He never felt more seen than when he was in your gaze.

It moves quickly now—to dance with you after becoming husband and wife. To hold you, as your carried their child. Their first. After a century of love and dedication to the people of Talocan, a royal child was to be born. He sees your smile, a warmth and light that is reminiscent of the sun itself.

When the sky turned dark, the sun no longer burning your skin—you find it in yourself to rise to your feet. To watch as the waves turn black under the nighttime moon.

“I love you, K’uk’ulkan. I swear I do, but loving you is not enough anymore.” You swallow, the anger has drifted out to sea and in its place is only sadness. Anguish. “If I had my way, I’d drown before I reach Talocan—but the sea refuses to consume me as I wish.”

Before long, you are gone from his view. Leaving him alone on that beach. Completely, and overwhelmingly consumed by his own grief. Aware of every sensation and whim, and the urge to burn the world echoes once more.

You were right. He did not want you to be right, but you were.

“Wait—” His voice is more hoarse than he expected, weathered and aged in the last week more than before. The weight of his people on one shoulder, a burden of duty — while the weight of his family grows heavier by the second. His duty to them. To his wife. You stop, looking back at him briefly—if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t have looked at all. “I love you. Please believe that much.”

“Love is not enough, Namor.” That name never sounded so foreign, but so true—it never hurt or bothered him, except when it came to you.

AN: I promise I have a happy Namor fic in the works (and like two or three more after that), but this one was just in my head. Ya know when you can’t write anything except a singular piece, that was this. However, now I feel as though I have satisfied the itch and am ready to finish everything else.

[chainelunaire]

how lov smells like

shigaraki

he smells somewhat sweet, which you don’t expect at all. he smells like bubblegum, strange mix of cotton candy and fresh apples. it’s not a sickening sweet scent, rather nice one. nobody including him knows why, because his shower gel is like typical men shit, so it’s a secret to everyone. he doesn’t use anything more than that, no perfumes or such. he’s kind of aware of how he smells like because everyone tends to get closer to him whenever league seats together, and it drives him crazy. sometimes he smells like plastic when he spends a lot of time in his room. sometimes it’s something more dusty. he never smells like blood, which is unusual for lov members, but kinda explainable by the nature of his quirk.

dabi

his natural scent is terrible, and he knows that. he spends a lot of time in the morning trying to get rid of it by cleaning himself over and over. he’s already a clean freak, and whenever he hears the smell it just drives him up to the wall. he would’ve never tell that to anyone even under death sentence, but he’s kind of ashamed of it. he’s aware he reeks burnt flesh, and it’s constant, it brings everyone to throw up, him included. so he actually does a lot to hide it, he cares about that more than anyone in the league. usually after all his shenanigans he smells okay, kind of typical men shit, those volcano rage deodorants or something. the thing is, he runs so hot, any scent doesn’t last long on him. again, he wouldn’t tell that to anyone ever, but he’s suffering because of it, and everyone around him also does. compress was the most subtle about it and kind of helped him to find another options to just cancel his scent alltogether, so now for the most of times he doesn’t smell like anything at all, which is odd, but still better than before.

toga

you woud think she smells nice, flowers and candies? wrong, because she reeks blооd and steel. she likes to put on a perfume every now and again, but she has a very...eccentric taste, so it might be something sweet and spicy and also smelling like pure blооd. she also likes the smell of salt, she likes how strong of a scent it is. her room smells nice though, something fresh and light and clean. she also very much enjoys the scent of a newly changed bed linnen sheets.

spinner

he smells straight up nice, something warm and fuzzy, it reminds you of a sparkling heat and a summer sun. you can never clearly tell, what exactly he smells like, but it’s a really, really enjoyable scent. his room smells awful tho, because he’s nasty like that.

twice

he smells like a typical dude who discovered his favourite perfume in 8th grade and hadn’t changed since then. considering the situiation, he smells nice, especially when put against someone like dabi or even shigaraki sometimes. he smells like wood and salt, and even if he himself prefers something fresh and strong, it only gets warmer on him, which actually suits him better. doesn’t care about smell that much, but can’t handle the thought someone might think he stinks.

compress

he smells rich. even with the cheapest shit he owns, he himself smells rich, and he likes that. he likes strong and heavy scents, which may last a long time on him. he also likes sweeter scents, something with tabacco in it or vanilla in some form. he makes every scent look good actually, it’s just his natural ability. his room also smells the nicest, it’s the coziest of all. very big essential oils enjoyer. he actually knows a lot about the impact of it on the health and shit, so he kind of helps others with headaches and insomnia by that. 

kurogiri

he smells like freezing water, that one you see on a winter day, when the air is drizzling and it’s so, so cold, air almost tasteful in your mouth. it’s kind of sweet, but not really, more in a subtle way. he smells very fresh, almost freezing, it might tingle your nose a bit. when he’s angry, he smells like smoke and sparks and fireplace, and you can never put a finger on how he changes it so easily.

[izvmimi]

cw: smut, minors dni, exhibitionism/public sex, dubcon, reader wearing a dress and heels, repost!

Kunigami has not been the same since the Wild Card.

While he struggled to explain to you exactly what had transpired once he’d left the Blue Lock facility and shown up suddenly on your doorstep, even before he spoke you could tell something was seriously amiss. Hair slightly overgrown and shaggy and an odd look in his eye, he told you he missed you and nothing more. You had many questions, having missed your friend just as much, but Rensuke didn’t allow any more inquiry to the subject than that and it was a short reunion, given you were still high schoolers, your parents were home and as usual they would rather you study than entertain a boy.

The next time you met up with him, some of the gloominess that stuck to him appeared to have disappeared, and your date went smoothly. Kind and considerate to almost a fault but with a little bit more of an edge when he protected you from bullies, he was mostly the same Rensuke you grew up with.

Years later, Kunigami seems to have healed and is back to being quiet but in a way that’s no longer heavy and somber. The relationship between you two is as strong as ever and he remains sweet - 

to an extent.

The darkness is still there somewhat, and it rears its ugly head whenever he loses a match. 

Before the last ten seconds elapse to zero, you’re already making your way down to find him. There’s a corridor in the bowels of the home stadium that is rarely frequented, and perfect for encounters of this nature. In haste, you slip your panties off underneath your dress and over your stilettos, stuffing them into your purse. 

Your Rensuke doesn’t take long to appear, and the wild eyes are back. 

He never used to be a sore loser. 

But now, frustration gnaws at him so easily, and the only way to help is offering up the space between your legs, and you now share an understanding, falling into this routine whenever things don’t turn out the way you or he would like. 

His lips press against yours roughly, and you can taste the salt of his sweat. He’s worked so hard, running up and down the court and every bit of his effort lingers on your tongue. He bites and nips at you roughly, harsh breaths replacing normal speech.

“You did your best,” you murmur softly, and you know he hates your pity in this very moment as he sinks to his knees. He gathers up your dress and sucks at your lower lips quickly swelling with arousal and you whimper; hastily, he grips you by the asscheeks, firmly planting your thighs around his glistening neck. You squirm but he keeps you still, eating as though sucking and swallowing is the only way to pacify him, and your moans intensify.

“‘suke, it’s too much, hold on-”

He tortures you for just a moment longer; you squeeze your arms tighter around his head and your legs close tighter around his neck until eventually he sets you down carefully, a tiny shred of mercy still left in him. Legs wobbly, you lean against his chest, burying your face into his drenched jersey.

“Ren, it’s okay if-”

“Bend over,” he instructs. The impatience and gruffness to his voice reminds you that if you don’t move quickly enough he’ll do it for you and you turn over. Pressed against the wall, he slots himself inside you with a hint of pain, masked by a hard slap on your ass.

“God, you’re always so ready for me,” he hisses into the side of your neck. A bite, and then he begins to thrust, and you revel in the sharp, ferocious, angry thrusts into you - nothing like the soft gentle love he makes at home, but anxious and irritated. Like this, slapping your ass cheeks, growling into your neck, and dragging his cock in and out of you, you’re nothing but a stress ball and willingly so. 

“You’re the only person who fucking understands how pissed i am right now,” he mumbles, nibbling at your neck. It’s true, and you love him, but all you can think of right now is how good he makes you feel, especially when his large hand clasps over the front of your neck and tightens.

“Everyone is so fucking useless except you, I don’t know why I even bother, I can only carry so many of these bastards on my back-”

You nod, knowing the vitriol he spews now, he’ll soon recant. It takes some getting used to, this new mean part of him, but it’s there and it’s a part of him, and when he finally cums and leaves you dripping between your legs, he spins you around and kisses you. 

His eyes have changed, but not all the way.

“Was I too rough this time?” he asks, apologetically. A hand brings yours to his mouth and he kisses the back. 

“No,” you kiss him back. It’s not like it’s never happened as he is a little bit too strong for his own good, but not today. 

“Don’t forget our safe words. I’ll remember them no matter what.”

Another kiss, as you slip your panties back on. 

“i’ll see you after postgame interviews,” he promises. you nod.

It’s a new side of him, but you like it when he’s mean.

[dirty-bosmer]

WIP Wedensday

tagged by: @atypicalacademic @mareenavee @lucien-lachance @rainpebble3 @thequeenofthewinter thank you 🥰

tagging: @atypicalacademic (for the new week ❤️) @elavoria @wispstalk @skyrim-forever @gilgamish @throughtrialbyfire @justafoxhound @paraparadigm @miraakulous-cloud-district @nuwanders @kookaburra1701 @ladytanithia @sylvienerevarine @orfeoarte @snowberry-crostata @flymmcargo

Surprisingly, I had something written this time (could hardly believe it :o) From my Skyrim fic, Slither and Writhe:

Morning greeted Sylawen the same way the evening had bid it’s cruel farewell— penniless, clammy, and shivering from fever. She tested her throat with a stiff swallow. It burned. For a long while, she lay still, staring at the brown stain on the ceiling above, attempting to divine her fate in its sprawling limbs. How did I get here? Where did I go so wrong? How do I get out? Please give me a sign. Just one? A fat drop of rainwater landed in the center of her forehead, the roof now thoroughly soaked through. Peeling herself out of the sheets, she found herself still sick, still angry, still very much broke, and promptly rued the day the Nibenese settled Bravil.  Breakfast did little to lift her spirits, a bowl of rice porridge that smelled of sea grass and the bay water’s brine. But food was food, and as she hadn’t the appetite for much until today, she choked down what she could. It was no pan-seared trout, but it had a nutritious taste about it. Bold. A little bitter, the pungent scent of salted fish so strong it bored through even the thick walls of her congestion. Belly full, she paced the room, and once that returned no particularly fruitful ideas, she dug through her pack for her charcoal and sketchbook, ripped out a page, and wrote to Nana. …and so, after such cruel and unusual punishment, I had no choice but to flee. I’m sure you see it as I do, with crystal clarity— if even among family my most important research is reviled, what can a scholarly woman (such as we are) do but find somewhere else to practice?  Alas, I’m afraid it can’t be Bravil, indisposed and indigent as it has left me. If you would be so kind as to enclose a modest sum of say, several hundred septims, I might be able to seek refuge somewhere more conducive to my studies. Or I might even be able to travel to you? Wherever you are… Sylawen addressed it to Anvil, hoping Nana was indeed home, already knowing with a sinking certainty that she’d never return a reply, because of course Nana wasn’t in Anvil. When was she ever? Sylawen should have ran there like she had the last time. At least Anvil was dry. The rest of the day passed in a blur, much of the following day too, and by the fifth morning of her not-vacation in Bravil, there was enough grime under Sylawen’s nails, in her hair, enough mildew choking her lungs to admit she’d made a grievous mistake in fleeing here.  Yet Sylawen would not regret running. To regret was to admit fault, to surrender the righteous anger flaring furnace-red in her belly, and if she had nothing else in her possession, at least she had that. Still, with no wherewithal to run elsewhere and plenty of spite to keep from writing home, she did the only thing she could think of and set out to find help. And preferably a bar of sweet-smelling soap.

[markadoo]

i get really angry whenever i see one of those poats about how tumblr deserves to die because of photomatt/staff. its bad that trans women’s accounts are being terminated but if tumblr dies then every trans woman’s account will be terminated. that’s obviously worse, right? your moral queasiness has led you into cheering on your own detriment.

i remember how people reacted to “the queerest place on the internet”. maybe it was in poor taste but it wasn’t wrong. tumblr has been the queer people website for over a decade, and whether the management can take credit is kind of irrelevant. like, the gay bars in the 60s-80s (and probably after, but that’s not the time period i’ve been reading about) were almost all owned by straight men who didn’t give a shit about “the community”.

so. that was the socially acceptable part of the post. i started this post talking about trans women and the queer community and all that virtuous shit, but ultimately that’s not why im mad at those posts. the real reason i’m mad at those posts is selfish.

i’m depressed. i can barely go outside. i don’t have any connections on other websites, nor any idea what those connections might look like. my closest irl friend is someone i haven’t talked to since 2020, and even then that was the first time i’d talked to him since 2018. i have his number but i’d just be a needy ex to him. i already feel friendless and losing you guys would make me feel like i have negative friends.

“follow me on discord” i’ll probably abandon discord after a month. i don’t find it to suit my preferences as a platform, and i’ve always been someone who only formed friendships incidentally. that is, when i’m in a place with other people, i form relationships, but when i leave that space the relationships fall by the wayside. tumblr is primarily a place where i can read posts and practice my craft (posting), and i won’t stay in a place that facilitates neither of those “just” for the sake of friendship. even if friendship is critical it’s not motivating.

i could go to cohost. maybe it’ll be a place i can read and make posts. but it took me over a year of being on tumblr to get friends.

i don’t think that anti-tumblr contingent on tumblr is why the site is dying, i know the problems run deeper than that. but it’s fucking salt on the wound

[stardew-otter]

Stardew Valley Incorrect Quotes: Part 1

•─────✧─────•

Sebastian: Would you guys still love me if I were a frog?

Abigail: What kind of question is tha-

Sam: Yes. No hesitation, Yes. I'd build you a little terrarium to keep you in, and Abigail will get you food

Abigail: I never said-

Sam: You'll get him food and pretty moss

Sebastian: ° - °

─────────────────────

Harvey: Have you been drinking enough water?

Elliott: Yes, I drink several glasses of sea water every day! I've heard it help with clearing up skin

Harvey, panicked and in shock: S- Sea water-

─────────────────────

Marnie: Shane, why does Matilda have a bedazzled beer cans covering her horns?

Shane looking down as Jas: Why does Matilda have bedazzled beer cans on her horns?

Jas: She wants to be pretty!

Shane: Because she wants to be pretty.

─────────────────────

Alex: Bro! Go long!

Vincent: Wait wha- *gets a football to the face*

─────────────────────

Evelyn: Mayor Lewis, I made a few too many cookies in last night batch so I brought you a container. I hope you enjoy them :)

Mayor Lewis already taking a cookie: Why thank you Evelyn! I bet these taste-

Mayor Lewis, struggling to not spit: Um, these taste... different... from usual... did you try a new recipe?

Evelyn: Why yes! I used salt instead of sugar.

Farmer, who told Evelyn about the gold statue and is watching from afar: >:)

─────────────────────

Leah: Hey, what are you reading?

Emily: This is my magical book, where any ink spilled shows a passage of the future. However it bears a curse making it broken, and in order to make any passageway appears I have to do it myself.

Leah: Impressive! Where did you get it?

Haley: It's just a notebook

Emily: Yeah it's just a notebook ^^;

Leah: Oh-

─────────────────────

Harvey: So, explain why you're here?

Farmer, who is bleeding out and on the verge of death: Flying lizards. ANGRY flying lizards.

─────────────────────

Clint, holding a picture of Emily: She will be mine

Clint: *licks the photo and slaps it on his face*

Farmer, who just wanted to process some geodes: D:,'

─────────────────────

Elliott: *stands in the middle of the sea wearing all of his clothing like a mad man*

•─────✧─────•

Uh, request if you want to see more Incorrect quotes of scenario \_[° - °]_/

[meguwumibear]

Let Not the Lord be Angry

Summary: Nai contemplates the bible. A human interrupts his quiet contemplation.

Word Count: 1,200

Warning: minor character injury (mentions of blood), knives (obviously), egregious and probably inaccurate biblical references, nai and his homicidal ideation, i think that’s everything but let me know if i missed something!

Notes: Pre-July incident. Implied future unhealthy Nai x reader relationship. Experimented a bit stylistically with this.

Nai’s reading the bible again. The one that woman gave him. The one he used to read on the ship.

He favors the book of Genesis. The beginning. Creation. Let there be light. And there was light. Let there be people, forged in the image of their creator, who shall have dominion over the sea, the land, the air. They may eat from every tree but one. They know they are naked. Have they eaten from the tree? Send them forth. Drive them out. Protect the plants.

Now command a great flood to wash away the humans for their crimes against both the heavens and the earth. Rain for forty days and rain for forty nights. When the humans can settle again, confound their speech so they can do nothing but babel.

Two angels sent to Sodom and Gomorrah. There are not ten righteous people in these lands. Destruction by fire. Destruction by brimstone. She who turns back turns to salt.

And, here, now, a human, standing before him. An ugly thing made uglier by their journey. Sunburned and sweating. Panting like a bitch in heat.

He summons his knives.

“That a threat?” the human spits, throat hoarse with thirst. “Think I’ve never seen a blade before?”

“I think you’ve never seen something like me before.”

“I’ve seen you before. A face like yours is hard to forget. You stole from my town, so I followed you here. I am not afraid.”

That’s amusing. A human? Unafraid? You are surely a liar. A liar, or a pissant who’s yet to fully grasp their own cosmic insignificance.

Before he kills you, he will become your teacher. Your master. Your guide. You will learn your limits. You will taste the fruits forbidden.  Come let him show you. Let him open your eyes. Learn what becomes of women who look back and bite off more than they can chew.

A pathetic little human who couldn’t even survive without leeching off his brethren, who would die without the nourishment they provide. Feeble and weak. Fragile as a flower. Wilting and withering away without the water your kind oh so desperately needs. Petals falling one by one. Stem sagging. Roots rotting. You were not meant for his new Eden. You could not survive there.

Yet you survived here on the inhospitable planet Gunsmoke. For days you lived on. Without proper food and drink. Without shelter from the sun. Flesh burning. Skin reddening. You persisted. You searched. And finally, you found.

What will you do now?

“What are you doing with the plants?” you demand. There’s a ferocious look in your eyes. Something feral and beastly. Pure anger. Pure animal. Nothing human in them at all.

“I doubt a stupid thing like you could understand.”

“You underestimate humans. That will be the death of you. My mortality makes me privy to things beyond your comprehension.”

A sound. Quick and sharp. Then pain. Quiet and stinging. On your left cheek. Just below your eye. You lift a finger to the wound and it comes away bloody. He cut you. With one of his knives. Split your flesh and bled you. When you look up into his eyes you see not a monster, but a boy, frightened and alone.

“What set you against us?”

“Corruption and cruelty. You are ravenous little beasts. Your sins exceedingly grievous. Your kind stole knowledge of good from the garden of Eden and still choose to be anything but.”

You stare at him. Unflinching. Even as ribbons of crimson unfurl across your face. “My people cultivated this land. We built something from nothing. Churches and orphanages and homes. In elementary school my class learned to make paint from the elements. We painted a mural on the wall of our school. It’s still there today. By taking our plant you’ve doomed both the righteous and the wicked alike.”

“All of that you did at the breast of my kin!”

“Has no one ever helped you? Surely you did not enter this world alone.”

He thinks of his mother. He thinks of Rem Savrem. He thinks of the snake in the garden of Eden. Mother Rem. Mother snake. Rem the mother. Rem the snake. Mother seductress. Mother temptress. Enchanting. Enticing. Beguiling serpent. Bewitching snake.

He thinks he understands Vash a bit more now.

His ticket to the future is supposed to be blank. His future is supposed to be waiting there for him. That’s what that wicked woman always promised him. Something next. Something still to come. Was Eve’s future blank or was it always written that she’d be driven out of that paradise? Was her story always meant to end that way? Cast out from the garden. Cursed with a womb. Could she ever have been something more?

Could you?

Humans die so terribly. No matter how they go. Plummeting out of the sky as their spaceship crashes to the earth. Struck down by a torrent of blades. He’s never seen one die of natural causes before. Never seen one succumb to starvation or thirst. He imagines somehow that of all the ways to die, naturally is the worst.

A sick part of him wants kill you this way. Or, rather, he wants to watch you die this way. He wants to watch your fat and muscle slough off the bone. Wants to watch as your belly bloats with air. There’d be so little to you he could count all of your ribs. They’d be so brittle he could break one off for himself.

He doubts you’re going to last much longer. 

You’re well past your expiration date.

You’ll die without him.

Your eyes widen. He’s said that last thought aloud. Those beastly eyes of yours are frustratingly unreadable. He expects fear but is met by fears distant cousin. Acceptance maybe. Or understanding. You know you’re a dead girl walking. This was a suicide mission.

There’s no pleasure in beating a dead corpse. How cruel would it be if you were to live? Crueler still if you were kept alive by his murderous hands. The thing about Nai is he’s good at being cruel. It’s familiar to him. And, yes, how cruel it would be for him to let you live. To sit you in his lap and force food down your throat. To punish you when you bite fruitlessly at his fingers. To shove his fingers deeper into your gaping mouth.

He thinks of Tesla. The first. The lab rat. He thinks of all the poking and prodding the humans subjected them to. Pumped full of poison. Pickled and preserved. All that’s left: an arm, a brain, some eyes. Not feeling. Not thinking. Not seeing. Hidden away, but not discarded. Rem’s dirty little secret. The team’s guiltiest pleasure.

What could your body handle? Just how long could it go without food? Without water? Without air? What if he gave you just enough to keep you going? What if he forced bite after agonizing bite down your throat? What if he wrapped his fingers around your neck and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed?

What if he used you all up? What if he sucked you dry?

What if you learned what it was like to be a plant?

[cerisetial]

making cookies with my love, i stir and mix! ft. xiao, albedo and kaveh!!

gn! reader

note :: not danganronpa or mystic messenger related but, genshin related (cause i'm ar59 who loves this game so much but is too scared to write for it)

alright. i'm very much in love with xiao, albedo and kaveh so this'll be about them!! also i literally JUST made chocolate chip cookies (i'll put a picture in a bit, they don't look TOO good though so don't get your hopes up 😭)

warnings! :: none, i think? oh right, might be ooc (most likely ooc but i'm doing my best TvT)

albedo

baking is a bit similar to his experiments

you mix certain compounds together and then the results can change depending on what exactly it is you've mixed together

so he kind of has a basic gist of baking. it's similar to what he does but just edible

would gladly assist you in baking if ever you are and he has time

you can trust him with measurements and he's quite precise about them, not a single gram over or under everything is perfectly measured out

says that even a small miss up could alter the whole thing

you two are making a cake :D

he'll let you handle frosting whilst he can handle the batter! as for the design, both of you are in charge of that

you two get to work and things go by very smoothly, hence why you're not really surprised when the cake comes out smelling and looking really tasty from the oven

you both leave it to cool for a while before getting yo work on the exterior features

albedo is an artist, so that combined with having you there giving him a good amount of inspiration and motivation makes the cake turn out super well

he's a sweet tooth confirmed. he'd cut a slice out for you and feed it to you, happy to see the sparkly look in your eyes accompanied with a "this tastes great, bedo!"

would share some with the knights, and leave some for you guys to eat together

10/10 baking partner, very helpful and is just so!! skilled!!!

"i'm glad that you like it. i was a bit worried that i might have messed up somewhere. oh? you'd... like to feed me? well, i don't see a reason to refuse"

kaveh

he's... not the worst in the kitchen. he can cook a few meals, not a lot of great ones, but good enough ones. however cooking and baking are two different things, and is he good at baking? yeahhhh— no. nuh uh.

he is a wreck in the kitchen when baking. the place is messy, everything's all over the place, did he put sugar, or salt in the batter? oh great, start over. anddd there's an angry alhaitham complaining about the mess

so when it comes to baking, whether you're good at it or not (but for the sake of these headcanons you'll be a good baker), you'll have to take charge

gotta give him some credit though, he's a very enthusiastic helper! if you're handling the heavy lifting, aka actually doing the baking, he'll handle the clean up like washing the dishes, wiping the tables and equipment as well as putting things back in their places

he'll enjoy watching you whilst you work, looking at you with that sickeningly sweet lovestruck look in his eyes

he'll wrap his arms around your waist as you move all over the place, talking about anything that comes to mind or anything about what you're baking

you're making sugar cookies with royal icing btw just cause i said so

now he may not have been a huge help with the actual baking process, but he can lend assistance with the designing! he's quite careful with his handiwork (he's an architect) so you'll have no problems about him producing anything terrible

he'll look very focused when he starts icing the cookies, his tongue poking out between his lips as he carefully coats each cookie with an adequate amount of icing and starts styling

in the end you two have a plate of gorgeous sugar cookies that kaveh begrudgingly shares with alhaitham (cause you made him share)

would ask you how it tastes and use the same old "you have some icing on your lip" excuse to give you a kiss and then ask you again how it tastes

overall, wreck in the kitchen but does his best to help <3 cutie, i want him c6 c'mon hoyoverse give me a chance please

"mhmm mhm! these taste great, you did so well, love! huh? share these with him? could i not? ... fine."

xiao

he would have no clue what baking is

nor would he know how to bake

all he really eats is almond tofu so, it makes sense why he wouldn't really be interested in baking

until he spots you in the kitchen of wangshu inn making— mixing??

usually he'd just leave you alone but, even adepti can be curious every now and then right? so he carefully approaches you as to not disturb you

he sees batter, and you mixing it, before putting it down and turning around to see him

kind of embarrassed you saw him but he makes no move of leaving and only asks what you're up to, to which you reply you're baking :D

you'll need to explain to him what exactly baking is before anything else though cause he has no idea what that is

but once he knows he volunteers to help, albeit he has 0 idea what to do so he'll just let you tell him what it is you need him to do for you!

needs a bit (a lot) of guidance but in the end things go by rather smoothly

you guys made regular chocolate chip cookies cause those always taste yummy :)

as mentioned earlier, the only food he ever really eats is almond tofu, so it might take a bit of convincing to get him to try out the cookies you made together

but when he does try them after a lot of convincing, he's pleasantly surprised! it tastes really airy and chewy, has a light crisp on the outside, the chocolate is sweet but the salt balances it out to make not be unbearably sweet

overall he really likes the experience. baking with you feels quite domestic, and he may not know what exactly to do but with just the right amount of guidance he's a great partner in the kitchen

"this... tastes quite good. hm? would i consider eating more of this if you ever made more? ... perhaps"

will i ever write for genshin again? i honestly don't know, but i'm willing to give it a try depending on how well this post will do sooo! likes and reblogs will be a THOUSAND percent appreciated <3! also i have like 5 drafts and i should really start on them soon hahaha

stay safe and healthy always, my stars!

— cerise

[star-girl69]

I Loved You Like the Sun

a/n: i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of violence, swearing, incest, tell me if i missed anything!!

Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Chapter Thirty Seven- In the Setting Sun

—-

Your dragons had never been mad with you. Perhaps annoyed, if you gave Joffrey too many sweets, or let Jace out of his punishment early, but never angry.

You asked them, once, why they never seemed to get angry at you. Rhaenyra simply said that they are not capable of feeling that way around you. You are honey, sweetness, everything good in the world. A floating piece of wood in a shipwreck. Water to a fire.

Now, as Daemon holds you by your arms, pushing you into your chambers, you know now, that this was their end. You are a storm, making wild waves. You are air, fueling the fire.

Rhaenyra and Daemon are mad at you. It almost does not seem true.

—-

“You’re being foolish,” Daemon hisses as he throws you onto the bed.

Your fall is pillowed, and you land on your back, sitting up immediately. Daemon stands in front of you, glaring, while Rhaenyra paces off to the side.

“You’re calling me a fool?”

“No, no, don’t twist my words. You are the farthest thing from a fool. But, right now, you are acting like one.”

“I am acting like you!” He stares at you for a moment, before scoffing.

“You are not me. I am not you.”

“Aemond has hurt me so badly-”

“Vengeance will come.”

“Rhaenys needs someone to go with her-”

“That someone is not you.”

“I want to kill him, Daemon! I want to rip his sapphire eye out, I want to feel his blood on my hands, and I am a horrible, horrible person!”

The room quiets after your outburst, and Rhaenyra stops pacing to look at you. She comes over, sit next to you, wipes a tear off your face you did not even notice.

“There is already blood on my hands. I am already a sinner. Does it matter much if I kill again?”

Rhaenyra moves slowly, fingers trailing over your collarbone, your shoulder, as she brushes your hair back. Her eyes flick up to you for a second, but she looks away as she leans forward. She places a kiss upon your neck. Hot, open-mouthed, pressed there long, almost as if she is inhaling the sin from your body. She pulls back, places a hand on your face, forcefully, when you try to look away.

“You say you are a sinner, yet when I kiss your skin you still taste sweet. Sugar covers your skin, my love, not salt.”

You stare at her for a moment, her fingers digging into your chin, holding you in place so she can stare so deeply into your eyes, as if she will start a fire.

“I don’t believe you, Rhaenyra.”

“You do not need to believe. You need to know.”

“Nyra, please-”

Daemon grabs both of your hands, and Rhaenyra releases your chin. You watch as he knees in front of you, placing his forehead against your stomach, your hands in his over your thighs, watching as he kisses each knuckle.

“I promised to be your sword. Will you not let me be that, my love? Will you not let me protect you and our blood? Avenge you?”

“I want to avenge myself. It was Aemond who dealt his blow, so I shall deal my own.”

Daemon’s kind face falls, and is replaced again by his anger.

“Well, you are mine, and we are one in the same. You will have to settle for his death by my hand.”

He stands up and moves away from you, and even though you are mad at him, you cannot bear to have him be so far away from you.

“Daemon, please.” You whisper, and he turns immediately and steps back to you. He won’t let an inkling of doubt slip into your mind, so he holds out his hand, and you grab it.

He watches as your press it to the side of your face, kiss his pulse point.

“Don’t be mad at me. Don’t leave me.”

His fingers curl of their own accord, and he frowns as he brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“We would never leave you, Y/N. We are mad, but we just want you to be safe. You cannot blame us for that.”

“I can,” you bite back, and Daemon smiles. “Rhaenys will be there. No matter Vhagar’s size or age- it is still two to one. Besides, Cannibal is a hunter. He hunted and killed other dragons, humans, until I claimed him.”

“That is true, Y/N, but,” Rhaenyra starts, and then she trails off. “You- you could still be hurt. You could die.”

“You said the same thing about me riding Cannibal.”

And she pauses, thinking over your words, and you know she has no response for that.

“This is different-” She tries.

“Do you not believe in me?”

She scoffs. “Of course I do. I believe that you are the most beautiful woman in the world, the strongest, the best mother, the best wife.”

“Then let me go. Do not deprive me of my revenge.”

But you can tell they are not convinced.

“Please.”

Daemon came close to you again, cupping your face in both his big, warm hands, tilting your chin up.

“You are more important than revenge.”

—-

Rhaenyra called for you as you left, but you simply wrenched yourself away from them, storming through the halls.

Daemon and Rhaenyra had killed your first husband, murdered him right in front of you, even when you had begged them not to.

They could exact their revenge, but you could not?

You were sure they would spin some tale about how loving you and losing you had changed them, that revenge was no longer important, not when lives were at risk.

They were hypocrites.

You didn’t know where you were going as you stormed through the halls, running away, thankful they did not follow you. If you saw them right now, you do not know what actions your anger would demand.

You find yourself at the edge of the palace, a balcony over looking the sea. You huff, hands digging into the railing.

“Your Grace.” The voice is like sticks and stones tumbling down a hill, slightly rhythmic, slightly rough. When you turn, it is the Princess Rhaenys who is there.

“Princess Rhaenys,” you grit out, turning back to the sea, attempting to breathe, to calm yourself, to perhaps see your dragon’s side and convince yourself that this is right.

She comes to stand beside you, armor already donned.

“I am leaving soon. I assume you shall not join me?”

“No. No, the Queen and King have forbade it.” You hiss, thinking of their refusal, something dark swirling in your chest.

“A shame, truly. But, if it is the word of the Queens and the King, then so be it.”

Now, you turn to her. She smiles, ever so slightly.

“You remind me much of my Laena.” She says, and you think back to the whispers of the woman, the mother of Baela and Rhaena, the likeness of her hanging in one of the halls. “It would be an honor to fight beside you, Y/N. I admit, I am slightly selfish. I would have a much better chance if I was fighting alongside The Dragon of the Night. But I will not force you into anything. I simply mean to remind you that you are also a Queen. As a woman denied of her revenge, I sympathize with you.”

She places a hand on your shoulder, fleeting. “I am leaving soon, Your Grace. I hope to have your luck in my battle.”

She leaves with that, and you look out towards the sun setting before you, fading below the horizon, seemingly sinking into the sea.

You remember what Jace told you, when you were making your way down the endless stairs of the secret tunnels. Rhaenyra had proclaimed the realm would know the meaning of fire.

You repeat the phrase in your head, now, along with Rhaenys’ words, and the simple fact that you are Queen.

You turn, abruptly, leaving the balcony and running into the small room before it, there is a set of dragon-riding armor on the chaise. You grab it, see the red and black Targaryen crest on the breast plate.

When you slip it on, it is a perfect fit. This must have been made as a contingency- incase the war came to Dragonstone, incase danger had come to you. You suppose it has the same use if you are going into the danger.

The halls of Dragonstone are empty as you walk through them, through and through, stone floors, heavy oak door that opens to your movement.

The grassy bluffs at this door of Dragonstone are already occupied by The Red Queen, by Rhaenys. Lord Corlys nods and smiles as he passes you, and you are foolish, and a giddiness rise sun your chest as you grin back at him.

When you call Cannibal, he descends from the sky, and Rhaenys smiles as she climbs upon her red beast. When you climb upon your black beast, the night below you, the sun is you, you whisper a single world and Cannibal raises to the sky.

You are a Queen, the Queen of the Realm, and you mean to teach Westeros the meaning of fire. You mean to teach Aemond the meaning of fire.

While Aemond is a Prince, you are a Queen.

He will know, you promise yourself. He will know.

—-

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