#kitchen utility aide

[seraphdreams]

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

"TO SEE WHAT YOUR INSIDES LOOK LIKE." | GHOSTFACE!ARMIN ARLERT.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 4.6k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. fem!reader, smut, modern au, mentions of murder / death / blood, fingering, armin’s a creep, symbolism, noncon/dubcon, insanity, manipulation, monomania, creampie, knives, stalking. mdni <3.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. armin’s worked hard to build up his perfect life, and he certainly wasn’t expecting for someone to rip that from under him. he’s obsessed — with a life that isn’t his.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! we are sooo back n in full swing for kinktober this year !! i’ll drop my masterlist here for all the prettie dolls to check out … please show this some love by reblogging / sharing, it’ll mean the absolute world 2 me !! kk, luv ya, bye ♡

Armin Arlert. Age 23. Graduated from Shiganshina University.

Armin Arlert, starting his new life under a freshly installed roof that rivaled his dorm of the past four years and provided him with much needed privacy. Armin Arlert, with a degree in humanitarian affairs accompanied with a promising future ahead, it’s the life he deserved after the turbulent destruction that was his tragic past. He could start over now in high hopes of making a name for himself in this unfamiliar city. Nothing could stop him, or the unperturbed spout of elation percolating within.

Aside from optimism, though, he remained undoubtedly sure that the life he had curated for himself was one that no other could outclass. He was smart — spent his days in libraries, in his study room, reading about anything that satiated his appetite for enlightenment, and be that as it may, he wasn’t looking for a lover. His solace brought him far better pleasure than any person could possibly imagine.

He’d work, research, and then work some more, day in and day out. And the day of your meeting was no different.

He had decided to utilize the time he carved out of his restless schedule for a much needed re-read of his favorite book. Moments like these were significant to Armin; the pungent aroma of freshly brewed tea in his mug, luminescence dim in the apartment, and a faint timbre of violins that spilled from his speaker.

Moments like these were when he couldn’t keep track of how many hours had passed him by as he flipped page by page into whatever universe his books had drawn him into.

Rested against the kitchen counter with his novel in one hand and retrieving a sip from his beverage in the other, his eyes scanned the piece of literature. Every once and awhile, he’d shift his weight from his left hip to the right, or opt to sit on the cozy loveseat in his study. All without withdrawing his attention from his book.

Glasses low on the bridge of his nose, he gently pushed them up — Then it came. The sonority of his doorbell, jostling him out of his serene thoughts and the inquisitiveness that flowed through his veins soon after, urged his body to tread to the front door in search of the cause.

As his footfall led him closer to the handle of the door, he could make out a silhouette, seemingly of a woman. All inquisitions of who could be at his doorstep were fulfilled once he opened it and you stood, with a bright smile on your face.

Armin’s angelic features hidden underneath a veil of golden blond tresses accentuated his soft, azure-hued eyes. His face was one of few that aided you in comfort just upon first glance, which chased away the unease of the possibility that he could’ve been ill-tempered.

“Hi, I’m Y/N! I moved in next door,” You pointed your thumb in the direction beside you as if to signal which side of the building you’d be occupying. “I just thought I'd introduce myself,”

He matched your syrupy sweet beam with one of his own, the corners of his eyes turning upward in tandem as if they were smiling too. He held the door open slightly wider to catch a better glimpse of you. From your attire, he could discern that you weren’t much of a modest girl, but it’d be wrong of him to idly make assumptions. Especially when his choice of dress during the lax hours of the day were a white button-up, cashmere cardigan thrown atop, with a pair of tan slacks.

“Y/N?” He repeated, in a manner to affirm that he had heard correctly. “I’m Armin. It’s nice to meet you,”

He would’ve held his hand out for yours had it not been engaged by his book. You weren’t trying to pry, yet the cover of the story was lucid in your mind once you took notice. “Berenice? The Edgar Allan Poe novel?”

His eyes trailed to where your manicured nail was pointed. The rosy flush of his cheeks deepened while he rubbed away the discomfiture stirring at the back of his neck. Once again, he had mindlessly brought his book with him wherever he strode.

“Y-Yeah, It’s my favorite. Have you read it?”

“A few times,” You hummed, meeting his sheepish gaze. “It’s so jarring, right?”

Armin skimmed over your face before allowing himself to speak. “But there’s beauty in the madness,” His words trolled over in a more weighty tone than he had intended, an apologetic smile on his face once he caught wind.

“Or at least that’s how i interpret it,”

His outward timidity roused an endearing chuckle from you. “I truly don’t mean to bother you, though. If you need anything I'm on your right!” You retort with a vague inclination of haste.

Truth be told, Armin’s interest in you piqued with the mention of the Poe story. “Oh, you’re not a bother-”

His vocables fell short against your own when you waved him goodbye, and he mirrored your actions with cordiality in his eyes.

Maybe she’s just busy.

—

Ever since Armin’s first encounter with you, he had found himself taking a rather atypical interest in the relations of you. The first bout of instances being regular events of curiosity where he’d watch as the moving company aided you in getting your belongings settled; hauling in furniture and appliances, all while Armin remained under the guise of checking his mailbox. Over a short span of time, though, he found himself increasingly knowledgeable in the subject that was you.

You showered at 8:00pm. You ate dinner at 7:00pm. The alarm settled on your desk, a few feet beyond your bed would go off at 6:00am sharp, and he’d be up at that same dawning hour to anticipate your departure to work.

He knew these things. Of course, he did.

He memorized all of your schedules to calculate what you’d be doing throughout the day, and where.

His own work was slow for him during those days, and books didn’t seem to capture that spark of exhilaration like you did. For once, he felt enthralled by each day granting him an opportunity to analyze you further.

On another day, he’d built up enough confidence to observe you as you came home from work, once more, under the false assumption that he’d been checking his mail.

“Good afternoon.”

Armin’s voice registered within your being quickly, startling you out of your fast-paced strut to your door. “Oh, good afternoon!” Your footfall faltered until you reached a close. “Armin, was it?”

Over Armin’s time of stalking- no, studying you, he’d come to realize just how ethereal you were. It was as if the deities above handmade every feature on your face, curve of your body, lilt in your voice with the intention of making you one of their own — an angel.

He found you charming.

With a nod of his head, he braced himself to inch toward you. Not proximal enough to cause you discomfort, he wouldn’t want that, yet enough to signal his unwavering immersion. “Did you just come from work?”

It was otiose of him to ask the question seeing as he undeniably knew the answer. Judging from your business attire and pencil skirt just a little too short for any other establishment’s dress standards, he had assumed you worked a kushy job at an office firm. You evidently earned a heap of money, with him recalling the numerous occasions you’d come home with luxury shopping bags hanging off your arms, tied in with the fact that the suites he inhabited weren't exactly affordable for the average person.

You responded hospitably to his question, that same lovely smile poured over your features and seeping into his personage. “Mhm, and what about you? Your work?”

He was surprised at your need to pull the conversation along further, it was as if you were succoring to curate his plans, as if you could read his mind and pick out from a haystack that you were his only interest, you were his source of bliss. A serendipitous moment, indeed. He straightened himself up, clearing his throat. “Me? Oh, well I just help out at charities and organizations from time to time,”

He’d be a fool to deny the set of wide eyes that were fixated upon his figure.

“For real? You must be a really good person then.” You responded with your hands clasped together and held against your chest, pupils of your eyes glittered in a sense of unshakable admiration.

As the conversation went on, you had begun to synonimize your neighbor with the fresh, and comforting feeling of congeniality. It helped that he was easy to converse with, seeming as he’d always been listening while keeping eye contact and rewiring his queries in a way that deemed you the main focus, and he, a vessel for your words to absorb within.

For Armin, he enjoyed getting to know you. You were perfect, in all the best ways.

And soon enough, through an exhausting series of prying inquiries, he’d piece together that your perfection wasn’t hulled along by determination or strong will, but by God’s good grace. He’d come to register that you didn’t have to struggle like he did to reach the triumphant point in life for which he stood. You were born that way, born with a silver spoon in your mouth and just the right kiss-ass people in your life to keep you that way. A spoiled fucking brat.

What had been the rationale behind his suffering? The years in which he’d been bullied repeatedly in public schools, had acquaintances that had only cared about him for their personal gain, and parents so utterly vapid that they’d give up their only child if it meant they could continue working towards an unattainable goal?

Fueled by a sense of jealousy, he waned your nepotism a hindrance. You were merely a telescope that he wanted so badly to see into.

For Armin was obsessed with a life that wasn’t his.

Meticulously, he had spent his time after that hidden away within his flat. Armin didn’t care to know anything more about you, he didn’t care to see your face, and he surely didn’t care for you.

When he stumbled across an unkempt, unpacked box in his room with the label of “Uni 2019,” written on the side in thick, inky letters, his concern led him to relive those memories upon removing the cardboard lid.

In it, there were polaroid photos, compact trophies he’d won from participating in school events, courtesy of his STEM minor, and a dark piece of fabric that caught his eye more than anything.

He recalled his first year of college where his two closest friends, Eren and Mikasa, dragged him out of their stuffy shared dorm and onto one of the first parties held by the school’s fraternity house during the fall semester.

“Armin, you look ridiculous,”

Mikasa said as she stomped away in her leather boots, leading the way for the two men accompanying her to follow her off-campus.

She was dressed in homage to Misa Amane from her favorite anime, although the style of dress aided no significance since it was hauntingly similar to her everyday wardrobe.

Eren was intended to show up as “Light” but he insisted on wearing something he deemed appealing, his plan was to get initiated by the end of the night, anyhow. He wore a deep black cloak, dark ripped jeans and had his hair tied aimlessly into his warped perception of a bun, with the mask of a ghost facing sideways on his head to allow for him to see.

Ghostface. Scream (1996).

Armin allowed himself to be pulled away by the Ackerman, his rebuttal falling on deaf ears. “You didn’t give me enough time, Mika. This is all I could come up with.” Armin’s poor excuse for a costume was tissue paper wrapped around his frame in stereotypical mummy fashion, a classic of all classics.

Though, that night had concluded like any other gathering involving college-aged students, the trio having woken up to hangovers and bad decisions.

Armin stared at the contents of the box a while longer before taking the cloak out and trying it on for size. Obviously, it was meant for a taller person, but regardless, the wheels in his head gradually spun.

He took it off after careful observation when the sensation of juvenility filled his veins. He wasn’t fond of the costume rousing the impression that he was an illegitimate killer — He knew more than he let on, and his passion for the grotesqueries scribed in his books further proved that.

Concurrently, you had been pondering the reason for Armin’s disappearance. After your last conversation with him, he’d stopped formulating ways to talk to you and seemed to never leave his suite, and your heart yearned for his presence once the feeling truly settled in.

You had been swayed by his charm.

His dulcet tone of voice, the intriguing quirks that seemed to hang off of him like leaves to a tree; You missed the way he cared for you, through mundane matters and the like.

Night had fallen, the warm, ochre hues of the day meshing in perfect balance with deep purple tones that signified time’s passing. You were settling into bed, just about ready to fall into slumber when you heard light tapping at your door.

Only for a second did the thought of who could possibly be up this late float through your mind.

Your soles kissed the floor when you made your way to the front door. And once you finally opened it, the sight of your worst fear was drawn to life — The deviant sight of the unknown, with what seemed to look like a kitchen knife in its right hand.

Quickly, without time to react, you attempted to slam the door shut with the force of your shoulder but the action proved futile when the aggressor’s strength pushed back against the wood, sending you stumbling backwards and vulnerable to any attack.

Heavy footsteps creeped eerily towards you out of something from a horror film. Your worst mistake was turning your back, scrambling for a way to retrieve your phone, or even a weapon.

“Help! He-”

The stranger was more agile than you had assumed, easily capturing you with one arm around your waist and its hand cupped against your mouth. You couldn’t shake the terror growing within you as hot tears seemed to spill down your cheeks and your heartbeat so intense, you were sure that it’d had been noticeable.

Your body soft in the assaulter’s touch, they embraced your body taut. The sensation was suffocating, your eyes squeezed shut to further distance yourself from the situation at hand, even if it was only a mental trick.

You resided in a relatively safe area, so why were you in this situation? What cruel joke were you the target of?

The grip on your body loosened ever so slightly, yet you were still fixed in place by the attacker’s opposite hand. While your body was immobilized, you felt the lingering of metal lightly drag against your abdomen to find itself settled just underneath the band of your lace pajamas.

Just moments prior, you had completed your elaborate nightly routine consisting of a glass of wine, face mask, and a warm bath. You also found it fitting to change into one of your newer pajama sets — Thin, baby pink, lace bralette with matching shorts that called for forgoing the need for panties.

All you wanted was to wake up from this nightmare.

“It’d be so beautiful if you died right here in my arms,” Your assailant spoke.

Through your ears, his voice was familiar. A tone so soft, you refused to believe the possibility of who it’s owner could be.

His hand over your mouth was hesitant to situate itself elsewhere in wariness of how you’d react. He was aware of the power behind a blood-curdling scream. The neighbors in this area were nosy. He would know.

He let out a sigh. “But you look really pretty tonight. I wouldn’t want to get blood on you,” His knife trailed further into your shorts, the edge cutting out a hole in the fabric at the seat of the garment.

“Did you do all this for me?”

You winced when the sonority of cloth ripping resonated through your ears. The blade felt dangerously close, running along your body as if to taunt you. That had to be the case; You were in the perfect position to be harmed, so why hadn’t your attacker done so? With your body stricken from fear, his job was easy. Was it not?

The hand over your mouth moved to caress your face and you gasped heavily for the air you were denied.

“W-What do you want?” Your voice echoed shakily throughout the room, barely audible enough for the two of you to hear. His knife inched upward to your sternum, and slowly dragged itself back down to your abdomen as he spoke.

“To see what your insides look like.”

For a split second, his hold on you seemed to diminish, granting you the perfect opportunity to run. Yet, your legs felt frail as if there were weights tied to your ankles. The assailant quickly repositioned himself in front of you, his head tilting slightly while he continued his up and down ministrations with the edge of the blade gingerly pressed against your flesh. Not forceful enough to draw blood.

“But maybe now, I want to feel your insides,” His steps crept closer, and instinctively you tried to create as much distance as possible by stepping back. It proved useless when your back hit the cold surface of the door, his face mere centimeters from yours.

Your breath hitched as you found comfort in the presence of the door, leaning against it as if it’d keep you from harm’s reach. You fidgeted, fumbling to grasp at the handle that’d grant you escape. The masked man took notice, hovering over your frame to keep you from trying anything.

“Please- -” Your plea fell in the form of a choked up whimper, just the sound he wanted to hear.

More uncomfortable ripping was sounded when his blade etched a perfect cut in your shorts, leaving your bare cunt out on display for his eyes to see. “Don’t be shy, pretty. I’m sure lots of guys have seen you like this. Am I right?”

Crudeness started to sink in as your face morphed into a contradictory pout. He took your expression for a no and chuckled genuinely, albeit louder than his previous tone. “No? Does this make me the first?” His eyes scanned your lower half once more, then flit back to meet your fear-blown orbs.

“I’d really love to be your first,”

Having grown confident enough to be sure that you wouldn’t try to break free, he dropped the knife to the side, metal clamorously clinking against hardwood flooring while he used his free hand to lift your right leg over the juncture of his elbow. He carefully slotted his middle and ring fingers into your hole, shallowly pumping. Your legs threatened to close with what you couldn’t make of embarrassment or denial.

Your mind felt cloudy once your body gave up its immobility and allowed pleasure to course through your veins, heat rushing to your core with every pump of his fingers. He took notice of the way your expression hastily contorted into one of pure pleasure, eyebrows knit together and your mouth slightly agape, eliciting quiet moans to tumble past.

It was a whorish sight, indeed. A circumstance you couldn’t control with your death at the forefront, yet it was terrifyingly easy to succumb to the euphoric sensation building up within you. The pad of his thumb found its way to your aching clit, and from just the light circling motions in tandem with his fingers, you felt yourself floating to the cusp of release.

“F-Fuck- -“ you rasped. Your hand reached out for his wrist to push him away but the attempt was futile and in turn, he sped up his ministrations.

“Didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth. You’re making me lose interest.” He coyly teased.

He was thankful you couldn’t see how flushed his face appeared under the mask. The sight of you spread open for him was too much to bear, he could cum in that moment without ever feeling your gummy walls wrapped around his painstakingly hard cock.

Just before you were about to hit your orgasm, he pulled his fingers away. An agitated groan rumbled from your throat, eyes finally opening to the sight of the man before you, removing his mask and unveiling his true identity.

Something within you didn’t want to admit what you had seen.

From the golden strands of hair that shimmered against the moonlight to his cyan-hued orbs tinted dark with madness. It was Armin, but it wasn’t Armin.

“M-Min.. You —“ The words failed to leave your mouth in a coherent string of sentences. It couldn’t have been your neighbor, not Armin. He was far too delicate, too feeble to carry out a task like this.

He kept unwavering eye contact with you, your pupils shaking from shock. “Hm? Couldn’t see a thing with this mask on,” His response was that of nonchalance, his hand coming to caress your tear-stained cheeks.

“You’re much prettier behind the mesh.”

He pulled down the zipper of his slacks along with the garment itself and his briefs, just enough so that his cock was freed. You didn’t want to look, but you did. You notice how bulbous the head was, glowing a bright pink while the rest of it was pretty girthy as well. It bobbed under its weight, the strings of precum leaking onto your inner thighs as he lined it up with your entrance.

“Why would y—“

Just before you could get the vocables out, he pushed his entire length inside of you, head tilted back and adam’s apple bouncing with each groan he let out. You felt as though you were being split open by how fat his cock was, how it glided effortlessly in and out of your heat.

His pace was tauntingly slow as if he’d shoot his load prematurely. Once he gradually thrusted more vigorously though, you found it hard to keep whimpers at bay. Each push in felt deeper than the last, the wind within your system struggling to keep you afloat. You reached for something to hold onto, scrambling for Armin’s shoulders in the end. Your nails dug deep at the lean muscles of his back, creating raw, catlike scratches on the flesh.

The pain was enough to make him smile. Or maybe it wasn’t the pain, but the sight of you so desperate for him — So desperate for your killer.

How pathetic.

He leaned himself upward to meet your gaze again, that of something from a horror movie, his gaze was darker than before, strung together by a serious expression. “Kiss me.”

You almost didn’t hear him as your impending orgasm was your only focus. When you took too long to respond, he glanced back at the knife settled just underneath his foot, in a manner to remind you of the real dangers he was capable of.

With the slightest inclination of hesitancy, your lips met his. Contrary to his actions, his kisses were soft, sloppy, and hungry, as if he were craving you. He hooked his arms beneath your knees to hoist you up and against him.

Deeper. You whimpered into his kisses wondering how his cock fucked into you deeper. He slammed your body down onto his length, using your body like it was a toy. You pulled away from the kiss, heaving for air as your head fell upon his shoulder. “Gonna cum, ‘m so close!” Your words slurred, and before you knew it, your essence came in waves, each aftershock more jolting than the last.

He continued pounding into you, shifting his position to hold you up against the wall. Your pleasure reverberated in the form of an inaudible cry while you allowed for the bullying of his cock in your cunt. It was evident to you that he was close from the way his features were etched in pure ecstasy.

Armin looked pretty like that — Wisps of tawny bangs messily splayed across his forehead from perspiration and a light tinge of scarlet dusted across his nose and cheeks, up to the tips of his ears. His soft, rosy lips were slickened with the mixture of your wet kiss and his.

“Oh, God-”

The guttural groan he let out had your walls clamping down taut around him. “Cum for me again—Shit! Say my name,”

The stamina he retained came as unexpected to you, your overstimulated heat trying to find pleasure in the way it’s being battered up. He spoke again, this time with a docile lilt in his tone.

“Tell me you’re mine, Y/N. I wanna be yours.”

You didn’t want to. You were beyond opposed to feeding into his hedonistic delusions, especially in the impuissant state that you were in. Yet, you couldn’t stop the affirmations from flowing once another orgasmic high coiled up in your core.

“Armin! ‘M yours! All yours,”

Just as soon as your words circulated through his mind, he felt his balls tighten, his thrusts faltering in potency as he reached closer to his high.

In his mind, it was profoundly amorous that you both had hit euphoria simultaneously, warm ropes of his sticky seed painting your walls while he shallowly jettisoned every last drop. Your womb was the goal, and he had scored.

He was tentative to pull out, wanting to relish in the warmth of your core for as long as he possibly could but he knew the idea wouldn’t be feasible. “You’re so good. I mean, you listen so well,”

He delicately placed you back on your feet, your body lax in his hold. “Thank you!” He beamed, tilting your head upwards to meet his gaze.

“Thank you for what?” You responded, your eyes searching for anything else to focus on as you gained enough strength to separate yourself from him, even if it was just a few inches.

“You helped me,”

You couldn’t make sense of the nonsense coming out of his mouth nor his need to be a hair's breadth away from you at all times.

“You helped me realize I never wanted to hurt you,” His hands found their place at your waist, softly running along the curve. “I just wanted to be inside you.”

“No, you wanted to kill me.” You spoke in a more conflicted tone, wondering if the gears in his head were turning at all. He chuckled, creating a few inches of distance between the two of you.

“I mean, I did at first. I was jealous, Y/N,” His voice sounded like that of a beg. “You have such a perfect life and I want it — I want to be in it.”

You couldn’t bear to listen to anymore of his twisted thoughts, feeling the heavy coat of uncomfortability weighing your shoulders down. “Armin, you’re crazy.”

“I love you, Y/N. Let me into your life, please?”

He pulled you into a tight embrace, his hands furthering south until they halted at the small of your back.

“I won’t hurt you,”

“I love you.”

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — @valentinevampyr @oneofthesevensins @iamtrashgod @iconicbabii @inusdoll @kloesklarity @bakuhoe-3 @antistellxr

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[ieatcocoa]

Sweeter Than Hunny

Characters: Alastor/Fem!Reader

Reader's POV

Word Count: 1.6k

Important: 18+ minors do not interact. established relationship (?), accidental food play, use of honey, teasing, hickies, kissing, suggestive

In which Alastor indulges in your sweet tooth...

Divider credits to plutism !

The hotel is quiet. There is no sound except for the occasional creak of old flooring, caused by a particular serpent slithering around in the dark. While his hobby may be relatively harmless, it is still unnerving; the sizable goose egg on his forehead is a reminder of what you detest. During your stay, you have developed an interest in zodiac signs. Unfortunately for you, snakes embody stubbornness, and you are far too exhausted to give his knot a twin.

In your hands, the small porcelain cup radiates a comforting warmth that seeps through your fingertips and palms, soothing away the remnants of your tension. You take a moment to savor the aroma of the delicate brew before bringing the drink to your mouth.

The hell?

Immediately, your eyes widen in surprise, a deep grimace forming on your lips as you register the unexpected taste. A sharp bitterness lingers on, contrasting the anticipated sweetness. With a determined resolve to salvage your tea time, you set down the cup and rise from the couch. Making your way to the kitchen, you move around the familiar area effortlessly, and the pitter of your footsteps reverberates softly against the tiled floor. There is only one thing that could salvage a brew that harsh:

Ah ha!

Nestled among the pristine shelves sat your beacon of hope—the honey jar. As you retrieve the sweet treat, you cannot help but notice the signs of wear and tear that mar its once-pristine surface. The edges of the ceramic vessel are chipped and worn from its countless journeys to and from the pantry. Traces of sticky residue cling to the sides of the pot, and the substance adheres to the surface of your hands, creating an uncomfortable sensation. Would it kill folks to wipe it down after use?

Your gaze trails along to the lid; it sits slightly askew, showing signs of repeated twisting and turning, an ode to the desire with which it has been opened and closed numerous times. You shift your grip to the handle and run a finger over the smooth texture. The once-vibrant color faded to a dull patina. And yet, despite its weathered appearance, there's a certain charm to the honey pot—a sense of history and nostalgia that lends it a unique character all its own.

Almost everyone utilizes it, and is probably the only thing you can all agree on. To see it so well-loved and appreciated brings a smile to your face, knowing that the gift aids in adding a little extra sweetness to the lives of those who call the hotel home.

Corny. Maybe Charlie's exercises are starting to rub off on you?

Balancing the pot carefully, you retrace your steps to the living room. As you enter, you are frozen in surprise at the sight before you. There, seated comfortably on the couch, is Alastor, his crimson eyes glinting with delight as he regards you with a ceaseless grin. "Well, well, well, if it isn't my favorite resident! I seem to have caught you at an unfortunate time; don't you agree, sticky fingers?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha." You release a sarcastic chuckle before softly placing the container on the end table next to your cup. "Just indulging in a little tea break, nosey. I was in need of something to sweeten up my evening." As you settle onto the couch, a mischievous impulse stirs within...

With a dramatic, drawn-out hum, you casually prop your socked feet up near his thighs. "Ah, of course! I should have just called on you! You're sweeter than Hunny." Alastor, ever the picture of composure, arches an eyebrow at your antics, his expression a mix of amusement and bemusement. With a subtle flick of his wrist, he not-so-gently pushes your feet aside, his movements refined yet firm as he maintains his personal space. Undeterred by his subtle rebuff, you respond with a pout, forming your lips into an expression of dismay. "Nevermind, I lied. You're as bitter as death."

"Oh, you wound me, crude woman! Boo hoo. I'm afraid my legs aren't meant to serve as a footrest." He quips his tone light and teasing. With a roll of the eyes, you relent, withdrawing your feet with a dramatic flourish. "Fine, fine. I'll behave... for now." You concede that your impish demeanor was undimmed by Alastor's gentle reprimand. "What are you doing up so late anyway?" It is a silly question; however, that does not stop you from asking.

His gaze flickers to the poorly paned ceiling above before emitting a deep sigh, the faint rumblings of his static audible to only the most precise listener. "You know me well enough to know that sleep is but a distant acquaintance," he responds. Of course, you did; this isn't the first time you've graced each other in the dead of night, and it certainly won't be the last. Though the longing to know why always leads you to ask such foolish questions, some things are better left unsaid.

You sit up; your attention is now drawn to the end table, where the tea waits. With deliberate movements, you reach for the dipper, plunging it into the golden pool of honey snuggled within the pot. As you drizzle the viscous nectar into the cup, a sweet aroma fills the air, mingling with the soft glow of lamplight that bathes the room in a warm embrace. The gentle clink of wood against the ceramic echoes in the quiet of the night. "If you're up for a chat, I'm all ears." Alastor leans forward slightly; his expression reflects mock seriousness as he addresses your suggestion. "Well, my darling doe," he begins, his voice dripping with lively charm, "I'm afraid the only topic of conversation that truly piques my interest tonight is your rather unhealthy indulgence in sugar."

As you stare him down, a snort escapes your lips. "Really now? Is that what you want to talk about?" Alastor nods solemnly. "Indeed. I'm afraid I simply can't let such an important matter go unaddressed," he replies, his tone dripping with exaggerated concern.

Oh please!

"Don't be such a killjoy," you say while shaking your head in protest. "A little sugar never hurts anyone. Besides, eternity is too long for me not to indulge now and then." He lets out a scoff while waving a hand dismissively through the air. "A little sugar, you say? From what I've witnessed, your intake is hardly what I would call a little. I'm quite surprised your teeth haven't rotted out of your mouth by now.” While he spoke, you took a hearty sip of the tea, hoping that the addition of honey had tempered its bitterness.

However, much to your dismay, the drink remains as bitter as before, causing you to smack your lips. You make a mental note to avoid buying products from this brand in the future.

As Alastor continues his tirade about the perils of sugar, you half listen with a good-natured smile. "Well, I'll be! I didn't realize you had become the new spokesperson for Hell's Dentistry. Should I expect to see your face on toothpaste commercials anytime soon?"

His expression shifts almost imperceptibly as his once-toothy grin tightens into a thin line. The sudden change in his demeanor is comical, almost cartoonish, and you can't help but burst into laughter at the sight. While you laugh uncontrollably, you attempt to add more honey to your drink. The fit of giggles proves to be too much, causing you to fumble clumsily with the pot. With a sudden jolt, a small stream of honey escapes the confines of the container, dribbling down the wooden dipper and onto the carpeted floor. Determined not to waste any more of the precious nectar, you quickly lean down, attempting to suck the excess honey from the dipper. However, your efforts only result in more hilarity, as the honey dribbles messily down the side of your mouth. It beads slowly onto your neck, leaving a sticky trail in its wake.

"Shit." A mumbled curse leaves you while you place your cup down. Resigned to the mess made, your hand attempts to wipe away the sticky residue, only to find it stubbornly clinging to the skin.

Alastor, ever the opportunist, rises from his seat and approaches. Without a word, he leans in close, his tongue darting to lap up the mess that coats your neck. The sudden sensation sends a violent shiver down your spine, and a sigh catches in your throat from the warmth of his tongue. His lips close around the spot where the honey pooled, his mouth sucking at the sticky sweetness with a hunger that nearly has your knees buckling. Oh, how you wish he'd bite down. Your hands reach out to weakly grasp onto his shoulders for support, the material of his coat bunching up under your hold.

He remains an enigma; his actions are always veiled in layers of mystery, and this moment is no exception. Any questions floating around in your head about why are fizzed out. After all, some things truly are better left unsaid. With a soft pop, he releases the patch of skin, and his tongue trails upward to linger at the corner of your mouth. His touch is delicate yet possessive, a silent declaration of his presence and desire to explore.

Weakly attempting to lighten the atmosphere for your sake you manage a joke, your lips curling into a faint smile despite the lingering heat between you.

"What happened to sugar being an unhealthy indulgence?"

Alastor’s response is immediate yet measured; his gaze gleams with a newfound intensity as he finishes lapping. His tongue traces a final path before your lips meet in a sickeningly sweet kiss.

"I suppose I am starting to see the appeal, my dear!"

Thank you so much for reading ! <33 Inspired by hazelfoureyes !

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x you #alastor smut #hazbin hotel smut

[intheholler]

Appalachia & Southeastern USA LGBTQ+ Resource Masterpost

Under the cut, you'll find queer-focused resources sorted by state.

I have a sister post with donation links for those outside of the region who'd like to help us grow.

If you aren't from the region, I encourage you to find the organization that speaks to you the most, put your money where your mouth is and help us be better.

If you are from the region, I sincerely hope this can help you or someone you know in some way.

This list is inexhaustive as Tumblr is only permitting 100 links (which is also what necessitates the sister post and is why you may not see your contribution unfortunately).

Disclaimer: I do not (necessarily) personally endorse these organizations, nor have I vetted them thoroughly. If I have included anything you know to be detrimental or harmful in any way, please DM immediately me so I can rectify it.

General Regional Resources

Appalachian Outreach organizes events and provides access to resources for the queer community all across Appalachia.

STAY (Central Appalachia) is a youth-led activist organization in central Appalachia.

Trans in the South is a directory for gender-affirming healthcare in the south.

Southerners on New Ground (SONG) is a queer liberation group funding projects, protests, and campaigns to build a queer-friendly south.

Southern Trans Youth Emergency Project (STYEP) connects trans youth affected by anti-trans legislation with gender-affirming healthcare providers in the southeast; they offer grants up to $500 to individuals for emergency support.

Trans Health Project helps trans folks understand, access and utilize their medical insurance. They provide grants for gender-affirming surgeries.

Campaign for Southern Equality provides funding, training and resources for/to queer individuals and activists.

Not region specific, but important all the same: Help suspected transgender John and Jane Does regain their identities.

Resources by State

Alabama

AIDS Alabama helps provide housing to vulnerable individual and families, including helping queer youth find housing.

ALTGO’s list of local resources for gender-affirming care, legal services and generally queer-friendly physical/mental healthcare.

The Knights & Orchids Society provides housing, healthcare, and general support to the Black queer community.

Based in Birmingham, Magic City Acceptance Center offers supportive safe spaces and direct support to 52 counties in Alabama.

Medical Advocacy and Outreach in southern Alabama provides HIV+ care, as well as HIV & hepatitis C testing.

Prism United funds free therapy and hosts gatherings for queer individuals along the Gulf Coast.

Shoals Diversity Center is a Florence-based group that offers mental health services, support groups and other resources for the queer community in the Shoals area.

T.A.K.E. Resource Center provides direct support, grants, housing advocacy and other services for trans women of color in Alabama.

Thrive Alabama facilitates access to queer-focused healthcare services in North Alabama.

Georgia

Carollton Rainbow organizes queer-focused social events in West Georgia and provides tools for advocacy in the community.

Emmaus House is a soup kitchen in Savannah also providing laundry and shower facilities.

Emory is an Atlanta-based, queer-focused law firm.

Feminist Women’s Health Center (I know the name isn’t necessarily ideal, sorry) in Atlanta offers trans-inclusive, affordable medical care. They also provide access to abortions.

First City Network in Savannah provides referral services for healthcare, advocacy, education and mutual aid for queer Georgians.

List of housing assistance in the Savannah area

Stonewall Bar Association of Georgia serves the queer community’s legal needs in Georgia.

Kentucky

AIDS Volunteers of Lexington (AVOL) provides housing and assistance to low-income people living with HIV/AIDS.

Arbor Youth Services provides emergency shelter to queer youth in Louisville, up to age 24.

Berea Human Rights Commission offers free investigations into claims of housing or employment discrimination with a focus on queer folks.

Kentucky Health Justice Network provides referrals to gender-affirming providers, as well as financial assistance for trans healthcare and abortions.

Kentucky Youth Law Project provides free representation to queer youth.

Massive Kentuckian LGBTQ resource list provided by Lexington Pride Center, broken down into easy-to-browse categories.

Louisville Youth Group strives to give queer youth the tools and skills they need to grow personally and facilitate positive change in their communities.

Sweet Evening Breeze helps queer young adults in Kentucky between the ages of 18-24 obtain emergency housing.

Trans Kentucky’s list of gender-affirming healthcare providers across the state

Guide on changing your name following gender-affirming surgeries in Kentucky, and a tool to help you do so.

Louisiana

AcadianaCares supports folks living with HIV/AIDS while providing support to houseless and impoverished individuals.

ACLU Louisiana website.

Community resources in New Orleans, Baton Rouge and Lafayette (much of it only provides addresses and emails, so it’s hard to link individually here).

Directory of trans-focused healthcare providers

List of in-person and online queer support groups. In-person groups are based in Monroe, Lafayette and Baton Rouge.

Mutual aid in Shreveport

Out of the Closet provides clothing for the queer community with multiple locations throughout the state.

OUTnorthla is a queer film-festival hosted by PACE Louisiana.

Queer-forward healthcare in Louisiana.

QUEERPORT is a grassroots org offering a platform for queer creatives.

Tulane Drop-In Clinic provides free medical and social services to runaway and otherwise houseless youth.

Guides for legal name changes in Louisiana.

Mississippi

Capital City Pride hosts pride events, meet-ups and book clubs for the queer community around Jackson.

Gulf Coast Equality hosts drag shows, food drives and other events for the Gulf Coast area.

The Spectrum Center in Hattiesburg offers a community closet, short-term emergency housing, free HIV testing and scheduled support groups/events for the queer community in Hattiesburg.

Violet Valley Bookstore is a queer feminist bookshop owned by a published lesbian author in Water Valley.

Guide for name changes in Mississippi.

North Carolina

Charlotte Transgender Healthcare Group (CTHCG) connects trans folks with gender-affirming care.

Down Home NC helps rural working class communities organize to advocate for their rights.

Guilford Green Foundation & LGBTQ Center provides financial support to queer nonprofits and activist groups in NC to fight anti-queer legislation.

Ladies of the T is provides resources and support to trans and gender non-conforming women of color in the Tri-City area. .

North Carolina Gay and Lesbian Attorneys (NCPMB) provides attorney referrals, visibility, and support for the queer community.

Pitt County Aids Service Organization (PICASO) provides HIV prevention and testing services in Eastern NC, as well as support for individuals living with HIV/AIDS.

Asheville-based Tranzmission’s compilation of trans-focused medical, social and legal resources in WNC.

Triad Health Project provides free HIV testing, contraceptives, prevention outreach, daycare and access to their food pantry in Guilford County.

Durham-based Triangle Empowerment Center provides the queer community with emergency housing, access to PrEP, as well as support groups and other events.

South Carolina

Harriet Hancock Center is a community center offering social support for queer individuals in the Midlands area.

Free gender-affirming gear to South Carolinians!!!

Alliance for Full Acceptance (AFFA), a queer-focused social justice group

List of queer-friendly medical providers across the state

Uplift Outreach provides safe spaces for queer youth in Spartanburg.

Charleston Black Pride serves the queer POC community in the low country area.

We are Family Charleston’s community center hosts support groups and provides direct support to the queer community around Charleston. They offer microgrants to trans individuals in the state as well as in-person support groups and aforementioned free stuff for trans folks.

Closet Case is a thrift store by and for queer individuals, operated by We Are family, offering safe and affordable clothes shopping.

T-Time holds support groups for trans individuals, based in Myrtle Beach.

Palmetto Community Care provides confidential HIV testing and support as well as free contraceptives.

South Carolina based community support network for the trans community

Legal assistance in Columbia, SC/Midlands area

Guide on changing your name in South Carolina

List of queer-safe, gender-affirming care providers in Columbia, SC

Tennessee

CHOICES provides low-cost LGBTQ healthcare, among other services, such as abortions.

Emergency housing in Tennessee for those living with AIDS

Launch Pad helps queer youth among others obtain emergency shelter in the Nashville area.

Metamorphosis provides transitional housing and other emergency support for queer youth between 18 - 24.

Mountain Access Brigade provides abortion funding across the state.

My Sistah’s House in Memphis provides emergency housing and support for queer people of color, as well as access to health services for sex workers.

The Seed Theatre in Chattanooga provides free resources such as binders for the trans community and hosts safe, social spaces.

Tennessee HIV Prevention & Care

Trans Empowerment Project provides support to trans and gender-nonconforming folks around Knoxville.

Youth Villages provides emergency housing for youth under 18.

List of trans-focused healthcare providers across the state.

Virginia

Counseling, free hygiene products, temporary housing and more provided by Side by Side VA

Virginia Home for Boys and Girls partners with Pride Place to provide temporary housing for queer young adults (18-25).

Side by Side VA provides temporary housing for queer youth for up to 6 months.

Nationz, based in Henrico, provides free STI/HIV testing, food pantry, PrEP, and notary services for the queer community.

Justice 4 All provides legal aid for low-income Virginians.

Virginia Rural health Association’s list of gender-affirming healthcare providers

General rural healthcare resources in Virginia

West Virginia

Dr. Rainbow connects folks with queer-friendly care in the state.

Fairness West Virginia’s list of gender-affirming care providers.

Harmony House West Virginia provides queer-friendly shelter for houseless people.

Holler Health Justice is a queer- and POC-led mutual aid organization based in WV, though they seem open to serving all Appalachians.

Holler Health Justice also provides financial/logistic support to West Virginians seeking abortions.

WVFREE connects West Virginians with birth control providers.

Nearby gender-affirming care for trans youth at the Cincinnati Children’s Hospital Transgender Health Center.

#appalachia #appalachian #anti-fascist south #queer #queer resources #alabama #georgia #kentucky #louisiana #mississippi #north carolina #south carolina #tennessee #virginia #west virginia

[mariposa-drowned]

♡˖Broken glass˖⁠♡

Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Warnings- hurt/comfort, hints at past abuse in a partner, crybaby!reader, sensitive!reader, protective!Abby, pet names (angel, baby, hun, good girl), very slight hints at dom/sub dynamic, angst to fluff -Please let me know if I missed any!!

🩷🤍🩷🤍🩷🤍🩷🤍🩷🤍🩷🤍🩷🤍🩷🤍🩷

CRASH

"Baby?" Abby rushed down the stairs to the sound of a loud crash which seemed to come from the kitchen.

Coming to the entryway of the kitchen Abby was met with your glassy eyes and a mess of broken glass all over the floor, remnants of what was once a bowl you utilized quite often had finally met it's fate, much to your horror.

"I'm sorry.. i- I didn't mean to, I was just trying to-" you spluttered out to Abby before she cut you off

"No, hey shhh you're alright hun, it's not a big deal. Stay right there okay? I'm gonna go get the broom so we can clean this up alright?" Abby cautiously stepped forward and over the glass to give your hand a light squeeze of reassurance and a peck on your forehead before walking to the hall closet where you kept the broom.

While Abby walked away you gently crouched down to start trying to pick up the largest pieces of the bowl, still feeling terrible you were the cause of it's break, you had only been trying to put away the dishes that had finished air drying overnight.

Going to grab a larger piece, only to be met with a sharp stinging pain in the palm of your hand, your cloudy eyes returning once again as you heard Abby's approaching footsteps and quicky dropped the piece of glass back to the floor while standing up, grabbing a dishcloth off the counter and trying to look natural as you press it firmly into your palm, lightly hissing to yourself over the sting it produced.

Abby reappeared in the kitchen, broom and dustpan in tow, her face dropped to a light frown as she found your slightly shaky frame where she last saw you, but now with a cloth in your hand? She found it a bit odd but continued towards the mess of glass, being careful of her steps.

You still felt guilty, trying to hold back your tears while you reached your hand out towards Abby "here, it's my mess, I can clean it up" you said in what was close to a whisper, trying to keep the cracking of your voice at bay.

Abby walked over to you, resting the broom up against the counter, she quickly lifted you from your waist onto the clean counter before you could even protest.

"How about I clean this up, because at least I have socks on, and you can sit here and look all pretty for me, m'kay? Promise I'm not mad and you are not in any trouble baby, it was an accident, they happen. Let me sweep this up and then we can go do whatever you'd like and get your mind off this, yeah?" Abby looked to you for confirmation, getting a slight nod in response as you kept your eyes downcast.

Abby gently but firmly lifted your chin, "words please"

"okay" you responded.

Abby seemed pleased enough with your response, kissing your cheek before turning around and starting to sweep up the glass. When her back was turned, you lifted the cloth covering your hand, a bit worried to find that the bleeding had slowed, but not stopped. You tried to keep you panic internal, but as you pressed the cloth back on your palm you let out a light whimper involuntary.

Abby had just finished throwing the last full dustpan into he trash before whipping her head around at the sound of you. She rushed over to you, dropping the broom and dustpan down without care.

"Hun? You alright?" Abby met your sitting frame at the edge of the counter, looking down at the cloth you still had clutched in your hand. "What's this for?" Abby lifted the cloth from your reluctant hands, her eyes widening at the sight of your blood.

"Did you get cut on the glass? Why didn't you tell me?" Abby swapped out the cloth you were using for a new, clean one, quickly grabbing the one of many first-aid kits kept around the house from the top of the fridge.

You kept your eyes downcast "m'sorry. It's just- you were already cleaning up my mess and I didn't wanna worry you." finishing your sentence you let out a small sob, another tear falling down your face before you felt a large, warm hand softly wipe away the tear.

"Hey" Abby put her palms of both sides of your face, making you look at her "deep breathe for me yeah? Good job, there you go, good girl baby. Okay let's take care of this hand then we can talk okay?"

This time she didn't wait for any confirmation, she lifted the cloth that was still covering your hand, wiping away the slightly dried blood on the outer edges of your palm, she grabbed a disinfectant wipe "gonna sting a little bit angel, can you be brave for me?" You nodded quickly, wanting to do good and to prove that you were really okay, even if your hand currently stung like a bitch.

Abby wiped down your hand, and subsequently, right over your cut. With a sharp intake of your breath Abby slowed her movements, giving you a quick kiss on the head "doin so good for me baby, almost done 'kay?" Once your hand was finally clean and disinfected, Abby took a few gauze placing them over the cut and grabbing some wrap to secure the gauze.

You both sat in silence as Abby wrapped up your hand, the only sounds to be heard being the faint sounds of the record that you had put on this morning while putting away the dishes and tidying up around your small but cosy house, trying to repay Abby for cooking dinner last night. She had made your favorite, and refused to let you do any of the cleaning, but she didn't say you couldnt do it the next day.

Which had led you to the current moment, with a wrapped up hand from a glass cut, and persistent tears on your face.

Once your hand was wrapped and the glass was cleaned, Abby lifted you off the counter, ignoring your protests that your legs did still work. Legs wrapping around her built frame to avoid falling, which your know wouldn't happen regardless due to Abby's strength and unlimited care for you.

Finally settled, you were both sat down on the couch, you strattling Abby's lap while she rubbed your back. You sniffled, burying your face in her neck, still embarrassed of your tears, even after all your years spent together, and her constant reassurances of how much she loved you and how you weren't afraid to show emotion, even in times where it did seem a bit silly. Like that one time you cried while watching one of the little kids staring at the Christmas tree for the first time, the one that was put up in the middle of town, decorated with a few strings of lights, and plenty of ornaments. The little boys eyes had shined with such amazement and innocence. As he was one of the kids born in town, hadn't seen the dangers of the outside world yet. You had teared up at the sight, telling Abby how much you wished you could go back to that state.

Abby's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. "Angel? Hey can you look at me please?"

Still feeling embarrassed and a bit too shy for the moment, you shook your head into where you still had your head buried in Abby's neck. Abby sighed, and gave you a soft reassuring pat on your bum.

"Okay, that's alright. Can you listen to me for a minute though?" You nodded to her, listening to what she was going to say next.

"Baby I need you to know that I am nothing like them. I will never, ever, be mad at you for something like what just happened. But you have to tell me when you get hurt, you are my number one priority at all times, you can't hide that from me, no matter how small. Understand?"

"yes" you whispered just loud enough for her to hear.

"My good girl" Abby gave you a reassuring squeeze in the hug you had trapped yourself in, and a kiss on the forehead. "How about we stay in today huh? Day just for us, you wanna cuddle in our room, or stay on the couch?"

"Wanna watch a movie together. Please?"

"Such good manners my love. Couch it is, I'm gonna go grab some stuff from the kitchen, you put on a movie."

Abby gently lifted you off her, finally seeing your face she leaned in, waiting for your permission as you closed the gap, trying to show Abby the appreciation you had for her through your kiss. Separated, Abby gave you a small smile, and one more kiss before heading into the kitchen.

You got off the couch, turning off the record player that was still playing quietly, kneeling down in front of your small tv, filing through your different dvds that you and abby had aquired over time. Finally finding your desired dvd, you popped it into the player, turning on the TV and pausing at the opening title.

You grabbed and extra blanket as well as the remote, and sat back down on the couch waiting for Abby. Speaking of Abby, you turned your head to see Abby coming back into the living room, hands full with a glass of water and a few snacks. Setting them down on the old wooden coffee table, but not before handing you the cup of water.

"Drink please, you're dehydrated." Abby said, still ushering the cup towards you.

Stubborn as ever, despite your morning, you gave Abby a small "Am not".

"Angel, I love you, but you've been crying all morning, and I don't want you getting a headache from the loss of fluids. So, drink."

You huffed a small breath, knowing she was right, taking the cup and drinking it all before setting the cup back down on the table. Looking up to Abby for approval, she smiled a rare smile at you and sat down next to you.

"Alright let's get settled, how do you want to sit?"

"Can I lay on you? Like listening to your heartbeat."

"'Course baby, you're my favorite blanket."

You smiled, waiting for Abby to lay down before you flopped down on her, giving her a kiss. Abby grabbed the blanket you had gotten earlier and spread it out over your back.

Settling down on her firm chest, you positioned yourself right over her heart, calming at the small thrum of her heartbeat. Abby grabbed the remote and pressed play, your movie playing on a low volume.

"Thank you for always taking care of me Abs"

"Of course, love taking care of my favorite girl."

"Love you Abby"

"I love you too sweet girl, get some rest, it's been a busy morning"

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader comfort #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby tlou x reader #abby x reader #tlou abby #abby anderson fanfic #crybaby!reader #sensitive!reader #tlou 2 #abby anderson tlou

[morallyinept]

A full character analysis on MARCUS MORENO from the film WE CAN BE HEROES.

I've created this as a point of reference when writing for Pedro's characters, and I hope you find it useful. Even if you just want to learn more about the character. 🖤

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO'S CHARACTERS ANALYSED

FULL CHARACTER STUDY:

Basic Details:

Full Name: Marcus Moreno

Nickname(s): None noted

Appears in: We Can Be Heroes, 2020 (First heard on Missy's bracelet at approx. 03:21, first appearance seen on screen at approx. 03:23)

Age (if known): Unknown/not confirmed - assumned late 30's/early 40's

Nationality: American, not confirmed exactly from where, however the film was largely filmed in and around Austin, Texas, featuring a lot of familiar buildings and architecture from real life Austin, as favoured by the director.

Sexuality: Straight

Family: Daughter, Missy Moreno. Mother, Anita Moreno. Deceased wife, unnamed.

Spouse/Partner: Marcus is a widower. His wife died, presumably, when Missy was younger. Her name isn't revealed in the film, or how she passed away exactly.

Relationship Status: Single/widower - Marcus currently still wears his wedding band

Current Living Status: Alive

Languages Spoken: English/Spanish

Education: Not confirmed, however it would be prudent to assume Marcus has obtained high school/college education at least. Marcus is also leader of the Heroics, so assumed further education in training.

Occupation:

Job Role/Title: Single father/leader of the Heroics. His card that he swipes to get onto the transit to take him down into Heroic's HQ reads Special Agent.

Special Skill(s): Master swordsman with dual katanas, magnetic powers that enable him to keep a constant grip of his katanas. Marcus is able to fly with the aid of a device attached to his utility belt. Marcus also leaps really high into the pit of aliens. Marcus is also skilled in martial arts.

Notable Colleague(s): Miracle Guy, Shark Boy, Lava Girl, Anita Moreno

Marcus's ID swipe card briefly seen:

Distinguishing Features:

Tattoo(s): None

Piercings: None

Scar(s): None visible

Other Markings: Freckles on neck

Eye Colour: Brown

Prominent Feature(s): Moustache, wears glasses

Injuries: Marcus falls and crashes, lower back first, into an upturned car when his flying device is broken by the aliens, but he quickly regains composure and get's back up

Hair Colour: Brown

Personality:

Traits: loyal, brave, strong

Marcus' mother and Missy's grandmother, Anita Moreno, trains the Heroics. Her nickname is abuelita, which is Spanish for grandma. She has a secret training ground hidden in her garden and is presumed to have trained her son, Marcus, too.

Marcus is a widower, his wife died when Missy was much smaller, but it is not known the exact cause of her death. After her passing, Marcus made a promise to Missy not to do frontline battle alongside The Heroics anymore, and to remain working at Heroics HQ at his desk instead. He feels conflicted having to break his promise to Missy when the aliens invade and he has to suit up.

Marcus' wife wasn't a superhero with powers, she was human, however Anita tells Missy that she was the real strength behind Marcus, enabling him to be a great leader.

Although Marcus knows he is no match on his own, as the only Heroic left, against all the alien entities, he still tries as he tells Missy "a good leader leads by example."

Both Marcus and Missy's communication devices are engraved with MM which is their mutual initials.

Marcus' garden appears to have a swimming pool and what looks like a hammock. The kitchen is large with two TV's evidenced. His kitchen and garden have a lot of Spanish influences in the decor.

Fashion/Outfits:

Outfit 1 - (Opening scene in kitchen) Green round neck t-shirt, grey jeans, black rimmed spectacles, communication watch on left wrist

Outfit 2 - (Dropping off Missy scene/Heroics HQ scene) Light blue long sleeved shirt, dark blue silk tie, navy blue slacks, black belt, black shoes, black rimmed spectacles. Black leather jacket worn later at HQ

Outfit 3 - (Facing off against the aliens scene & remaining scenes) Black round neck t-shirt, black cargo pants, black steel toe-capped boots, black tac vest, black fingerless gloves, black elbow protectors, black belt with Heroics logo metal belt buckle

Accessories: Black rimmed spectacles, communication wrist watch device on left wrist engraved with MM his initials, wedding band on wedding ring finger, looks to be possibly platinum rather than gold, Marcus is able to fly with a device that seems attached to his utility belt.

Close up details of Marcus' costume:

Weapons Used:

Weapon(s): (Exact weapons pictured below)

Marcus has two, black handled and leather wrapped katanas (Japanese style fighting swords) which are mounted on a plaque at his desk in Heroics HQ. He can seemingly "call" them to him by opening his hand and they fly into his grip. It is debated whether he has a magnetic force that attracts them to his hands, or if he is psychically able to "call" them to him. However as it is never confirmed in the film, most assume the former.

He is a master swordsman and able to wield the katanas confidently and effectively.

Marcus is trained and skilled in martial arts and is in peak human condition to fight.

Modes of Transport:

Vehicle(s):

Marcus drives a dark silver/grey Toyota, which looks to be a Camry model. His car appears modified inside to tune into Heroics HQ via the dash computer.

Marcus flies using a flight device attached to his belt.

Dialogue:

🗨 See Marcus' full dialogue from the film, including deleted scenes.

Further Character Links (if any):

Marcus Moreno Fandom Wiki Page, Behind The Scenes: We Can Be Heroes, Pedro & Christian Slater interviewed by Guppy

Samples of Marcus' Wardrobe - Wrist watch info obtained via Styleofpascal IG

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO'S CHARACTERS ANALYSED

#marcus moreno #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #marcus moreno we can be heroes #we can be heroes #PPCU #pedro pascal character database #pedro pascal character study #pedro pascal character analysis #marcus moreno character analysis

[prescottsgirl]

hi :) i was wondering if you could write something about older!sid teaching her gf to cook. i feel like sid is great in the kitchen and would love to read something fluffy about her patiently helping her partner who sucks in the kitchen 😂🥰

of course! i love this idea sm! :))

COOK SOME PASTA, TREAT SOME INJURIES

sidney prescott x fem!reader

warnings: mild blood (reader accidentally cuts finger)

Sidney knew, as she sat across from you, eating the half cooked, hard pasta that you made, that she really needed to teach you how to properly cook. She also couldn't ignore the burn on your hand from spilling the boiling water on it.

And that's how you ended up back in the kitchen the following night.

"I think this is doing way too much. Can't we just use canned sauce," you said as you watched Sidney un-bag all of the ingredients for dinner.

"How do you ever expect to learn then?" She raised her eyebrows at you. She was always the chef in the relationship. You always told her that she should've been a professional chef. Maybe you were just bias since you couldn't cook, yourself.

You rolled your eyes, but only playfully. You knew you were going to mess the entire dinner up. And even though it wasn't a big deal, it kind of was to you. You didn't want Sidney to think that you were completely useless.

"Okay, for starters, how about you chop the garlic, and i'll do the onions?" Simple enough. "You know how to chop, right?" She smiled at you, clearly just trying to tease.

"Of course I do. I'm a bad cook, not stupid."

She walked over to you to hand you the garlic but kissed you first. You wanted to forget all about this dinner and keep kissing her, but you knew she wasn't going to let that happen. "I know, baby. You're very smart." She pulled away from you and shoved the gloves of garlic in your hands. "Now get chopping, gorgeous."

It was clear by the smirk on her face that she knew exactly what you wanted. But, that would have to wait for dessert... She went back to the counter and started chopping the onions.

The radio played a low, sweet melody, and it was peaceful for a couple of minutes before your hand slipped and the blade sliced your finger.

"Shit!" You exclaimed, dropping the knife onto the counter and squeezing your finger with the uninjured hand. The loud thud of metal clanking against the counter was what quickly got Sidney's attention.

"What happened?" She said, frantically, quickly walking over to you.

"I cut my finger on the knife. Fuck, that hurt." You could see a little bit of blood seeping through the hand that was holding it. You had the worst luck in the kitchen, you were lucky that your finger didn't entirely get cut off.

"Oh, baby. Let's get that cleaned up. You alright?" She started walking you over to the bathroom where the first aid utilities are. She got out a bandaid and ran a wash cloth under the sink.

"Mhm. I'm fine. I'm sorry." She gentle removed your hand so she could see the wound. It wasn't anything serious, but she could tell that it was deep. She's pretty much an expert at this now, considering her history with knifes.

"Why are you sorry?" She gently dabbed at the blood around it with the wet cloth. You quietly hissed at the stinging feeling.

"Cause I suck at everything. I don't want to be useless and have you get annoyed with me." Her eyes softened, but you couldn't seem to look at her. She titled your head up to finally look her in the eye.

"Hey, don't say that about yourself. Just because you can't cook doesn't mean you're useless. You do so much around this house," she unwrapped the bandaid as she spoke, but still kept eye contact with you. "I would never get annoyed with you. Not over something little like that."

She stuck the bandaid around your finger and kissed your covered injury. She spoke up again when you didn't say anything, "Okay?"

"Okay. Yeah. I love you."

She smiled again, wiping away a single tear that rolled down your cheek and began to dry on your face. "I love you. Now put that pretty smile back on. You still have a cooking lesson to attend."

You giggled and smiled for her, following her right back into the kitchen, your heart feeling too big and warm for your body.

"Let me help you chop that so there's no more accidents." She wanted to just baby you and take over the chopping, but she knew that you would never get better if you just gave up.

She stood behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist and placed her hands atop of yours that held the knife. "Now just go slow. And make sure your hand that is holding the garlic isn't right up against the knife."

Slowly, but surely, you finished chopping it all up with the help of Sidney. She kissed your cheek when the task was completely and threw both the onions and garlic into the pot. "There you go, I knew you could do it, sweetie."

"Now I want you to put all of the tomato filling into the pot and one cup of water. Then just stir it all together." You nodded, knowing there was no way you could fuck this part up.

While you successfully did that, Sidney started cooking the pasta in another pot. While you were stirring, she walked over to you and held you by your waist. "Look at you, my little chef."

You placed the spoon onto to the counter and turned around to face her, her strong arms still holding you so close to her. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, biting down on her lip, hard enough to nearly draw blood. You took this as an opportunity to lean forward and start kissing her. She softly sighed against your mouth, pushing your body up against the counter.

You got carried away for a couple minutes until you heard bubbling behind you. You parted from her and looked over to the pot that had boiling sauce in. You saw some of it start spitting out onto the counter and you looked over at to figure out what to do.

"Turn the heat down!"

"Okay— wait what?" You looked at her, confusion written all over your face.

"The stove! Turn the knobs."

“Oh, right!" You laughed nervously and did as you were told. Sidney stood there, smirking and shaking her head. She couldn't deny how absolutely adorable you looked. "Sorry about that." You scratch the back of your neck, an anxious habit.

"Don't be. I should've been paying more attention, you didn't know." She laughed softly and wiped down some spots that the gravy flew onto. "Just add some salt, pepper, and basil leaves to that and it should be finished."

You hummed in agreement and started to season the sauce. Sidney began draining the pasta because she knew you were probably going to end up burning yourself again, and she didn't want you to get any more injuries tonight over a dinner.

You sat up on the counter as you waited for the next step. She walked over to you and the pot of gravy, taking the spoon and putting some on it. "Here, try this, honey," she held out the spoon to your mouth and you did as your were told.

To your surprise, it didn't taste inedible. It was something that you would definitely make again, if it weren't for all the trouble that came with it. "Is it good?" She asked, trying to distract herself from the way your lips wrapped on the spoon.

"Very good, actually!"

#sidney prescott #neve campbell #scream #wlw #lesbian #scream 1996 #scream 2 #scream 3 #scream 4 #scream 5 #sidney prescott x reader #neve campbell x reader #scream fanfic

[whumpsoda]

Bad Days - Malak and Nevan

WOHEO Masterlist

This is inspired by a recent ask!!! I really wanted to write a couple short things about these two in recovery just because I couldn’t get their ask out of my head :3

These two snippets take place proceeding Malak and Nevan’s captivity, after a hunter frees them!!

Taglist- @softvampirewhump

cw: conditioned/brainwashed whumpees

———————————————————————

Malak’s eyes remained fixed on the glowing screen of the television, lazily glossing over each flick of the visuals. He blocked out the drawl of voices, reducing the sound to a hum in the back of his brain.

Besides that, the shared trailer was deathly silent.

Upon the revelation, Malak perked up a bit. Just minutes ago, or at least so he thought, Nevan had been dashing from room to room in a whirlwind of motivation, cleaning and taking care of whatever he could for most of the morning.

As much as Malak wished to help the younger man during his tough days, he wasn’t exactly equipped in that area of expertise. Sometimes letting Nevan do his own thing seemed to work best.

But now he’d stopped, and was nowhere to be heard. Silence during Nevan’s flare ups was never a good sign.

Draping his most prized blanket over his shoulders and around his neck, Malak made his way to the kitchen. His feet, covered in a pair of plush and fuzzy socks, shuffled over the crunchy rug.

Walking was still strange for Malak. His legs still wobbled, his knees still always threatened to buckle any second. He had the wall though, surroundings capable of stabilizing him as he made his way across the room. He would take any means of aid over crawling.

Hiding his body behind the doorway, he peered his head in, only for his vision to settle upon Nevan immediately.

The other man’s back was pressed against the wall next to him, a familiar sight. He stood in a trained position, flawless posture and hands perfectly intertwined above his midsection. Nevan didn’t take the slightest notice of Malak’s presence, eyes shut and ears closed, save for the search of his beloved bell.

Malak gently lifted a hand, stretching out a finger and tapping softly to Nevan’s shoulder. 

Nevan twitched with the touch, eyes widening the smallest bit in reaction. “Master..?” He hazily questioned, head tilting to meet Malak with glassy, confusion tainted eyes.

He recognized that was not his master. That Malak was just another thrall, and a much farther valued one at that. Yet, the urge to serve someone, anyone, in any way possible did not dissipate.

Malak used his thumb to tenderly stroke Nevan’s skin. He easily leaned into it, awaiting for Malak to gift him a wonderfully mind numbing command. When he didn’t, instead continuing his tender motions, Nevan utilized one of Darius’ favorite phrases. “What may I do for you, sir?”

Malak stared for a moment, quietly deciding his next move while Nevan gladly waited. He released the plaster of the doorway, shifting his weight back to his two feet. Silently he held out his palm, looking to Nevan and signaling for him to take it.

Nevan’s lazy gaze fell to the hand and then back up to Malak, searching for approval, and Malak only nodded gingerly, gesturing again to his hand. Timidly, Nevan accepted the gesture, allowing for the other man’s thick fingers to envelop his own in a pool of warmth.

“Do you need something, um, sir? I can be of assistance.”

“Follow.” Malak instructed, but unlike Darius his voice was calm and leathery, not a hint of irritation. Nevan did so obediently, eager to allow anyone to give him a purpose.

He walked elegantly behind, contrasting his roommate's heavy steps, as Malak guided him to the floor of their living space where he had been seated just moments prior. “I can be a good boy and help you, sir. With, with, um, anything.” He insisted, head spinning with each graceful step.

His movements abruptly ceased with Malak’s, almost running into the larger man. Malak simply motioned to the deteriorating, itchy rug. “Sit, please.” He requested. 

Nevan instantly dropped to his knees, a dizzied look on his face. Malak soon followed, gently making his way to the ground beside the other man. He wrung his muscled arm around Nevan’s shoulder and neck, tenderly pulling the man closer.

Malak shifted his attention, something on the television catching his eye. Nevan sat in stunned silence for a moment, savoring the warmth of his cheek against Malak’s fuzzy sweater. “Am, am I being good? Do you need anything? Am I being a good boy?” The pathetic pleas of questions spilled from his lips.

“Good. So good.” Malak soothed, tugging Nevan closer. Nevan nuzzled into Malak’s comforting, relaxing hold.

He sensed his face heating from the praise, his blurred brain recognizing the pleasant pulse of his heart. “Thank you, thank you, sir.”

“Shh. Relax.” Malak murmured, brushing a thick strand of hair behind the small man’s ear.

Startled from such a foreign request Nevan pulled away for a moment, the faint remembrance of his biddable objective resurfacing. “But, um, but I-” his fingers curled atop Malak’s lap, and his dark brows twisted.

“Please.” Malak whispered, soft gravel snaking its honeyed way over the word.

Nevan’s body numbed, limbs easing and falling back into place. “Oh. Um, okay, sir.” He stumbled, his cheek taking its place on Malak’s large shoulder.

Nevan was delighted to do anything as long as he could succeed in pleasing just one person.

——

Malak was having a bad day. He admittedly had a very frequent amount of days coated in bitterness and the everlasting effects of past events, and Nevan held the sole responsibility to get him through another one. He didn’t particularly mind, though, being well acquainted with the practice of waiting and serving upon others.

He entered the living room of the trailer, a bowl of mouth watering, savory macaroni wrapped inside of his grip. A sticky pool of cheese drooled over the noodles, steaming with warmth. He turned to the floor, Malak’s usual spot, and yet nothing sat atop the disturbed, crumbling rug. 

His gaze wavered about the room, over the still black television, the scattered blankets, and yet Malak was nowhere to be seen. Nevan’s stomach tensed, and he quickly set down the food. 

“Malak?” He exclaimed, making his way swiftly down the narrow hall, and peeking into the other rooms. “Malak?” He repeated. No answer. “Malak!” Silence.

He dug through each room, checking wherever he could, even spaces that wouldn’t have fit Malak’s bulking figure. No Malak.

He practically ran back to the minute living room, biting his lip warily and clawing at a strand of his hair. Horrified, his gaze quickly landed on the front door, a sliver of freezing air making its way in. His breath hitched.

Malak was gone. For all Nevan knew, he was escaping back to the vampires, no matter the fact that their masters were long dead. What if he was hurt? Scared? What if a different vampire had already plucked him off the streets for themself? 

Dashing to the door, Nevan swung it open and stuck his head outside, icy wind chilling his cheeks. “Malak?” He called again, only for his vision to quickly land on the other man balled up on the edge of the porch.

Nevan inched closer, careful steps creaking the old and withered planks of wood. Malak sat atop the rim, shivering under a swaddle of several precious comforters. The one most recognizable was the meticulously pink one Adrastus had knit, which hugged Malak’s large waist.

“Hey, man. What’re you doing out here?” Nevan questioned softly, bending down to his knees and resting on Malak’s level.

Malak’s head was eagerly craned to one side, exposing the skin of his neck and chest, the only part of him not enveloped by a pillowy blanket. His lips quivered as he spoke, and his teeth slightly chattered. “Mm… Mah- Master…” he stumbled, eyes glassy and brows furrowed in puzzlement.

“What about Master?” Nevan pressed, placing a tender hand to the other man’s shoulder, a welcomed touch.

“Um…wuh, wait… ‘fer Master…” Malak drawled, tilting his neck ever so much further, desperate for the intimate bite he so craved. His still red rung bites were clearly visible, him having ripped off the usual bandages that covered them. 

Nevan, despite the despair that hung on his heart, gave Malak a sweet smile. “You’re waiting for Master?” The other man took a moment to process the speech, before giving him the faintest of a nod. “Well it’s pretty dark and cold outside right now, and it’s not so safe to be out here. Can you wait inside with me?”

Malak thought the suggestion over, before distressfully shaking his head. “Mmng.. mm, mm… n- no…”

“Come on, man. Here.” From the corner of his eye Malak inspected Nevan’s outstretched hand, hesitant to take it. Ultimately though, he did as he was told.

“We can wait together inside where it’s nice and warm. I’ll turn on the television too and we can watch something while we wait.” He tenderly rubbed Malak’s fingers as the man rose to his feet, shivering. “Master would like that, wouldn’t they?”

Taking a beat to digest his friend’s saccharine words, Malak gave another feeble nod in agreement. “Yeah, yeah… Mm, Master…” his feet scuffled along the wood as he walked, and his pounds of blankets picked up dirt as they dragged behind him, all the while Nevan gingerly guided him along.

Once back indoors, Malak practically leaning on him, Nevan made a point to lock the doors. With intertwined fingers the two made their way to Malak’s spot on the floor, of which he drowsily plopped onto. 

“Here, dude. I made you some food.” Nevan placed the still lukewarm bowl in Malak’s open lap, of which he eyed hungrily. “Mac and cheese.”

Malak rubbed his palms on the ceramic, reveling in the warmth it supplied to his freezing flesh. “Mm…mac and, and cheese…” he perked up only when Nevan switched on the TV, his favorite program quickly catching his cloudy attention.

Nevan returned again, resting beside the other man, speaking to him in his soothing, honey voice. “Do you need help eating that?” He asked. 

Sometimes Malak did. Sometimes, often on the bad days, he imagined it was Adrastus feeding him. Placing sweet, loving spoonfuls of their rich cooking to his tongue, whispering affectionate praises and cooes that licked his ears.

To Nevan’s surprise, Malak lightly shook his head, vision still fixated on the screen. “Wah, um, wanna… wanna do it.” His doe eyes trailed over with unease to meet Nevan’s.

Nevan only gave him a satisfied grin. “Let me know if you need anything. I’m always happy to help.”

#Sorry for posting about my ocs so much #I had a crap day and writing them makes me happy #And I’m very self conscious about writing right now so I’m having a hard time writing other stuff #recovery #recovery whump #recovering whumpee #Nevan oc #Malak oc #conditioned whumpee #conditioning whump #brainwashing whump #My writing #whump #Whumpblr #Pet whump #we only have each other

[fallsky-19]

with how busy michael is, managing the kitchen (let him COOK, literally. he's actually a good chef. give him a chance. he hasn't cooked for anyone other than himself since forever.) and supervising the party reservations by day, and handling the administrative affairs by night (bro is dodging lawsuits like his own death), he wouldn't have time to roam around the pizzeria floor to make sure everyone is on their best behavior and no child is getting too close with the animatronics. phone guy was the floor marshall for this.

charlie would have to slightly break character from entertaining kids to help phone guy shake off the children who think he's part of the attractions.

charlie emily is the third hand on deck for the three-man skeleton crew of the pizzeria. michael didn't want anyone else to be involved in the private matters of the pizzeria, hence him being the one to manage the kitchen if all the reservations for the day have already been sorted out. the restaurant runs solely on reservations, no walk-ins allowed, which makes it a bit easy for the three-man crew to manage day-to-day operations.

charlie, commandeering a security animatronic since forever, has gotten used to how her shell would sometimes take over in security directives, and learned how to control it better over time. this would then prove to be advantageous as she helps out in the pizzeria throughout the day, keeping track of the children easily through the aid of the marionette's systems while also being able to utilize her humanity to protect them better.

#private security: phone guy #ps:pg au #five nights at freddy's au #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #michael afton #phone guy #charlie emily #the puppet #marionette

[a-little-revolution]

Photo ID: a photo of some accessibility tools including a foldable two step stool, a grey step stool with a white foldable one stacked on top and a houseplant on top of that. On the two step stool there is a pair of metal tongs and a wooden spoon. All are in front of the book shelf in my room containing queer and disabled authors, fandom figures, art supplies, and a small rainbow flag.

Let's talk dwarfism access tools!

Living with Achondroplasia dwarfism, my days are rife with access issues as a result of my short stature and chronic pain. Like all disabled folk and spoonies, I access my world through problem solving and innovation - or in short, step stools and spatulas :) But I want to go a little deeper into the day to day tools I use for accessibility, to better share my experiences as a little person!

☆ Stools and Step Stools ☆

One major access issue for me is simply the use of standard furniture - which exists to meet the needs of abled bodied, average height people. In order to utilize furniture - whether that be counters, sinks, stoves, high tables, chairs, or cupboards - I require the addition of stools. That means that prior to any household or workplace task, I must first stand on a platform of sorts, and move said platform as the location of my tasks change (say, going from the dish washing sink to the kitchen counter and back again). Something that ableds often forget, is that existing as a disabled person means things take twice the time with twice the effort. I additionally use step stools as foot rests when sitting in chairs - as my leg joints are prone to subluxation (partial dislocation) when they dangle.

Step stools aren't a perfect solution, as I often only have access to them in my own home. (Common to popular belief, my house has never been structurally adjusted to my needs, for financial and communal reasons. Instead, I use tools that are cheap, movable and removable.) Once I'm in town or at another person's house, a lot of furniture becomes inaccessible - particularly public washrooms, hospital furniture, and bar style seating areas (existing on top of access issues surrounding the use of my rollator). At times I can bring my own fold up stool, but it's largely impractical in a lot of social settings.

☆ Tongs, Spoons, and Spatulas ☆

When stools aren't enough - such as with storage cabinets, top loading washers, or wide table tops - I then turn to kitchen tongs, wooden spoons or spatulas to grab and reach. I've personally had no luck with advertised grabbing tools, as my grip is weak and I find them too long to have good balance. In a pinch you'll often hear me whisper "I just need a really long stick..." and search around for the nearest item of resemblance. It's really all about problem solving and the occasional smashed jar of pasta sauce.

☆ Rollator/Mobility Aid ☆

Due to my medical history and the possession of the more hindering characteristics of my disability (arthritis, partial dislocations, chronic pain) I require the use of a rollator, which is an access tool that not all little people use. This limits me on rough terrain and inaccessible public spaces, but provides me with some pain relief and the freedom to better enjoy the activities in my life.

☆ Hearing Aids ☆

A lesser known fact about many types of dwarfism is that they can result in hearing loss! This is due to the bone formation in the inner ear, and the resulting proneness to ear infections. Throughout my childhood I had countless tube replacements to help prevent infections (to which I was still VERY prone), and the resulting scar tissues from those procedures has caused my hearing to steadily decline over the last 8 or so years - so I wear hearing aids :) They're an imperfect science, but allow me (along with slowly leaning ASL) to communicate with the world around me :)

•

I hope this post has provided some insight on dwarfism accessibility from my perspective, and has encouraged you to think about the smaller disabled community I'm a part of :)

- Elliot (they/them)

#dwarfism #dwarfism awareness #little people #disability #accesibility #disability awareness #little person #spoonie #chronic pain #access #surgery mention

[one-winged-dreams]

He Plays Genshin I Guess

Ship: the reveries of my mind (adri x akingraeux)

Source: original content

Word count: 557

Noooo I'm already writing fics about him /)A(\

This was something I talked about with Owen when I was medicated with sleep aid.

Tag list: @dearly-beeloved @camellias-and-coriander @rebel-wolf13 @sunstar-of-the-north @mahitoslittlebird @goldenworldsabound @edencantstopfallininlove @sosoftandsweet @dorothys-wife @faerie-circle-ships

With the same sort of relieved weariness that accompanied the way Akingraeux removed his headset, he leaned all the way back in his desk chair, blowing air between his lips as he continued to dexterously spin his pen between his fingers. 

With no particular irony intended… Goddamn.

Utilizing the lanky length of his legs, he kicked back, rolling away from his desk that his new mortal companion had been gracious enough to make space for in his own office, before hauling himself upwards.

He gave a quick stretch, satisfied with the way this tangible form strained its muscles and tendons. It was always so novel after being in his natural state for a while. With that, he made his way out of the office, finding the aforementioned mortal standing in the kitchen. He stared for a moment, a fond smile on his face as he watched him idly sipping some… coldbrew?

“A bit late for that, huh?” He commented, silently coming up behind him and placing his hands on Adri's shoulders.

Adri jumped with a yelp - of course he did, Aki was often without presence among mortal perception. When it suited him.

“GOD, HOLY SHIT. I almost had coffee out my nose,” the mortal wheezed, his shoulders slacking under his touch.

“Well I'm SORRY, maybe you shouldn't be drinking coffee at 5 pm, then,” Aki retorted, resting his chin on Adri's head.

He could feel the density of Adri's embarrassment, the tension under his grip that encapsulated the ever-increasing feelings that weren't quite high enough yet for them to go too far. But Aki was patient, he knew that those feelings would apex eventually.

“Shit, is it five already? Does that mean you're off the clock?” Adri fiddled with the tumbler in his hands, trying not to look TOO shy.

“Yeeeep. A real shame, too, I was having so much fun,” Aki replied in no particular tone, his expression weary, but out of Adri's line of sight.

Adri lifted his head a bit as if trying to catch said expression. Aki removed his chin from atop his head to accommodate.

“So do you like IT? You're really… tech-savvy for a god.”

Aki looked down to catch his gaze, his hands remaining on the mortal's shoulders as he shrugged.

“Eh. I mean, yeah, I guess. The people suck, but I guess it's something I enjoy,” he replied in no particular tone.

Adri regarded him for a moment.

“So what ELSE do you like?”

Expression only slightly exaggerated in its thoughtfulness, Aki considered the question for a second.

“I enjoy the little things. I do like IT. I like video games,” he blinked down at Adri. “And I like you.”

The way Adri's face turned bright red was expected, as was the way he reached up to bury his face in his sleeves.

“YOU CAN'T SAY STUFF LIKE THAT!”

Aki grinned now, progressing to wrapping his arms around Adri's shoulders and shaking him from side to side in his embrace.

“You're so easy,” he commented, giving him a squeeze before releasing him. “I'm gonna go play Genshin, you gonna come have your caffeine anxiety attack in my lap until you fall asleep?”

There was a characteristic whimper, Adri not yet turning around as he nodded regardless.

“Okay…”

“Atta boy, your hydroxyzine is on the coffee table. Let's do this.”

#self ship #self shipping #virus fics #the reveries of my mind

[auxlley]

Flower Beds - Xiao x Reader

Genre - Slow burn, flirting, potential romcom with some serious undertones. WIP.

You never planned to do much with your Vision, the power of Anemo was nice, you don't deny it, but you weren't the type to utilize it in your life. You didn't fight, you didn't even consider yourself a traditional traveler. You were just a foreigner.

Originally from Mondstadt as part of Ordo Favonius, you had packed up your belongings and set off to new sights for the sake of your mental and physical health. The air in Mond was crisp but it got so dusty with the abundance of winds and Anemo users, so you said fuck it and set off to wherever the roads took you. And to Liyue they took you. You had a farm in Liyue off to the outskirts, about a days walk to the Harbor. It was quaint, quiet, and perfect. And you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. You were just a regular citizen living in Teyvat these days who had no intentions of picking up a sword or bow again. The calluses on your hands had eased away, you no longer reached for your sword as an unknown sound filled the empty space, and more importantly, you no longer had to answer to an authority that didn't believe in the freedoms the nation of Mondstadt preached about. You were free.

It was easy to earn mora, to find a stable job and inherit an abandoned farm, luck was on your side. You grew Liyue specialities along with some Mond specialties that garnered you the most profit. In lay-mens terms, you were set and content with the farm life, you never had to worry about fighting, drama or having to patch yourself up from patrols and attacks. That is until one night you were met with a bloodied figure laid face-down in your Qingxin flowerbeds.

Instinct drove you to act quickly; rushing back inside the main house on the farm, you quickly snagged a Mondstadt-based first-aid kit from the kitchen cupboard and ran back outside to the individual who now owed you a good amount of mora considering he not only crushed four flowerbeds but got blood splattered across two more.

"I don't know if you're conscious but if you're alive please fucking breath." You muttered as you carefully turned the man around to lay on his back. He was covered in blood, but you couldn't find any open wounds or fractures to pinpoint where it came from. Scanning the man, you got to what should have been his face, but rather than typical skin and flesh was just a black Nuo mask that glowed a faint green. You reached a hand out to remove the mask but the moment your fingers grazed the mask, it shimmered out of existence revealing a face clean of blood save for the few dots and small splatters along his jaw.

You knew this face. Rather, you've heard of him. He went by several names, the most common among them was Xiao. Many recalled him by the title of Conqueror of Demons, others called him the Guardian Yaksha. You first heard of him by the name of Atalus, the Golden-Winged King.

Dark medium-length hair with teal undertones were dried with blood and clung to his face, his eyes closed as if he were fast asleep rather than hurt, and his lips were parted slightly. A fuckin' mouth-breather, you thought to yourself.

You sighed and decided the best thing to do was wake up the deity who decided to take a nap on your flowers. Once again reaching out to shake his shoulder, he suddenly groaned in what seemed like annoyance before turning on to his side to face away from you. "Do not bother me," he muttered between yawns.

Eyes wide and letting out a scoff, you pulled him back with a force once forgotten and felt the frown on your brows deepen. "You're in my damn flowers getting your blood everywhere! The least you could do is get up and sleep on the dirt path."

"It's not my blood." He muttered meekly.

"As if that makes it any better!"

Feline-like eyes that seemed to glow like gold looked directly at you, a stern frown present and sending a shiver down your spine. He sighed before sitting up, tilting his head several ways to stretch his shoulders. "You know who I am?" He asked as he rolled his shoulders, his gaze not returning to yours.

"I do." You responded as you began to close up the first-aid kit you apparently never needed.

"Then what are your wishes? Tell me now so I can leave."

"Huh? I don't have any wishes."

"I find that hard to believe. Every mortal has wishes. This is your chance to be selfish. What is it? Mora? A lover?" He began to observe his surroundings, taking in the farm before his eyes closed in on the now sullied flowerbeds, blinking as if the sight were commonplace. "Better crops, perhaps."

You sighed in annoyance as you snugged the first-aid kit under your arm, standing up to make your way back inside the main house. "The Conqueror of Demons doesn't grant wishes. Fix my flowers, that's several months profit you messed up."

Xiao watched you leave in what was probably a daze, hearing your response left him wide-eyed for a moment before he realized the mess he had gotten himself into.

"To think the day would come that I'd be reduced to a farmer's bidding. Ridiculous."

So I haven't written in a hot minute. The last fic I wrote was a spicy Scara fic that I uploaded on AO3 and since then my brain has flatlined on writing. But I wanna dabble on writing some soft stuff with my main, Xiao. Hope it pans out well.

#xiao x reader #xiao fanfic #xiao x you #xiao x y/n #xiao fluff #xiao slowburn #genshin impact #fanfic #genshin xiao #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin fic #genshin fanfic #genshin x y/n #xiao scenarios #genshin #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #xiao is a little shithead but he's a softie #flower beds xiao fic

[hellishere7980]

IMW Chapter 5

Ensuring she left no incriminating notes behind, Marinette took a final glance around her childhood room. She reached for Kaalki's glasses and called out, "Voyage!" Grabbing her suitcase, Ladybug stepped through the portal and arrived in her design studio. Jagged Stone had arranged this space for her when he asked her to design and create his full tour outfits. He believed she would need a dedicated place for her work, offering her the studio as payment because he felt her prices were too low for his rock-and-roll image. The best part was that her parents were unaware of its existence. Only Marinette, Jagged, and Penny knew about this hidden sanctuary. Jagged owned the flat, refusing to accept rent and covering the utilities himself.

The studio was a two-story apartment with an expansive open floor plan. A beautiful kitchen stood to the left of the large living room, while a spacious bedroom and bathroom were situated nearby. Tinted windows overlooked the Seine, even granting a view of the Couffaine boat house on clear nights. Adjacent to the front door, a staircase several workbenches not only for embroidery but also for creating accessories. She could now expand her list of offerings to include these products. Additionally, a state-of-the-art graphics table allowed her to design posters and other computer-aided design projects. The studio encompassed everything she needed for her business, including ample space for fabric storage.

For months, Marinette had been retreating to this sanctuary after her sewing machine and materials were confiscated from her room. She began transferring her belongings to the studio, starting with her sketchbooks when they attempted to take those away as well. This place ensured she could continue working on her commissions. She was immensely grateful to Jagged and made a mental note to thank him when he returned to town.

Dumping her suitcase in the bedroom, Marinette carefully concealed the miracle box in the false wall she had created in the panic room next to her bed. Exhausted, she collapsed onto her plush queen-size bed, allowing sleep to whisk her away as the Kwamis flitted about the room.

After ensuring that Marinette was asleep, the kwamis gathered around Tikki with curiosity evident on their faces.

"Tikki, what was that shift in your presence earlier?" Wayzz asked, voicing the thoughts of the others. "It was strong enough that we all felt it."

Tikki hesitated for a moment, casting a careful gaze at her fellow kwamis. She took a deep breath before responding. "What you felt earlier was me helping with her spiritual awakening. My chosen has undergone a metamorphosis into a true holder and unlocked her natural magic."

The words hung in the air, causing the other kwamis to gasp in surprise. "But that... that's impossible," Wayzz replied, echoing the disbelief of the group.

"I know, and if it were any of my previous wielders, I would agree with you. But it has happened. I felt her magic awaken while she was transformed, and her suit has changed. However..." Tikki trailed off, her voice filled with uncertainty.

"But what, Tikki?" Barkk inquired, eager for more information.

"When Marinette's magic awakened, it wasn't a type I recognized. It was creation magic, but it also had elements of destruction. From the very beginning, when Master Fu gave me my miraculous and we first transformed, and even now, I know without a doubt that Marinette is a true Ladybug. But I think there's more to it," Tikki explained.

"Tikki, are you saying that she's not just a true Ladybug, but a true Black Cat? That's impossible! You and Plagg never blessed the same soul. And considering the fact that she can create full-sized clones with only a little help from Mullo, she would be a true Ladybug and Mouse," Wayzz rebutted, trying to make sense of the situation.

"After what happened tonight, I no longer think Marinette is a true holder at all. If I'm right, she's something far more rare and exceptional. She will be a better holder and guardian than anyone else, even across the multiverse. She's a once-in-a-lifetime, completely unique being. But before I can be certain, I need to talk to Plagg," Tikki concluded.

The kwamis were left utterly perplexed by Tikki's revelation. How could Marinette not be a true holder? She was able to use both powers from the beginning, and only true souls blessed by the miraculous could do that since they carried a part of the miraculous within their souls. Except for one kwami, none of them could grasp what Tikki was suggesting.

"For now, let's get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day for all of us as we begin her practical magic training," Tikki suggested, trying to bring the conversation to a close. The kwamis returned to their box, with Tikki curling up on Marinette's neck, unnoticed by the others. Longg, however, couldn't take his eyes off their slumbering guardian. Before retreating into the box, he whispered two words to himself, "Natural Soul."

Across town, in the Agreste Mansion, a certain black cat kwami couldn't help but smile at the thought of his ring soon being reclaimed by pigtails. If what he had felt earlier was accurate, it wouldn't be long now. He would finally be free from the burden of this man-child he once called his Kit. Plagg was unlike other kwamis; he always paid attention to his holders' actions while transformed, despite pretending not to. It was his way of testing them, as he had seen too many wielders become corrupted by having his power at their fingertips. He knew exactly what Adrien had done—the way his hands and eyes wandered over Ladybug's suit mid-combat, the intentional brushes against her butt and breasts, all under the guise of saving her from harm. Even though those actions had resulted in him getting mind-controlled, Plagg was disgusted by Adrien's behaviour.

But now, if Pigtails had truly awakened her magic... there were ways to circumvent the requirement of both miraculous being active simultaneously for balance to be maintained. Plagg could only hope. As he slept, he purred contentedly, dreaming of the day he would be reunited with his chosen.

Morning arrived, and Marinette woke up, gazing at the unfamiliar ceiling. She tried to recall where she had seen it before, as it definitely wasn't her skylight. Then it hit her: she was in her studio, in her bedroom, lying on her comfortable baby blue bed sheets on her queen-size bed. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was 6 am and time to get up. Carefully, she picked up Tikki, her kwami, and gently placed her on one of the beds, giving her a little pat on the head.

Walking into the kitchen, Marinette gathered the ingredients for French bread and put four loaves into the oven. They would be ready in about 20 minutes, giving her just enough time. Marinette was 5 feet 4 inches tall and weighed around 80 pounds, which was underweight for her age and height. After her parents, Tom and Sabine, started punishing her by taking away meals, Marinette had slipped into underweight territory. However, with the help of the kwamis, who made sure she ate every day, she had regained some of her health and reached a weight of around 100 pounds.

By the time she finished making breakfast for the kwamis, Marinette glanced at the clock again. It was now 6:50, and she started preparing her own sandwich. A smile spread across her face as she received a response to her emancipation email. The reply stated that the court date was scheduled for a week later and that Miss Gamora Lusinia had legal guardianship over her until then. Miss Lusinia's involvement ensured a speedy court date, and the evidence Marinette had gathered, including emails between her parents and the mayor regarding her sudden weight loss, assured her that her emancipation would be granted, as her lawyers had confirmed in their response emails.

#maribat #marinette dupen chang #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #jason todd #dick grayson #hellishere7980 #miraculous fanworks #miraculous incorrect quotes #miraculous lb #miraculous ladybug #ml kwamis #tom dupain #sabine cheng #betrayal #marinette is ready to kick ass

[outofangband]

Complex Trauma, Angband and Sleep

Other relevant posts: cultural views on sleep and nightmares, more nightmare thoughts , states of consciousness

I have some others too that I will find and add, it’s one of my favorite areas of trauma related world building because altered states of consciousness, nightmares and nightmare lore, and body/mind connections are some of my favorites!

(like my previous posts I use Maedhros and Húrin as examples as well as giving general information)

Angband world building and aftermath of captivity masterlist 

Torture, especially in the deliberate and political sense is designed to eradicate the victim’s sense of self by, among other things, stripping away one’s basic physical needs (food, water, hygiene, rest,) and one’s  basic emotional needs (safety, comfort, belonging, privacy, hope, and identity). It also seeks to damage the relationship that the victim has with these needs.

Sleep in Angband is profoundly disrupted. Prisoners frequently find themselves worked to the point of exhaustion with a completely inadequate environment for rest.

As one can probably guess getting a good night’s sleep in Angband is difficult. If someone sleeps dreamlessly through eight or nine hours it’s likely because they’ve been sedated during a procedure of some kind (Of course, few truly care about pain but work generally comes before sadism. There are instances where it’s more prudent to completely sedate a victim in order to get better results)

My posts that break down sections of Angband will have some detail on various sleeping conditions but generally, for the elves of Angband, blankets and cots are a rare luxury and the only real beds belong to the higher ups. Most sleep in large chambers on the floor with little protection from cold or heat. If they are allowed to keep what clothes they use for work, these might be utilized as a pillow or sometimes shared between a few to form a nest of sorts.

Specifically, thralls in the mines, kitchens and forges sleep in large, bare communal rooms with little to no blankets. Many blankets in the fortress come from raids or taken from prisoners upon their arrival. Others are made within the fortress with a combination of fiber materials. Blankets are a common ‘reward’ by higher ups and those who have them are likely to receive suspicion from their peers as are any other signs of…however unwanted…favoritism. The mines are especially cold although the chambers near the kitchens and forges are much warmer. Like with the starvation games I’ve spoken about, forcing prisoners to ‘earn’ blankets in various ways is a pass time of some of the higher ups.

Signs of exhaustion let alone voicing it is often highly punished in these places as well. Prisoners, including former prisoners, learn to ignore their own tiredness which can lead to further physical and psychological distress, lasting long after rescue or escape

I headcanon that Melkor has servants who were originally Maiar of Irmo and of Mandos and this aids him in both preventing certain elves from passing to the Halls and from information or even comfort being given in the form of dreams as well as the creation of illusions and induction of sleep and unconscious states.

Note: I do not believe all elven dreams come from Irmo, many are organic or environmentally created. There are even more categories of elven dreams as human ones.

He was able to persuade several Maia of Irmo and Námo to serve him early on, while Utumno was still in construction. These Maia serve him in vital ways, preventing most true dreams in Angband and maintaining the borders that prevent elven Fëar from fleeing. This has a permanent impact on Maedhros’s dreams following his rescue as well as the dreams of any other escaped prisoners. 

The post about routine and time explains a bit further but there’s deliberately an environment of confusion created for the thralls of Angband. Any schedules, when there is one at all, is only known to Mairon and a few of the other higher ranking Maiar. For many of the slaves in the mines and forges, cycles of work and sleep are created among themselves, not by their overseers who would be quite willing to work them to death by exhaustion in times when the mines are full.

The effects of sleep deprivation can be devastating; psychological disturbances, altered cognitive abilities and processes, prolonged physical issues and more.

Insomnia, disrupted sleep cycles, sleep paralysis and night terrors, chronic exhaustion and inability to reach deep sleep, sleep actions (walking, talking, etc) and fear of sleep or tiredness are all examples of symptoms that might be experienced by prisoners both during and after their captivity.

For specific examples, Maedhros suffers from nightmares, sometimes violent ones where he fights, screams or argues, or sleepwalks. His quarters are isolated so most instances of his sleep talking go unnoticed but a few healers, guards and family members have been left feeling cold, trying not to put meaning into the little snatches of speech they overhear at his bedside, sometimes in languages they do not know.  He is also prone to extreme agitation if woken from naps or half sleeping states and relatively soon after his return to his brothers’ camp, begins to avoid these. He is extremely private about his sleeping routine. There are practical issues too; sleep and remaining in place can reawaken old pains in him, cause numbness and discomfort in his limbs, and disorient him.

Now for Húrin again. Like with food and water, we are given a decent insight into Húrin’s sleep post Angband in “The Wanderings of Húrin”.  He suffers frequent nightmares and often wakes in disoriented states, at one point drawing a blade upon the two men who discovered and woke him. He also suffers dissociation and appears to walk “as one in a dream”, having states of confusion and agitation even long after waking.

He does not live long enough to ever develop an effective sleeping routine.

#the silmarillion #maedhros #Húrin #the children of húrin #in the iron hell #musing and meta #post Angband #the wanderings of húrin #the wanderings of húrin

[sirowsky]

Part 19 - Dead Men Walking

Pero Tovar and Female Reader (nicknamed Bee) Modern AU

You and Pero are fighting for your lives and futures on separate fronts, when a terrible secret begins to unfold. One which has the potential to destroy everything you hold dear. (Multiple perspectives)

Creator chooses not to use Warnings! This is 18+ONLY! I’m happy to elaborate on what to expect from this part via DM.

Word Count: 5922 Masterlist(this story) Author’s Masterlist

Link to Part 20

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   The hardest part about looking for someone while also trying to stay invisible, was that you could never be completely certain that no one saw you, no matter how careful you tried to be.    Groot was a good help, but he was still relying primarily on scents to inform him if there was a possible threat nearby, and that strategy was far from foolproof.

   You went home first, because it was winter, and you needed better clothes and a survival kit before you went looking for your father and best friend, but also because if anyone was following you, it was a good way to find out if that someone was shit at their job.    A good tracker had the confidence to keep their distance, knowing that even if they momentarily lost your trail, they’d find it again, whereas a bad one would feel compelled to stay close, even if it increased the risk of being spotted.

   And since your house stood by itself at the end of a long street, with nothing but snow-covered woodlands on three sides, it offered a good opportunity to figuratively smoke out anyone on your trail.    Because out there, they’d be incapable of not leaving trails of their own. Plus, you knew the terrain as well as you knew how to draw Pero’s face.

   After dressing for a cross country trek, you grabbed your best backpack and filled it with a sleeping bag, a good knife, a storm lighter, two bottles of water, a first aid kit, a flashlight, extra mittens and socks, four tin-cans of soup, a small pot and some biscuits.    You also strapped a hunting knife to your belt and hid the stiletto that your partner had given you, inside your right mitten.    If you’d had any gun in the house you would’ve strapped that on too, but you didn’t.

   Finally, you left your phone in the kitchen and put a security vest on Groot, just in case.    As you left the house, you gave him the command “Danger” which meant that he should keep extra good watch on anything suspicious, from people to trip wires or land mines.    Once outside, you took a wide sweep around the entire property, looking for tracks, but you couldn’t find any, and the dog didn’t indicate anything, so using the stream to navigate, you set off into the woods.

   Dean had at least five locations out in the wild where he could go and hide if something should happen to make his home unsafe for him or the dogs, and you knew where two of them were, so you just had to hope that he’d chosen one of those.    Because even when you knew where they were, they were impossible to see, so you had no hope of finding them if they’d gone to one of the other three.

   It was already dark by the time you left, but you opted not to use the flashlight.    There was enough of a cloud cover for the city lights to be reflected and give off an ambient light that together with the snow enabled you to see quite well.    But you biggest concern was actually just keeping your head in the present. Because the monotony of walking made it so easy for your mind to stray, worrying about Pero and how he was gonna find you, since he didn’t know about these hideouts.

   You had to remind yourself that he was probably the best tracker there was, and that he’d certainly utilize every ounce of his skillset to find you, to keep yourself from worrying so much that you lost track of where you were heading.    Pero would be fine.    He was a master, the killer elite, no one would be able to stop him.

<><><><><><><> 

   His search for Lang had brought him clear across the city, making his way through the man’s properties and destroying them as he went.    Primarily to make sure that even if he managed to slip through Pero’s fingers, his business would take a hard enough hit to keep him preoccupied and allow his enemy to reacquire him.

   For all the apparently ludicrous advertising and the whole image he’d made of himself as being this goofy, harmless recycling-loving nerd, Kevin Lang was actually a genius.    He’d built an entire miniature empire for himself, out of just one little factory and a lot of clever use of corporate law, cornering a market that no one else had even caught onto yet, and then using that as his steppingstone into the criminal underworld.

   And while POP had ultimately failed long before Pero had destroyed it, the man behind it clearly had greater ambitions, which generally meant that he wouldn’t stop. If he wasn’t already in the process of trying to rebuild his mercenary troop, he soon would be.    But with a giant target pointed at you, the Spaniard couldn’t allow him to do that, even if it meant burning a city to the ground or hunting the man to the ends of the Earth.

   Still, Pero wasn’t being ruthless.    He wasn’t killing indiscriminately, he was actually very particular about who fell victim to his rage, because this was as much an extermination as it was a statement.    He knew who in the chain of command would be aware of what Lang’s true work entailed, and who just happened to be working for him, completely unaware of what they were contributing to.

   Only those that knew, those that directly or even indirectly condoned the use of an innocent, pregnant woman to further their own agenda, died at his hands.    Aside from upper management, department heads and their closest associates, accountants, economists, lawyers, advisors and publicists were targeted.    Everyone else, including lower-level secretaries, security personnel and janitors in the building’s that he destroyed, along with police and firemen, were spared.

   Although if anyone didn’t make it out of the fires that he deliberately set, that was their own fault, as far as he was concerned.    Nothing that Lang owned or controlled was going to be left standing today.

<><><><><><><> 

   You stopped to rest after about two hours, sitting down on the trunk of a fallen tree where your back was shielded by dry and frozen shrubs that would creak and break if anyone moved through them.    Groot was right beside you every step, and stayed by your left leg even after you’d sat down, still on high alert.

   He’d eaten some snow along the way to stay hydrated, but you offered him some of your water anyway.    Predictably though, he ignored it. He was trained not to allow any distractions when he was under a command that involved a threat, and you didn’t dare to take him out of that command, even just for a short rest, because you felt like you were being watched.

   It could just be your own nerves tricking you into fearing the forest itself, because you hadn’t heard or seen anything suspicious, and it would be quite hard for any pursuer to stay completely silent in the cold and dry snow.    Not to mention having to contend with the dog’s superior senses.    But the feeling was relentless, and you didn’t have the luxury of ignoring your basic instincts right then.

   So, after just a few minutes, you got back up and kept walking. You still had another four hours to go to reach the woods around your father’s ranch, and then you still had to locate the hideouts and hope that you found the correct one.    You were planning a longer stop once you reached a spot you knew about, some forty or fifty minutes further on, where there was a cliff and a dry spot where you’d be able to build a fire and have some soup.

   But for now, you merely soldiered on, trying not to let the fact that you were almost all alone in the wilderness, possibly being hunted by a mercenary, send you into a panic.    If you managed to stay calm, your chances of success would be a lot better.    Unfortunately, you were also highly aware that literally no one, not even Pero, knew where you were right now, which meant that there was no help to be found, should something go wrong.

----------

   Jones was in her office, working late to detail her interview with you into your file while it was fresh in her memory, when her phone rang.    The caller ID was one of the uniformed officers, Cody, that she’d sent to drive past your house, just to make sure that you’d gotten home alright.    Or at least, that’s what she’d told the officer. What she really wanted was to be sure that none of what was going on in the neighbouring city had found its way to you.

   “Hey, Cody. All good?” she greeted, hoping for just one bit of good news that evening.

   “Uh… unclear,” the officer responded, and then proceeded to explain. “I drove past just like you asked, but it looked like something was off about the front door, so I stopped and took a closer look, and… I think someone might’ve broken in.”

   Kate felt a sharp twinge of something very cold and unpleasant run over her skin, the moment she heard that.

   “Exactly where are you right now, Officer?” she demanded, and the young man suddenly sounded very nervous.

   “On the front porch. Why?” he asked, and she was already leaving her office when she answered.

   “Get back in your cruiser and lock the doors, right now, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

   She drove way too fast, but got there without incident, parking next to the other cruiser, and once she’d gotten out of the car, Cody stepped out as well.

   “What’s going on, Jones?” he asked, while she scanned the outside of your house.

   “I don’t know, but it could be really bad,” was all she offered in return, which was far from enough.

   But she couldn’t very well start explaining to this kid that there might a group of mercenaries after you, because naturally, he’d wanna know why, and that was just too complicated and too incriminating to explain.

   “Shouldn’t we call for backup, then?” he asked, which according to the textbook, they absolutely should.

   “Cody… I’m gonna need you to be my backup today,” she said, and to his credit, the young officer didn’t hesitate to draw his weapon and nod in agreement, not even questioning her decision to disregard protocol.

   She drew her gun as well, pointing it at the deck, and then they slowly approached the front door.    Once up on the porch, she could see what he’d meant about something looking off about the door. It was a modern and very secure one, so the intruder had been forced to drill the lock open.    It would’ve been easier to just break a window, but then that tended to draw attention.

   “Shit…” she muttered, and then turned her head back to the kid and whispered. “I’ve got point, you cover my six.    The kitchen is the first opening to the right, we sweep that first, then we move down the hall. Anything jumps out, don’t shoot unless you can ID it. Any questions you have, tap my shoulder and use hand signals. Got it?”

   He nodded firmly, and she noted that he seemed impressively calm considering that this would be his first live sweep.    But that could change in the blink of an eye.    She pulled the door open and they stepped inside, quickly moving to the kitchen and sweeping through it effectively.

   Cody didn’t miss a step, keeping her back covered through the entire house, checking all her blind spots and following her rhythm without a hitch.    The search went smoothly and by the book, but didn’t reveal much.

   “Nice work, Officer. But unless I’ve missed something, whoever broke in doesn’t seem to have touched anything,” she said while they both put their guns away.

   “Nothing obvious anyway. But I saw a smartphone in the kitchen,” he offered, and she asked him to show her.

   It was locked, but the screen displayed a very good picture of Tovar and Groot, sitting together outside your father’s stables on a sunny day in autumn colours.

   “Dammit. This is Bee’s phone,” she sighed, but that seemed to confuse the kid.

   “I don’t understand. Is that bad? She could’ve just forgot it.”

   It was bad, because with your partner out of town and at war with a major corporation, the only reason you’d leave it behind was if you were afraid that it could be tracked.    Which would suggest that you were either hiding or running for your life.    But again, there was no simple way to explain that.

   “Cody… I’m gonna ask you to do something now that you’re not gonna agree with, but I’m gonna need you to do it anyway,” she said, putting your phone back on the kitchen counter and stepping closer to the officer. “I need your report to say that you drove by the house on my request, and that there was nothing of interest.    No mention of a break-in, a search, none of it.”

   He didn’t look appalled or shocked, but his eyebrows knit together as he considered that.

   “If I’m gonna lie on an official report then at least tell me why,” he prodded, and she sighed again, because he would be so much safer not knowing any of it.

   “Please, trust me… You don’t wanna know,” she persisted, but then Cody suddenly looked very sad.

   “Tell me you’re not on the take,” he demanded, and she was relieved to be able to give a truthful answer.

   “No, it’s nothing like that. I swear.”

   “Okay,” he accepted without further inquiry. “But there’s gotta be something I can do to help?”

   “Yeah, actually. When we get back to the station, I want you to look up all the tax records that you can find on a company called Useful Reuse,” she suggested, and the kid’s eyes popped wide open.

   “Wait… isn’t that one of the companies that’s being attacked right now? How the hell is Bee connected to that?”

   “Seriously, that is exactly what you do not want to be asking right now,” she reminded him. “Please, just look into it.”

   “Sure,” was all he said, before turning to leave, but when he got to the doorway, he stopped and turned back. “I’m choosing to trust you here, Kate, cause I know that you’re a good cop too.    Please, don’t let me down.”

   They walked out of the house together, getting in their separate cruisers to head back to the station, and Jones spent the entire drive wondering if she’d ever be able to earn that trust.

----------

   After several hours of mayhem, Pero had finally learned that Kevin Lang was hiding in a friend’s office in a skyscraper on the opposite side of the city.    He stole another motorcycle to get there fast, but made sure not to draw too much attention to himself on the way, because he wanted the police to steer clear of this one.    He might need some time alone with the man, and he wanted to be sure that he wouldn’t be forced to cut things short because of any third party meddling.

   Seeing as it was well after 10pm, the building was locked down for the night when he got there, but the underground garage wasn’t manned after hours, so he broke into that via a service entrance on the side of the building.    That took him into the garage where he had to break into the stairwell, since the elevators wouldn’t come to sublevels during lockdown.

   Thankfully, however, he only had to climb the four flights of stairs up to the ground floor, because from there, the elevators did work.    But before he went up, he double checked that the information he’d pried out of a dying company executive, had been accurate, and that there was in fact an office on the forty-first floor belonging to one Mr. D. Duncan.

   Just to be sure that he wouldn’t be met by a gun-toting maniac before he’d even stepped out of the elevator, he climbed up onto the roof of the car while it went up.    And when it came to a stop, he quickly made his way to the next floor up via a permanent ladder on the wall, before prying those doors open and stepping out onto floor forty-two.    Then it was a simple matter of taking the stairs two flights down, and he was there.

   The entrance to the stairs were in a different corridor than the elevators, so he could sneak out safely and listen around the corner for anyone checking out the car. But there was no one out in the hall, so he quickly located the correct office and stopped for a moment to listen through the door.    He could hear low voices from inside, two by the sounds of it, but there could be more.

   So, he took a moment to still his senses and increase his focus, as it would help him to read the room and move fast enough to eliminate anyone standing in between him and Lang.    Then, like a snake, he quickly and quietly snuck the door open and slipped inside, finding four guards, two of which he’d already fatally stabbed by the time the others reacted.    He threw both of his knives simultaneously at each of the two remaining threats, one landing in the face and the other in the heart.

   Meanwhile, Mr. Duncan and Lang, who were sitting in pulpy looking armchairs, smoking cigars, had only managed so far as getting to their feet before Pero was already grabbing Duncan by the hair and breaking the man’s face against his kneecap.    He fell to the floor in a spluttering mess of blood and pieces of nasal bone, making it easy for his attacker to bash the back of his skull in with his own ashtray.

   “Okay, okay, Mr. Tovar… let’s just be reasonable here,” Lang started, holding his hands up in defeat while he attempted to dance away towards the door.

   Pero let him get close enough that he could actually reach the doorhandle, before he ghosted over there and slammed the door shut, to Kevin’s absolute astonishment.

   “Wow! That is truly amazing.    I’ve heard the stories, obviously, the brothers loved nothing better than to tell the legendary tales of the man that can move so fast that our eyes can’t keep up!” he prattled on, while still trying to move away.

   This time pointlessly putting Mr. Duncan’s desk between himself and his attacker.

   “If only you would’ve wanted to train my recruits, we could’ve built an unstoppable army. I mean, look at you! How many people have you singlehandedly killed tonight? How many buildings have you destroyed?    And I’d be willing to bet everything I own, that by tomorrow, no one will even know that you were ever here.    God, Tovar! You can’t buy that kinda skill!” he continued, succeeding only in further aggravating the Spaniard.

   “You can’t force it either,” he snapped between tight jaws, and the man actually shivered at the sound of his voice, barely even human under the weight of his rage.

   “Ah, yes… You mean the lovely Bumblebee,” Lang teased, having the audacity to smile as he said it. “I will admit, as you’ve no doubt figured out, I had planned on merely separating the two of you.    It seemed fitting, forcing her to live out her days all alone in a maximum security prison, with you on the outside, powerless to help her.    That would’ve satisfied my desire for revenge, quite thoroughly.”

   Pero kept perfectly still, again like a snake, just waiting for the moment to strike. But he needed his enemy to disclose everything that he’d set in motion against you, before he could take him out.    And since Lang seemed happy to prattle on without being questioned, he merely waited, tolerated, and listened closely.

   “But then, you had to go and do all this shit,” Kevin sighed, gesturing out the panoramic windows, where there was a good view of the fires raging to the south. “It’s gonna take me years to rebuild all that, which is just too much for me to forgive.”

   Slowly, a creeping feeling that he’d missed something very important, was starting to travel down Pero’s spine.    Lang was too comfortable, too sure that he still had a card to play, for it to be completely bogus. He had to have something up his sleeve that the Spaniard hadn’t noticed.    And since the best way to hurt him was to hurt you, it must have something to do with what was happening to you.

   “I wanted it to be a surprise, you know. I had it all planned out.    A big reunion.    But now I fear that it’s gonna be a much more unpleasant affair. Effective, though.”

   “What are you talking about?” Pero finally questioned, and the man laughed heartily at him, utterly pleased that he’d apparently managed to trick him somehow.

   “You still don’t see it? Come on, think about it. Do you really think that I’m stupid enough to go after the one thing you hold dear, with fucking lawyers?    No, no, no… I’m well aware that it takes more than that to stop you.    I will concede that I underestimated just how far you’d go and how good of a killer you really are, but it was glorious to witness.”

   “It will be the last thing you see,” Pero growled, and his smile did fade a little then, but the smugness was still there in his eyes.

   “Yes. I suppose it will. I certainly can’t stop you,” he admitted, and there was something eerie in his voice at that last sentence. Something amazed, almost. “In fact… I’m certain that the only one that could even have a chance at stopping you… is you.”

   Suddenly, that creeping feeling that he had, graduated into full-blown, ice-cold dread, even before his mind got there.

   “Or, perhaps…” Lang conspiratorially whispered, putting his hands down on the desktop and leaning forwards as he saw the effect that he was already having on his attacker, “…someone just like you…”

   Pero was physically shaking all over with how hard he was trying not to hear the unspoken words, the taunt and the possibility that simply could not be.    It couldn’t be.    He was dead.    But then a final whisper, spoken from a mouth that was begging to be broken at this point, made it all real, and inescapable.

   “…family.”

   He stopped shaking. Stopped breathing. Unable to function because it hurt too much.    Everything just hurt, from his brain to his toes to his heart.    Tears burned his eyes with emotions too strong and too muddled to quantify, but within all that pain and sorrow, anger finally screamed the loudest.

   If there was any bone left unbroken in Kevin Lang’s body after he’d gone at it with both his fists and a stone paperweight that he’d grabbed from the desk, it would be a minor miracle.    Not that he cared to find out.    Leaving that building, covered from head to toe in blood and brain-matter, all he cared about was finding you.

   Because even if he still struggled to believe it, the fact was that if Lang had been telling the truth, there might not be any way to save you.

----------

   “Hey, I found something,” Cody announced as he walked into the Detective’s office and closed the door behind him.

   “In the tax records? Already?” she sceptically wondered as he sat down across from her.

   “Yeah, because I figured I’d start at the beginning, and this was among their first annual records.    Anyway, like eight years ago, this factory where Bee supposedly killed that guy, is bought up by this newly created company Useful Reuse, and among the first things that they paid for, was a consultant by the name of Logan Aldridge.    Now, first off, I looked up that name and it seems totally made up, but more curious than that… look at how much they paid this non-existent person.”

   He held out a piece of paper to her then, and she read the line that he’d highlighted with a yellow marker.

   “Whoa. Almost two million for a consultant?” Kate questioned, and the kid kept going.

   “Exactly, so I looked a little deeper, and check this out,” he said while handing her another paper. “This guy, whoever he really is, racked up hundreds and thousands of dollars in medical care alone, all of which was billed to the company, and all of which this little start-up could somehow afford, even in their first year of production.    I haven’t been able to find any discrepancies within the actual finances yet, but I thought this was interesting enough to let you know.”

   “It certainly is. Good work, Cody.    So, we have a person that someone really wanted on the payroll, enough to pay through the nose for, only to then also spend copious amounts of money on to get him healthy.    Which begs the question, what makes him that important?”

   “Well, if you look at industries, for instance, the highest paid and most valuable assets are the one’s that have extremely specific knowledge, or rare skillsets.”

   “True. So, what would a packaging factory dedicated to recycling, need a specialist for?” she pondered, and Cody cleared his throat.

   “Are we really thinking that that’s all they were doing?” he asked, and she was once again left with the decision of how much to tell him.

   “No, they were actually a front for a previously very successful company of mercenaries,” she admitted, and his entire face turned into an O.

   “Seriously?!”

   “Very much so. But stay with me now, kid, because I think we’re on to something here,” Kate pressed, and the officer tried to reel himself in. “What mercs need is to learn from seasoned killers. Warriors. People that have been in the types of situations that the new recruits would eventually face.    And where would you find someone like that?”

   “The military, or black ops. CIA maybe…” Cody suggested, and the Detective nodded.

   “If so, it could explain the medical bills and even the fake identity.    Let’s say you wanted to hide a person so completely that the rest of the world thought they were dead. Starting with someone that was badly injured in action is a good place to shop, because with the right connections, it wouldn’t be that hard to fake their death.    But then, you’re also buying a person that’s badly injured.    However, if you could then get that person past their injury and any lingering mental problems, then you’ve got a hardened fighter working for you.”

   “Someone with real life experience and skills that no theoretical training could teach anyone. It makes sense.”

   “Yeah. Except for one thing…” she pondered, and the kid was on the edge of his seat.

   “What’s that?”

   “I know for a fact that this company didn’t do stuff like that eight years ago. More recently, maybe, but not back then.    This particular company was successful because they recruited kids off the streets, training them in ways that no one else has ever done, or been able to duplicate.    Hiring some random veteran wouldn’t have helped them in any way, the only thing they would’ve paid that much for is…” she trailed off, as her mind followed the logical conclusions, slowly arriving at a disturbing possibility.

   “Is… what?”

   “Fuck me sideways…” she breathed in mild shock, because if she was correct in her assumptions, this story was about to take a seriously gnarly left turn.

   “Kate?” Cody was getting nervous just watching her, and he still had no idea how disturbing this might be about to get.

   “Holy fucking god, I hope I’m wrong about this, but we need to go to the cemetery right now,” she barked, no longer caring all that much about how deeply the young officer was getting dragged into this mess, because frankly, she needed someone beside her to let her know that she hadn’t gone crazy.

   “Okay, but why?” he asked as he got up and followed her to the door.

   “Because we need to dig up a body, and you better fucking hope that it’s there.”

----------

   You’d gotten to the planned stop in good time, had your little meal and rested for about half an hour, before getting up and soldiering on.    It was around 1am when you finally reached your father’s lands, and took a minute to orient yourself and make sure that you knew exactly where you were and how to find the hidden bunkers.

   But just as you’d reassured yourself that you were on track, you froze.    There was no real reason for it, you weren’t sensing anything specifically frightening or unnerving, but you still hesitated.    Because if there was someone on your trail, if your instincts were correct, then you were about to lead that person to literally everything that mattered to both you and Pero.

   You’d considered that before, of course, weighing your options over and over as you’d trudged along, finally deciding that if there was an immediate threat, you weren’t strong enough to take it on alone.    But now that you were standing there, facing the reality of making such a potentially impactful decision, you just couldn’t do it.

   As much as you needed them for your emotional strength, it dawned on you that putting all of you in the same place would make you too vulnerable, and you just couldn’t take that risk.    Your heart said to go to your father’s house, for shelter and warmth, but in your head, you knew that it wasn’t safe. Even Pero had opted to leave it when you’d been under attack, because there were too many ways for someone to get in.

   So, with no other option, you turned towards the deeper wilderness to the east, the mountains and biting cold, treacherous ice and desperate cougars.    He’ll find me, you thought to yourself, hoping that it would be true, even though hope was beginning to fail you. Because it was fear that made you turn.    It was fear that pulled you away from everything that you held dear, but not really the fear of losing them, so much as the fear that it would be your fault.

   You didn’t know how you could ever live with a regret that dark, so you set off into the night, begging the shrouded stars to keep you safe, for the sake of your baby, but also for Pero.    However, you’d walked only about three hundred yards when Groot suddenly signalled danger, stopping and raising the hair on his withers.

   And before you’d had a chance to react, he’d quickly moved to shield your right side, taking a few steps forwards and baring his teeth.    You still couldn’t see what he was warning you about, so you dropped to one knee and hunched down, just as he began to growl at whatever it was that he sensed.    Then, a figure started to move maybe fifty yards away, slowly coming closer.

   If they hadn’t moved, you never would’ve spotted them, they were that well camouflaged against the landscape. But they still must’ve moved closer than they could’ve been while following you, or Groot would’ve reacted sooner.    For whatever reason, your decision to change direction must’ve prompted this shift, drawing this person out, probably to try and force you to disclose where your family was.

   Reminding yourself to control your breathing, you shifted the stiletto that was still hidden within your mitten, so that you were holding it ready to stab out forwards.    But watching your pursuer slowly emerge from the dark, like some demon out of a horror film, was very effectively draining your courage.    And it didn’t help that as they grew nearer, revealing that it was a man wearing a self-made winter camo-suit, everything about him screamed stone-cold killer.

   He wasn’t wearing any guns, just a hunting knife in his belt, like you, which had to mean that this guy was more than capable of killing you with his bare hands, whether you were armed or not.    But you weren’t going to give up without a fight, regardless. And since you’d have no chance of beating him in a run, you took your backpack off and threw it to the side, before standing up.

   When he was just thirty feet away, Groot gave him one bark in warning. His way of saying that one more step would be one too many, and the man stopped.    You weren’t going to try and reason with him, because everything you were seeing in his behaviour suggested that he wouldn’t care, if he even heard you.    And you were right.

   Because suddenly, without you noticing how he’d even moved, he was wrestling with Groot on the ground, stabbing at him, trying to find a spot outside of his protective vest. But the canine didn’t make it easy for him.    The man growled and spat when large teeth clamped down over his upper right arm, the one holding the knife, easily biting through the layers of fabric.

   But he hadn’t hit the artery, so he let go and then instantly went for the man’s throat instead.    Except, once he let go, the man had suddenly moved again.    You were locked in place, watching, absorbing, trying to understand how he could move like Pero did, because no one could, but it obviously wasn’t him.

   Then Groot reacquired his target, and this time, their frantic wrestling tore the man’s headgear off.    The canine already had the upper hand, and was about to deliver a killing bite, when a powerful voice sounded in the night.

   “Groot, stop!”

   And the dog instantly obeyed, because the voice belonged to Pero.    He came running from the direction of your father’s house, so he must’ve driven there and then went looking for you.    You were immediately relieved to see him, despite finding him absolutely covered in blood, but you kept from engaging with him or touching him, even as he took position right in front of you and then called the dog over.

   But then the relief gave way to confusion, because it made no sense that he would want to spare your attacker.    And taking a closer look at him, you noticed that he was trembling from head to toe, like a newborn calf.    The man had just burned half a city down and yet this one person was making him shiver.

   “Pero…” you whispered, wanting to ask him about it, but too worried about distracting him.

   He didn’t respond at all, he just kept staring at the other guy, so you followed his gaze and found that your attacker had gotten back on his feet and was holding his upper right arm tightly, trying to stop the bleeding.    And then you saw his eyes.    Bright blue and glaring at your partner as though he wanted to make him die slowly.

   But that wasn’t the worst part.    The worst part was that you knew those eyes.    You’d never known the man, but you would never forget those eyes and all the pain that you’d seen in them whenever you’d met him the street or seen him in the cemetery.

   “Oh, god…… William?”

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

Link to Part 20

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging, I would dearly appreciate it.

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#pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x female reader #pero tovar x reader #pero x reader #modern!pero #modern!au #the great wall modern au #the great wall fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #sirowsky stories

[technocipher]

Some may wander onto the church's balcony, never once sparing a glance at the rolling rack of plants. "They're just plants. Who cares? Doesn't Eva grow flowers over there?" Sure, there's a scant number of plants growing there. Nothing seems to support much life over there. No signs of any vegetables from those seed packets we give her, either.

(In all likelihood, the developers probably thought that few would notice that section. Fleshing out the balcony with more plants might've been deemed a pointless gesture.)

What many don't realize, however, is that many plants are medicinal! Consider that the next time you pass by the herb pots at the grocery store. Common thyme, for example, is antibacterial! It can also be steeped as a tea for sinus infections, and that's just a small fraction of what it can do!

The central shelf on the rolling rack carries rosemary, along with a plant I could not identify. Just generic, silly nonsense, right?

Wrong! Rosemary is more than just a kitchen spice. It's a fantastic herb for the brain!

It acts as a brain stimulant!

It aids with memory!

It aids blood circulation to the brain!

It aids with treating early onset dementia/Alzheimer's!

It acts as an antidepressant!

It acts as an antiviral!

It aids concentration!

It also has anti-anxiety properties!

Where the revenants are concerned, I'd say that's quite the vital herb! With the help of scavenged alcohol and some sterile jars, bottles, and lids, there's potential for the crafting-- and trading-- of rosemary tinctures! (In the absence of proper sterilization, whatever they can use to rinse would have to do. Above all else, these chosen jars and bottles would need to be airtight enough to prevent oxidization. An oxidized tincture is not desired-- it can lose a lot of those helpful properties!)

If water is still consumed by the revenant population (and if it is, I haven't seen it mentioned)... they can take these tinctures through water. A couple drops or barely a spoonful would go a long way! Some may attempt to slip these under their tongues and get quite the burn for their trouble. At Home Base's bar, there are numerous bottles of blood bead leukocytes. These could possibly handle a small dosage... if our favorite revenants can stand to hold the first sip for ten seconds.

Now, the uppermost shelf of the rack holds some decorative plants... and some parsley, growing out of a generically-labelled tea tin. Parsley? Really?!

Parsley's got quite the high vitamin content, though. I don't know if revenants require the same intake allotment for vitamins like humans have-- I've never seen it mentioned before. But if you factor in the maintenance of the host' body, vitamins are just as important! Whether or not the BOR parasite directly benefits remains to be seen, but for now, we're covering the fun stuff.

What the heck does parsley do, anyways? Well...

It's got stupidly high amounts of Vitamin K, which is not only good for your bones, but also boosts blood production!

It's full of other key vitamins and antioxidants!

It acts as a diuretic!

It also helps to keep your eyes healthy!

In the grand scheme of things, it might not seem like that big of a deal. But it could help boost a revenant's regeneration. Code Vein flip-flops a bit on how regeneration works, especially with gameplay in mind. Could parsley increase the healing amount, or even the number of times it can be tapped into? Quite possibly! It could also be circulated to the shelters, and thus assist blood donors with recuperating quicker. The diuretic properties can also be utilized to help flush status effects quicker. And as for the eye health of revenants far and wide, wouldn't that go a long way? That's a lot less stress on them, isn't it?

Though I cannot identify the other plants on the rack, that doesn't mean that they're lacking in benefits. There are some flowers that can be eaten and be used in medicine. Calendula, for example, is an edible flower that can be used to aid the healing of wounds. Besides, it's such a bright and cheery flower-- why not keep a few blooms just to look, and let them go to seed, while you're at it? (Calendula is very easy to grow-- save those seeds!)

Another one is chrysanthemum, which is another edible flower. Its primary benefit is eye health, and I believe it's even stronger than parsley in this regard. (Do not consume the store-bought ones, as they have been treated with a myriad of extremely harmful chemicals! The best way to avoid this is by growing them yourself. Remember to buy non-neotic seeds; these are better for pollinating insects and keeps you safe, too!)

And if the parts above the soil aren't safe for consumption, remember that the roots can still be used! Roots can have loads of medicinal properties! Some can be edible, while others can be dried and infused into oils! An example.of an edible root is the humble dandelion. Though the entire plant is completely edible, its taproot is a potent liver detoxifier! Should it be roasted and brewed into tea, it tastes just like coffee!

Even if revenants aren't taking these medicines themselves, consider how much it would benefit the human population living in the shelters. If we really gotta split hairs, the medicinal benefits could carry over into blood donations. Entire categories of enhanced blood could be produced by the shelters, and distributed to the revenant-occupied shelters. In times of disease where the latter is concerned, these unique products could be life-saving. Even then, the more positive trading arrangement may improve human and revenant relations-- a massive issue omnipresent within the Gaol of the Mists. This isn't just food and decoration; it's something greater.

Just a little thing that makes life a bit more bearable.

#code vein #time for me to be positively boring again #i talk botany things and everybody's eyes glaze over #no but all joking aside #moar context for the hows and whys of eva's plants #or at least the scant handful i can identify #sourced the parsley info from a couple websites #the rosemary one was what i had written down in my little medicine book #plants are very important to me and i like talking about their benefits #someone will probably say this isn't fda approved #I'M not fda approved #i just like talking about the interesting things #note that i'm a novice at the botanical things and i only know what i know #code vein meta #archival edit