#Clear jar storage

[bobochen-3344-blog]

3D Imperial Royal crown Cotton Ear Bud Pad Jar Ceramic Bathroom Storage Holder

[gaddaboutgriffon]

Spleen Suprize

Completely random idea popped into my head that I thought I would share. Basically what if Ras had had Dan, Danny, and Dani pods in same room Tim’s spleen is stored in and the bats thought that he cloned Tim using the spleen.

Imagine if Vlad had a tiff with Ras Al Ghul over something and Ras goes to take Vlad out, only to find three kids being held captive in what looks like Lazarus water fill pods. This only make Ras further feel justified in dealing with the arrogant pest. But who is he to pass up taking some potential assets.

So the pod kids ,one boy who looks 16, another boy who looks 14, and a girl who looks 12, and all of Vlad’s data and equipment in the lab are packed up and brought back to Nanda Parbat. Unfortunately just after everything has been unloaded into a storage room to be sorted through later is when the Bat and his brood come charging in and making havoc.

As predicted the Bats hadn’t appreciated all the clones of Damian being sent to kill him. Since it was clear the bat brood were targeting all the labs.

—————

Mean while the bats have finished uploading viruses and burning the other labs when they come across one that was barely more then a storage room. Inside they find what looks like a shelved cloning project, including three teens, oh and the jar with Tim’s spleen. Fudge, now he has to tell them he is actually missing a spleen. Good thing he was already in compartmentalization mode to not Greek out over his clone kids, that he is going to be so much better to than Superman was to Kon, that argument will have to wait.

Now than I am thinking that Vlad had kidnapped Dan and forced him to fuse into a clone body, and then was keeping him asking the pod while his memory was being wiped and rewritten into the son Vlad wanted. Dani had witnessed part of that and went to Danny for help, but Vlad decided her accidentally getting away would actually be the perfect bait for a trap. And you can guess the rest from there.

But I encourage you to add on with reblogs. Likes are nice but reading what you add is better.

[luminiamore]

SWEET.

sugar daddy nanami kento x black hyperfem reader

warnings: brat tamer nami, super duper big arms actually, spoiled reader, he’s a bit mean, he’s such a man omg, public sex, squirting, creampie, you'll almost get caught, mirror sex

masterlist

“Excuse me, Sir? Is this seat taken?”

A sweet voice interrupts Nanami’s focus on the book in his lap, The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. The train's movements cause his body to sway slightly. He holds in a breath, really not in the mood to speak, but he's a gentleman. So, he looks up anyway.

He doesn't feel disappointed, actually the opposite. He's never seen anyone as beautiful as you. Your brown skin is smooth and clear, and your lips are glossed and full, with a slight pout. The makeup you put on was such a compliment to your face that it made you look like.. a doll. With eyes that made him seem like your salvation, you stared down at him.

Where did you come from?

“I’m sorry to bother you! It’s just- I’ve been trying to find a seat for a few minutes, and my feet are starting to really hurt. God, I should’ve never worn heels.”

You’re talking to him. He quickly comes to the realization that staring at your moving lips would make him appear creepy. Your voice was a little.. distracting. He clears his throat as he catches his lips quip up in amusement,

“It’s not taken. Please, sit.” You're walking towards the seat near the window, following his hips as they adjust to allow you to pass in front of him. Your clothes were... to say it bluntly, provocative. Your skirt was pink. He found that cute. But it was short, way too short to be worn out in public.

As you leaned down to prevent hitting the overhead storage area, his eyes caught the fat brown pussy lips poking out from the sides of your panties. Who the fuck let you go out like that?

You were wearing a strapless top that was also pink. The word 'BRAT,' which was printed in a bold white color, caught his attention. Hm, is that so?

You sit down, and now the blond man is hyper-fixating on your plush thighs pressing next to his. He’s interrupted by your sweet voice again, “Thank you, Sir. You’re too kind!”

He attempts to offer a smile, but he observes that your face is already buried in your phone, and your medium-length French tip nails echo a tapping sound. Well, now that won’t do. He wants your eyes on him again, your attention on him again. So he decides to speak,

“You headed somewhere important?” He acknowledges that this isn't the most ideal thing to ask a beautiful lady, especially during a train ride. His thoughts were running wild, and he was desperately trying to come up with something to say to you. He hopes you don't overthink it, but you look like the ditzy type.

You stop your typing and look up with your mind in thought, “Hmm, not really,” Your eyes turn to him and his cock twitches.

“I’m just going to meet up with some friends at the mall. The amount of walking I’m about to do is going to kill me but I can’t really do nothing since my car’s in the shop.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

Nanami observes that you have no filter or awareness that you may be talking too much. Either that, or you're so self-confident that you don't care. Regardless of what it is, he discovers that it is something he enjoys. He has the opportunity to ask more questions and hear your voice in his ears for just a moment longer.

You sit up straight, and now... Your body is facing him. And now he can see the nipple piercings that are pressing through your top. Nanami grits his teeth and forces his eyes to look at your wide ones.

Were you doing this on purpose? You have to be, but when he looks into your eyes, he finds no evidence of any alternate motives. That, or you were good at being coy.

“Well, somebody crashed into it when it was parked. And it was so bad, there was a weird creaking sound every time I drove! So now it’s in the shop, and it’s staying there.” You’re pouting again. And Nanami finds that he doesn’t like that hopeless look on your face. He has a burning desire to fix it, to alleviate any problems you're facing.

His voice grows soft and tender as he gazes into you, “It’s staying there?”

“I haven’t paid for the fix yet. So, the mechanic guy won’t give it t’me.” You shift in your seat. As you browse through your photos, he watches as you click on a picture of a pink Mercedes with its rear end completely broken. The color didn't catch him by surprise; in fact, he was more amused than anything.

“I see. Is there a reason you haven’t paid yet?”

Your brows furrow, and your head drops slightly as a sign of embarrassment. He thinks you're so cute. Nanami wonders if you have a job. You don’t look like the type to raise your perfectly manicured nails, and if you were his, he would never let you.

“Well... I’m in between jobs right now. My daddy won’t lend me any more money, and he told me yesterday, ‘You spend too much, and I can’t keep paying for your expensive shit.’”

Your bubbly, soft tone gets higher in pitch as you try to imitate your father's voice. You pivot and grasp Nanami's massive bicep through his blue dress shirt with your fingers. You notice a slight flush of your cheeks as you shift your eyes to where you grabbed it. He's so big that both your hands can barely wrap around the entirety of it.

Your eyes look up at him, “And y’know I get it! But ever since he got his new girlfriend, she’s been telling him these things. He never felt this way before!”

Your hand is covered by his, his veiny and large hand. You seemed really shaken up by this, and he can’t stand it. Someone as beautiful and perfect as you should not have to suffer like that. He wants to make your life easier; he wants you not to be bothered by such trivial matters.

As one hand raises your chin, his finger softly moves back and forth. His warmth makes the hairs on your skin prickle. “I’m very sorry about that, sweetheart. Would paying for your fix make you feel better? I can get a car to take you to your friends as well.”

You gasp and immediately shake your head, “Oh no, sir! I couldn’t ask you to do that. I-I mean, you’re a strang-”

“Kento, my name is Kento. And don’t be silly. I have more than enough to spend.”

“But-”

“No buts, sweetheart. I just met you, but I don’t like seeing a frown on that pretty face. Let me take care of your troubles the best I can.”

That day, you left the train with his number, and he left with your name. His generosity didn't end there. Kento started paying for a lot of your stuff, and eventually, he sent you money every day, making it such a habit that he just gave you one of his black cards. He would only ask for your company as compensation. There's nothing sexual about this, in fact.

Kento would go above and beyond to spend time with you, even leaving his job in the middle of the day to care for you. During your shopping sprees, he would hold your bags while you ramble about your week as you walked into another store. When you came to him crying about your dad's girlfriend not giving you a break, he decided to buy you your own apartment. It goes without saying that he pays for both your rent and all of your utilities. He would take you out for dinner and treat you to the finest high-end places because he knows that's what you deserve. The finest, and only the finest.

Nanami takes pride in the amount of self-control he has. Almost nothing gets under his skin.. but you. You and the short skirts you wear. You and your tight outfits. You and the way you bend down in front of him, exposing your pink lace panties. He tries to keep his eyes away, but he sometimes feels as if you're doing this on purpose. You must be.

And the truth is, you were. Nanami was the most attractive man you ever had the pleasure of seeing. Not only that, but his company has become something you've come to love. Ever since you met him on that crowded train, you've had lewd thoughts about him. Thoughts of him feigning a sex attack, thoughts of him bending you over and drilling his cock into you. You wanted him so badly, but he refused to do anything with you. It was making you crazy.

But you didn't know how to directly say that you want him to fuck your brains out. You opted for giving him hints, bending over in front of him, brushing against his thighs. Once, you managed to sit on his lap while he cooked you dinner at his home. He never moved, never did anything except keep his hands on your hips. That was enough to make you wet.

On a Tuesday afternoon at Japan's biggest mall, Nanami reached his limit. Your mini white heels were clacking on the tile floor as you entered the Victoria's Secret store, looking for the newest Valentine's Day set. This isn't his first time going shopping with you for lingerie, so he's not bothered in the slightest. Picking up the set and asking him to judge how it looks on you is what surprises him. You've never done that before.

“Please Nami, I have a date tomorrow and I’m hoping I can show him!”

A date? What the fuck do you have a date for?

The situation confuses Nanami. Antsy. Annoyed. He has a sense of jealousy. He can tell. You were his. Only his. You don't need a sluggish, limp-dick man who probably couldn't find your g-spot spot. You needed a man. You needed him. What advantage does your date have over him? What can your date do that he doesn't currently do for you? Are you insane?

He is unaware that you don't actually have a date. You were lying and trying to get him to react once more. You are the epitome of a brat. Kento doesn’t like brats. He breaks them.

You flick your pretty eyelashes at the 6'4 man who stares down at you with an unamused expression on his face. You’re pouting again, and Nanami really hates that he says yes to you. When you look at him like that, he can't say no. It's so hard to say no, but he's tired. Tired of the way you rile him up, he's sure that you're just hoping for a reaction from him. He has to put an end to this.

“..Lead the way, sweetheart.”

You're too occupied with other sets to notice that his voice becomes deeper when he speaks.

Nanami doesn't go into the dressing room with you. He planned to wait on the small, bright pink benches outside. Your angelic voice called out to him to help you with the zipper on a corset, ruining his plan. He loves helping you. It actually makes his day when he makes yours easier in any way. So, he agrees.

His breath hitsched when he pulls back the curtain. Oh fuck. You were... In red panties, the stockings lie softly on your thighs. While staring in the mirror, your brown skin is visible to him, and the corset is loosely hanging off your shoulders. You are a sight to behold—a sight of beauty, delight, and sweetness.

He creeps up on you slowly as though he doesn't want to frighten you. The moment he pulls both ends of the top together, you release a cute gasp. The zipper's faint sound as it rises makes you shiver when his hands brush against you. Once he's finished, his hands rest on your waist, your warmth radiating onto him. His voice, grave and breathless, causes you to catch your breath when he speaks,

“This is what y’re wearing? For your.. date?”

You hum and turn your body side to side to look at how the set fits on you.

“Uhuh! Y’think he’ll like it?” He tilts his head and observes your ass moving slightly with every move you make.

“Hm. What reaction do you suppose you’ll get out him?”

His fingertips can be felt on the panty line as he plays with it and pulls the band. You leap when it snaps itself back to your skin. His other hand is reaching in front of you and grazing your pussy

“Something like this?” The lace that clings to your pussy is grasped by his big hand, and you let out a pathetic whimper at the sight of it. You’re dripping. It wasn't your stupid date that caused this, it was all because of him. You succumb to his grip, and, of course, he steadies you.

“K-Ken?” Your voice squeaks out.

He pays no attention to you and only looks at the slick on his fingers when he moves away from your cunt. You're seeing all this through the mirror, watching his every move. Despite having dreamed about this moment every night, you still feel a little nervous. His expression in the mirror seems... upset.

“Y’know, sweetheart, I am tired.” His hands slowly take the panties off of you, allowing them to fall to your heels on the floor.

“Tired of how you tease me.”

He spreads your folds out from under you, letting the moisture drip all over his palm as he slides up and down. He groans when you emit the most adorable moan right next to his ear. God, you were so precious. He wanted you all to himself.

He scoffs, “A date. The hell do you need a date for? Y’need someone to fuck you, is that it? Someone to teach you some manners?” He slid his two thick fingers into your wet mound, scolding you when you let out a dirty mewl.

“Quiet sweetheart, bad girls don’t get to make a sound.”

He pushes them in deeper, immediately finding your spongy, and presses into it repeatedly. You tremble in his arms, pressing your hands to muffle your moans.

He murmurs to you, battling against the squelching noise your pussy is making. Your knees are buckling, but there's another hand pressing on your stomach to keep you upright and amplify the pressure you're feeling in your stomach. “I treat you so good. I buy you whatever you want, I make sure you’re always eating good. And yet you still insist on being a brat.”

He seethes in your ear, watching your pretty eyes roll back in the mirror. Kento feels that your loudness is causing you to forget you're in public. At this point, he doesn't care much. Throughout all of this, Kento is pulling down his zipper, freeing his hard dick from his boxers.

“It’s okay, baby, I’m gonna fuck you. Gonna fuck you so hard you forget all about that stupid date.” He stops finger-fucking you and leaves your sopping cunt suddenly, causing you to whimper at the loss.

Without warning, he plunges his fat cock deep into you and immediately presses his hand on your mouth to stop you from screaming. Your body falls back against him, leaving you drooling against his palm. It was too much, but you loved it. Had you known it would result in this, you would have done this a long time ago. Your body felt stuffed as he sucked his length in and out of you, observing how your pussy creams every time it disappeared inside.

Kento thinks you're perfect. Every aspect of your being is perfect. The way you squeezed around him almost made him forget that this was your punishment. Shit, you felt so good that he doesn't even want to carry on with the punishment anymore.

“There you go, sweetheart. Shh, just take it.”

You whine against his palm, your eyes barely open as this man is practically splitting you in half. You were both pouring your juices onto the floor, creating a small puddle below you. “Fuck. Such a messy girl.”

Your haze and pleasure make it impossible for you to hear footsteps coming near you and Kento. But he did, and he figures... It's a good idea to torment you a bit. So he speeds up his pace, letting the music drown out the light papping sound his thrusts and balls are making on your clit. If it's even possible.

“Miss? Is everything alright? D’you need any help?”

Your surprise is evident when your mind recognizes the voice of one of the employees. Fuck. No.

Nanami whispers into your ear, low enough for only you to hear, “Better answer her, sweet girl. Wouldn’t want her to suspect anything, hm?”

He’s so mean. Speaking is not an option when he's drilling into you like a madman. Fuck, could the poor lady even hear the noise? You're shaking, and you really can't help the yelp you let out every time his cock gets buried so deep inside of you. You rapidly nod against his hand, desperately attempting to do anything for him to keep fucking you like this. His hand slowly descends from your lips and grasps your covered tits in the corset, never once halting his pace inside you.

“Miss?” She speaks again, and you answer quickly so she can leave,

“I-I’m okay! Still- Ah! t-trying the s-set on.”

Nanami thinks you’re so cute as you try to keep your voice steady, chuckling to himself when you moan out in between your words. He thinks it's unfortunate when you're forced to speak again due to the lady's persistent pestering.

“..Are you sure? You don’t sound-”

“Yes! E-Everything’s f-fine, I’ll be r-right out!” You cut her off, your mind still reeling from the strong blows that Nanami never ceases to give you.

You faintly hear her muttering an 'Okay' before her heels recede into the crowded store. In all honesty, you believe you're starting to hear colors now. He was fucking you so good, and when you feel that familiar fire pit burning in your lower abdomen, you know what's coming. Or, in this case, who’s coming. You.

Nanami knows it, too, because your cunt just squeezed twice as hard on him. It’s practically pulsing open and close. You’re trying to fucking milk him.

“Good job, sweetheart. Y’gonna be my good girl from now on?” His hand doesn't even bother to cover your mouth anymore. Instead, his fingers reach down to your pulsating clit and start rubbing in tight circles. You forcefully bite your lip to prevent screaming out, savoring the metallic taste of blood on your tongue.

Nanami knows that if you let go of your lips right now, you're going to attract attention. He doesn't want that type of distraction at the moment, so he's not too upset about your quick nod as a response. He doesn't even think you know what he's saying, too drunk from the sensation of his cock to think about anything else other than that. Even so, you're saying yes. You, indeed, are perfect.

“Think you deserve to cum? I think you do, you were so good earlier talking to that lady. So cum, sweetheart. Make a mess f’me, yeah?”

That you definitely heard. It seems your pussy did, too, because she doesn't hesitate to squirt all over the floor. The mirror was being sprayed with your overflowing juices. Throughout it all, he was intensely watching you through the mirror, observing the face you make when you cum. It was so beautiful. The way your brows scrunch, and your eyes roll back, almost into your skull. The sight was enough for him to conceal his groans in your silk press, cumming so deeply inside of you that you thought it reached your womb.

Heavy breathing was all that could be heard under the faint music buzzing through the speakers. As Nanami slips out of you, you let out a whimper and gaze into the now-wet mirror, watching as he crouches down to where both he and your fluids are dripping out of you. You hear him mutter a curse under his breath, shivering when he runs his finger through your slightly gaping cum stuffed hole.

He lifts his finger, slipping it into his mouth to taste the aftermath of your.. lovemaking. He can detect some of your juices and his own. He only utters one word when he releases his finger with a pop,

“Sweet.”

He rises, gathers your clothes, and pockets the panties you wore when you initially came into the store. He believes that letting you confront people with his cum dripping down your thighs is an appropriate punishment. He pauses when he recalls something, “That date of yours tomorrow? Cancel it.”

Oh right! You didn't let him know that there wasn't a date.

“Kento?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“…I lied about having a date.”

Nanami freezes. His hands hold your skirt by your knees, and his eyes immediately catch yours in the mirror. He chuckles and shakes his head in astonishment when he realizes that this was your plan all along.

Despite not saying much, he whispers in a raspy voice,

“Brat.”

tags🏷️: @hatake05 @thickbihhwitdagapp

[mobbu-min]

☆ yummy in my tummy ☆

part two

a/n i swear everytime im about to play love and deepspace, the app needs another update. my phone storage can't keep up T0T anyways, i'm not that far in but xavier is my fave. he lowkey reminds me of silver haha. rafayel is a close second tho

includes: all of octavinelle, scarabia + pomefiore

tw mentions of eating disorder

want more? check out part one!

Octavinelle <3

⋆ Perhaps the last dorm that you want to know about your skills. But alas, your heart is vast, so even shady seamen deserves some delicious home cooked meals/treats!

⋆ How about making some extra cash? Is what Azul says after taking a bit. He does mean it. Not only would Monstro Lounge gain some more popularity after news of the Ramshackle Perfect’s home made meals/treats were being served, but he gets to spend time with you without giving his feelings away? A win-win if you asked him. As we all know, Azul does suffer from an eating disorder, as much as he tries to deny it, but somehow your cooking/baking doesn’t upset him at all. If anything, he gets so lost in the flavors that he doesn’t realize that his stomach is full and plate empty. Should he be concerned? Disgusted with himself? Lots of negative emotions begin to swell up, but when he glances at you, fully expecting the worst, he’s met with your proud smile. Happiness practically radiating off your being. And suddenly, Azul doesn’t mind the feeling of a full stomach as long as you look at him like that again.

⋆ Jade finds himself coming to you more often to ask for tips on how to cook mushrooms in different ways. Heck, he even encourages you to come out mushroom hunting with him. He’s fascinated by the way you work, seeing you mix different spices and ingredients together inspires him to do the same. He enjoys getting a glimpse at a third world, your world. It reminds him that the universe is truely a big, fascinating place. He is touched that your first thought was to bring him food, don’t worry he’ll repay the favor.

⋆ Your food is the only thing to get Floyd out of his moods! Once he smells the delicious scent of your meals/sweets, he instantly goes back to being silly and goofy! He will pester the living daylights out of you to make his favorite foods. You will know no peace! Floyd always makes his distaste clear. He’s an honest guy, what can he say? So it’s a big achievement that your food gets the Floyd pass. He will glare at anyone that dares to come near his food. This is his food, not theirs! Floyd’s a good cook himself, so like Jade, if he’s feeling particularly chummy, you might be gifted with his own unique concoction.

Scarabia <3

⋆ Scarabia is known to have the best food in the school! So it was a little jarring when you decided to give them some of your homemade food. But you really have nothing to worry about when it comes to these too.

⋆ You thought you were going to go blind with how bright Kalim's smile was. It truly could rival the sun. Because of the trust between you and Kalim, he devours it within seconds. Practically buzzing in excitement as the flavors touch his tongue. He’s not joking when he says that it’s as good as Jamil’s food. He wants to throw a party where you and Jamil have a cook off! But also just to show off your amazing cooking. You’re going to have to politely tell him that might be too much for you. Or that you only cook for special people! (subtle flirting hehe) And well Kalim is Kalim so it’s like a 50/50 chance that it won’t fly over his head. But in the case that it doesn’t, Kalim gets all warm and flustered. You know how some people get cuteness aggression and just want to squeeze said cuteness, well that’s Kalim. Instantly you're in his arms while he exclaims how much he loves you!

⋆ Jamil gave you the weirdest look, thinking that you wanted something from him. But alas! You did it out of the goodness of your heart. After getting over his initial suspicion, Jamil is incredibly thankful! I get a feeling that between everything that Jamil has to handle, he tends to eat very little most days. Just enough to get him to bedtime. So when you popped out of thin air with food, but not just any food his favorite, Jamil is touched. Though just because he’s touched, that doesn’t mean he won’t critique it! Internally of course, unless you ask. I would like to say that this would lead to cooking dates, but Jamil gives me the impression that he doesn’t like others in the kitchen while he works. Though he’s willing to try it out for you! Omg, if you make him food from the Scalding Sands, he just might tear up (lol, probably not but that’s a funny thought) but he will be incredibly touched!

Pomefiore <3

⋆ A tricky dorm to cook/bake for. A life or death situation! You must satisfy the Queen’s tastes or else you’ll face everlasting sleep! OoooOOoooooOOOoooo

⋆ Your greatest foe, the Queen herself! Does your food satisfy the Queen’s strict diet? ………partially. Listen, Vil holds himself to high regards and keeps a stern eye on his calories and where those calories come from. And while yes, you are going the right path, you also took some side quests on the way. In other words, you were like 74% to getting Vil’s approval. But fear not! For Vil is more than willing to take you under his wing! Though, Vil’s not a chef himself, so he’ll guide you in the ways of his diets. As long as you keep those in mind, Vil finds himself thoroughly enjoying anything you make him. He enjoys foods that are light on the stomach with plenty of nourishment. Vil will oftentimes find himself thinking about your food. His stomach growling in hunger. He appreciates it whenever you show up with homemade snacks. Vil will oftentimes submerge himself in his work, whether that be new roles, schoolwork or guiding his dorm mates, and forget to eat. So knowing that you're always thinking of him and coming to check up on him makes him feel all mushy and gooey inside. Goodness, the effects you have on him.

⋆ C’est délicieux! Anything and everything you give Rook is eaten with fervor. Truly enjoying and savoring every bite! For how could he let anything go to waste? You put your heart and soul into it, it would be wrong not to enjoy it with his own heart and soul. His appetite is never quenched when it comes to your food. He consumes your food with such earnestness that it's hard not to get all flustered. The compliments are never ending when it comes to him. Rook could (and has) write poetry off the delicious taste of your food. Sweet, yet a little off putting. Will jump at any occasion to speak about your food, and by extension you. Eveytime he sees you with a bag or box, Rook is skipping towards you with a little tune to each step.

⋆ Nothing could beat his Meemaw’s apple pie, but Epel supposes that yours come to a close second. Your food is the only thing Vil will turn a blind eye to, which Epel takes as an opportunity to slyly (not really) suggest new recipes for you to try. Honestly, Epel really likes your food! He gets all flustered whenever you pop with food for him. At first he was a little insulted that you made him food, thinking you were insulting his masculinity or something by babying him. But after your very honest words (and a reprimanding from Vil and Leona for making you sad), Epel understands that it was just you trying to show him that you cared for him. I can see Epel going to Jack and asking ‘Is someone giving you food manly?’ and Jack, who happened to overhear Leona telling Ruggie, casually responds with, ‘My mom always makes my dad food, so yeah…” And Epel’s all like, ‘Well damn, if Jack looks like that then his dad must be super macho.’ or something like that. Needless to say, Epel has never hit someone so hard before over food. (rip grim and ace)

[naffeclipse]

Lone Mistletoe

Reader x Rich!Sun & Moon

Commission Info

This request was made by the darling @deliasmoothie for a little Christmas date centered around her Rich Boys AU and a reader who owns a bakery! After a late closing, the reader gets a visit from millionaire heirs Sun and Moon and a reminder that they have a very special evening planned. The lovely artwork is done by @deliasmoothie as well! Enjoy, and Merry Christmas!

———

You’re late.

You scramble to put away the dough that will rise softly through the night in the storage area. The clatter of baking sheets echoes over the faint jingle of Christmas music which plays in the entrance of the bakery. Gathering bags of empty flour that were left undisposed, you throw those into giant waste bins and rush to clean off counter tops before muttering under your breath that the front needs to be swept lest customers enter tomorrow morning and find dirty floors.

A glance to the clock quickens your already frantic heart rate. You should already be out the door, dressed for a fine night of dining and whatever plans your dates may have. Oh, you’re going to be disappointing.

A nervous perspirant begins under your pits as you frantically fly through closing chores. Your employees would usually be more than happy to finish everything up without you, but one called out for the day citing a family emergency, and the other needed to go home early for the sake of a sick child. You are left to stack up the jars of ginger spice and vanilla used in gingerbread men and Christmas cookies respectfully and set them where they belong. 

The minutes turn into half an hour. You’re going to melt into a puddle on the floor but you won’t allow another mess to be made when you just finished sweeping. Snagging your phone after leaning the broom against the wall, you begin punching in a quick text of explanation and apologies when the front door opens with a soft jingle from the welcome bell. 

You curse under your breath. You should have locked it by now if your mind wasn’t cutting through the checklist of things needing to be done.

“I’m sorry,” you call out as you walk to the counter. “We’re closed—”

You stop short, the breath caught in your throat.

Two handsome animatronics stand in the lobby of your bakery. Among the Christmas decor of candy canes stuck to the window and boughs of holly hanging along the walls, they stand in glamor and confidence.

One animatronic sports a crown of sun rays around his head, sharp and brightly yellow, with a grin to match. His pale blue optics lack the sunglasses he would so often sport during summer. He wears a stylish long coat of red, with a white shirt sporting a high collar, and brown slacks, all done in a bold and daring style. The other holds a crescent marking upon his face, half silver, half dark, with a deep blue nightcap trailing down his back decorated in stars. He dons a black coat, simple yet striking, and a deep blue turtleneck sweater and dark trousers. They share matching figures of lithe limbs and slender waists, their clothes accenting every handsome part of who they are.

Your dates.

Most importantly, the heirs of a national billion-dollar company. 

“Sweetie pie?” Sun laughs with equal affection and concern. His blue eyes are wide upon you. “Are you alright?”

Your hand immediately flies to your hair. It is a mess of wisps and strands escaping from the messy bun you had it pinned into today. 

Moon looks around the shop, his brow quizzical, as if searching for a threat before his gaze rests on you. His expression softens. 

“Sun, Moon? What are you two doing here?” Your attention slips past them to the open windows. You quickly rush forward. They step apart to let you fly between them, and watch as you quickly yank down the blinds and lock the front door. 

They can’t be seen here. Your bakery is small, hardly a blip on the map, and people don’t know who the heirs are dating—though the tabloids have speculated who their newest beau may be. 

You made it clear to Sun and Moon when they first asked you out for a little coffee date over this very same counter that you would go with them because you enjoy their company, not the names they carry nor the fortune they hold. The public, however, will assume the worst: you’re in it to make your bakery known and catch more sales. Or perhaps, the opposite. The heirs are lording over you with their black credit cards, enticing you into their demands. 

Neither is true. Regardless, you don’t want them spotted here with you, alone.

You turn around and huff a breath, pushing a wisp of hair back from your face.

“Cinnamonroll, you are late for dinner, and the restaurant is only a few blocks from here.” Moon steps forward, his hands reaching for you. His pale pupils track you with a gentle study. “We were concerned.”

You keep trying to power walk back behind the counter but another set of arms stop you gently.

“Sweetie pie, breathe for a moment.” Sun stands over you. His hands hold your arms gently, keeping you in place. “It’s alright. They’re not going to withdraw our reservation.”

He gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You flush, bowing your head slightly. This was not how the evening was supposed to go.

“I’m sorry.” You confess what happened throughout the day, losing your employees one by one until you were left to close. 

“Do you need any help?” Moon steps closer. He brushes a hand against your cheek. When he draws his touch back, you find pale flour on the tips of his silver digits. His grin is mischievous but sweet when he chuckles. “Messy little treat, aren’t you?”

A deep pink fills your face as your heart swoons within you.

“No, no,” you shake your head fiercely, “I mean—I’m done, I just… Can you give me a few minutes to get ready?”

“Of course,” they answer in unison.

You look between both of them, a sweetness filling your mouth as your shoulders lower in relief. You dust your hands together. With that, you fly behind the counter and to the upper floor where your apartment is located. 

Dinner is waiting.

*

Dinner is, as always, incredible. You’re not sure how Sun and Moon find the most delicious—and expensive—restaurants but they manage to surprise you each and every time. Of course, you almost fall out of your chair when the bill is brought and Sun flips out a sleek, black credit card without glancing at the numbers to resume asking about your thoughts on the holiday season—and how you would like to spend it. Moon in the same fashion orders a few desserts for you to try at your leisure while candlelight softly flickered over the table.

Now, you walk softly between them, both of your hands occupied by long and large digits cradling your gloved hands. The air nips at your nose. Snow litters the park plaza as around you, people skate on an ice rink set before a towering Christmas tree and couples huddle close together, sipping hot cocoa.

You have to crank your neck back to take in the majestic glow and glitter of the decorated tree in the pitch black evening. Lights twinkle like starlight and golden garland wraps its thick, evergreen limbs. Tinsel shines like silver against its emerald dark hue. Ornaments, large and painted in rich blues, greens, and reds, hang to the edges.

Sun and Moon shelter you in their warmth. Their coats, made of fine material with brand names that look far too French and expensive to be something you ever hope to possess, drape against you. Sun lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles. Moon rubs your palm, ensuring you keep warm despite the frigid night.

To your relief, no one seems to notice them. Of course, it helps that you and your dates are swallowed up in scarfs and hats, but you find yourself prickling with slight anxiety while glancing around. It’s the same nervousness that has plagued you throughout the entire evening.

You feel your best when you’re alone with Sun and Moon, with no eyes upon you, judging and deeming what is right and what is wrong. All you know is that it feels good when you hear them laugh or they ask you how another busy day was at the bakery. 

That should be all that matters, but your self-conscious fears are a niggling thing in the back of your mind.

Moon shares a glance with Sun, who gives a slight nod. He then suggests taking a walk further down the park, where there are less people gathering under the light of the tree and watching the ice skaters.

You’re more than happy to.

A few little shops are sprinkled along the path turning deeper into the snowy covered park. Moon asks if you would like hot cocoa or a new pair of ice skates. You politely decline. Sun says they might need to buy you a new coat since you’re shivering so much, but again, you shake your head with a smile.

They like to give. This is not a manner of ego and flaunting, but a manner of kindness, you’ve learned. 

The soft silence is muffled by the white frost decorating the ground. Moon and Sun clutch your hands a little tighter whenever patches of ice pop up along the sidewalk. In the peace and stillness, your eyes fall upon a snow-white arch down the path you take. Hung in the center of it, tied with red ribbon, is mistletoe. 

Your ears warm despite the sub-zero temperatures. Glancing between your dates, you nervously rub at their fingers. Sun and Moon slow, their eyes landing on the very same plant.

“There is something we can give you, sweetie pie,” Sun declares as he begins to stride forward, pulling you along with him.

“Oh, Sun,” you try to protest while struggling to hide your flustered tone. “What if someone sees?”

“It’s only us, cinnamon roll,” Moon rolls low over his tongue. “Don’t worry.”

You blush fiercely. Reaching the white arch, Sun and Moon stop. Your heart beats heavy within you while softly, Sun face faces you. Moon slips behind you, his touch resting on your hips. You begin to warm despite the chill, afraid you look pink from head to toe. 

You trust them both. A certainty clings to you that you are safe in the quiet of the night and the cold of the snow so long as you have them.

Sun cups your cheek in his palm. His gaze glimmers gently while he leans in closer. You find his hand and tuck it over your heart, clinging to his fingers as if you’re afraid to lose him. Maybe you are. 

But every thought within you fades when his lips touch yours. He pushes gently into your affection. A slow pull of his mouth teases you before he returns to reassure you that he is here to stay. You taste him. Confidence and want burn together in how he effortlessly strokes your cheek and tilts your head slightly in his soft fervor.

Pulling back, he sighs while brushing his thumb over your lips. You hold his gaze despite the heat in your cheeks.

His hands rest on your shoulders. Moon, however, gently twists your hips until you’re facing him. Sun’s hands remain on you, falling down your spine. 

Moon’s gaze is warm and heated in the dark. Under the mistletoe, he leans in closely as he takes your chin in his hand. Head tilted up slightly by his touch, your lips part. He leans closer, hovering above your mouth while his eyes study the shape of it. 

His optics close as his mouth claims yours. You follow into the sweet darkness, your head tilting back at his firm but rich affection. He pushes and pulls against you as steady as the tide. His other hand remains on your hip, stroking you softly underneath the layer of your coat.

When he breaks the kiss with reverence, you breathe out mist. Floating upon a hazy, sweet cloud, you drift between their celestial bodies as they cuddle you close under the mistletoe. 

“Merry Christmas,” they whisper to you, one voice in each ear.

You hum a happy sound.

“Merry Christmas.”

[breelandwalker]

Magical Oil Recipes - Buffs and Blessings Edition

For anyone looking to brew up a potion for the purposes of augmentation or blessing, here are some recipes I’ve created that you might find useful.

To prepare them, blend the ingredients in such proportions as feels correct for your purposes (or as supplies allow). Use dried material except where indicated. Place a few spoonfuls in a mason jar with a screwtop lid and fill the jar with a bland oil of your choice. (Vegetable oil of the sort you would buy for cooking works fine.) Screw the lid on tightly and shake well to combine, then leave the jar in a dark dry place for 2-4 weeks to steep.

Once steeped, prepare a clean storage bottle (also with a secure lid) and label with the type of oil and the bottling date. Strain the oil through paper towels or cheesecloth to remove the plant material, then bottle immediately. Store away from sunlight and heat for up to one year. Use for spellwork as you see fit.

(Please note that NONE of these potions are meant to be taken internally by any means. Observe all proper safety measures related to glass, fire, and potentially harmful plants as necessary during preparation.)

*- Ingredient is potentially harmful if inhaled or ingested. **- Ingredient should not be used or handled if you are pregnant or nursing.

All-Purpose Blessing Oil For blessing, purification, and consecration.

Lavender

Sweet Basil

Bay Leaf

Patchouli Note: Use Olive Oil for the base.

Brim With Vim Vitality Oil To restore flagging magical energy and clear post-spell haze.

Tangerine (Satsuma) Peel

Cinnamon Stick

Ginger Root

Vervain

Cauldronkeeper Wisdom Oil To enhance intuition and wisdom.

Hazel (leaves or bark)

Elder (berries or bark)

Sage (any color)

Peach Pit (in master bottle) Note: Peach pits contain a small amount of cyanide, which may be released if the pit is broken down. Exercise caution with the finished oil.

Clear the Way Obstacle Remover Oil For overcoming difficulty and attracting new opportunities.

Dried Sumac Berries

Ginger Root

Sweet Basil

Full Moon Lunar Affinity Oil For augmentation of spells attuned to the lunar cycle.

Willow Bark

Jasmine Flowers

Fennel

Mugwort** Note: Use With Caution.

High Noon Solar Affinity Oil For augmentation of spells attuned to the solar cycle.

Calendula Petals

Chamomile

Bay Leaf

Eyebright Note: Use With Caution.

Golden Fields Prosperity Oil For abundance, good fortune, and general well-being.

Sesame or Pumpkin Seeds

Wheat or Barley Kernels

Orange Peel

Honeysuckle

Get Me Through the Day Endurance Oil For a tiny extra boost on those low-energy days.

Lemon Verbena

White Oak Bark

Rosemary

Echinacea**

Hearthside Home Blessing Oil For a comfortable and harmonious home.

Sweet Basil

Vervain

Pine Needles

Willow Bark

Jack-of-all-Trades Work Enhancement Oil For augmentation of workplace abilities.

Sweet Basil

Meadowsweet**

Borage Flowers

Vanilla Bean

Magical Me Power Boost Oil For augmentation of spellcasting.

Ginger Root

Rosemary

Bergamot

Cedar Tips

Steel Backbone Fortitude Oil For bravery and endurance.

Blue Vervain

Pine Needles

Cedar Tips

Yarrow**

Truthteller Divination Oil For augmentation of divinatory practices.

Evening Primrose**

Hibiscus Flowers

Celery Seeds

Tea Leaves

Watchful Eye Viewing Oil To enhance powers of observation.

Grape Leaf

Lemon Balm

Rosemary

Celery Seed (or dried leaf from stalks) Note: Do not apply to skin around eyes. Do not apply directly to eyeballs either.

Should the reader require supplies, I recommend the following:

Penn Herb Company

Starwest Botanicals

Bulk Apothecary

Mountain Rose Herbs

Specialty Bottle

Image Credit - VeraPetruk

All recipes are © 2017 Bree NicGarran, published in Pestlework: A Book of Magical Powders & Oils. Please check out the book if you would like more recipes.

If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar, tune in to my podcast Hex Positive, or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop.

[jigeuminunbich]

cherie amour | han dongmin (taesan)

synopsis — in which dongmin finds himself falling head over heels for the regular that comes into his job (at a vintage record shop) every afternoon.

genre — college!au, fem!reader, s2ls (strangers to lovers), and fluff

content — halfway proofread ngl, kinda has a princess & the pauper vibe (reader is quite privileged & goes to an elite college), quite a few awkward pauses and bashful stares, and dongmin can’t flirt for the life of him

word count — 2k

author’s note — first work out of the neo realm, hope you all enjoy!

playing — my cherie amour by stevie wonder, can i call you rose? by thee sacred souls, and all i do is think of you by the jackson 5

A bead of sweat trickled down the side of Dongmin’s face. The rickety fan his boss had found from storage was doing absolutely nothing to shield him from the wrath of the summer heat— and the fact he refused to turn on the air conditioning wasn’t helping him in the slightest either.

Despite feeling like he had been transported to the sixth circle of hell, Dongmin didn’t mind his job, it had actually been a juvenile dream of his to work in a place much like this. Somewhere with artifacts filled with history, antique furniture and decor, a devoted community of customers— and surely, that’s what he got following being hired for this position.

But he definitely wasn’t expecting to be overworked as one of the few underlings for his incompetent boss who had inherited the place and having to endure the smell of what could only be described as vintage.

The continuous buzzing of the fan that whirred beside Dongmin’s propped, beat-up sneakers was muffled for a brief moment as in came one of the meager reasons he decided to put up with his job— only, even.

You.

Following the chime on the door, a wave of heat entered the record shop but you graciously came with it, so Dongmin couldn’t really complain. You greeted him with a smile as he hurriedly straightened in his seat and adjusted his posture stiffly. The smile was returned to the best of his abilities, but he’s sure it came off wonky and jarring.

Silently, you waltzed around the shop. It wasn’t very big, and he’s positive you’ve walked each aisle at least a few dozen times but it still had you coming back every other afternoon.

It was ritualistic for you to stumble into the small-scale record shop nestled between an antique boutique and a genuine crystal shop— Dongmin had become hip to this months ago when he had first began working here. Though, it was obvious to him that you had been doing this a lot longer than his time, judging by the way you interacted with veteran staff and even that dense boss of his.

You were around his age, clear from the cardigan you wore that was proudly embroidered in fancy cursive of what he discovered was your home school— the elite college that rivaled his. It had been an initial thought of his that maybe you were an alum and just liked the comfort that the sweater offered but after miraculously seeing you at a rival game between your two schools’ football teams— he knew for sure that you were close in age.

Unfortunately for him, those were the only details he had found on you. Alleged things about you floated around between his coworkers and to his own ears but he ignored them for solid truth. The truth was, you were clearly a devout music lover from a realm he didn’t know of, a school he could only dream of attending, and a lifestyle he had absolutely no experience in.

“Anything new that you recommend?” At the arriose sound of your voice, Dongmin came to a realization that he had been staring at you for far too long.

Under your curious gaze, he stilled. Nearly forgetting to breathe over the fact you were speaking to him. Another fact he had come to realize, is that you enjoyed your solitude. It wasn’t often that you spoke to him outside of your purchase of a vinyl or the rare CD. But when you did, Dongmin always fell into the same trap as if it was happening for the first time again.

“I—uh— what’s your genre?” He knew this already. You had an affinity for 60s music— he came to conclude from the dozen of vinyls he had previously rung up for you.

You hummed, glancing to the spotty ceiling as you contemplated. “I always go for oldies. Anything recent that you like?” As you asked this, you drew closer to the counter where Dongmin was quickly breaking out into a cold sweat over the fact you were verily nearing closer to him.

Your eyes didn’t waver from him, it was clear that you were genuinely interested in his own opinion.

“Well, I don’t listen to too much recent stuff myself, actually.” He managed to respond, not having the capacity to filter his honesty.

Now opposite of him by the counter, you giggled. Dongmin swore his heart skipped a beat, or two for that matter.

“Well, I guess you’re no help then?” Your voice lilted with humor, your head tilting.

“Heh. No, I guess not…” To Dongmin, he was sure your bout of conversation would end here. You would choose something along the lines of your usual, get rung up with some sort of small talk, and go on about your day while he finished out his shift wallowing about how he wished he could’ve said more to you.

“What’s your genre, then,” you squinted momentarily to double-check his nametag. “Dongmin?”

For a moment, Dongmin had forgotten his name was his own. You watched him blink at you for a few beats before visibly collecting himself.

“Me? Well, I like rock— like Nirvana and My Chemical Romance. But I like easy listening stuff too…”

You nodded, “I assumed just as much.”

Dongmin’s eyebrows shot up into his fringe, eyes wide with surprise. “Really?”

An endeared smile etched onto your lips instantly. “Yeah, every time you’re here they’re always playing over the speakers. But I hear the Carpenters every now and then, too. You have good taste.”

Dongmin fought the flattered expression that attempted to spread across his features, clearing his throat in an effort to swallow his excitement. “Thanks.”

You nodded, a silence floating in the air as you two both seemed to wait for the other to carry on the conversation. With the atmosphere starting to feel cramped, you open your mouth to ease the awkwardness but Dongmin thankfully beats you to it.

“We—uhm— actually just get in some new vinyls that I think you might like…”

You visibly perk up at this. “Did you?”

Dongmin nods, his tone coming off a bit hesitant. “Well, you get a rotation of the same artists, I noticed…”

Your laughter eases the weight on his shoulders, he finds himself smiling fondly as you nod your head in agreement. “No, yeah, I do. I guess I’m quite predictable,”

Dongmin shrugs. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I think your music taste is good too.”

You find yourself smoothing a hand over your jacket, flattered. “Thank you,”

“No problem.”

You both lock eyes for a beat longer than expected, your own being the ones to flit elsewhere as could feel the flutter of butterflies swarm in the base of your belly. Dongmin’s gaze on you is only interrupted when you clear your throat before speaking again.

“Did you want to show them to me?”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry,” As if he had been split from a trance, Dongmin lurches back into reality to begin leading you towards a dusty corner of the shop.

A giggle leaves you as you follow close behind. “No worries.”

It’s safe to say Dongmin did not fabricate that the new selections would be to your liking. You find yourself rifling through the crate carefully, multiple familiar artists’ cover arts calling your name. Dongmin can’t help but admire you as you work your way through the vinyls with pure amazement in your eyes.

“Anything catch your eye?” He gestures toward the basket that you were leisurely searching through.

Your gaze shifts upwards to where Dongmin is standing, sheepishly remembering that he was there. “A lot. I’m supposed to be on a budget for stuff like this but— Oh my god! I’ve been looking for this,” you excitedly pull out a yellowed Lesley Gore vinyl.

Dongmin’s amused laughter catches your attention and you roll your eyes at him before shaking your head. “Damn, why’d you have to know me so well?”

“Heh. I can get you a discount, if you’re interested?” Dongmin approaches you, delivering his sentence carefully to test your reaction.

You jerk away in surprise, shocked that Dongmin would even offer to do that for you. But you can tell he’s genuine as he watches you intently awaiting your response. “No, no. I just need to practice some self-control…”

“You sure? I can’t promise that old guy won’t buy up all the Marvin Gaye in here…” You follow his hands as they skim the top of the distressed and begrimed vinyls, almost like a hypnosis.

A huff leaves you, the memories of your elder competition that most likely had no idea was your competition coming to mind. “Shit— you’re right. Okay, fine. I’ll indulge myself just this once.”

You decide to humor Dongmin and yourself, picking through the crate again to remove several LPs that caught your attention. Dongmin nods, finding confidence in being able to bond with you. After you make your final decision, you both head back over to the counter to finalize your transaction.

“You didn’t have to do this, y’know. I’m sure this is actually against the rules…”

“Nah. It’s fine my boss does it all the time for customers he likes too—“ Dongmin realizes his slip of tongue a little too late, his expression reminding you of a deer in the headlights.

“Really now?” You muse.

“Uh—yeah,” Dongmin coughs. “That’s your total…”

Your eyebrows jump instinctively at the outcome, gladly digging around in your bag for your card. “Damn. I’m glad you like me because inflation is killing me right now, here,”

Dongmin accepts your payment and you don’t miss the way he avoids your eyes bashfully. When everything is squared away, your hefty bag in hand, he decides he’s capable of addressing you head on.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around then?” He visibly forces out, internally hoping it comes across as natural (he doesn’t).

You nod automatically but have a sudden train of thought that you decide to take a chance and verbalize. “Actually… do you get off any time soon?”

The boy across from you is clearly stunned at the inquiry, blinking at you a couple times before answering. “Uh— in about an hour, actually…”

“Cool. I’ll be at the café across the street, if you don’t have anything to do that is… I feel like it’s only right that I repay you…” The last of your sentence trails off as you feel you’re rambling on, but Dongmin couldn’t have looked more interested in you.

“No! I mean, I don’t have anything to do— I’m free, yeah.” Dongmin shuffles, setting himself in a pose that he hoped conveyed how nonchalant he wanted to be but was clearly failing to do so.

You find yourself amused with his antics— a bit flattered as well. “Alright then, see you in an hour?” He nods intently while he watches you back away from the till.

“An hour it is.” He affirms, returning the wave you spare him before the shop’s door chimes again. Promptly, your warmth leaves him to the humidity of the shop. But he holds his pose knowing he’ll be engulfed in it once more.

© jigueminunbich ‘24

[togenabi]

apothecary diaries

vinsmoke sanji (opla) x fem!reader

♡—you need peppermint for a salve you're making, but sanji bought all of it, and that's seriously not fair.

word count♡— 3.7k

genre♡— fluff

content notes♡— opla sanji, afab!reader runs an apothecary and likes to make things, inaccurate chemistry for the sake of the story, mentions of flames in bottles, please do not do that, no use of y/n, not fully proofread

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— I love sanji sm he makes me cry. might be first in a series, but we'll see. please enjoy. xoxo, belle.

The third time a pirate entered your shop, you genuinely considered closing up early today.

You level him with a stare despite the man being twice your size. You cut him off before he can get a word out.

“No, I don't have anything that works against people made of rubber.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you gesture to the rest of your wares. “Now, are you going to get anything else? Or should you be on your way?”

He leaves, disgruntled, but without a fight.

A huff escapes your lips. The nerve of these people.

Ever since that outrageous bounty for that new pirate came along, suddenly every pirate and pirate hunter in the East Blue was gearing up to chase after him. All the poisons that were gathering dust in your storage were cleared out within days of those posters showing up.

It was good berry at first, but they got more aggressive, and started demanding more of everything. More doses than you were comfortable handing out. More dangerous poisons that could kill everyone in the room if the seal loosens by even a crack.

You took up this apothecary business because you wanted to help people. It wasn't exactly your dream to become a poison dealer.

The shop bell rings again. Thankfully, this time it's one of your elderly neighbors and not a pirate seeking poison.

The old lady smiles at you, the sides of her eyes crinkling. “You seem to be quite busy these days, dear.”

“If only they were paying customers like you, Ma'am.” You pick up a box of loose tea from the shelf, already knowing her usual order.

She gasps in concern. “Oh my, did they steal from you?”

“Only my time.” You grimace slightly, remembering how many pirates barged in last week.

“Would you like some honey with this? We have fresh jars from today's shipment.” You offer as you tally her order.

The lady hums in agreement. “Yes, I think some honey would be lovely.”

During slow days like these, you like to tinker with new recipes to sell. On a desk at the very back of the shop, obscured by thick curtains, is your beloved workstation.

You review your notes from the previous day. You'll need to get some peppermint for the healing salve you're developing. Taking a small jar of the experimental paste, you test a small amount on your hand.

Indeed, it needs more peppermint. Maybe you should use extract instead of crushed leaves next time, so that the texture is smoother.

The problem arises when your go-to herb supplier says he's run out of peppermint.

“Please tell me you're kidding.” You groan, looking down at your sadly empty whicker basket.

“M’sorry, lass.” The vendor shrugs, not looking very sorry at all. “You just missed the guy who bought everything. I promise I'll get you your peppermint next week, though.”

Resigned, you sigh, reading through the rest of your shopping list. The salve, at least, can wait a week as it's still a work in progress. The rest of your list, however, are crucial ingredients for your usual bestsellers.

“Fancy looking lad. He asked about spices. Told him to go to the shops down by the river.”

Your stomach drops. Everything else you need are sold by those shops.

Mentally cursing that vendor, you run as fast as your feet can take you. You're not letting some tourist get the better of you when it comes to ingredients.

You reach the river in record time. You'd feel proud if you didn't feel winded. Even so, you scan the road for anyone matching the tourist's description.

There doesn't seem to be anyone remotely fancy around. Triumphant, you go on with your shopping.

You begin to feel better as you cross more things off your list. You've almost forgotten about the peppermint incident, if only you didn't suddenly smell so much of it pass by.

A tall blond man walks by, clearly doing a lot of shopping based on the boxes of supplies he's carrying. The scent of peppermint hits you again. In a paper bag, at the very top of the boxes, you spot bunches of those leaves you've been so desperate for.

You can only clench your jaw in frustration and frown at the back of his head. He purchases a large amount of meat and fish in the next stall, and you gather that he must be some sort of chef. No normal person buys so much meat that the shopkeep offers to deliver everything. But that's what happens to this fancy looking lad. He must not be normal then.

“Yes, my ship's in the docks. You can't miss it, thank you so much for your help.” He smiles. His blue eyes wander the stall, then travel to the next stall over, where you are.

There's a moment of surprise when he finds you already looking at him, but his expression changes instantly into a suave one. It almost makes you want to back away, but you stand your ground when he approaches.

“Aren’t you stunning? I was feeling tired, but your pretty face woke me right up.”

You turn away, pointedly ignoring him. He can't flirt with you while smelling like peppermint. It's just not fair.

“Sorry for the hold up, lass. What's it you need?” The shopkeep you were waiting for shows up just in time. You continue to not pay the blond beside you any attention.

“Cinnamon and salt, please.” You respond. “Pink, if you have any.”

“I'll have the same, good sir.” Fancy pants says. “Though, my salt doesn't need to be pink.”

As the shopkeep rummages through his supplies, the blond continues to speak to you. Why does he keep speaking to you?

“Pink salt is lovely to look at, same as you,” He begins, “But other than the color, there really isn't a difference to normal salt, isn't there?”

He shrugs, his broad shoulder shifting his suit jacket slightly. “You're paying extra for the same result. It's all the same when you cook it.”

“I'm not using it for cooking.” Is your only response.

The shopkeep returns before the stranger can reply. “Here's the salt for you's.” He hands you a bag of pink rock salt, and the stranger a bag of regular salt.

The dread from the peppermint vendor returns when you realize the shopkeep is holding only one bag of cinnamon. He pats it and says, “I could split it so you both get half.”

“I was here first.” You insist desperately. “Sell it to me.”

“...My hands are tied here, lad.” The shopkeep sells you the cinnamon, and it's quickly tucked into your basket when you get your hands on it. The stranger doesn't barter for it. Good.

And with that, you cross out cinnamon and salt from your shopping list. You were able to get everything except the peppermint, which stays neat and legible at the very top of the list.

You crumple the paper and toss it into a nearby bin before making your way back to your shop.

“Are you on your way to get some peppermint?” How did the stranger catch up with you so quickly?

“No.” No matter how much you wish you were.

You try to walk faster, but his pace is steady even with a large box under one arm and several others tied up with twine held in his other hand.

“But it was on your list.” He seems to be very interested in your dealings. Is he always this dedicated when he flirts?

You cross the bridge that arches over the river together. The townsfolk who recognize you and not the man next to you begin to whisper amongst themselves.

It takes everything in you to resist rolling your eyes. After a week of pirates, you suspect your shop will be full of gossiping neighbors soon.

“A certain someone bought all the best peppermint today.” Of course the scent of it wafts over you again as you say so.

“Ah.” Understanding dawns on his face. “I see, I'm sorry if that inconvenienced you.”

It was your turn to shrug. You were about to say that it was okay, but then remember that you wouldn't be able to complete your salve until next week.

You pout before you can help it. “Did you really have to buy all of it?”

He breathes out a laugh. “I normally wouldn't, but my friends tend to have endless appetites. It always pays to have plenty of supplies.”

Even in the middle of the bustling street, a certain group of strangers stand out. They're gathered outside the tavern. You don't know any of them, but you recognize one of them as that infamous new pirate with the exorbitant bounty on his head.

“Speaking of my friends...” The blond trails off, nodding towards that particular group.

You just about stop in your tracks. He's with them? He's a pirate?

Okay. A rich, flirtatious tourist you could deal with. A random pirate crew? You would probably still be fine.

But the crew with the highest bounty in all the East Blue? That's just asking for trouble to happen.

While the stranger is distracted by his friends, you slip into an inconspicuous alleyway. You'd have to go a little further around to reach your shop, but that's alright as long as you avoid those Straw Hat pirates.

Luck seems to not be on your side, though. Because fancy pants shows up to your shop later that evening.

He grins. “You didn't tell me crossing that bridge together meant something. I would have talked about something more romantic than peppermint if I knew.”

Of course, word travels fast in a small town. You should have known someone would tell him. And that he would be able to find you easily if he wanted.

“How does the legend go, again?” He asks teasingly. “If two people cross the bridge together on the day they meet... Theirs souls are bound.”

“It's a myth.” You dismiss his charming grin and try to ignore him.

He leans his elbows on the counter that separates you. He's hunched down, but still towers over you somehow.

“It's romantic. And I'm glad it happened to us.” He smiles. “May I at least know the name of the person my soul is now bound to? Mine's Sanji.”

“Well, Sanji. Are you going to buy something?” You ask and avoid giving him your name.

Sanji, surprisingly, nods. He grabs two cans of your special handmade tea and a large jar of honey.

“I'll buy these,” He places the items on the counter. “And give you this.” He holds out several sprigs of peppermint. You blink at him in surprise.

“...Thank you.” You gingerly take it, and carefully set it to the side.

You're silent while you ring up his order. It's when you're taking out a paper bag for him that you finally cave and reveal your name.

The smile that blooms on Sanji's face isn't how you expected it would be. You expected him to look arrogant, to look proud that he was able to sway you like he did other women before.

But he looks at you sweetly, dimples showing and eyes sparkling. You wordlessly hand over the paper bag.

“A pleasure, darling.”

You would have thought that would be the last time you saw Sanji. But, be it luckily or unfortunately, he finds you the next day with the rest of the Straw Hats tagging along.

Only this time, they seem to be on the run.

You hold open the door for the Straw Hats and, one after another, they flood into your shop. Sanji smiles and says something about your hair, but you can't process the words with his friends scattering to hide.

“Sanji, what the fuck?”

“I know, I know, love. I'm sorry we had to reunite like this. We just need to lay low for a bit.” He reassures you, caressing your shoulders as he does.

“I'll make it up to you! I'll cook you a romantic, candlelit dinner.”

You frown at him, unimpressed.

Sanji kisses his teeth and sighs. “I'll give you the rest of the peppermint.”

You perk up instantly. “Deal. You can all hide in my workstation.”

“Hi, I'm Luffy!” Their captain greets you jovially. “That's Zoro,” Luffy points to the swordsman. “Nami,” The woman. “And Usopp.” The one hiding under your counter.

“Of course, you know Sanji already, being soulmates and all.”

You trip on nothing, and Sanji grabs your hand to steady you. You glare. He just smiles.

“Your shop is really cool!” Luffy exclaims, looking at all the trinkets on the shelf.

“Thanks.” You say dryly, pushing the curtain partition aside. You lead them to the back of the shop.

“Make yourselves at home.” You wave a hand towards the couch and some chairs around your desk. They should be fine here as long as they don't need to stay the night.

Through the gaps in the window blinds, flashlights and shadows stream into the room. There seems to be an active search party out for these guys. You suddenly can't believe you agreed to this for peppermint.

Zoro, whose three earrings glint in the light, shifts to scratch at his chest. You spot bandages from the gap in his shirt.

You grab the small jar of salve from your desk and toss it to him. He catches it, but looks from the jar to you and back, confused.

“It's a healing salve I made. It should help soothe your skin.” You explain.

The swordsman still looks unsure, but opens the jar anyway. Zoro sniffs its contents, and tries putting a small amount on his chest.

You beam at him, unable to help feeling proud at how his shoulders visibly relax after using it.

“Thanks.” Zoro says simply.

“No problem.” You nod back, still smiling.

Luffy looks at the jar as if it's a miraculous cure-for-all. “That's amazing.”

“It smells really good, too.” Usopp says, sniffing at the air around Zoro.

“Do you sell that here?” Nami asks.

“I will, once I make more.” You answer. You never realized how uplifting it was to share your work with new people.

Subconsciously, you turn to Sanji. But, why is he frowning? You follow your gaze to find he's looking at the jar in Zoro's hand.

Before you can ask him if anything is wrong, Luffy bursts out excitedly, "You're a doctor! You should join our crew!"

You wince. “No, I'm a chemist.”

“Cool!” Luffy's enthusiasm does not wane. “So you can heal, right?”

You're about to correct him before they assume things out of your pay grade when Usopp claps his hands in realization.

“She's even better than a doctor!” Usopp insists. “She makes the medicine that the doctors give out!”

Just as you were about to interfere with how much they were overestimating your skills, the shop bell rings. You turn to the clock. Shit, you should have locked up twenty minutes ago.

You meet everyone's eyes and they all nod, understanding that they need to be quiet. You switch off the lights in the back room for good measure.

The customer is a pirate you've never seen before. He looks angry, glaring at every possible hiding spot in your shop. Particularly the room you just came from.

You're careful to completely shut the curtain behind you.

“How can I help you, sir?” You put on your best customer service smile. “I was just about to close the shop, but if it's urgent, I'll help you find what you need.”

The pirate grunts. He's not buying what you're selling at all.

“Perhaps some calming tea? You look like a refined gentleman who would enjoy this.” You hold up a can of tea as if that will help you seem less suspicious.

“What's behind the curtain?” He points behind you accusingly.

“My work area, where I make all the fine products you see before you.”

Stomping forward, he seems to have had enough of your stalling. Fine.

Just as he's about to bash his fist down onto your counter, you grab a suspicious looking dark jar. You hold it up threateningly.

“The hell is that?!” The pirate snarls.

“Haven't you heard? I'm the go-to poison dealer in all the East Blue.” You bluff. “A whiff of this, and you'll sink like a rock, my friend.”

He freezes, but glares at you more fiercely. You pretend to twist the lid.

“Y-you'll kill yourself too, then!” He barks back. “Let's see your bullshit poison then.”

“Oh, but that's what makes me so brilliant.” You grin, laying the act on thick. “I'm immune to all the poisons I make.”

Your hand settles ominously on the lid. “Shall we test who survives?”

The pirate scrambles to leave. He's out before you can blink. Without missing a beat, you lock the front door and draw all window blinds down.

You rest your back against the door. Letting out a loud exhale, you almost let yourself slide down to the floor. How long do you have to deal with pirates like that?

Thoughts of yesterday with Sanji at the market fill your thoughts. If only all days could be like that, where the worst of your problems had been a peppermint shortage.

“You guys can come out, now.” You call out to the Straw Hats.

“Uh... Is that really poison?” Usopp asks, staying very far away from the jar.

You laugh, though it comes out airy due to your tiredness. “No, those are just some herbs I left to ferment.”

“How brilliant of you, love.” Sanji is beside you in a few strides. Him and those long legs.

“Was he the one you guys were hiding from?” You ask. The crew members shake their heads.

“No, actually.” Nami says. “We were hiding from a bunch of—”

Your shop explodes.

Sanji is quick to pull you into his arms and shield you from the debris with his own body. For a minute that feels like eternity, you can't hear anything. Your ears are ringing, and dust clouds over all your years of hard work. You sob into Sanji's arms.

“No!” You cry out.

Marines step into the shop, wood planks cracking and glass panels shattering under their feet. There are so many of them. You don't understand. Even if you hid the Straw Hats here, they shouldn't be allowed to destroy private property, right? Right?

“We got a report of illegal poisons in the area.” The leading officer states, his face stoic. “Just our luck that we run into pirates as well.”

You look to the Straw Hats, all of them are positioned to fight, save for Sanji. He's still cradling you protectively.

Taking a shaky deep breath, you lift your hand to rest it on Sanji's arm. He instantly looks down at you, silently asking if you're alright.

You're not yet, and if you're being honest, you'd rather stay in his arms until everything is over. But you nod anyway. Sanji gently lets you go and gets ready to face your new enemies.

“Get them all.”

Chaos breaks, and you run to duck behind a shelf that toppled over. The Straw Hats put up a good fight, but there are just too many Marines. Your eyes find round bottles of herbs scattered around you, and you come up with an idea.

“Guys!” You yell. “Buy me some time!”

“Anything for you, darling.” Sanji winks at you before sending a Marine flying. You gape at his audacity. The rest of them don't even react, but you notice they rotate slightly, surrounding you to keep you from being interrupted.

Grabbing as many of the bottles as you can, you stuff them with shards of wood and more dried leaves. You take rocks from the debris and strike them together.

With a few sparks, the herbs and leaves catch fire. You act fast, throwing the bottles at the Marines.

The bottles shatter, bursting into flames once they hit their mark. The Marines panic and become disoriented, giving the Straw Hats an advantage despite being outnumbered.

Eventually, the Marines run and scatter, leaving only the few bravest of them to fight. The Straw Hats make quick work of them.

When the battle is over, you watch the dust settle over the ruins of your apothecary. It's going to take years to earn enough berry to restore how everything once was. You can't help but feel heartbroken.

Sanji sits down in the rubble next to you, wrapping you in another embrace. You let yourself fall into him.

“We'll help you get everything back. I promise.” He swears, voice slightly muffled into your hair.

“Or, you could come with us! Join our crew!” Nami hits Luffy on the shoulder.

“What? It's true!” Luffy insists. “We need someone like her!”

You pull back from Sanji's embrace to look at him. He doesn't say anything, but something tells you he wishes for you to come with them. The others look at you expectantly as well.

No one speaks to persuade you further. But when you compare this rag-tag team to your ruined apothecary, your answer suddenly feels very clear. If you're to slave away to earn the berry for rebuilding your home, why not spend that time with them?

The back of the shop is less affected, even if the sight is still dreadfully sad. Your notes are thankfully intact, and you're able to find a bag and shove some extra clothes into it. It saddens you that you're so quick to pack up your life, but you'll come back. Someday.

When you return to the others, they're all smiling. Sanji more so, but you should have expected that.

He holds out his hand, and you reach out to take it.

“I change my mind,” You jest. “I'll take that romantic candlelit dinner now.”

Sanji laughs loudly while he guides you to walk over the rubble safely. You catch some of the others laughing too, but they walk a ways ahead you and Sanji.

“Like I said,” He says with his signature grin, “Anything for you, my dear.”

Your mind must be playing tricks on you, because he still smells like peppermint. Now, that's really not fair.

© togenabi 2023 | see here to be added to my taglist ♡

[knivestothroats]

The Professionals - Tommy and Fletcher go to White Castle

the fast food place in question is not necessarily white castle i am just using the same naming convention as "buck and fletcher's excellent adventure" co-written with @victimeyez The Professionals || In The Woods Somewhere || Professional//Victim CW: long term captivity, panic attack, the realization that you got old and sold out

Tommy hated going in the basement.

It was dark and cold and too reminiscent of his old room. His old prison, more like. Especially after the last time he pissed Caius off. 

Your room is upstairs, he kept telling himself. Your room is upstairs. They’re not keeping you down here. 

But Tommy knew Fletcher could change that on a whim. He just had to be good and not give them a reason to. And that meant not protesting when Fletcher said he had to help look for something in the basement.

“I’m pretty sure the people I trade with are keeping more of my jars than they’re giving back,” Fletcher said. “I don’t know why else they’d be disappearing. Fuckers.”

Tommy was pretty sure the last part was said as a joke, but he wasn’t positive.

Fletcher still had shelves full of preserves, but they had said something ominous about making it through the winter. So, the two of them were digging through boxes to look for more jars. 

Fletcher made sure Tommy steered clear of certain boxes. He didn’t ask what was in them. 

Tommy pushed aside a box filled with clothes to check the next. But behind it was not a storage tote. It was long and rectangular - a hard case for an instrument. 

Tommy flipped open the latches and lifted the lid. Inside lay a bass guitar. It was a deep, sparkling blue with a strap patterned with lightning bolts. He gingerly picked it up and held it, positioning it over his knee like he was going to play.

“Put. That. Down.” Fletcher snarled from behind him. 

Tommy quickly returned the instrument to its case and shut the lid. 

“Sorry!”

He turned to apologize to Fletcher, but was taken aback by just how angry they looked. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t touch your stuff,” Tommy went on.

Fletcher said nothing. Their hands were clenched into fists at their side.

“Do you… play?” Tommy asked. He wasn’t sure if he should push it, but he felt the need to claw his way out of the furious silence.

“No,” Fletcher said shortly.

“Oh. Um…” Tommy tried to think of a better way to ask, then why do you have it? “Did you… want to learn?”

“It’s my friend’s.”

“Oh! Okay. They don’t, um…”

Fletcher folded their arms and looked up at the ceiling. “He doesn’t play these days.”

“I see.” Tommy drummed his fingers on the top of the case. “Did you… want to learn? Because I can - I can only play bass a little, but I can, like, follow along to tab, um, if…”

Fletcher looked down at him. Their expression had eased up, and they looked interested now.

“You play?”

“I used to play drums in my band,” Tommy said. “My friends showed me a little bit of their instruments.”

Tommy could swear he saw Fletcher’s eye twitch.

“Drums, huh?” they said flatly.

Tommy swallowed and nodded.

Fletcher sighed, closing their eyes for a brief moment. They slowly raised their arm and pointed.

“My guitar is over there.”

Tommy’s face lit up. “You play guitar!”

“Not in years,” Fletcher said.

“Were you in a band?” Tommy asked.

“...No.” Fletcher’s eyes were wandering, lost in thought. Hands still in fists folded over their arms. They wanted to say something but wouldn’t.

“You and your friend played together?” Tommy prompted.

“Yeah…” Fletcher took a breath like they were going to say something else, then shut their mouth. “Let’s keep looking”

~~

“I have to go into town, and I don’t want to leave you here alone,” Fletcher said. They had pulled up a chair to talk to Tommy as he sat on the edge of his bed. “Do you think you can handle coming along?”

“Um,” Tommy blinked a few times. The thought of getting out of the house should be exciting, but he had barely been out in public in years. Closest he got was the conventions he was taken to as a product demo, and the aquarium trip, where he’d had a panic attack. He ran his hands over his legs. “Like, where are we… going?”

“I have to do a supply run every month or so,” Fletcher said. “At least while there’s a group in the house. We need groceries. Sometimes I have to pick up ammo, medical supplies, things like that. But I don’t want to leave you here unsupervised, and I don’t trust the trainees to… well, you can ask Buck what happened when I left him behind to go on a run.”

It was odd to think of Buck being trapped here at the whims of violent tormentors. Tommy knew it had happened, of course, but seeing Buck come and go of his own volition made it difficult for those perceptions of him to coexist in his mind. 

“So… not really a choice, right?” Tommy forced a half-smile.

“Hm, no,” Fletcher said. “Just getting a vibe. Do you think you’re going to panic?”

“Um. I don’t know,” Tommy picked at the sheets.

“Well, look, we’ll see how it goes, maybe you can wait in the car for some stuff.” Fletcher shrugged. “But, we have to talk security measures. Can’t have you running off or running your mouth. It would just be a big mess for me to clean up, in the end. You understand that, right?”

Tommy nodded. 

“If anyone finds out about you or this place, I’d have to kill them,” Fletcher emphasized.

Tommy dropped his eyes to the floor and nodded again. 

“So, to be safe…” 

Fletcher pulled something out of their pocket that sent a shiver up Tommy’s spine.

It was his old collar. The one Caius had made him wear, with the electrified barbs that dug into the tender skin of his throat. He felt sick just looking at it.

He was grateful for the new, painless collar. Buck had still looked put off when he saw it, and it had made Tommy somewhat embarrassed, but to be honest, he didn’t know how he would feel not wearing a collar after all this time.

And now the old one was back.

What if they weren’t going on a supply run at all? What if Fletcher was taking him back to Caius?

“If you’re good,” Fletcher said, watching his pale expression. “Next time it can be a normal shock collar. No barbs. Okay?”

Tommy nodded, eyes never leaving the collar.

“Alright, c’mere.” Fletcher gestured for Tommy to lean forward. He obeyed in a stiff, robotic motion, forcing himself through the fear. They reached behind his neck and unbuckled the collar. Freed for a moment, but now his throat was rendered vulnerable to his old collar’s teeth. Tommy sat deathly still as Fletcher replaced his old collar, even when the barbs bit into his skin. He white-knuckled the sheets.

Tommy’s chest felt too tight for his heart, too tight for his lungs. Tears stung as his eyes. He couldn’t move. With a blink, the tears breached and spilled down his face.

“Woah, you good?” Fletcher sounded surprised.

Tommy tried to say “I’m okay,” but all that came out was a tight lipped “Mrmm.”

Fletcher observed him carefully. Hands twisted tight in the fabric, chest rising and falling rapidly, crying silently. 

They didn’t want to walk it back - relent and let him wear a different collar immediately after declaring he needed to wear this one. But they didn’t know how to comfort someone having a panic attack. They only knew how to instill fear, not subside it. 

Fletcher put their hands on Tommy’s arms.  

“Can you do this for me?” They gave him a gentle squeeze. “Can you keep it together?”

Tommy gave a slow, unconvincing nod.

“I won’t use it if you’re good,” Fletcher assured him. “And all you have to do to be good is do nothing.”

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut and nodded again.

“Okay. Look at me. Deep breath, okay?”

Fletcher took a big, slow breath. Tommy followed along. Fletcher held it a few seconds, then slowly blew it out. Tommy’s breath came out shaky as he copied their actions. 

“In for five, hold for five, out for five. Okay? Do it again.”

In, two, three, four, five. Hold, two, three, four, five. Out, two, three, four, five.

Despite the exercise, Tommy made an involuntary noise of distress - a muffled moan from behind his clenched jaw. He began to shake, nervous energy overflowing in his body.

“Okay, hey,” Fletcher moved their hands to his shoulders. “Watch me, watch.” They held up a hand. “Touch your thumb to your pinky, ring, index. Skip the middle. Pinky, ring, index.”

Tommy watched, unsure, before looking down at his own hand to mimic the movements. Pinky, ring, skip the middle, index.

“Okay, good. Now, pinky, middle, index. Pinky, middle, index.”

Pinky, middle, index. 

“Alternate those. Pinky, ring, index. Pinky, middle, index. You’ll have to think about it.”

Tommy tapped his thumb to the tip of each finger. When he changed the pattern he hesitated, making sure not to touch the finger he needed to skip. Fletcher was right, it required his focus. His breathing began to calm down on its own. 

“There you go!” Fletcher ruffled his hair. Tommy leaned into it, but the touch lasted only a moment. 

~~

There was a chill bite in the air. Fletcher had wrapped a scarf around Tommy’s neck to hide the collar, and given him a coat to wear - a heavy denim work jacket, lined with well-worn flannel. It dwarfed his thin frame, but kept him cozy.

Tommy pulled himself up into the truck, settling into the bench seat in the back.

Fletcher turned around in the driver’s seat to look at him.

“What are you doing?”

Tommy stiffened, trying to figure out what he had done wrong. “Uh…”

“Am I your chauffeur? Get up here.”

Tommy hesitated only a moment before clambering out of the back and moving up to ride shotgun. He tucked his hands between his thighs, both to keep them warm and to maintain his distance.

“What kind of music do you like?” Fletcher asked. They plugged an aux cord into an ipod and began to scroll.

“Oh, um, whatever you want to listen to is fine,” Tommy assured them.

“Not what I asked.”

“I, uh… I like punk music,” Tommy admitted.

Fletcher looked up at him and smiled. “Yeah? Like what?”

“Um, like… Billy Talent, The Offspring, Destroy Boys, uh…”

“Green Day?”

“Yeah.”

“Against me!?”

“Yes, some.”

“Bouncing Souls?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay, I’m just going to put it on shuffle, you can tell me what you recognize.”

Fletcher drove carefully through the woods, following a path through the trees marked only by previous tire tread. The truck bumped along steadily until they emerged onto an empty country road. 

“We’re just going into town to go to the grocery store,” Fletcher explained. “There’s a farm I have a barter system with, and I normally like to go there for my produce, at least, but… I took Buck there one time. And having one guy with visible scarring who has to wait in the car is explainable enough. But a second guy with visible scarring who has to wait in the car, that starts to get suspicious. So, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t want to stop going there, but I also don’t want to have to stage a death cult situation if they catch on that something is up. They’re nice people.”

“...Sure.”

“I don’t… love going out in public, either,” Fletcher admitted. “But I’m good at lying. You… maybe just hang back a bit and try to stay calm. In fact, it’s best if you don’t talk to anyone. We can get you some headphones or something if it’s overstimulating. I don’t know how bad off you are.”

“I… I think I can hold it together,” Tommy mumbled. He watched the scenery go by out the window. Everything was frosted in snow – the trees, fields, the occasional home or warehouse set back from the road. It was all a reminder that a normal world still existed, even though he hadn't been part of it for years. 

Caius usually cuffed his hands to the inside door handle. Without being tethered in place, he wasn’t sure what to do with them, so he kept them tucked away. 

Tommy gasped suddenly and turned his head away from the window.

“What?” Fletcher asked, eyebrows raised.

“Just… dead cat. On the side of the road.”

“Aw, that’s awful.” Fletcher shook their head. “I don’t know why people still think it’s okay to have outdoor cats. They think their pets are somehow immune to the dangers of the world, and then they get hit by cars or eaten by coyotes or whatever. Or come home with fleas. Diseases.” They took their eyes off the road for a moment to look at Tommy, their gaze heavy on him. “It’s just not safe out there.”

Tommy swallowed and nodded, letting his eyes drift back outside. 

When they got to the grocery store, Tommy trailed close behind Fletcher, hands tucked into the pockets of the coat. Fletcher would ask for Tommy’s input occasionally, but mostly moved through swiftly, stocking up in bulk. His role was as their shadow, collecting items here and there at Fletcher’s direction.

It wouldn’t be obvious to anyone else how on edge Fletcher was, but Tommy could see it. A tightness in their features, tension in their shoulders. The way their eyes moved around like they were scanning for threats. 

Tommy was feeling the anxiety as well. It had been so long since he had been around so many people that were just… normal. Going about their days. Didn’t know who he was, or what he was. The aquarium visit felt distant, faded like far more time had passed than actually had. It wasn’t nearly as crowded as the grocery store was, bustling with people. He caught some eyes lingering on the pale patches of his skin, on the long scar that ran down beside his eye. He shook his hair down in front of his face to cover him as much as it could, hiding a grimace when the motion tugged painfully on the collar.

It crossed his mind - what if he tried to get help? Even if he ran up to a stranger and begged them to help him, would they? Did it make a difference if he found the store manager, asked them to call the police? What if he made a scene, screaming that he was being held against his will?

He would probably just look crazy. People would turn away, more uncomfortable than concerned. He’d seen the shocking amount of apathy people had when he was sleeping rough. Even if someone cared, Fletcher would talk their way out of it. Or, if they fled the scene, they would find him later, and take him back. And then he’d really be in for it.

He couldn’t imagine it working. Nothing had worked out for him in years. All it would accomplish would be to ruin any good graces he had with Fletcher. They would never take him out of the lodge again. He could lose privileges to food, to outdoor access, to any small luxuries Fletcher allowed him. They would hurt him for sure. Worse - they might send him back.

So Tommy behaved. He only spoke when Fletcher asked him a question. He avoided eye contact with the other people in the store. He didn’t ask for anything. 

The cart was filled to the brim by the time they were done. Fletcher climbed into the bed of their truck and had Tommy pass them the bags so they could load them into coolers against the cab. 

“We need to leave room,” Fletcher said. “We have more pickups.”

Tommy didn’t ask where they were going. The next stop was a house in a residential neighborhood. He waited in the car while Fletcher went up and rang the doorbell. A woman answered and welcomed them inside. They emerged a few minutes later carrying a grocery bag, which they put in the back seat before driving off again.

 “You hungry?” Fletcher asked. 

They took Tommy to a fast food drive through. Tommy was overwhelmed by the amount of options on the menu, and picked a simple staple - cheeseburger, fries, chocolate shake. 

Tommy took a bite of the cheeseburger. It was… underwhelming. He really was spoiled by Fletcher’s cooking. Next, the fries. Now, those scratched an itch he didn’t know he had. He took a few more and dragged them through his milkshake, reveling in the complimentary flavors of salty and sweet. 

Tommy had scarfed down his food by the time they made their next stop. The truck pulled up along the curb outside of a music supply store. He looked at Fletcher in surprise, but didn’t say anything.

Fletcher said nothing either, just got out of the truck. Tommy followed them inside and up to the desk.

“Hey, I’m picking up an order for Fletcher.” They rapped their knuckles lightly against the counter. 

The employee tapped away at the computer. “Mkay… Fletcher? Yep, got it right here. That your truck? We’ll start bringing it out to ya.”

Fletcher nodded and headed back outside. Tommy lagged slightly as he followed, looking around wide eyed at the vast array of shiny new instruments. He badly wanted to stay and check some out, but he had to stay at Fletcher’s heel.

He still didn’t ask.

The employee wheeled out a u-cart. Most of it was in boxes. But the boxes had labels - images of what was inside. And the bass drum was in its own distinct travel case. 

Fletcher lowered the tailgate and began to load in the new drum set with the employee. Tommy jumped in as well, hands shaking. He remembered packing up Avi’s van to play shows. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Fletcher thanked the employee. They turned back to Tommy.

He was on the verge of hyperventilating. He had told Fletcher that he used to play drums, and now they were buying a whole drum set. A new drum set. But yet he couldn’t bring himself to say, is it for me? It felt too presumptuous, too fragile. If he didn’t ask, then Fletcher couldn’t hurt him with their answer. Instead he stood there and waited, wide eyed and trembling.

“Yes, they’re for you,” Fletcher said.

Tommy couldn’t contain himself. He brought his arms up, nearly squealing with excitement, before rushing forward and embracing Fletcher in a hug.

“Woah! Okay.” Fletcher recoiled at first, but Tommy held fast. They patted him awkwardly on the back. “Alright.”

“Thank you so much!” Tommy pulled back to talk face to face, but was still clinging to their coat, his eyes shining with emotion. “Thank you, thank you, what do I have to do?”

Fletcher half smiled. “Uh, not judge me for being out of practice.”

Tommy’s eyes widened again. “We’re going to play together?!”

“Yeah, I’m not going to let you have all the fun.”

Tommy stepped back, hands on his cheeks, beaming at the drums in the back of the truck.

“I can’t believe you bought a whole new kit,” he said in wonderment.

Fletcher chuckled. “I know. The employees probably think you’re my sugar baby.” They closed the tailgate and headed back to the driver’s seat. “Let’s go.”

Tommy was still buzzing with excitement, nearly bouncing in his seat.

“I can’t thank you enough, Fletcher,” he said. “Really, whatever I need to do-“”

“Relax,” Fletcher smirked at him. “I’m, uh, trying out this thing where I’m… a little nicer. I have my reasons. I’m trying to make your stay with me better.”

“I really, really appreciate it, Fletcher.”

“Yeah. I’m still gonna, you know, be mean sometimes. So.” They drummed their fingers on the steering wheel. “When I played with my friend, we could never find a drummer.”

Tommy sensed that this was sensitive information Fletcher was revealing. “Yeah, not enough of us to go around,” he offered a small laugh. “Maybe, if you want to call up your friend, we could all play together?”

Fletcher shook their head once. “He’s dead.”

“Oh.” Fuck. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s fine,” Fletcher cut him off. 

There was silence for a bit, other than the hum of the motor and the rumble of rough road. Tommy wracked his brain for how to recover the conversation, not wanting to end on such a sharp turn from positive to negative, but it was Fletcher who spoke up first.

“Me and him were partners in crime. There was another guy we ran with. We tried to get him to learn drums but he wouldn’t. Couldn’t exactly audition for a drummer and not let on that two-thirds of the band were murderers for hire. So it was just us.”

“It’s still fun to jam with friends,” Tommy encouraged, his voice soft. 

Fletcher nodded. They pulled out their ipod and turned the music back on. 

I am a patient boy

I wait, I wait, I wait, I wait

My time is like water down a drain 

~~

The two of them cleared out a section of the basement and set up the drums. Fletcher laid down an area rug so they wouldn’t be on the cold cement floor.

Tommy felt a little twist in his stomach and the prospect of having to spend time down there in order to play, but he wasn’t going to argue. 

“This thing is so out of tune,” Fletcher muttered to themself, strumming each string of the guitar over their knee. It was red, a little scuffed, and the strap was covered in pins and buttons which Fletcher had stopped a moment to sentimentally ruminate over. They adjusted the knobs as they plucked away. “Okay, let me see if I can remember…”

They played a few chords haltingly, cursing under their breath and trying different placements of their fingers. The chords came together. It was below tempo, but still recognizable as the intro to Blink-182’s “Dammit.” Fletcher giggled in accomplishment. 

Tommy hesitated with his sticks above the drums. It was going to be loud. He couldn’t imagine being allowed to be loud. And he hadn’t played in more than five years. What if he couldn’t do it anymore? What if he lost the skill he had spent so long honing? He made constant micro adjustments to the over-the-ear noise canceling earmuffs Fletcher had given him. 

“Just do some practice stuff,” Fletcher said, watching Tommy’s hesitance. “Like, uh… what do they call the, like, building block stuff, when you’re learning?”

“Rudiments?”

“Yeah, do some of that shit,” Fletcher said. “Just ease back into it.

Tommy ghosted the sticks above the skins a couple more times before finally bringing one down gently on the snare. It rattled back at him. He tried again, with more snap in his wrist. 

One… two… three… four… One… two… three… four… one, and, two, and, three, and, four, and…

The grip felt natural. The movements were a little stiff, but he could tell they would come back with a little exercise. He smiled, biting his lip as he moved from eighths to sixteenths.

Tommy tried a roll next. It was clunky, but not far off enough to discourage him. He looked up at Fletcher, expecting to share an excited smile - a bonding moment as they both returned to their instruments after years - but Fletcher was looking suddenly morose. Their eyes were on the ground, but their vision was distant. They plucked a single string with their thumb repeatedly, barely enough to make noise.

Tommy stopped playing. 

Fletcher looked up at him, saw his concerned expression, and huffed. They covered their eyes, then pinched their nose. 

“Don’t fucking look at me, man,” they groaned. “Turn your fucking stool around.”

Tommy shuffled around in his seat. He faced the wall awkwardly, drumsticks in his lap.

A pause, a sniff, a throat clearing cough. Foot tapping against the ground.

“Okay. I’m good. You can turn back around.”

Tommy turned back slowly. He tried to study Fletcher’s face without looking at them straight on.

“It’s fine,” Fletcher stated firmly. “I haven’t played… since.” They scratched their head. “It’s been like six years.”

Fletcher fell to silence again, eyes again dropping into the distance. Tommy didn’t dare interrupt.

“Were you like a full punk kid?” Fletcher asked, changing the subject. Their tone was light and conversational once more. “Or just like a pop punk suburbanite?”

“Mm… I mean, I grew up in a trailer park with my mom. It was a pretty safe neighborhood, honestly. But I got kicked out, and no one wanted to hire a seventeen year old, and then it was just one bad job to another…” Tommy looked down at his lap, swinging his feet absentmindedly. 

There was a long pause, and he realized he hadn’t answered the question.

“I did protests, put together some charity shows, whenever I wasn’t working. I was knicking some things to make ends meet, but I got caught, and no one paying anything would hire me. Then it was just whatever I could make off of shows and DIY shit, odd jobs, cleaning houses for friends, bottle returns. I couldn’t afford rent anywhere, so as soon as another sketchy roommate dipped, I’d be back sleeping in my car again. But when you’re in the scene, people don’t judge you so much for being poor, for sleeping rough. They’re a lot more accepting, willing to help out.”

Fletcher nodded, thinking for a moment before they spoke.

“I was never like, broke or homeless, but my family was, you know, working class. Both my parents worked and they had three kids, so I had to get a job when I was… 16 or 17 at a local diner. I was waiting tables but I was so bad at customer service they stuck me in back of house. That’s why I like to cook. But right after high school I started doing crime professionally. It took a minute to figure out how to get connected and get a name for yourself and start making money, but once you do, it’s good money. So by the time I was in my 20s I could pretty much buy whatever I wanted. But I never wanted to live the lifestyle of the rich and famous. For one, I didn’t want to flash blood money, but also, I grew up working for chump change and wearing hand-me-down and thrift store clothes, you know? Some people are desperate to ditch that lifestyle but I never felt like I should be a wealthy elite type. I always felt more comfortable in dive bars. Now, I am rich, but I try to be mostly self-sustaining, so I’m just sitting on the money.

“But - punk, right. I was into, well, all of it. Punk, emo, metal, hardcore. My parents didn’t really care if I was downtown at some DIY show until midnight, and mosh pits were the best outlet I had for my…” they gestured vaguely at themself. “You know, whatever is wrong with me. Violent aggression. And people would pick me up when I got knocked down. I always loved that about the scene. You knock each other down and pick each other up. It was violent but everyone had each other’s backs.” 

They both sat in silence for a few moments, remembering those days. 

“It’s funny how you end up sometimes,” Tommy mused aloud.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, uh… never mind, I didn’t…”

“No, really, what did you mean?”

Fletcher didn’t seem angry. Yet. 

“Just that, you know, we were both punks, and uh, it’s like. Anarchy and rule breaking and f-freedom and stuff.”

He paused, hoping the implication would be enough without having to elaborate, but Fletcher still waited. Their eyes had narrowed.

“And now I’m like, an object. A possession. I just do whatever anyone tells me, which isn’t very punk rock. And you… you know.”

Fletcher remained silent. They just wanted him to say it. 

“You’re, like, an authority figure.”

Fletcher stood abruptly, lifting the guitar strap off their neck.

“I’m done for today.”

“Wait, no, wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“”

“Just…” Fletcher put up their hand to silence Tommy. They picked up a practice pad and passed it to him. “Take this. Go to your room. Practice your fucking paradiddles.” 

Tommy took the pad, clutching it close along with his sticks. Fletcher returned their guitar to its case and snapped it closed. Tommy scurried up the stairs, eager to get out of Fletcher’s sight and retreat to his room. It was disappointing not to get time on the set yet, but he could feel he had touched on something very precarious in Fletcher. With no way of knowing what it was, he had to tread carefully, and then some. 

He closed the room to his door behind him, dropped the pad onto his bedside table, and flopped face-first onto his bed. Every time he thought things were going well with Fletcher, they’d suddenly get pissed off, and he would suffer for it. 

Years of learning to be a people-pleaser, learning to read people and what they wanted from him like his life depended on it - because it did. The one thing he thought he was truly good at, yet his time with Fletcher had shaken his confidence to the core. Nothing that Caius wanted worked - offering himself as a sex doll drove Fletcher to put a gun in his mouth. Attempted flattery was punished as mockery, asking permission was met with annoyance. The apologetic nature Caius had beaten into him for years was now treated like a nuisance. Fletcher could have moments of such startling kindness, like buying Tommy a whole new drumset just today - and then turn around and deliver such cruelty. Whatever this mood was, at least he wasn’t really being punished - for now - but he could stay up all night wondering what exactly he did wrong and still be no closer to understanding by morning. It was emotional whiplash, how fast their mood could change. Tommy was used to walking on eggshells, yet he constantly misstepped with Fletcher. 

He burrowed his face into his pillow and groaned, shaken by the interaction. Tommy felt frustrated and helpless. If he told Fletcher that, they might smile. Or - fuck, who knows. 

He sighed and reluctantly got back up, repositioning himself to work on his practice pad. He didn’t want to know what would happen if Fletcher caught him eschewing the practice they’d ordered. Tommy started to tap out his old fundamentals, obedient. 

Par-a-did-dle Par-a-did-dle Par-a-did-dle-

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @utopian819 @pretty-face-breaker @thesuffererrrr

[very-bunny]

Women have many belongings. It used to vex Nanami. But it doesn’t anymore.

The first thing to migrate to his home, was your face lotion. He has a face lotion, a perfectly serviceable one, but you insisted on bringing your own. Your routine was important to you, you had told him, and Nanami understood. Routines, rules, structure – these are all things he has always respected, found meaning in. And so, in his bathroom, his drugstore razor, toothbrush, and facewash sat together, lined up like toy soldiers, right next to a luxurious indigo jar of face cream.

The rest of your routine follows shortly: the lilac bottle of mist that smells like aloe, the golden serum that smells like summertime, and the periwinkle tube of your green tea face wash. Your bergamot and sandalwood soap linger on his pillow, and when he can’t smell you on his sheets anymore, longing sits heavy and sticky in his throat.

Your clothes are next. Amidst his practical navy, gray, and blacks, appear pops of warm lilac, royal blue, and torched orange. He doesn’t mind it in the least – it would be entirely unreasonable for him to demand that you stop bringing such colorful clothes in his home, especially when he never really wants you to leave.

When the two of you finally just bite the bullet and put your name on the lease, Nanami imagines that his life will certainly become more colorful. But he doesn’t have the first idea of how many more things will be in his house.

All his life, Nanami has lived quietly, abstemiously. He is a jujutsu sorcerer – while his non-sorcerer peers were learning trigonometry, he was learning how to kill curses and how to die as a soldier dies: with resolve and bravery, to the bitterest end. His life has been fat trimmed from steak, practical solid color towels, plastic storage bins with plenty of clearing near the edge, never packed to capacity. A man who walks on the very edge of life and death doesn’t require more than the necessities. The very few things he indulges in are sensible: good whiskey, grade A rice, custom leather shoes (no broguing) built to take a beating.

You bring in your life to his, and it is completely different. You’re striped linens, fresh flowers, scented candles on every corner. Baby blue drinking glasses shaped like beer cans, artisanal ceramicware made by friends locally. Your life is marked by comfort, simple pleasure, and (dare he say it) the sweetest, most innocent frivolity. He supposes it’s really what he loves most about you, honestly. He’s always tended drawn closer to brighter, bolder personalities: earnest and warm, like Haibara and Itadori, not bombastic and irreverent, like Gojo or Tsukumo. You belong in the same shades of sunlight as Haibara and Itadori, but…tender. Like the dream-like throw of warm, rose tipped dawn that thaws the chill of his lonely apartment.

Now, in the mornings, he doesn’t wake to the desolate silence of a man alone. He wakes to the sound of your fluffy slippers in the kitchen, the smell of dark roast coffee, the sight of your toiletries sitting side by side in the bathroom, cozy and couple-like.

Somewhere between your checker print tea kettle, and the warmth of your body on the sheets, Nanami falls so in love with you that he looks back on his life and wonders how he ever lived, starved of the sun that is you, for so long.

[drivinmeinsane]

Family : 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Three ❆ Sierra Six / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas 2024 Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

❆ Summary: Your tenant might be a mystery, but he's one you want to try to solve forever. ❆ Rating: No mature content. ❆ Content/Tags: Domesticity, Fluff, Pre-relationship, Confessions, Six is 100% Claire's adoptive father, Use of "Court" as an alias, Set sometime post-movie canon, No use of Y/N ❆ Word Count: 1447

It’s too damn early for anyone to be functioning, but here you are—awake and making a beeline for the nearest source of easily obtainable caffeine. The faintest scuffle in the room barely lit by the first touches of dawn alert you to someone else’s presence. You are not alone.

“Good morning, Court,” you say reflexively. There is no one else it could be.

You stop to flick the light switch, flooding the room with artificial light. A yawn pulls itself from your jaws, keeping you cemented in place and prompting you to stretch your arms over your head in a spine-relieving pop. Content but still ready to sag to the floor in a crumpled heap as a sign of another sleepless night, you move the rest of the way into the kitchen to join the tall man at the coffee pot.

“’Morning,” he finally returns once you’re close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him.

His voice is still rough from a night of disuse. You’re forced to blink away the thought of hearing that near-growl pressed against your own throat after a night spent in bed together. Your thoughts about your tenant have become an inappropriate, tangled snare from all the months that he and his daughter have been staying in your spare bedrooms.

Cautioning yourself with the information that you barely know this man hasn’t put a damper on your growing feelings, even if getting a potentially real name out of him had been like pulling teeth after a weeks’ long oral surgery. He only ever pays in cash and dodges questions as though answering them would sink a bullet in him from an ever-watching sniper. Despite the red flags, you’re helplessly attracted to what you do know about him.

He’s unfathomably kind—the perfect gentleman in the way that he goodnaturedly accepts the potshots his daughter takes at him and assists you with tasks around the run-down bed and breakfast that you had inherited. He dotes on Claire without question and has seemingly expanded his orbit of care to include you. It all makes you want them to stay. Forever. The thought of the father-daughter duo moving out is enough to make you feel ill.

“What’s on the agenda today, boss?” he asks, breaking into your thoughts. He further scrambles them by leaning around you to take the sugar jar down from the cupboard. He feels scalding hot against your back. A thick arm brushes against your shoulder, the tendons in the backs of his wide hand flexing as he wraps his fingers around the container. You suppress the urge to lean back against his broad chest and instead clear your throat.

“Want to help me get the decorations out of storage? There’s some cookies in it for it if you do.”

“Deal.” His answer is abrupt. This man has a sweet tooth a mile long and an insatiable appetite for whatever has been put in front of him. Court always eats like he’s known starvation and might experience it again at any moment. It makes you wonder what kind of life he has led before winding up on your doorstep.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The task is far more of a hassle than you had thought it would be. You’re forced to stand to the side while Court squeezes himself into one of the many narrow gaps in the maze of junk that fills the attic. Your relative had been one hell of a hoarder. You’ve already made several trips. This is the final foray into the packrats’ nest.

An unintelligible grumble of words reaches your ears and you crane your neck. You catch a glimpse of your tenant. He is in the midst of crawling over a battered luggage trunk.

“You okay back there?” you call out.

“Sure,” he answers back. Then a pause, “Wait, how many cookies are we talking?”

“As many as you want.”

“Peanut butter?”

“If that’s what you want.”

In response, Court renews his efforts to get to the back of the attic. There’s clattering, a choked off yelp as he hits his elbow on some long-forgotten object, and then he’s emerging from the depths. The worn box containing the Christmas tree is propped onto one shoulder. Success.

You can’t resist teasing him once you’re out of the forlorn attic. You flutter one hand dramatically at your face and pretend to swoon after he hauls himself and the box down the rickety ladder. “Oh my, such a big, strong man out here saving Christmas,” you say, suitably breathy and awed.

You’re rewarded by Court flushing down to his chest. The pink of his skin only makes his blue eyes even more prominent. He gives a token groan at the theatrics, but still shyly averts his gaze. It’s always been easy for you to fluster the tall man.

In blushing silence, he carries the box down to the bed and breakfast’s sitting room where he sets it down with a low grunt. Something must be pulling at his side. You’ve seen him favor his left on occasion. You kneel down at his side to assist him. Together, the two of you pull the relic out of its cardboard casket and attempt to wrestle the wire branches into something nearing presentable. The two of you have just crammed it nicely in the corner when Claire’s footsteps hammer loudly on the stairs.

She busts into the room with a cheery, “Good morni—Wow, you guys have been busy and not in a fun way,” she adds with an exaggerated waggle of her eyebrows after taking in the boxes and tote bins scattered around the room.

A quick glance at Court reveals him fidgeting with a twisted artificial branch. He is gamely trying to ignore his daughter’s commentary. It makes you smile, even as something other than amusement flutters in your chest.

“Your dad helped drag it all out. Do you want to do me a favor and help decorate?”

Her eyes light up. “Yes, yes, absolutely.”

“Have at it,” you sat with a gesture at the waiting containers and Claire immediately leaps into action.

Court and you step back to give her room to work as she starts digging through the mess. You slip into the kitchen to retrieve your lukewarm mugs of coffee. You offer Court his and he takes it a murmured thanks. Neither of you make any effort to avoid the minute brush of your fingers.

“Will you being going to see family?”

He shrugs. “She’s all the family I got left,” he says with a gesture at the girl untangling a strand of lights. A fond smile teases the corner of his mouth before fading away. His focus shifts to you and he leans down, suddenly intimate. “How about you? Are you taking off to see your folks?”

You studiously avoid mapping the contours of his nose with your eyes and take a swig of coffee. “No… the relatives that are still around… Well, we’re not really close.”

The man at your side nods, silent. You get a peek behind his carefully amiable mask to see that there is the hardened edge grief set into his face. It’s still raw, still too fresh to acknowledge with any candor. For both of your sakes, you shake off your melancholy and reach over with your free hand. You slap Court playfully on his—frankly—massive bicep.

“Do you want to play house this Christmas?”

A long pause follows. Your fingers clench around your mug, knuckles bleaching under the pressure. It stretches on for so long that you feel your stomach drop.

Shit, you think, I shouldn’t have said that.

You’re on the verge of opening your mouth to beg forgiveness when he speaks.

“I might not be playing by the end of it.”

Oh… Oh. It’s your turn to feel your face flush.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” you confess. At his raised eyebrow, you continue, “It being for real.”

A heavy hand finds a home on the back of your neck as Court draws you in, forehead to forehead. His nose brushes against yours. For a dizzying moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“You want to to be a family with me?” he asks. His breath is hot against your lips.

You nod, nearly sick with longing. You feel like you’re burning up.

“Use your words,” he prompts, voice low.

“Yes. I want that. I want you to stay. I want us to be a family.��

He gives you a praising squeeze that makes you shiver. He withdraws from your space with a crooked smile, hand dropping back down to his side.

“Then let’s be one.”

<- previous day // next day ->

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

104/150 with lethal company?

104) I can hear it calling my name

.........

[Y/n], January 29th, [Log 001]

---I'm afraid this will be my last log. So I'm keeping this encrypted.

Everyone's gone, but I'm still here. And I'm terrified. We started on this job as strangers, and we became family. Now I'm all alone because of a stupid mask. A piece of scrap we should've just sold off.

But he thought it would be funny to wear. I don't blame him. He was always a jokester, willing to do anything to turn a frown upside down and make light of our dreary trips. I know he didn't mean to hurt us. He thought it was harmless. Honest to god we thought so too.

Until he started vomiting blood and tried grabbing me. He tore off my helmet, along with my tracker, but I managed to get away. I still don't know how. But I wish I was smarter about it, because I got lost.

Then I heard the ship's engines.

They must've thought I was dead. Or maybe they all died and the autopilot kicked in. I'm not sure. I don't even know the current time. But what I do know is that I'm stuck here now. Possibly forever. I could make an SOS but that monster is still outside. I had to barricade myself in this storage room and wait until it goes away.

It keeps knocking. I can hear it calling my name. But I know it's not him.

To anyone who reads this, don't pick up the porcelain masks. They aren't worth shit. It'll tempt you to put it on. Don't. You'll find better loot elsewhere. If you see anyone already wearing it, kill them. Stun them. Run. Whatever. Just don't let it take you.

And if you see me wearing it, put me out of my misery. I promise I'll understand---

Finishing what would likely be your final log, you sighed and slumped back against the wall, letting the tablet slip from your hands.

You don't know how long you've been stuck here--whether it's been hours or days.

But all you know is that the Masked on the other side of the door hasn't left. It was using your coworker's corpse, mimicking his voice as it pounded on the steel and tried convincing you to let it in, even shattering the window. For some reason it refused to leave you alone, and kept begging and begging until it began screaming unintelligently...

That would go on and on until eventually it would cease, weakly clawing at the door, only to rinse and repeat once it rested its voice.

You were starving, trying your best to ration the jar of pickles you were luckily able to find in this storage room.

Unfortunately, that's as far as your luck will go at this point. They were sour and made you want to vomit every time you ate one. But while you didn't want starvation to take your life, you weren't exactly sure how you really wanted to go out instead.

It sure as hell wasn't gonna be from that bastard who took away your friends.

"It's clear....all clear......come on out....the ship is leaving..leave....out.....COME OUT..!! COME OUT!! COMEOUTCOMEOUT-!!"

With your heart hammering in your chest, you curled up and covered your ears, squeezing both eyes shut. 'Fuck, it's losing its mind again...this is a nightmare..why did I ever take this job?' You tried not to focus on the screams so much, and instead prayed for some kind of miracle.

But in space, would anyone really hear your prayers?

Yet somebody must have, because the screaming abruptly stopped a minute later, being replaced by the sounds of heavy thumping and growling drawing near.

You only knew one other alien creature that made those.

And you knew it was pissed off.

Getting up and backing away from the door, you fearfully clutched a stop sign as you heard a series of terrified shrieks, roars, slamming and crashing sounds....before silence followed, save for the low growls you heard earlier and chewing noises.

Cautiously, you went back over and pushed aside one of the things covering up the window, and the sight on the other side was quite nauseating:

The Thumper was hovering over the Masked's body, teeth covered in blood and flesh as it tore into it, clearly wanting to savor this midnight snack.. But eventually it decided to drag the rest of the corpse away and to another part of the facility, only leaving behind a few shattered fragments of white dirty porcelain.

You couldn't believe it.

You were actually happy that a Thumper, of all things, saved your skin.

But you sure as hell didn't want it coming back for a second lunch. Now was your window of opportunity to get out of here. The adrenaline pumping through your veins was the only reason you were able to grab your loot and book it out of that storage room, being careful not to run into that Thumper again.

At least now you could go outside and (hopefully) send an S.O.S.

[magickkate]

Hey there, magical beings! 🌟 Whether you're just starting out or have been on your witchy journey for a while, it's super important to keep safety at the forefront. Here's a comprehensive guide to ensure you brew your potions and cast your spells with care.

Know Your Ingredients Understanding what you’re working with is crucial. Always research every herb, oil, or component thoroughly. Some plants are toxic, especially when ingested or applied to the skin. For example, while belladonna is a classic ingredient in many historical potions, it’s highly toxic and should be avoided unless you have extensive knowledge and experience handling it. Recommendation: Create an ingredient list with detailed notes about each item’s properties, uses, and potential dangers. Use reputable sources and consider consulting an herbalist or experienced witch for guidance.

Proper Storage Proper storage isn't just about neatness; it's about safety. Keep your ingredients in labeled, airtight containers to maintain their potency and prevent contamination. Recommendation: Invest in dark glass jars, which protect contents from light and extend shelf life. Store your supplies in a cool, dry place away from direct sunlight, children, and pets. A well-organized storage system will save you time and prevent dangerous mix-ups.

Safe Mixing Practices Mixing potions and crafting spells should be done in a clean, dedicated space. Cross-contamination can ruin your preparations and pose health risks. Recommendation: Designate a specific area for your magical workings. Use tools and containers reserved exclusively for this purpose. Ensure your workspace is well-ventilated, particularly when dealing with strong-smelling or potentially hazardous substances. Protective gear, like gloves and aprons, can shield you from accidental spills or splashes.

Testing and Application Before you apply any potion to your body, always perform a patch test. This simple step can prevent serious allergic reactions. Recommendation: Apply a small amount of the potion to your inner wrist or elbow and wait 24 hours to check for any adverse reactions. For spells, ensure you understand the energy and intent behind them fully. Misapplied spells can lead to unintended consequences.

Disposal of Unused Potions Improper disposal of magical materials can harm the environment. Recommendation: Dispose of unused or expired potions in a way that respects the earth. Never pour them down the drain. Instead, dilute them significantly and pour them into a garden or yard if they are non-toxic. For toxic materials, follow local hazardous waste disposal guidelines.

Clear Intentions Being specific with your intentions is key to effective and safe spellcasting. Recommendation: Spend time meditating and focusing on what you truly want to achieve before starting any spell. Write down your intention clearly and revisit it throughout the process to stay aligned.

Protective Measures Creating a safe space for your magical work helps protect you from negative energies. Recommendation: Cast a protective circle before starting your spellwork. This can be done through visualization, drawing a physical circle, or using protective herbs and stones. After casting, ground yourself to release any excess energy. Visualization techniques or physical actions like touching the earth can help with this.

Ethical Practices The ethics of magic are personal but crucial. Avoid spells that harm others or infringe on their free will. Recommendation: Reflect on the ethical implications of your magic. If you’re unsure, err on the side of caution. Consider the potential impact of your actions not just on yourself but on others and the environment.

Keep Records Keeping detailed records helps track your progress and learn from your experiences. Recommendation: Maintain a Book of Shadows or a magical journal. Document each spell and potion with its date, ingredients, process, and outcomes. Reviewing these entries can provide insights and help refine your practice.

Understand Consequences Every action has a reaction. Recommendation: Be mindful of the energies you are working with. The principle of cause and effect is strong in magic. Reflect on the potential consequences of your actions before you begin, and be prepared to accept the outcomes.

Continuous Learning Magic is a lifelong learning journey. Recommendation: Stay curious and continually seek knowledge. Attend workshops, read widely, and engage with other practitioners. Sharing knowledge and experiences can greatly enhance your understanding and practice.

Respect Nature Nature is a key element in many magical practices, and respecting it is paramount. Recommendation: Practice sustainable magic. Use ethically sourced materials, avoid over-harvesting plants, and honor the earth. Being mindful of your environmental impact is an integral part of responsible witchcraft.

Seek Guidance Don’t hesitate to ask for help. Recommendation: Build a network of trusted mentors and peers. They can offer support, answer questions, and provide valuable feedback on your practice. Joining a magical community can be incredibly enriching.

Enjoy the Journey Embrace the magical journey with an open heart and a curious mind. Recommendation: Celebrate your successes and learn from your mistakes. Every spell and potion is an opportunity to grow and expand your understanding of the magical world.

[esoteric-chaos]

All-Purpose Banishing Spray

This is from my recent (first video, awful quality) Samhain video on Evergreen Sorcery. It will get rid of all gunk in your space including nasty spirits.

Here is the recipe.

Ingredients

- Distilled Water: 3/4 cup

- Witch Hazel (alcohol-based is best for preservation): 1/4 cup (for solubilizing essential oils as well)

- DRIED Herbs: Pine, Cedar, Rue, Rose and their thorns

- Optional: Essential Oils Can be used in the placement of herbs

- (Optional for storage) Preservative: Optiphen Plus or Geogard ECT (follow manufacturer’s instructions; typically 0.5–1% of the total mixture)

Instructions

1. Infuse the Water: Boil the distilled water, then pour it over the dried herbs in a glass jar. Cover and let it steep until the water cools to room temperature. This creates a strong herbal infusion.

2. Strain the herbs out of the infusion using a fine mesh strainer or cheesecloth to avoid any plant particles in your spray. Make sure the liquid is clear.

3. Combine Ingredients: In a (preferably tinted) spray bottle, add the witch hazel and essential oils (optional) to the strained herbal infusion or just essential oils instead of herbs if you do not have herbal components.

4. Add Preservative: Add the preservative according to the manufacturer's recommended percentage for water-based formulas.

5. Mix and Store: Shake well, label (with date), and store in a cool, dark place and keep out of sunlight.

Tips on Preservatives

- Optiphen (op-tiphen) Plus: Ideal for water-based solutions.

- Geogard ECT: An eco-certified preservative that works well in a range of products.

Cautions:

Please be mindful of pets and other living beings, as certain ingredients, like essential oils, can harm them—it may be best to avoid using these near animals. Note that it’s normal for this mixture to become cloudy or separate over time; however, if you notice an off smell, it’s time to discard it. Also, remember that the oils in the mixture may cause stains on surfaces like bedding.

[dujour13]

Owlcatober 31. Funeral

Fandom: Wrath of the Righteous

Not exactly a funeral but appropriate for today 👻

cw: spooky?

Massive spoilers for the game & secret ending & my sequels Wandering Stars and West Wind.

Also on AO3

Ozone. Chemical solvents. Arcane flame. Metal and lightning. Nothing living in this place, and yet the air felt charged with tension as if holding its breath, suspended in time.

He paused in the corridor to get his bearings. He’d been here before long ago, more than once. Black crusts of demon blood smeared across the floor attested to the last time. Barren walls rippled in the stuttering light of a shattered arcane barrier. Splinters and scorch-marks were all that remained of the door beyond it. Violence wreaked by the fury of Elysium.

To the heart of the laboratory. His rose-gold glow and fresh, floral breeze followed but the darkness behind quickly swallowed them as he passed.

On the ramp leading down, the demonic trap was still active but it could no longer read him. It conjured disjointed, dreamlike tableaux that shifted one into another: beckoning azata under a starry sky; the bowsprit of the Light of Heaven plunging through warm sea-spray; a shady grove of pomegranate and poplar in Kelesh. A slim, horned shadow perched on a rooftop, turning a tender, laughing yellow eye his way. But these surface dreams rapidly gave way to a vision of Golarion flooded with starlight and joy, and finally the sky of his domain clear and unblemished by the darkly burning star.

He kept walking.

The lab stood just as he’d left it: charred husks of demons lying amidst broken glass and spilled chemicals, books just as Nenio discarded them pell-mell on the tables, the projector flickering, the stand where the Lexicon had been placed still illuminated by a bright beam once meant to lure him to it.

Slowly he went around the shelves reading the spines of the books, touching some to absorb their contents, avoiding others, until he came to a mechanism set into the wall. Curious. One they never managed to open. A constant purple light burned in its center. No amount of fiddling seemed to activate it until on impulse he looked straight into it and said, “It’s me.”

And then one of the bookshelves warped into another dimension and opened onto a secret storage room.

His own Elysian glow the only light, within its radius he made out shelf upon shelf of jars, tanks, and oblong metal boxes. He stood breathing the stale air, feeling uncannily afraid of what lay in those containers.

Something flitted past his peripheral vision and he turned sharply, but it was gone. Bone-deep cold and foul moisture clung to him, raising goosebumps even on his divine skin.

Then in the utter silence a whisper as light as a moth wing startled him: “Who is here?”

He peered deeper into the darkness, where a wisp of pale smoke hung between stacked boxes as if hiding itself.

“It’s me,” he said again.

“Oh.” A soft child’s voice, as if from far away. “You grew up.”

He squatted so he was eye-level with it. “Who are you? I can’t remember.”

“You never met us,” the voice sighed. “We only watched and listened. We heard you screaming.”

“You’re a ghost now. Who were you before?”

“I don’t remember. I think I had a momma and papa in a sunny place but maybe I just thought about that to feel warm.”

“You were one of her experiments,” he said, heart rising painfully.

“So were you.”

“Why was I the lucky one?”

“We didn’t think you were lucky. We heard you screaming and screaming. We heard her talking about how you were splitting open and how she had to stop it before it killed the ghost she was trying to sew inside us. That she sewed inside you.”

“She hurt you too, didn’t she?”

“Not long. We died.” It paused. “But you kept screaming.”

All that remained were nightmares pushed to the edges of his consciousness. He didn’t want to remember. It hurt him to think he was not alone. “But you’re still not at peace or you wouldn’t be haunting this place.”

“As long as she lives we will stay. One day she’ll come in here to look for something and we will remind her.”

He said gently, “How about if I do that for you, so you can rest?”

The ghost was silent for a while, a mist drifting across the wall as if trailing a hand on its familiar surface. “All right,” it sighed at last.

He reached out a lightly glowing hand. The mist inched toward it, coyly at first, and then nestling against it, and with his ethereal form he drew the ghost into his arms and cradled it close.

It clung to him, absorbing his warmth. He felt small arms around his neck.

“This should never have happened to us,” he whispered.

“Thank you for coming back.”

“Everything’s all right. Sleep now.”

And with the faintest sigh the mist evaporated in his arms, leaving a rime of frost on the walls as it went.

He stayed squatting on the floor for a few moments, and at last wiped his eyes and stood.

As he exited the storage room he saw her. Hardly a surprise.

“I wonder why you are here,” she said, fixing him with that surgical glare that seemed only to have sharpened since she realized she had succeeded in her experiment.

“There are still things I need to know.” He fixed her right back.

“Then ask.”

“Why did you choose me?”

She flinched very subtly, as she sometimes did when he spoke as if he were only Siavash and not an amalgam of her design. Or her son.

“As you know, you were not the only one I chose, but there were several practical factors that made you a promising subject. You were healthy, a long-lived half-elf with that particular half-breed fissure in your psyche that could be prised open to implant a graft. A stable, average family so that I could easily control variables and keep you safe while I observed your progress. An affinity for chaos that made you a suitable host. And you...” She frowned. “When you collided with my legs in a bookshop in Almas you were carrying a copy of Evocatio Daemonium which I perhaps foolishly took as a sign.”

Desna at work? he wondered. “Why foolishly?”

“When the graft took I ceased searching for a better host, believing in portents and signs like some superstitious Sarkorian. As it turns out, you were too good a host. You absorbed him. You overpowered him. I should have—“

“I won him over. I invited him in. He’s me.”

She smirked humorlessly. “And now, you are an eternal teenager.”

His own smile was not so humorless. “Tell me more about this affinity for chaos.”

“Why?” Always probing.

“There are things I still need to understand,” he repeated vaguely. She already knew about the dark star but perhaps not about this latest development, and although she might willingly help him if he told her, he didn’t want her to have that leverage.

“You know already,” she said. “You discovered on your own that you are div-touched.”

“For some mortals that’s a death sentence. Why not for me?”

“My tests told me little, but they did assure me your soul was stable.”

“You don’t know, in other words. What if my soul isn’t stable after all? What if ascension did something to it?”

She looked at him hard, as if she could see into the structural essence of his stolen divinity. “That is not impossible. Will you allow me to perform a few tests?”

“After what you did? No.”

“If you are referring to the unfortunate series of events with your husband, know that it was not my intention that he try to steal the objects alone. I hoped only to provoke a confrontation with Taurvi so that we could all be rid of her. She is a threat.”

“How about ‘I’m sorry I accidentally condemned your husband to Hell’?”

Her lips tightened. “I did not expect him to be so foolish.”

It wasn’t foolishness. It was love. “And yet it played right into your plan, didn’t it? A nice little experiment to test the full extent of my power. To see what would happen if I... lost control.”

“An unhoped-for opportunity.”

“Well. It sounds like I’m getting neither an apology nor the answers I came for. I have one more thing before I go.”

“And that is?”

“A reminder.” With that he released the cold wind that whirled in his heart. The long, long years of pain and loneliness. The weeping of children torn from their homes and stripped of their humanity, made into experimental subjects and discarded. Left cold and comfortless to die.

She was blown back among her shelves. Sheaves of notes and shattering jars flew at her like a hailstorm. Frost coated the wing she threw up to shield herself. In a flash of angry, Abyssal light she vanished.

[breelandwalker]

Witchcraft Exercise - Spring Cleaning

There’s a marked tradition of cleaning and airing out the house in the springtime when the weather warms. As you’re dusting and tidying and getting rid of winter stagnation, take some time to do the same with your craft.

Clean and organize your workspace. If you have an altar space or a shelf where you keep bottles and jars and the like, remove everything from the surface and give it a good dusting. Take the opportunity to rearrange things or swap out pieces if it suits you. If you have ritual tools that don’t often get cleaned, check them for signs or rust or wear and give them a bit of love. Repair things that need fixing, if you can. If you have an iron cauldron that you use for fire magic, get a wire brush or some steel wool and gently remove any burnt residue left inside.

Sort through your supplies. If you have lots of candles and crystals and small items laying about, consider getting some small totes or craft organizers to keep things tidy. Divided storage boxes for beads or scrapbooking supplies are great for small items, and shoebox-sized caddies are perfect for taper, chime, and votive candles. Organizing things will make your space easier to navigate and also gives you a proper idea of what you have on hand. Which might help you resist impulse purchases the next time you’re out shopping for witchcraft supplies. While you’re tidying, be sure to discard any rubbish, candle stubs, wax blobs, herb scraps, bits of string, incense bases, and so forth that might be cluttering up the place. 

Discard things that are too old or worn to be useful. Dried plants and seasonings can usually be kept for 1-3 years if they remain in sealed containers. If they have no scent anymore or smell musty or mildewy, discard them and sanitize the container. If you’re using supermarket spices, you can use the expiration date on the container as a guide. Powdered material will likely last longer than whole herbs or cut-and-sifted material. One helpful tip is to put a purchase date on packets or bags of herbs when you buy them, or to put a little date sticker on your jars of herbs when you refill them. (Anyone who’s worked in food service will probably be familiar with the concept of container dating or day-dotting.)

If you make oils or tinctures or suchlike in your practice, check on these as well. Make sure nothing has gone off or lost its’ potency. Day-dotting your potion containers will help with this as well. A simple sticker with the name of the brew and the date it was bottled will help you keep track of your supplies and know when something needs to be tossed and replaced. (You can also print labels with the ingredients and purpose of the brew if you’re feeling super organized.)

Reorganize your books and resources. Review what's there and see if there are any materials that need to be weeded out, donated, or discarded. Remember that as you grow and progress, some things will become obsolete or may show themselves to be unhelpful or inaccurate. It's okay to remove things from your resource library that no longer serve you if you want to make some space on the shelves.

You can also cleanse your workspace and/or components while you’re tidying if you wish. It doesn’t have to be a full clean-slate-everything-must-go cleansing, but it can be helpful to just clear out stagnation or bring in some freshness and vitality.

Happy Witching! 🧼

Want more witchcraft exercises? Check out the masterpost here and visit my shop for spell kits, books, magical powders, and more!

(If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar, tune in to my monthly show Hex Positive on your favorite podcast app, or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)