#I want to be on top of the upkeep of the house but it’s in such a state it’s hard enough trying to sort that

[yaminerua]

at this point idk what it is specifically but I don’t think there’s a single neurotypical person living in this house and the state it’s in shows that

if you walked into this place you’d immediately stage an intervention bc clearly none of us are able to get started on what needs fucking done let alone maintain it to an acceptable level jfc

[gigabyte-flare]

The Devil is Real (Part 2)

Part 1

Summary: You sense there's something not right about Los Iluminados and you're determined to get to the bottom of it.

Word Count: 3.5k

Pairing: plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: drug abuse mention, abusive household mention, religious cult, religious trauma, body horror, noncon, dubcon, unprotected p in v, creampie, oral (m and f receiving), masturbation, kidnapping, yandere tendencies, somno, extreme violence and gore, human sacrifice, murder, blood play/kink, breeding kink, pregnancy, pet names, stockholm syndrome, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT [More warnings may be added in future parts]

Your eyes slowly open to find the sun pouring into the window over by the head of the stairs. You let out a loud yawn as you sit up, stretching your arms over your head before swinging your feet over the side of the bed. Heading downstairs, you find Vince already up and making breakfast. You walk up and stand next to him.

“Anything I can help with?” you ask, leaning in to see what he’s making.

“Nah I’m good,” he replies, playfully shoving you away, “you must have been exhausted. You were already asleep when I got back to the house.”

“The jet lag finally caught up to me as soon as my head hit the pillow,” you explain as you sit at the table, “you spoke to Father Méndez I take it?”

“I did. Hopefully it helps. I don’t want you to feel unwelcome here. I know Leon is just doing his job but… you’re my sister. Making sure you’re comfortable here is my top priority.”

Vince finishes making breakfast, once again bringing two plates to the table before sitting across from me. 

You speak up once more while you’re eating, “so, what’s on the agenda today?”

“I have to help out on the farm, that’s usually what I do most days. You’re more than welcome to join me, but if you don’t, I understand.”

You nod, thinking back to your time spent living with your grandparents. They had lived on a large farm and your grandfather made the two of you do almost all the upkeep. Your brother would take care of the livestock and farm maintenance while you would tend to the garden, it was brutal work for children. Regardless of the unpleasant memories, you weren’t about to sit back and let your brother do all the work.

“Sure, I’ll help out, just let me know what needs to be done.”

Within the hour, the two of you had made your way to the farm. It is a ways away from the village, requiring another short hike to get there. Once getting there, Vince is tasked with repairing some of the farm equipment while you helped feed and groom some of the livestock. You’re in the middle of wrangling up the pigs to feed them when out of the corner of your eye, you see someone approach your brother. You recognize the cargo pants and the tight fitting black athletic t-shirt immediately and that can only mean one thing:

It’s Leon.

You avert your eyes, bringing your focus back to pouring the feed into the trough, however, you steal quick glances at Leon and your brother as they speak to each other. Leon has short blonde hair and obviously takes very good care of himself; even you could see the way the sleeve of his t-shirt forms over his biceps.

“Hey Sis, come ‘ere!” Vince calls, beckoning you to join him with a motion of his hand.

You put down the bag of feed, silently cursing to yourself before walking over, standing close to your brother when you approach. Now that Leon isn’t wearing that black cloak he had on yesterday, you’re able to get a better look at him and, holy hell, were you not prepared. Leon is incredibly handsome, easily the most handsome man you have ever laid eyes on. You found yourself unconsciously squeezing your thighs together as your eyes rake over him; taking in the way the straps of his gun harness and various belts hug his thighs, how his pectoral muscles strain against that tight shirt. And, of course, those gorgeous blue eyes.

Oh no… you think to yourself, he’s hot…

“I apologize if I made you uncomfortable yesterday,” Leon begins as he holds out his gloved hand; you don’t hesitate to shake it, “I’m Leon Kennedy; I’m in charge of making sure the community is a safe place for everyone.”

His voice is as smooth as whiskey, causing your heart to race in your chest as you tell him your name, “it’s very nice to meet you Leon.”

Leon gives you a half smile which makes your heart swoon; this man is way too attractive for his own good. He must realize it because he gives you a playful wink which, thankfully, your brother missed. 

“Likewise,” Leon continues, giving your hand one more squeeze before letting go and looking to your brother “I also came over because Manuel just came in with a haul of fish from the lake, he needs help unloading the boat.”

“Of course, I’ll be right over,” Vince replies, setting down his tools.

“Is it alright if I come along?” you ask, shoving your hands in your pockets as you shift on your feet.

“Yeah of course,” Vince replies, “the dock isn’t far from here; I’d love for you to come see the lake.”

Just as your brother walks away to go to the dock, Leon gives you a pat on the side of your shoulder, giving you another playful wink as he whispers, “I’ll see you around, little bird.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch Leon walk away. The nickname he had given you goes straight to your core, causing you to clench your hands as your fingers tingle.

“Sis, are you coming or not?” Vince calls out to you some ways away from the archway leading out of the farm.

“Sorry Vince! I’m coming!” you shout as you jog over to your brother, joining him as you both make your way to the lake.

By the time you two get to the dock, several other men from the village are also there helping Manuel unload the haul from his fishing trip. Vince quickly joins them as you stand at the head of the dock. As your eyes scan over the vast lake, the sights, sounds and smells once again take you back to your childhood. To the times when you and your brother would go down to a small pond that was on your grandparents’ property to have some semblance of fun. The sound of a door opening behind you causes you to draw your attention away from the lake. 

You watch two men come out of what you can only assume is Manuel’s house carrying what appears to be a very large sack. Your gaze tracks them as they walk across the property, stopping at a cave opening that’s blocked off by a large gate. They stop at the gate as one of them goes to unlock the gate. You quickly realize that the large sack is moving violently. Once they get the gate open, they carry the sack inside, shutting and locking it behind them before disappearing into the darkness of the cave. You swallow hard as you draw your attention back to the lake, an uneasy feeling settling in your stomach.

Something is very wrong about this place and you feel whatever it is, it’s behind that gate.

“Will you be ok here at the house tonight?” Vince asks over dinner.

“Yeah, why?” you ask as you take a bite out of your meal.

“We have a community gathering tonight. It will likely go well into the night. I just want to make sure you’ll be ok here by yourself.”

You look up at Vince, raising an eyebrow, “I can’t come with you?”

Vince shakes his head, “not this time. This is for members of the Los Iluminados community only.”

This only serves to unsettle you even more, especially after seeing that large sack get brought into that cave earlier that day. Not wanting to upset your brother, however, you simply swallow hard and shrug it off.

“No problem, I’ll be fine, Vince.”

“Good, thank you Sis.”

Your brother leaves the house after cleaning up, leaving you alone in the house. You take that opportunity to go up to the bedroom, settling yourself onto the bed. As you lay there, your mind wanders back to Leon and you find yourself quickly becoming hot and bothered. Taking off your jeans so that you’re just in your shirt and underwear, your hand slips under the hem of your panties, your fingers gently rubbing your clit as you lay your head back against the pillow, closing your eyes. You picture Leon perfectly, imagining it is his fingers rubbing your clit, imagining his hot breath on your ear as he leans over you.

“That’s it, little bird. Doesn’t that feel good?”

A soft whimper escapes your lips as you hear the words your mind has conjured; who would have thought a silly nickname would get you so riled up. You pick up the pace of your fingers, your hips bucking up into your hand as you chase your release. You softly moan his name over and over as your pussy walls clench around nothing, secretly wishing he was buried inside you. You then move your fingers in a circular motion rapidly and within minutes you come undone, practically screaming Leon’s name as your body convulses. In the heat of the moment, your elbow crashes into the small bedside table, causing it to tip over, causing the contents of a small drawer to spill all over the floor.

The abrupt crash immediately snaps you out of your fantasy. You sit up in the bed and stand up, picking up the items that had fallen out of the bedside table. A crudely made leather bound book catches your attention; you sit down onto the side of the bed and open it. The text inside is handwritten and you quickly realize once you start reading it that it’s your brother’s journal. You know you shouldn’t be reading it, but a part of you is hoping that it reveals what exactly is going on in this community. 

March? 2006

I’ve completely lost track of time since Josh and I were brought here. I found this notebook inside the building they brought us in, so I figured I’d use it to chronicle what’s been going on in case someone else finds it. It was Josh’s idea to go backpacking across Europe. I regret not telling my sister where I was going; she must be worried sick! 

This group, called Los Iluminados, promised us a paradise on Earth. A place for us to disconnect from the world and detox and it doesn’t take a genius to know I definitely need that. They didn’t seem very bothered by the fact that Josh is my boyfriend despite being a religious group, so that was refreshing.

You stop reading for a moment, absorbing the information you just learned. Your brother is gay. It came as a complete shock to you, however upon looking back, it’s a wonder you hadn’t realized it sooner. It certainly explains why your grandfather was especially hard on Vince. Why didn’t he tell you? You can’t help but feel hurt by the fact your brother wasn’t comfortable enough telling you. You set aside these emotions for the time being and continue to read.

They injected both of us with something, said it would help us with the detox process. And then they brought us into the basement of one of the houses. It’s almost pitch black down here, the only indication of time passing is from the faint streaks of light coming down from the floorboards. It’s a miracle I can even see what I’m writing. I feel ok, but Josh on the other hand isn’t looking good at all. He’s broken out into a rash and he won’t stop sweating. He keeps saying everything hurts. What the fuck did they inject us with?

March… Maybe April? 2006

It’s been a few days since they first locked us into this basement. I keep coughing up blood and having weird dreams, but otherwise I don’t feel too bad. Josh on the other hand isn’t doing well at all, he’s been violently convulsing and hacking up way more blood than I have. I don’t think he’s going to make it.

April 2006

They came down into the basement and took Josh, he had gotten worse from when I had written earlier. They came back later and examined my eyes, saying my blood had accepted the gift, whatever that means. They led me out of the basement and gave me one of the houses. They say I’m part of the community now. I don’t know what happened to Josh.

There are no new entries in the journal after that. You’re completely overwhelmed with emotions, both from what you learned about your brother and the implications of what happened to his boyfriend Josh. All of this just further cemented the fact that you had to find out what lies beyond that gate you saw them bring that sack into.

After picking up the mess and tucking the journal safely back inside the bedside table, you go to bed where your mind enters the realm of dreams which have been invaded by thoughts of Leon.

The next morning, your brother informs you that the two of you will be going over to Father Méndez’s house to have dinner. The house itself is grandiose, we’re immediately greeted with the large dining room table already laid out with food and drinks. The dinner itself is largely uneventful, Father Méndez asks you a lot of questions about living in the United States and how you’re liking your stay with the community. As the dinner wears on, you realize that this is a golden opportunity to try to find some answers. 

You abruptly stand up, “sorry I need to excuse myself for a moment. Where’s the bathroom, Father?”

Father Méndez motions to the archway over to the left, “through there, sweetheart.”

You smile at him and nod in acknowledgement, “thank you Father, if you excuse me…”

You walk through the archway, finding a set of stairs going up to the second floor of the house. You look over at the dinner table, waiting until Father Méndez is completely focused on your brother before silently ascending the stairs. At the top is another hallway. You carefully walk to the end of it, finding what you guess is the master bedroom, a large four poster bed immediately to your right, a dresser to the left and a small desk next to the window ahead of you.

You slowly walk up to the desk, which is covered in various papers that have words written in Spanish on them. You then open up one of the drawers and you suck in a breath at what you find. It’s an ornate key, embellished with the same weird cross symbol that you saw back at the church and, now that you think about it, the gate by the dock also had this same symbol. This key has to go to that gate, you’re sure of it. You softly close the drawer, tucking the key into your pocket.

“What are you doing in here?” you hear Father Méndez ask.

You jump as you turn around, placing your hand over your racing heart, “Father I’m so sorry! I got lost looking for the bathroom.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, but then smiles at you warmly, “that’s quite alright, I wasn’t clear in my direction. It’s downstairs, the door on the right just before the back door, follow me and I can show you.”

You allow Father Méndez to lead you to the bathroom, which is quite literally a hole in a raised part of the floor. The smell coming out of it almost knocks you out. Despite this, you spend a couple minutes in there to make it convincing before you return to the dinner table, all the while fiddling with the key in your pocket.

You and your brother finish up dinner with Father Méndez, getting back home just before it gets dark. You excuse yourself and go to bed early, claiming to be exhausted from socializing. You sit on the side of the bed, twirling the key you found in your fingers as you examine it as you listen for confirmation that your brother is asleep. It takes a couple hours, but you hear the telltale signs of your brother’s snoring. Getting up from the bed, you walk over to the window over by the stairs, carefully opening it and climbing out. It leads you outside on some crude scaffolding, you quickly find a ladder to climb down. 

The waxing moon casts a gentle glow throughout the village, which you use to your advantage as you make your way to the dock area. You walk crouched, trying to use the environment to mask your movements, hoping to not draw anyone’s attention. You eventually make it to the gate, looking around before digging the key out of your pocket, putting it into the keyhole and turning. As you suspected, the key unlocks the gate with ease and you push on it gently, the gate letting out a soft squeak as it swings open. You shut the gate behind you, making your way inside the cave. 

Once you get to the back of the cave, you come across another gate, pushing it open to find a furnished room filled with various root vegetables and supplies. Upon stepping in, you’re overwhelmed by the smell of decay, bringing your shirt up over your nose to mask the smell. It doesn’t take long for you to find the source. To your right, there is a person on their knees, held up by their wrists on a rope. You hesitantly approach, finding that it’s a young woman, her skin pitch black in decay and that weird cross symbol painted on her face with blood. You fight back the bile building up in your mouth.

“I fucking knew it,” you say to yourself, “this is a fucking cult.”

You take another look around, spotting a ladder leading upwards through the floor in the back. You hesitantly approach it and begin climbing up. As you ascend to the top, you are greeted by another horror; an altar with another young woman laid onto it, her blood completely covering it. You see her hands are tied behind her back. You walk around the altar to face her. She has that same symbol painted onto her face. Her skin still has color to it, suggesting that she hasn’t been dead for very long. You begin to suspect that this woman was in that sack that you saw carried into the cave. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” you hear Father Méndez’s voice boom from behind you.

You spin around and face him, he’s standing straight with his hands neatly folded in front of him.

“What the hell kind of operation do you have here?!” you shout, balling your fists, “I knew something wasn’t right about this place. I’m taking my brother, we’re leaving and reporting you to the authorities!”

A low chuckle comes out of Father Méndez, “her blood did not accept the gift. You, however, may have better luck.”

Méndez brings one hand up, snapping his fingers. Suddenly, two men that had been standing behind you grab you by your arms, twisting them behind your back as you struggle as hard as you can. You watch as Father Méndez reaches into his coat pocket, producing a large hypodermic needle. As you struggle, Father Méndez begins to approach you. Your gaze shifts to the figure standing just behind him, seeing that Leon is standing there, watching, back to wearing that large black cloak, the hood mostly obscuring his face. All you can see is a menacing smirk that is on his lips. 

“Sis calm down, it’s going to be ok!” you hear your brother, quickly realizing he is one of the men that is restraining you, “my blood accepted the gift, I’m certain yours will, too.”

“Vince!” you cry out, turning to him, “do you hear yourself? This is insane!”

Father Méndez looms in front of you, grabbing the side of your head and pushing it to expose your neck, wasting no time inserting the needle into your skin, injecting the strange liquid into your body. Whatever it is, it burns. You feel it spread across your neck as you continue to struggle, tears now flowing down your face. 

“Bring her to the holding area,” Father Méndez commands.

Without any hesitation, your brother and the man helping to restrain you bring you back down through the hole you had come up out of, carrying you out of the cave as you kick and scream. They bring you to Manuel’s house, carrying you inside. In the back of the house, there is a trap door. The other man retraining you kicks the trap door open before he and your brother gently lower you inside. Once on the ground, you scramble to your feet and stare up at the opening, seeing your brother stare down at you, only, there’s something very off about him. Black veins cover his skin and his eyes are glowing red.

“Vince, you can’t do this! You need to get me out of here!”

“I’m sorry, Sis,” he says softly before slamming the trap door shut. 

You stand there in utter shock as you hear the door being locked, trapping you in the pitch black darkness.

Part 3

[theroyalsims]

QUEEN GIFTS ANYA AND GUS THEIR VERY OWN "STARTER PALACE"

Where should a Prince and Princess live? In a palace, of course, and the Queen seems to agree! Her Majesty gifted the royal newlyweds a lavish 112-room palace, located right in the heart of the country.

Several reports confirm that Her Majesty has handed over the keys of the magnificent Mulberry Palace to Gus and Anya! The impressive 270-year old Palace is among the privately-owned residences of the Royal Family.

Located in Brindlebridge, Mulberry Palace sits within Mulberry Park and boasts acres upon acres of land, complete with scenic views and thriving wildlife - perfect for outdoorsy Anya and Gus.

It also has a reflecting pool, a grand fountain, formal gardens, perfectly manicured lawns, and a detached observatory! We can only imagine the upkeep, because the property also boasts five kitchens, two ballrooms, an indoor pool, and even a bowling alley!

But as Palaces go, it's apparently on the "smaller" side, and the Queen thought it would be a great training ground, a "starter palace" of sorts, for the future Queen and her consort. A royal expert shares:

"Mulberry is a stunning property, and while its vast grounds and a hundred something rooms are certainly impressive, it's on the smaller scale, as palaces go. For context, Brindleton Palace has over 800 rooms, and Briar Palace - the Queen's country retreat - boasts over 600 rooms. But, again, that's not to diminish Mulberry in any way. I've been fortunate enough to visit, and its art collection alone will make your jaw drop. It may be small, but it's incredibly luxurious. It's big without being too big, and I think Her Majesty recognises its potential as the perfect setting to raise a young family... a starter palace, so to speak."

The Queen also reportedly thought that the property would be perfect for Gus and Anya, who are both very active and love the outdoors. The expert further spills:

"It has all the modern luxuries anyone could want, and since Mulberry is a private residence, they can also explore the grounds in peace, without the nosy public prying and taking photos. This is a great place to relax and unwind for those two. I can already see Anya riding her horses, and Gus going on a run around the Palace grounds."

The wedding gift came in a little late, because, apparently, some minor renovations and improvements had to be done to ensure that everything is in tip-top shape for Their Royal Highnesses.

No news yet on whether Gus and Anya will be calling Mulberry their official residence. Currently, the lovebirds reside in Agneau House, and their office is also based there, too.

But seeing as Mulberry Palace is a long drive from the city (about three hours by car), we're guessing they'll continue to stay in Agneau and spend their holidays in Mulberry. Guess we'll have to see!

'Grats on the new digs, Your Royal Highnesses! When's the housewarming party, and are we invited?

[stellayuta]

Rin doing Yoga in the anime had me bawlinggg idk why It also put the image of Yoga Sex with Rin in my mind and now I can't stop thinking about ittt

How about writing something about that?

thanks for putting the image in my head too

mdni, 18+ only

★Rin Itoshi - Yoga S*x☆

The 'R' in Rin stood for routine. He was awake by 5 AM and done with his early morning strength training and jog by 7 AM. To ease the pain of exhausting his stamina and muscles at dawn, he chose Yoga as a means to stretch his body out and soothe the soreness. The upkeep of being a pro footballer was not a regular man's deal after all.

You had never seen his routine ever before because you loved your sleep more than Rin did. In fact, you only knew about his routine in detail because his sports manager scolded him because he refused to take a break from working out even during his off time from the football season. You on the other hand, if there wasn't a reason to wake up before 8:00 AM, you won't. That was the law. Usually, you'd just join a freshly rejuvenated Rin for a hearty breakfast with a yawn and kickstart your day.

One fine morning though, you were forced awake by the sheer heat of the house. It was the middle of the harshest summer Japan had to offer as of late, and you were hoping that for whatever reason the AC was off, it'd better be a good one. You got out of the bed, kicking the musty sheets away from you and swiped at the sweat forming on your forehead. You were melting away even when you were only in a pair of skimpy shorts and a paper-thin tank top. You checked the time before you made your way out of your bedroom - 7:00 AM. The rest of the house was a degree cooler than your oven-like bedroom, but it was enough for you to forget where the thermostat was. That's when you remember that it was Rin who usually handled the thermostat. Maybe it was him who switched the AC off? But... why?

You make your way to the living room to locate the thermostat and are greeted by the most astonishing and unexpected sight right in front of you.

Rin Itoshi's bare back is facing you as he stretches himself out into complicated poses on his yoga mat while soaking in the radiant sun seeping in from the open windows. There is not a single item of clothing on his body. He sighs as he skillfully changes positions and focuses on the left side of his body, balancing himself on the mat. You gawk at his marvelous form as Rin's body shines lusciously under the sunlight, as if lathered by coconut oil and Epsom salts and his own sweat - which it probably is.

"Rin?" you call out without meaning to, making the Itoshi jerk his head up in confusion and smiling when he sees you.

"You up early?" he asks as if he isn't laid out in front of you like a whole meal ready to be ravished.

"Well, the AC woke me up." you say honestly, approaching him as he seats himself on his mat in a lotus pose. You stare at how his limp member and ball sack hang, tucked inside his folded thighs. That's all you can stare at or pay attention to now as you feel a shiver creep up your core and you press your legs together.

"That was my bad. I'm sorry, I usually do this out on the balcony but the neighbors are doing garden-work and obviously, I don't want them to see." he says. Foolish Rin...

"Have you been out on the balcony doing yoga butt naked everyday?" you exclaim. "Rin! People other than the neighbors can see you too you idiot!"

"Are you worried someone might click pictures?" he asks coyly, holding out his hand to entrap yours. It is all slick and sticky with oil and heats up your body even more.

"Have you seen yourself? Anyone would." You say, playing with the hem of your shorts with your other hand. Things are getting sticky inside your body too now.

"Want to try it?" Rin asks, already sliding your shorts down your bare thighs. You don't sleep with underwear on when wearing those pair of shorts. "Oh, look at that." Rin says, cocking his head at the bare delta of your womanhood.

"Come here." he says, kissing your mound generously making you whimper. You grab at his green hair and try to stop yourself from crumbling.

"Y/N. Position your knee like this." he says, folding you knee and pressing your foot to the thigh of your other leg.

"Hands up and palms together." he demands and you follow, keenly trying to balance on one leg. "That's the tree pose." he tells you and you nod. "Great position for what I'm about to do." he says with a smirk, inching closer, his lower lashes hitting your thighs.

The way Rin ravages you over the next few minutes has you praying you don't fall over. The position gives Rin enough freedom to hit some of the most stubborn and well-hidden bundles of nerve inside you with relative ease. His tongue is as flexible as his body was a while ago. You are left croaking as Rin digs his nails into the sides of thighs, shamelessly making slurping noises as he eats you out. Soon enough, you let your hands free from the pose and start rolling your hips onto his face, eyeing him from the top - his reactions, the way his brows tense up, the way he looks up at you occasionally. You force him to hit your most sensitive innards as you finally come undone on his tongue and face without asking. Unbeknownst to you, the lewdness of the whole situation and Rin's skill made you come a LOT. As your eyes are shut and you are unable to process anything around you, Rin is collecting your plentiful essence in his palms. When you finally come to and regain your usual breathing rhythm you find Rin playing with the sticky substance in his hands.

"R-rin?" you ask, eyelids half closed. "What are you doing with that, wipe it off!"

"Nah." Rin says, keeping his eyes on your cum in his hands. "I was in a dilemma since I ran out of oil for you, but you solved my problem." he says and it takes a second for you to understand what he's about to do.

He takes his palms and rubs them all over your body. Your chest, your hips, your navel and your thighs.

"Feel good?" he asks, pressing your back to make you lay on the ground on all fours. "Feels good to be covered in your own slick?"

"Anything for you, Rinnie." you say, wondering why he is pulling one of your legs horizontally. "You're so weird you know."

"I know." he admits. "Balancing Table Pose."

"Wha-?" Before you can finish your question though, Rin rams full force into you from behind. "Keep you other hand up, pretty please. I don't like it when the form is incorrect."

you sniff as your muscles hurt from maintaining the pose. Yet still, after a few seconds your body gets used to it and the pleasure doubles as one each of your arms and legs is up in the air while Rin's pace increases. He presses his chest against your back and keeps the rhythm going, pounding in and out savagely. His angle is so unpredictable, his length is going left and right and top and bottom inside of you, making you scream his name in pleasure. You feel the head of his member in full intensity with one leg up and you feel it's bulbous shape ebb at your cervix with how long Rin is. You so want to see how red his tip is, how angrily it must be leaking out pre-cum right now.

"Ah, just a bit more." he says next to your ear, huffing and puffing as he increases the power of his thrust as you feel your eyes roll back into your head.

"Ah, There. Yes!" Rin scrunches up his face. "Yes!" his tongue lolls out - an occurrence when he is at peak pleasure.

He empties himself inside of you as you feel your abdomen fill up with his sticky liquid.

"There we go." he says, gasping and pulling himself out of you as you drip all over onto his mat, sinking to your knees.

"Session Complete." he says, bringing his towel to your hole.

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Bubz's Slasher Fictober Apple Crumble NSFW Alphabets Day 22: Billy Loomis

For day 22 I decided to give the ghostface girlies another treat for this month. Plus since I've only done Poly ghostface so far technically this isn't overlapping and it's an entirely separate person (I've been running out of people to write NSFW alphabets for without too many characters getting two or three fics)

Notes: Minors DNI, NSFW, Smut.

A is for Aftercare (What they're like after sex):

Billy loves pillow talk, he could stay up for hours afterwards just talking to you about anything and everything going on in your lives. If you know about Ghostface he enjoys telling you about what him and Stu get up to when you aren't around.

He also likes to clean you both up too, not much lovey dovey shit though since he wants to focus on cleaning the mess and being able to relax with you.

B is for Body Part (Favorite on them and their partner):

His favorite body part on him (Besides his hair) are his arms. I've always taken him as the guy who works out at least a little. Plus with all the Ghostface stuff he's gotta have at least some muscle there. He's overall quite proud of his body.

On you he loves your thighs. No matter how thick or not they are he thinks their great. No matter if your sitting in your bedroom or next to him in the cafeteria he's always got a hand on them making sure everyone else knows who you belong too.

C is for Cum (Anything to do with cum):

Billy's not trying to risk anything at all even if you can't get pregnant so he always pulls out. He likes to cum on your chest but your face is also a close second for him.

D is for Dirty Secret:

Before you and Billy got super close to where the two of you began a relationship, you were probably close to the top of the Ghostface list. He'd never tell you but he thought at first you were just like everyone else at school so he had no qualms with going after you until he realized you weren't and found himself becoming attracted to you.

E is for Experience (How experienced are they?):

Billy is Billy. He's got loads of experience in both one night stands after parties and actual relationships. That doesn't make him the best boyfriend in the entire world, but he's not entirely stupid on how to make the relationship work.

F is for Favorite Position:

Billy surprisingly is a simple guy. He likes missionary cause he loves looking into your eyes and watching what he does to you as he whispers gentle praises in your ear.

G is for Goofy (How serious are they?):

He can laugh a little and get cocky during sex. He's not the most serious person ever by a long shot but he also is gonna stick to his goal of making you both cum.

H is for Hair (How well groomed are they?):

The king at taking care of himself. He keeps himself well groomed pretty much everywhere. I mean he does have an image at school to upkeep.

I is for Intimacy (How are they during the act, romantic etc):

Billy has romance down to a science. He isn't afraid to break out all the bells and whistles to really knock you off your feet. Like I said he's good at this shit both putting on a facade and actually meaning it.

J is for Jackoff (Do they masturbate and how often?):

He does it pretty regularly whether he's with you or not. It's something to pass the time when he's board waiting for Stu for Ghostface shit and he just actually enjoys doing it so why not.

K is for Kink (Their kinks):

Bondage, Billy loves to tie you up and leave you desperate for him. Bonus points if you cry and beg him to fuck you while he's doing it.

I could also see him having a slight daddy kink, or maybe at least calling him sir or something. He loves having that sort of power over you. He's also got a major corruption kink that I think is pretty self explanatory.

L is for Location (Favorite places to have sex):

He like it best on a bed or a couch. He also really enjoys the times neither of you can wait till you get to either of your houses so he pulls over to the side of the road and you do it in the back of his car.

M is for Motivation (What turns them on?):

He loves when you surprise him with skimpy outfits. He also really enjoys when you wear these outfits to school or out and about with him so he can stare at you and get a list together of everything he's going to do to you later.

N is for No (Something they won't do):

He's not gonna share you (Maybe with Stu since I am a fan of Poly Ghostface), You're his and he's not willing to let anyone else touch you.

He also won't ever like physically strike you, He just isn't into shit like that and doesn't think it actually has any purpose besides hurting you.

O is for Oral (Oral Preferences):

Really big on both giving and receiving. Is maybe just a tad more into receiving since he thinks your amazing at it, but he's not afraid to have you for a meal here and there.

P is for Pace (How fast or slow? Are they rough?):

Billy loves to be a bit rough around the edges but he likes to take things slow. He's really into savoring the moments the with you and making it a nice experience for the both of you.

Q is for Quickie ( Do they like quickies?):

Billy likes quickies, if you can't make it to a bed or anywhere to do the whole shebang he'll go for a quickie in maybe the back of his car or a random janitors closest.

R is for Risk (Are they down to experiment?):

He has his particular things he's just not into and not going to try but he is down to experiment with some things. I could see it also being something you have to bring up for him to even give it a second thought. He just knows what he's into and is satisfied with it.

S if for Stamina (How long can they go for?):

He can go for a while, maybe a good few hours. He does like to give you breaks though as he knows he can get rougher especially when he starts to get tired towards the end.

T is for Toys (Do they use toys and do they like them?):

I could see him having a few things himself to use when he jerks off and stuff, but most of the hardcore toys he saves for you if your into it. He will also be really into buying you toys to try out that caught his eye.

U if for Unfair (Do they like to tease?):

He teases a good bit cause he likes to rile you up, but he's never gonna be to terribly mean about it. It's more so just playful teasing to get you worked up.

V is for Volume (How loud can they get?):

Billy audibly moans a lot but he's not the loudest with it. He likes when your loud so anyone who's around knows who makes you feel that good but he himself doesn't get that loud.

W is for Wild Card (Random things):

Out of all the outfits, he likes pink frilly things the best. There's something so innocent about it to him that he likes to corrupt. That if you really wanna get him worked up show up in some pink frilly shit.

X is for X-Ray (What are they packing):

A good six inches. He's about medium in girth too and the shaft itself is pretty straight. Perfect for hitting all the good spots.

Y is for Yearning (How high is their sex drive?):

It fluctuates, it can be high if your working him up, but he usually isn't ready to go at the drop of a hat.

Z is for ZZZ (How fast do they fall asleep?):

Like in aftercare he likes to talk to you afterwards so he's not gonna fall asleep for awhile. You'll most likely be the one to fall asleep first and shortly after you since he'll have no one to talk to he will fall asleep himself.

[hauntedjohnny]

A PIECE OF MEAT

johnny x reader (est. relationship) | sissy x reader

wc: 7k tw: DUB-CON | NON-CON. bondage. gags. objectification. possession. knife play. blood play. oral sex (m+f). spanking. humiliation. nipple play. slapping. branding. p in v. breeding.

MINORS DNI

a/n: i seperated the sissy section in case anyone wants to skip it. this is my first fic. it may be my last. enjoy :)

It wasn't every day that you were left alone without company. It wasn't every day that you were given the power to tend to the family gas station. One misstep into one of Nubbin's macabre creations left Drayton off his feet, going off about how he can't count on no one around here.

His misfortune opened a door of opportunity for you; Drayton still hadn't warmed up to you completely, so you'd been trying to get on his good side by helping around the house. Hysterical giggles bounced off the walls of the house as Nubbins reenacted the mishap for Sissy and Bubba. The laughter trailed off as you made your way through the house to find Drayton sitting in the living room, his foot being iced by a slice of meat.

"I can't think straight with all this craziness going on," he murmured to himself, rubbing his temples to relieve the tension. Timidly, you approached him, giving a light cough to make your presence known.

"Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Sawyer, but I was just wondering if you were gonna need help with the gas station tomorrow." Gesturing to his legs, you trailed off. "Seeing as you're in no state to be on your feet all day n all."

He stared at you for a moment, his eyes squinting at the proposal. Seeing nothing but sincerity in your eyes, he reluctantly shrugged his shoulders.

"Was thinking of just closing for that day," he hummed, tilting his head to the side, "but money is getting tight with that extra mouth of yours... I don't see why not." Your eyes widen in surprise, thinking he'd laugh at your offer. "Lord knows no one else in this house is competent enough for such a task."

That morning, he reluctantly gave you a ring of keys, slowly walking you through each one and what he expected of you that day. His patronizing tone was unable to dull the excitement buzzing through you; the prospect of spending the day out of the house alone was a once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence. Turning the sign on the door to open, you started your day eagerly, repeating his rules in your head like a mantra.

It turns out all the regulars are dreary or crazed, the morning rush filled with short conversations and confused stares. Leaving the cool confines, you decided to refill the vending machine out front, the heat from the mid-day sun causing a wetness to form on the back of your tank top. A set of large tires rumbling against the gravel pulled your focus from the monotonous task. Turning to greet the customer, your eyes fell on the figure of a young man you'd never seen before.

"Howdy, miss.  Sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering if you could help me find my way. I appear to have found myself lost." He stated, raising the map with one hand and the other dragging through his blonde hair to soothe his nerves.

Drawn to his niceties, you smile and nod shyly. "Easy to get lost in these parts, with all the roads looking the same. Where you headed?"

"The Jackson ranch. It's my grandpa's; he needs help with upkeep in his old age. Stubborn bastard says he's fine but thought it wouldn't hurt to stay awhile." He chuckled bashfully.

Truthfully, you didn't really know where this ranch was. You barely knew the area from the house to the gas station. But this was the most interaction you'd had with anyone new in a while; surely it wouldn't hurt to pretend. The map was placed on the vending machine in front of you. You stared at the lines, trying to find your bearings, before a thick finger fell in front of your eyes, marking the gas station. With an awkward laugh, you placed your finger next to his and traced up the road you traveled this morning, trying to recall any ranches nearby. Drayton's voice comes to mind as he scolds Nubbins about straying too close to the graveyard, telling him to go no further than the Jackson ranch. Or was it the Johnson ranch? You bit your lip in contemplation, unaware of the man studying your face.

Deciding that he wouldn't call your bluff, you point close to the graveyard. "Should be around here, sir."

He scoffed at the title: "No need for those formalities; it wounds me seeing a pretty thing like yourself talk to me like I'm withered."

He introduces himself, presenting his hand for you to shake. You offer your name back, heat blooming in your cheeks at the compliment. Questions get thrown back and forth as you get to know each other, a breath of fresh air for both of you. Even the rumbling of a second set of tires isn't enough to drag you out of your bubble. Johnny observes you from the driver's seat as the man leans into you, causing a laugh to bubble from your chest. The movement of the truck door opening draws the man's attention. He cowers at the daggers being thrown his way, knowing he's overstepped in some way.

"I better be off, neighbour. I hope to be seeing more of you soon," he winks. You scoff at his forwardness, turning back to the vending machine as you say your farewell. What you didn't notice was the man lingering behind you as you bent down to grab the warm soda bottles, your denim shorts exposing the softness of your upper thighs. The roar of an engine signaled his departure as you went back to mindlessly refilling the machine, a soft hum filling the silence.

"Who was that?" A voice spoke beside you.

Glass hit the floor with a crash as you brought your hand to settle your startled heart, sticky soda seeping into the black boots of the man behind you. His shadow engulfed you, protecting you from the hot rays. The scowl forming on Johnny's face made you raise an eyebrow.

"Family of the Jackson Ranch; just need some help getting there, s'all," you reassured suspiciously, meeting his eye as you stood. He was standing so close that you could feel the growl emanating from his chest. His hands wrap around your waist, pulling you tight against him.

"You always flirt like a needy whore with boys who need help?" Johnny's breath on your face sent a chill down your spine before settling into your core. Noses centimeters apart, you felt his nostrils flare at the thought. His mocking grin dared you to divulge your fiery heart's desires. Intensity radiates off him as his dark eyes stare you down. A moment passed.

"Only the pretty ones," you coyly provoked. The sudden force of being pushed against the machine winded you, with a strong grip on your throat preventing you from catching your breath. Despite this, a wolfish grin found its way to your face. You'd never seen a jealous Johnny. It was exciting. Responsibilities faded from your mind. Anticipation swirled in your eyes. Before you could poke the bear harder, he dropped his gloved hand from your throat and made his way to the back of his truck. You tried to blink away the confusion, watching him take a couple of jerry cans and fill them up with gas.

Abandoning the safety of the gas station, you tentatively followed Johnny's movement before speaking up, "I was only playing, Johnny. You know I don't have eyes for anyone else." There was a facetious ring to your tone.

You cleared the nerves out of your throat when he turned his back away from you. Rolling your bottom lip into your teeth, you sway impatiently, kicking the dust beneath you, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your frayed top. You desperately tried to come up with something to say as you watched him finish up with the cans, not wanting him to leave upset. As he walks past you, you paw at his shirt, causing him to stop in his tracks. Pleading eyes met void eyes. A whine of his name causes them to glaze over.

"In the truck." He demanded.

"Johnny, you know I can't leave this place unattended. I'd be kicked out quicker than a greased pig." You argued, words going in one ear and out the other.

"Now."  He snarled, taking the keys from your pocket before sauntering to the gas station entrance.

Your tongue pokes at your cheek in annoyance, eyes rolling as you muttered curses under your breath. Stubborn bastard.  The open sign turns to closed before you can close the truck door. Like a moth to a flame, your eyes meet Johnny's as he brings the engine to life. He turns away, pulling out of the gas station. Eyes not moving, you sit, waiting for the bomb to explode next to you. Johnny has never had control of his emotions.

You bit your tongue waiting for him to start, but your impatience won, causing you to meekly break the silence. "Johnny, I'm sorry. He really just needed help."

The wind whistled through the truck.

"Can't even notice when someone's eyein' ya up like a piece of meat, can ya?" His voice was calm and low—unsettling.

"Johnny, it wasn't like that. He was being neighbourly" you began defending yourself, rolling your eyes at the pending argument brewing.

Your words were met with nothing but a scoff—not the reaction you were expecting. Apprehensively, you glanced over at Johnny, expecting him to be staring back at you. His eyes were glued to the dusty road ahead of him. You could tell he was angry; he's always had a short fuse, but it never felt cold like it did now. Your eyes jumped around his face, desperately trying to understand what his problem was. Did he not trust you? His jaw clenched under your hot gaze, gloved hands tightening around the steering wheel as he adjusted himself in his seat slightly, trying to subdue the feelings buzzing inside him.

You lay your head against the window, hoping the coolness would soothe some anxiety, but you were only met with warmth where it had been out in the sun all day. The silence was more unbearable than the heated argument you expected, receiving nothing but a disapproving click of his tongue every time you tried to break it. A tight knot formed in your stomach as you replayed the interaction over and over. Had you been flirting with him? Sure, you may have smiled more than with the other customers, but they all speak in grunts; it was nice to have an actual conversation with someone. With a sigh, you focus on the fields turning into a blur of dusty yellow, frustration brewing in your chest.

You get broken out of your daze by a door slamming behind you, the vibrations shaking the truck. Your eyes follow him as he walks around the hood, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. A film of sweat has formed on his forehead, dark splotches colouring his shirt, speaking to how much physical work he'd done in the Texan morning heat.

A swing of your door caused a familiar gust of septic and blood to enter your nose—the slaughterhouse, the place where there's more iron in the air than water. Johnny's suede hand gripped your upper arm and pulled you out of the car, slamming the door behind you. He walked onward expectantly before you were able to spit out any questions. You'd never ventured past the parking lot of the slaughterhouse. The questions swirling in your head left you frozen in place, staring wide-eyed at the buildings in front of you. Did I mess up that badly? Was he going to kill me? A whistle echoes through the lot, causing you to lock eyes with Johnny standing in front of the unlocked facility building. A small smirk rose on his face as he watched you obediently scurry across the parking lot, stumbling over the short staircase on the way.

Now face-to-face with Johnny, he brought a hand to brush a loose hair behind your ears, eyes lazily dancing over your face as he read your every thought. You bit the inside of your cracked lip as you tried to do the same. With a light tap on your cheek, he moved out of the heat. You took a deep breath, filling your lungs with air you didn't realise you were depriving yourself of, before following Johnny into the facility building. Quick on his tail, he leads you through the crumbling corridors until you reach the other side. Overgrown weeds tickled at your ankles as you made your way to a worn-down building. It smelt earthier in here, the wooden walls sheltering you from the scalding sun. It wasn't the slaughterhouse he was taking you to; it was the... holding pen?

The question finally falls off your tongue. "What are we doing here, Johnny?"

He crossed his arms, the muscles bulging, as he dragged his eyes across your figure, "Well, darling, if you wanna act like a piece of meat, then imma treat you like one."

Your eyebrows furrowed as he slowly approached you, but before you could contest, he grabbed you by the scruff of your neck, pulling you deeper into the holding pen. He stopped in front of a wooden structure with three holes in it. It was clearly not designed for cattle; it was too small. Your squirming body had no effect on his actions as he unlocked the frame. The pleas falling from your lips dissolved into the thick air as he pushed you forward towards the pillory. Unable to catch your footing, you fell into place, your head and hands now bound by the wooden barriers. Hair fell onto your face, restricting your already limited view. You felt your breathing get heavier in anticipation, the crunch of boots on the dirty floor being the only indicator of Johnny's position.

The feeling of hands on your stomach made you tense. Johnny's fingers hastily unbuttoned your shorts and pulled them down your legs, discarding them in the dirt behind him. A soft huff left his lips as he pulled his knife out of the sheath on his belt. The warm air hits your breasts as he sheds you of your tank top. The only sound you could hear was the blood in your head—the buzzing getting louder as every second passed. You closed your eyes to try and quell the sound, but a strong grip on your jaw opened them instinctually. Johnny's eyes stared into your doe-like ones.

"Got anything to say to me?"

A beat passed.

"I'm so sorry, Johnny. Really, I promise I didn't mean to," you whine out, words melting together, before being hushed by a low chuckle and finger tapping your lips.

He slowly rose from his hunched position as he tutted, "Not quite the answer I wanted, but I guess that's on me. How am I to expect you to know how to use your tongue when you can't even use your eyes? What stupid slut can't tell the difference between a neighbourly gaze and a sexual one?"

He undid the buckle of his belt and unzipped his jeans, revealing the leaking tip of his penis against his stomach. You were dumbfounded. A wave of shame ran through your body as your eyes met the floor, suddenly finding the tracks in the dirt very interesting. Johnny, however, didn't let you get distracted as he grabbed the hair that had fallen over your face and tugged it so your eyes met his. The warm stickiness on your lips made your eyes flutter closed, but a click of his tongue accompanied by a yank of your hair opened them in shock, your mouth following suit. The sharp pain on your scalp made a small gasp leave your lips as he met it halfway. You gag at the sensation of him brushing the back of your throat. The sound trailing off into a soft moan as he began to rut himself into your slack jaw.

"Such a dumb little thing already. Look at me," he demanded. "Does this look neighbourly to you? Is this the kinda thing you'd let a neighbour do to you? Because I know this is all that boy could think about when he saw you."

A harsh slap across your cheek had you shaking your head, eyes wide, pleading in apology. His pace quickened as tears started to prickle in your eyes and a dull ache spread through your jaw. The lack of oxygen made you delirious, causing a low whine to escape around him. The feeling of the vibration coupled with the sight of drool running down your chin caused him to throw his head back and pull harder at the hair underneath his covered fingers. He lets out a low curse before his breath hitches. The smell of musty sweat fills your nose as he buries your face in the coarse hair covering his pubic bone. Squirming does nothing as his cum finally shoots down your throat.

The taste is bitter, but you know better than to spit it out. His hold loosens under your sagging body as he catches his breath, running a hand through his hair. Once the twitching subsides, Johnny slowly pulls out of your mouth, leaving a trail of saliva that connects you both. A choked gasp left you as your lungs begged for oxygen. You croaked out a soft, apologetic Johnny.

"Pieces of meat like yourself don't speak," he tutted as he grabbed your cheeks with one hand, causing you to pout.

You try to focus on your breathing as Johnny buttons up his jeans and wanders to the other side of the pen. Hearing his return, you crane your neck to see what he has—a black bar with a leather buckle. Your mouth opens in question, but Johnny meets the forming words by stuffing the gag bit into your mouth and buckling it around the side of your head. You shake your head, trying to push it out with your tongue. Johnny kneels in front of you, brushing his nose against yours to mimic your struggles before letting out a dark chuckle.

Your body was unable to comply with the buzz of frustration in your chest, forcing you to sag in defeat, blood bubbling with rage as Johnny takes a step back to study your situation. He moves out of your eyesight, the footsteps growing quieter as they move behind you. It's quiet for a moment before his rough, calloused hands start trailing up and down your body, his heedful eye locked on each groove and bump until he reaches your heat. He pokes the dark spot that has formed on your underwear, causing you to twitch and cry out.

"Y'know, I could teach you a thing or two if you just listened. It's a dangerous world out there." He trailed off with a sharp inhale and a slap to your underwear-covered cheeks.

Ripping echoes through the pen as Johnny tears the underwear off your body, leaving you exposed to the elements. A new wave of defiance rolls through your body, kicking and twisting your legs, trying to preserve some dignity. An impatient sigh falls on your back as Johnny grabs some discarded rope in the corner and ties each flailing ankle to a metal loop screwed into the base of the wooden restraint. Now spread and open, he watches you thrash against the new restrictions to see if they'll give.

"You could've made this a lot easier on yourself, darling. Nothin' I ain't seen before," he huffs.

He's right.  Johnny has had access to all parts of your body before, but not like this, not when you didn't have access to his. This was new. This was different. Your body started to relax in its hold, as you remember; this is just Johnny. Your Johnny.

Mockingly, a knife starts to run down your spine. "Now, it's time to teach you a lesson."

Despite the trepidation, you slowly nod your head and take a deep breath. Just keep breathing. He trails the knife down your back as if following an invisible guide. When he reaches your lower back, he pushes the knife deeper, leaving a thin, horizontal trail of blood. Johnny's lack of self-control was clear as he licked across the cut he had just made. It always tastes best when it's fresh. In quick succession, he makes more shallow cuts on your back, explaining cuts of meat as he goes: the loin is the most tender meat down here on the lower back; above it are the ribs (perfect for barbecuing); and then we have your cheaper chuck. A trail of prickly fire spreads from your lower back to your shoulders as blood oozes out of all your cuts. You start to become restless as he leans back and admires his work, his hands resting on your hips.

Whimpers escape the gag, causing a smirk to creep onto Johnny's face, "Oh, sweetheart, I'm only treatin' ya like the thing you are," he says, bringing his hand down to your ass to cease your fidgeting. "Besides, we've not gotten to my favourite part yet."

He crouches behind you, one knee deep in the dust. He slowly drags the knife to the underside of your cheek, turns the blade, and pushes a deep cut across, causing blood to trickle down your leg. You buck away from the sensation, gritting your teeth around the gag as you grow uncomfortable. Pain and pleasure start to merge when Johnny starts suckling on the flesh of your thigh.

"This is the shank," he mutters against your thigh. "Used to tenderize it for Mama's stew; said it makes the meat less tough and more succulent."

He held your flesh between his teeth, applying more pressure, until he could feel the blood beneath your skin rushing to the surface. Sweat, blood, and saliva covered your thighs as he took his time playing and fondling. Arousal starts forming in your lower stomach. Fog starts clouding your brain. A muffled moan echoed through the holding pen, telling him you were at his beck and call. His mouth made its way to your sticky cunt, mixing the blood on his tongue with your arousal.

"Leaking like a faucet..." He groans, mouth watering at the thought of your juices.

Enamoured by your scent, he found himself buried in you, his nose prodding at your entrance as both hands wrapped inside and around your thighs to pull you closer. Instinctually, you push yourself towards him in desperation, eager to be relieved. Unable to deny you, his tongue grazed against your clit, making its way up your puffy slit. Two broad fingers followed in its tracks. Johnny's mouth watered at the sight of your glistening folds; a tight squeeze on either side causing more of your excitement to seep onto his tongue.

A guttural moan bounced off the walls when his rough thumb began drawing circles on your clit, his dick twitching at the sound. His mouth replaced his fingers as he latched onto your swollen clit, rolling it against his tongue. You could do nothing but quiver and moan as he spread your cheeks, groaning at the sight. You clenched your fist as if you had hold of his greasy locks, your eyes rolling back as he hummed into your heat. Thighs tightened around his head, spurring him on. He relentlessly lapped at you, like a ravenous dog burying itself in his last meal. Sharp canines scraped against you, the animalistic nature of his actions bringing you closer to the edge. He's hungry for you. An endless spur of nonsense fills the room as your body tightens against his hold. He knows you're about to cum. He always knew what your body wanted. A burning white is all you see as fire spreads through your body. Kneading the flesh in his hands, he let you chase your high, suffocating him with your excitement before melting against his mouth.

A cool, hard sensation against your throbbing pussy pulls you back into reality. Johnny rubs the blood-stained knife up and down your puffy slit, collecting your juices. Twisting the knife in the air, he admires how it glistens in the beam of light leaking through the wall crack before wiping it clean on his bicep and putting it back in its sheath.

Dragging one hand across his chin, the other slides the unbuckled brown leather out of its belt loops. Coolness brushed along your thighs, doing very little to soothe the throbbing marks Johnny left in his wake. Without thought, your hips tilted towards him in submission, making Johnny's chest fill with pride; he almost forgot about the boy at the gas station. Almost.  Before you could even register the whipping sound slicing through the air, you felt it—the sharp sting of his belt. The impact caused your body to lunge forward, your knees buckling as you lost control. Johnny had never used his belt like this before; you often traced the insignia on the buckle, wondering where he got such a thing and how long it'd been with him. It felt strangely intimate. Merciless hits leave your head foggy with arousal, each eliciting a gasp, whimper, or wail. A sharp sting spreads its way to your core as tears start to form in the corner of your eyes, slowly making a trail down your face. Despite the brutality of his strikes, your body grew more aroused with each passing welt.

Obstructed, wet sobs harmonise with the sharp cracks of the belt. Your thighs trembled when he suddenly stopped. He traced his finger across the indents he'd just made—the design of his belt buckle marked into your skin. A heavy breath tickled you as he licked into the shallow dents of your skin, savouring the feeling of each divot before pulling away. A soothing coolness was left behind as the wet started to dry. The sound of his zipper made your body buzz with anticipation; your toes clenched at the idea of what was coming. Anticipation turned into confusion as you felt rough hands brushing at the wetness on your face, opening them to see Johnny looking as put-together as he started. As he pulled a hanky out of his back pocket to clean the snot that had fallen from your nose during the anguish, he saw the confusion swirling in your eyes.

A snicker passed his lips before he got up, his eyes never leaving your face. "You ain't leaving just yet, sweetheart." His silhouette grew smaller as he made his way to the doors you both entered. He quickly glanced over his shoulder at your tangled form, "Can't promise I'll be quick."

The air grew heavier in his absence as you sobered to your reality. Without Johnny's distractions, you felt everything. Fatigue took over your body—every muscle in your body ached, your fingers were growing numb. Frustration started to pilot your body as you flailed against your shackles, hoping the ropes would slacken. Noticing a shining latch from the corner of your eye, your fingers searched around the grainy restraint for freedom, but nothing was within reach. You attempt to shout for attention, but the gag still held between your teeth muffles any noise. Maybe Johnny would return quicker if he thought you were in trouble. Maybe he was too far away and someone else would hear you? Did you really want anyone to find you in such a vulnerable position? Tears prickled in your eyes at the thought. A huff leaves your lips as your body sags in defeat. He was right; you did feel like a piece of meat.

Humidity hangs in the air. Hairs are stuck to your damp forehead, itching to be moved. A string of drool connects your bound mouth to the newly formed puddle on the floor. You try to focus on the smell of the stale hay as it fights with the metallic blood in the air—your blood. The grasshoppers and crickets in the field outside are the soundtrack to your humiliation—an incessant buzz to match the numb feeling of blood pooling in your legs. The occasional sniffle breaks the monotony. At some point, your eye hung closed, dragging you into a state of semi-consciousness. Every second is like a minute. Every minute feels like an hour. The growl of an engine alerts you. The sweet call for Johnny that follows confuses you.

"Johnny,"  The calls get louder as the person approaches: "The old man's threatening to take his stick upside your head if you don't bring back them gas cans." 

You chalk the voice up to your state of delirium. There's no one actually here. The figure making its way into the holding pen isn't actually there. You close your eyes as you shake your head in denial. Maybe she won't see you in the corner and move on.

"Oh, you poor little thing," Sissy interrupted your deluded thoughts. "How'd you get yourself all done in like that?"

You lowered your head in embarrassment as she skipped her way across the pen. What are the chances?

"Aw, ain't you a sight?" She cooed as she lifted your head.

Soft fingers brushed the damp hairs away from your eyes, combing out the knots that fought against her fingers. Your swollen eyes were fighting fresh tears at Sissy's caressing touch. Humilitating.

A faux pout formed at the sight: "Did that mean boy leave you tied up like a Christmas ham?"

A hand reached for your chin, forcing you to nod. Unable to muster the strength to defy, you accepted your fate—nothing but a doll in Sissy's playhouse.

"From the moment I saw you, I knew you were special, y'know."

A giggle escaped her lips as she let go of your head and began circling your motionless body, a soft hum letting you follow her position. The sensation of her finger trailing down your spine was so light it felt illusory; her finger snagging slightly against the scabbing cuts.

"Ain't that a pretty view?" Sissy admires the watercolour of purple painted on your thighs. "Just like a blackberry pie."

You felt dizzy at the softness, underwhelmed, and overwhelmed at the same time. The skin under her fingers twitched as it begged for the pressure it had become accustomed to. A fearful whine crawls up your throat as you feel her finger push against your puckered hole, swallowing it as she continues her path. The thrum of your heart pounds louder in your head, the sound suppressing the jovial tunes Sissy crooned. With no patience, two fingers sink into your neglected cunt, a scissoring motion drenching her slim fingers with your juices. Before you could relish in the feeling, it was gone. Her glistening fingers were brought to her mouth.

She hummed as she suckled on them, delighting in the flavour, "Sweeter than one too."

Her words made you dizzy with desire—shame dethroned by pleasure. Your body craved her touch. Sharp fangs peered over her lips as she felt your body gravitate towards her; she wanted to taste more of you. Nimble fingers began picking at the scabs on your back, relighting the fire as blood trickled down your ribs. She lapped at the blood, her flattened tongue tracing your wounds with vigor.

"Look at all this pretty blood," she coos. "Let's see where it leads me."

Her lips followed a trail of red as it dripped down your ribs and across the side of your breast. She crawled under your standing form so she could access the prize at the end of the path, goosebumps forming after every nibble. A soft kiss on your nipple makes your breath hitch. The kisses become fervorous as her lips widen, sucking the flesh into her mouth. Your back arches in a silent plea as she drags her thumb against your free nipple, pebbling against her touch. Fangs scrape against the sore bud as she begins to roll the other between her nimble fingers. A wave of electricity shoots to your core as she bites down.

As she releases you from her bite, she blows on your nipple, her teeth biting her lip in a smile as it hardened under the coolness. Her bony hands cupped both of your breasts as she squeezed and fondled, mesmerized by the way they conform to the shape of her hands, flesh bulging between her fingers. They fell to the ground upon their release, jiggling at the force. Sissy giggled in glee at the sight, bringing her hands to lightly tap at your hanging breasts. The impact causes them to sway as she stares at them, captivated by the movement. Instinctually, you recoil against the feeling, whimpering like a struck dog.

Sissy furrows her brow at the rejection, her voice lowering in sternness. "Stop fightin' it."

She continued her assault, the giggles growing louder as her spanks grew harder. A tingling numbness replaced the burning sharpness as the blood swelled under her hands. Growing bored with your swaying tits, she shoved her face between them, collecting a stray bead of sweat with her tongue, pushing your flesh on either side of her cheeks as she breathed in your scent. Small nips were left in her wake as she trailed her lips back to your nipple. You sigh shakily in relief as her jaw locks around your flesh, the tip of her tongue prodding at your erect nipple, alternating with a flat, pulsating brush of the wet muscle. Her slender fingers supporting your breast massaged the tissue deviously as she pulled you to the roof of her mouth and began sucking vigorously, the flesh rolling with the steady pressure. Unbearable waves of sensation jolted through your body as she relentlessly suckled, coaxing milk to fall from your peak. An enthusiastic groan vibrated against your breast when she could taste you on her tongue, sweet drops trickling on her taste buds like nectar from a wildflower. Confused moans bounced off the wooden walls as your body senselessly rutted towards her. She held you in her mouth as if she were biting into a peach before letting her jaw slacken, relishing in the taste of you. Sweet words fell from her lips as your chest erratically thumped before her but your ears werefull of cotton, oblivious to the praise.

She crawled her way from beneath you, allowing her eyes to devour your shaking, goosebump-riddled form. Her hand began to condescendingly stroke at your heavy head, cooing in faux consolation, "There, there, it's alright. It feels good, don't it, sugar?"

Expecting a reply, the hand in your damp hair tightened. Your motionless body made her yank hard, fearful eyes meeting hers, as she circled to bend in front of you. "Ain't your mama teach you any manners?"

Before you could gurgle your apologies, a bruising slap replaced the hot words that had fallen on your cheek. Your head jolted to the right, dizzying at the feeling. Blinking away the pain, your eyes focus on the blurry silhouette in the door of the holding pen. The feral growl rolling from his chest confirmed his identity. Smirking at the sound, the woman turned around. Mischief twinkled in her eyes as she noticed the darkness in his.

"Ain't your mama tell you not to touch things that don't belong to ya?" He bellowed, his accent growing thicker.

Snickers fell from Sissy's lips as she pressed your cheek against hers. "I don't see your name written on her anywhere," she retorts mockingly, with a small pout on her lips.

Johnny's composure drops for a moment, denting the can in his hand, his growl growing deeper, squaring up for a fight. He knew she was taunting him. It's what she did. But seeing her hands on you blinded him with a primal fury. Your eyes never leave his puffed chest, heart rattling against your own. Sissy concedes with a kiss to your forehead. She skips her way to Johnny, hushed hisses shared between them before she is gone.

Holding Johnny's gaze was a feat; your throat tightening as he sauntered his way over. There's nothing to feel guilty about; it wasn't your fault. But your body didn't listen to the excuses in your brain. A dark shadow cast over your face as Johnny loomed over you, his binding gaze making you a compliant mess. 

"She has a point, y'know... ain't nothing here to tell the world who you belong to." He circles your body like a vulture waiting to claim its prize.

His scent engulfs your mind, the fantasies that kept you company in his absence come to the forefront. A sudden click, followed by a low hiss of air, sounded behind you. No, not air, fire. You hadn't noticed the blowtorch in his grasp when he returned. You tried to swallow the bile rising in your throat, unaware of Johnny holding the torch to a branding iron. He watched as the heat revealed a glowing 'J'. Babbling pleas turned to white noise as you felt the residual heat on the iron close to your trembling body. With a satisfied hum, he squeezed the flesh of your ass before pressing the iron against it. Every muscle in your body tensed as wildfire spread through your body, fat tears rolling down your cheeks, attempting to put it out. A scream fought against gritted teeth, vision going white on the verge of blacking out, suffocated by the smell of burning flesh. Crescent moons were carved into your palm as you tried to grab onto nothing. The pain didn't subside as he pulled away, the clang of the disposal bucket never reaching your ears.

"Most prized heifer in Texas." He chuckles, poking a finger at your entrance. "Well, almost. A heifer ain't nothing when she's not bred."

Pain began to melt into pleasure. The desire in your body was louder than any word he uttered. You wanted him to claim you. The instinctual ache in your body wanted to obey his every command. He could feel it. She could feel it too—his thick length throbbing against your own throbbing heat. You couldn't help but rut against him, eager to feel him inside you. A choked cry escaped your throat as teased your entrance. He met your cry with a groan as he slowly pushed himself into you, savouring the warm feeling. Pushing backwards, your back arched in a silent plea, only to be met with his veined hands gripping tightly on your hips, immobilising the movement. You whine at the lack of friction. He towers over your body, pulling your head back so your eyes meet.

"Got anything to say to me?" His question was marked with a single thrust.

You remained silent, knowing anything you said would be incomprehensible. With a sigh, he brings his other hand to unbuckle the drool-drenched gag, letting it fall to the floor. Eyes wide and watery, you let out a raspy apology, your jaw convulsing at the sudden relaxation. He begins to rut into you carelessly.

"Anything else, sugar?" Each syllable was punctuated with a thrust.

To his dismay, your mind goes blank at the pleasure. Whorish moans are now free to dance around the room as your cunt fluttered around him. His hands roam over your back with possessive desire before groping the round flesh in front of him. Rough fingertips digging into the fresh wound, send a new blaze of fire through you.

"I'm yours, Johnny. Only yours."  Your sob trailed into a moan as his pace quickened at the confession.

His breath tickles your ear. "Every inch of flesh on your body belongs to me." Dominance seeps through his every word. "Every moan.   Every sound.   Every thought. You are mine alone."

You're at his complete mercy. The only word that leaves your mouth is his name. You'd do anything for him as his hands do a second lap of your body, trailing down to your sore nipples, twisting and pulling on them with no compassion. Your eyes fluttered closed as the coil in your core tightened.

"Eyes on me, sweetheart," Johnny mumbled, holding your hair in one hand as the other played with your swollen clit. He could play your body like a fiddle, with brutal thrusts and torturous circles in a melodic rhythm. Slamming harder, he could feel you clench against him. He could feel every warm ridge inside you—sharp teeth meeting your shoulder at the feeling. With a primal cry, your coil snapped. Knees buckle beneath you as your slick drips down his cock, marking him with your scent.

He rode out the wave, circling harder and faster on your swollen bud. The sensation was overwhelming, causing you to pull away with a pathetic whine. Your nerves were raw. The resistance made his length twitch inside you, hands landing on your hips, pulling you flush against him, knuckles turning pale. His breathing got heavier as his thrusts got deeper, his tip bruising your cervix, making his grunts feral. He moved one of his hands to your stomach, pushing against the outline of himself, basking in the feeling of his dick abusing your hole. His pace grew needier. His desire became carnal. His sounds became animalistic. The slap of his balls against your clit was agonising, making your mouth fall open with silent moans. He leant back to watch the point where your bodies connected, groaning at the sloppy sound gurgling around him. Over and over, his veiny dick disappeared into you, covered in a sweet cream on its return. His head falls back, the vein in his neck throbbing as he hisses. The feeling of his release made you see stars, circling your hips mindlessly as he grew limp inside you.

He lazily pulled out of you, mesmerised by the thick, white stream oozing from your folds. Your body twitched under his possessive gaze. Overwhelmed, you closed your eyes for a moment of relief. Not even the sound of duct tape ripping could wake you from your blissful daze. Johnny fingers the escaping cum, pushing it inside you. A tacky strip gets slapped over your abused cunt, trapping his seed. With a final tap, he beams at his prize.

"Would win all the county prizes, you would."

[total-dxmure]

✦ FLOWERS AND RIVALRY ➞ 【ELLIE WILLIAMS】

pairing: domestic!ellie williams x reader

summary: just some good ole’ neighborly rivalry.

warnings: ellie is just being adorable, you’re the best girlfriend in the world, this kinda shit is just a daily occurrence with her

a/n: just a lil somethin’ to keep you babies satiated while i'm working on chapter four of “marley and me”! enjoy :)

You watched as Ellie plucked a cigarette from her back pocket, her hands covered in dirt all the way up to her elbows. Buying a house was a lot of work- you knew that going in- but what you hadn’t expected was for your girlfriend to get so competitive about the upkeep.

“The neighbors across the street put in new flower boxes. . . did you see them? Anyway, I ran to Home Depot and picked up a few things.” Her definition of “few” and yours must be completely different, because the second that she opened up the bed of her truck you nearly laughed right in her face. Planks, bags full of supplies, and more flowers than you could even count were all shoved into the tight space. A few strands of her newly chopped hair were sticking to her brow with sweat. It was almost as though she could sense that you were about to say something, because she flashed you that wide smile of hers. Her freckles on full display in the early evening sun, green eyes blazing as she stared at you. You shut your mouth right up, only realizing how pussy whipped you were the second that you began jogging back into the house, already grabbing her an ice cold beer from the fridge.

So there you sat, legs stretched in front of you as you lounged in the rocking chair on the front porch. You would offer to help, but you were prone to clumsiness. While Ellie was good with fixing things, you were very good at breaking them.

She lit the cigarette, closing her lips around the filter and going straight back to work. Her arms and upper back glistened with sweat, cheeks flushed from the sun. You watched as she blew out a plume of smoke from her nose, utterly enchanted by her. She probably smelled of sweat, dirt, and sunscreen. . . but she was perfect.

The two of you were friends for years before making things official. The both of you had pined after one another for what felt like ages before she finally made a move. Maybe that was why the both of you were still so smitten after four years. You cracked a small smile before standing up, moving over to the top step of the porch so that you could grab the beer bottle, weighing it in your hands.

“I’ll go get you a fresh one.” And without her even having to say anything you breezed back into the house, eager to at least offer some sort of assistance.

You opened the fridge, pausing as you heard her voice sound from outside.

“-thought the front yard needed something.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the beer and twisting the cap off before sauntering back in the direction of the front porch. The wooden floors of your home creaked under your bare feet as you made your way towards the front door. The neighbor was standing in his yard, hands on his hips as he spoke. Ellie had stood up and moved away from her project, motioning towards what she was planning on making a large flower garden.

“The ole’ lady also wanted to plant some vegetables this year, so I’ll be working in the backyard tomorrow. You and your husband should come over once it’s all finished. You guys hosted dinner last time. It’s our turn.” Ellie told him matter of factly.

You schooled your face into neutrality, fighting off the urge to scoff at her statement. You had mentioned wanting to grow beans and peppers in passing almost a month ago. The neighbor- Steven- nodded his head, squinting his eyes against the blaring sun.

“Yeah, Yeah. Cole and I would love to come over. I remember you telling me about changing the tiles in your guest bath, and we wanted to come see.” He said, already moving back towards his front door.

Ellie was beaming with pride, the cigarette she had been smoking tucked between two dirty fingers. “Sounds like a plan.”

It was only once Steven was back in his home that Ellie turned to face you, eyes wide as she discreetly pointed in the direction of his house.

“Did you see that? He was practically boiling with jealousy. He told me last month that he was redoing the kitchen, and that smug look on his face-”

“I can’t believe you’re getting in a pissing competition with the sweet gay dads across the street.” You whispered, shaking your head in disapproval before handing her the beer.

“It wasn’t me! They started it!” She whisper-yelled, trailing after you like a wounded puppy.

[pokemenlovingmen]

Hey there! I didn't see who you write for on your page, so I'll include a couple of characters in case you don't write for one of them.

Can you do a GN or Male!Reader x either Arven or N, please? Just some cuddles and quality time, because I am pretty sure that's what most of us crave!

Thank you!

-First Anon

Ohhh yeah I know what you mean, cuddly fluff is always what I crave! Hopefully people who come for my content have similar interests, lmao. :) I went with a male reader because yknow… these are some guys I have a man crush on.

But yeah!! Cuddles with dudes I have fictional crushes on!! Pokemon gave me a great gift in the form of two fruity dudes with long hair and familial issues who are my age.

cw: child neglect (given who these are about…)

Cuddling Headcanons with a Male Reader for Arven and N

Arven

🥪 — Arven is hesitant with physical affection at first, just because he’s really not used to it. Like what do you mean… you want to put your arms around him because you love him?? Are you okay??

🥪 — Arven’s always been of the mind that acts of service are the only way to win the love of someone from previous experience, after all working so hard at school and home upkeep always earned praise from his mom/dad even if they weren’t there physically.

🥪 — Given you’re both guys, he’s also kinda shy about the relationship at first. Now, Paldea is one of the most queer-accepting regions you could be in, but it’s still, yknow. Not considered “normal”. People might stare, or say something. He’s no doubt in love with you but the potential negative attention scares the shit out of him.

🥪 — But when he does open up? God, he’s the biggest cuddlebug. He tried physical intimacy once and now he’s addicted.

🥪 — You can hold him, he can hold you, he doesn’t care, just being close is enough. If you’re shorter than him, he’ll usually rest his chin on your head and hum happily. If you’re taller than him, he’ll usually bury his face in your chest.

🥪 — Play with his hair and he’ll die a little bit. If you’re able to see his face, he’ll be wearing the biggest and dumbest smile the whole time. It’s best not to mix this with compliments because you WILL kill him.

🥪 — If you’re a weighted blanket enjoyer, you’ll never need one, because he can snap his fingers and suddenly there’s a massive weighted blanket with legs, a tail and a big furry face on top of you both.

🥪 — So as if you didn’t already have the pleasure of cuddling up to such a sweet guy, you also have his huge dog. Nights are never cold when you’re with these guys.

🥪 — He’s lowkey kind of a house husband of a boyfriend and he likes doing things like cooking meals for you, especially surprising you with breakfast, but that can be hard if you guys fell asleep cuddled up to each other. He doesn’t wanna climb out of this :(

🥪 — He’ll just kind of talk and ramble about nothing in particular while you guys snuggle if you let him. How his day was, how Mabosstiff is doing, compliments and things he loves about you, new recipes, funny stories, all that. Sort of comes to a point where even he doesn’t really know what he’s talking about, he’s just sort of talking to talk because he’s not too fond of dead silence.

🥪 — He’s yours, alright. Even if he was nervous about the relationship at first, Arven’s a happy, happy guy. And he’ll take any chance he gets to cuddle up to you.

N

💚 — His relationship with touch is complicated. That and the whole concept of cuddling and just having someone’s weight against him.

💚 — I feel like sleeping at night he switches regularly between “literally the thinnest blanket is a constricting prison” to “this weighted blanket isn’t enough I need to be buried alive”

💚 — So you can only cuddle with him on touch-positive days, but N’s fallen into a good rhythm with you and is very communicative of where his boundaries are at at any given time.

💚 — Pokemon have no concept of sexuality, and no social constructs that dedicate one sexuality as more “acceptable” than the other, so neither does he. Not that he’s the biggest PDA person on earth, but he’s not at all nervous about you two openly being together. Yeah we gay, keep scrolling

💚 — If he’s in the mood for contact while you guys are out and about it’ll usually be while you’re sitting, he likes leaning against you and resting his head on your shoulder. I would say that would make the perfect date, taking him on the ferris wheel on a touch-positive day, but who am I kidding, he’d be too fascinated to rest with you then.

💚 — As one could guess by looking at him, he’s LIGHT. You could pick him up and sling him over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes, provided you are tall enough to support all his lankiness.

💚 — You can play with his hair if you want, he’ll undo his ponytail for you, but I can’t imagine it’s actually all that soft. Probably pretty coarse and tangled to be honest, given his upbringing, tending to his hair was never a prerogative. If you can’t stand it being a Rattata’s nest, though, he’ll rather contentedly let you brush it—through he might twitch or squirm a bit, just because the feeling of the brush going through his hair is NOT something he’s used to.

💚 — He spooks you from time to time on his touch-negative days, because you can roll over in bed at any given time and find him just. Staring at you. It’s a stare of pure love, but his eyes do have a kind of naturally vacant look that’s startling at first. Baby you have the haunting thousand-yard-stare of a possessed victorian child

💚 — When he is in the mood for cuddles, he really likes them at night before bed. Specifically right after you shower, because he loves the smell of your shampoo still lingering on your hair. It’s just so completely… you. And he loves that.

💚 — Fall asleep cuddling him and he will become a limp corpse though. An actual ragdoll. Don’t toss and turn too hard or you’ll break him. He’s fragile. And by that I mean if you roll over onto one of his arms he will be stuck there.

💚 — He’ll also chatter on endlessly if you let him, but unlike the sandwich man above, he can be a little harder to understand because he both talks super fast and lays out his words the same as he does his thoughts, which are hard for people other than him to understand. But he knows this, and he’s just happy that you listen, even if you don’t get all of it. And he’s happy to be able to talk, to be heard, to just… say things and not have them carry the weight of the world when he does. Normal conversation is a beautiful treat to him. Oftentimes he’ll talk himself right to sleep, but between being in your arms and getting to speak his mind on all these simple things, he sleeps really easy when he does drift off.

[0-amateur-writer-0]

Lines

Characters: Stan Pines, Ford pines.

Tags: Angst, Hurt no comfort, Character study.

Wordcount: 1,810

Summary:

“You really don’t understand why I want this place to be shut down, do you?”

Stan sniffs. “I think I got some ideas.”

Ford narrows his eyes. “Do you?”

#

He’s home. He’s actually home. Back in his Earth—in Gravity Falls, Oregon.

Hard to believe that a few days ago, he was at the precipice of life and death. About to end things once, and for all with Bill. That’s how it was supposed to be. One way or another, everything was supposed end that day. But now he’s honest to God walking through his house. Opening cupboards, and drawers. Studying every nook, and cranny. Observing how much has changed, and how much has stayed the same.

The house definitely had seen better days. Everything was aged, and weathered. You could even spot some awkward patch jobs here, and there. The ones you do on your own to save money, instead of by someone who actually knew what they were doing.

Indeed, Stan must’ve been a stingy on the upkeep. He could hear a lot of new creaks, and sounds now. But…the house is somewhat neat, and tidy at least.

He supposes he should be thankful if for that. That his home is still here after all this time. Still standing. Still livable. When he already made peace long ago, that his house would be left to rot—reduced to a pile of would-be firewood.

Ford rounded a corner, and stops in his tracks. Any feelings of gratitude he had had quickly went down the drain.

Now this is a change he could really do without.

The house doubles as a hokey tourist trap now. One that’s entire gimmick was based on showcasing a variety of very made-up anomalies.

Being in this room is already starting to royally piss him off. Though for some reason that escapes him, he decided to stay and look around. Making his way the first exhibit that caught his eye.

Ford glares at the taxidermized monstrosity before him. It was obviously meant to resemble sasquatch, or even bigfoot. Brown fur, big feet, and ape-like features, though a striking difference could be seen on how it’s…wearing an underwear.

(Why even? What evolutionary need could it possibly fulfill by wearing one?)

“Sascrotch,” He sneers. “I can’t believe people actually—"

“Yeah, ya don’t like the Shack. We get it. Keep steppin’, and move on already.” A gruff voice piped up from his left.

Ford turns his head to the source of said voice, to find Stan leaning against the counter—counting the money he made off from the last group of tourists.

(Has he always been there?)

“You really don’t understand why I want this place to be shut down, do you?”

Stan sniffs. “I think I got some ideas.”

Ford narrows his eyes. “Do you?” He challenges.

Stan muttered something under his breath, but otherwise did nothing but continue to count the money in his hands. The sound of paper bills being shuffled seemed to fill the empty gift shop. It grated on his nerves. Then again, everything that Stan does seem to grate on his nerves these days.

Ford made his way to the next set of exhibits. The Six Pack O’ Lope. The Cornicorn. He swears some of them looked more like one of Mabel’s arts and crafts projects.

“I have spent most of my life studying the weird. Trying to make sense of the nonsense. Trying to prove their existence to the scientific community.”

“I had to take on twelve PhDs to get people to take me seriously. Twelve. And that wasn’t even accounting the number of favors, and good standing I had to build up just so I could get my grant approved by the committee.”

Of course, I could’ve avoided all that if I had gone to West Coast Tech instead. He almost wanted to say, but quickly bit his tongue.

“Well, that’s kinda’ dumb.” Stan comments.

(If his ears weren’t mistaken, Ford could’ve sworn there was a note of genuine sympathy in Stan’s voice.)

Ford just shook his head. “The committee didn’t see my want to research anomalies as top priority. Especially when compared to things like researching the cure for cancer, or alternative energy, or artificial intelligence and whatnot.”

“But one way, or another. I managed to show them my worth. I gave them reason, after reason as to how my research could be beneficial. And eventually, they decided to give me a chance.”

Ford wrinkled his nose when he passes by some shelves filled with tacky souvenirs. One lined with snow globes, another with Mr. Mystery bobbleheads, and another filled with…ugh, those horrific Burpin’ Stanford Pines figurines. Though he stops when he comes across a nearly empty shelf lined with empty glass jars. A sign nearby tells him that these are ‘invisible fairy companions! Only $35!’.

His attention wasn’t on the obvious scam in front of him. Instead, Ford watches his face being reflected on the glass jars.

“I thought,” he says. “If I did all of that, then…maybe I could finally change the way people view them.”

“I wasn’t hoping to change everyone’s minds, but if I could get a few people to stop looking at them like something to be afraid of. Like something to be pointed, and gawked at…” He pauses, and then turns to look at Stan. “Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Stan just stares at him with a blank expression on his face.

(Dear Tesla, does he really have to spell this out?)

Ford took a deep calming breath, before saying: “What you’re doing here with the Mystery Shack. Not only is it a mockery of my life’s work, it’s a mockery of me.”

Stan narrows his eyes. “What are you talkin’ about?”

Ford could feel the threads of his self-control being cut. “Do you really not realize what you’re doing here!? You’re bringing all sorts of people in here, and teaching them it’s okay to point, and laugh at things they don’t understand. You’re teaching them to point, and laugh at things like me!”

Ford clicked his tongue. Whether Stan’s earlier confusion was genuine, or an act mattered little to him at the moment. The damage was done. To his house. To his reputation. To his life’s work.

--You’re a six-fingered freak!

And they would be right. That’s all he is. All he will ever be.

He’d lost the chance to ever prove them wrong.

“Be honest,” Ford demanded. “All those times you told me that I wasn’t a freak was a lie, wasn’t it?” He gestures towards the various exhibits in the Shack. “This is how you actually feel about me.”

“Do you also have stuffed six-fingered hand lying around? I’m surprised I haven’t seen it yet. An exhibit like that will surely—"

“You think I’d do that?” Stan asks.

Ford pauses, and then turns to Stan. And once his eyes landed on his brother, the red mist that clouded his vision seemed to dissipate at that moment.

Stan was staring at him, and though his expression was blank—there was a gamut of emotions swirling in the depths of his brother’s eyes. Raw and honest emotions that Ford didn’t want to look too closely into.

“You really think I’d do that to you?” Stan asks again. His voice quiet.

Ford opens his mouth, but he quickly finds that no words could come out. Something in Stan’s eyes. Something in the way his brother spoke, seemed to sap all the remaining fight and anger in him.

“I used to beat up every single punk who bad-mouthed you when we were kids. And ya really think that I’m gonna’ turn around, and start doin’ all that crap they did to you?” A pause. “You really think that I’m no better than guys like Crampelter?”

Ford’s looks down—suddenly finding it hard to look Stan in the eyes. “That isn’t what I…”

He tries to find something to defend himself with, but nothing kept coming up. After all, that was essentially what he had just implied wasn’t it?

The silence hung between them until Stan took several steps forward, only stopping when he’s at an arms-length in front of Ford.

“…Y’know,” Stan says. “I got a lotta reasons for starting the Mystery Shack. And that thing you just said… You think that folks come through here to point and laugh at all these arts and crafts rejects. But the only thing being pointed and laughed at in here…is me.”

“Cause you wanna’ know something?” He jabbed a finger onto Ford’s chest. “Just because you got no problems callin’ me worthless, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna’ stoop to your level and start callin’ you a…”

It took everything in him to not look away—to return Stan’s glare head on. On the outside, one might mistake him for being the picture of indifference. The only thing anyone could see was a mask of cold, hard disapproval plastered on his face

But on the inside, in the deepest parts of him where no one was privy to—part of him dreaded of what’s to come. The part of him that used to go on adventures with Stan on the beach. The part of him that used to spend whatever free time available, to work on an old derelict sailboat. The part of him that used stay up to the late hours of the night talking, and planning about the places they’d sail away to one day.

That part of him was terrified of his twin brother calling him that word.

But he knew it was coming. It’s only a matter of time. He braces himself and…

…nothing happened.

Stan just looks down, his hand falling limply back to his side. And Ford found himself letting out a breath he didn’t even knew he was holding.

Both men stood at the middle of the empty gift shop. Stan kept looking down at the floor, and Ford couldn’t seem to peel his eyes away from his brother—at how tired, and defeated he looked. His right-hand twitches, and then starts to lift and inch itself closer towards Stan.

He didn’t really know what he was trying to do. He just…has a sudden urge to reach out. But before he could make any contact, Stan took a step back from him.

“Believe it or not, I actually got lines I ain’t never gonna’ cross.” Was all Stan said to him, before he made his way outside.

The front door slammed shut.

Ford watches the door for a moment. Before his gaze, inexplicably, wanders back to the shelf lined with those Burpin’ Stanford Pines toys. It was an insult. It was his name being printed on those boxes, but looking at those figurines again—at how it was wearing a bright red fez, and a black tuxedo…the similarities that he somehow hadn’t seen before became so clear.

It was Stan.

Ford pinches the bridge of his nose. “What the hell am I doing?”

[would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend]

Looking at several previous one, I can already imagine that this one is not going to turn out well, but since it is my favorite I'm going to ask anyway.

How about Skarmory?

Skarmories are fascinating pokémon, but they might not make the greatest house pet unless you are an expert in the species. As I’m sure you understand, this makes it pretty difficult for me to give them a blanket endorsement, hence the C ranking. It’s a complicated one, so let’s get right into it.

For one thing, skarmories are pretty large. At over five feet tall, their space needs are gonna be higher than a lot of owners can handle. This is doubly true considering their aerial lifestyle: skarmories are skilled flyers and would likely become restless if prevented from flying freely. I’d go out on a limb and guess that very, very view readers of this blog have access to an enclosed space large enough to suit a skarmory’s need to take to the air. These pokémon can fly at dumbfounding speeds, topping off somewhere around 190 miles per hour (Ruby). Nothing short of a sports stadium, if that, would suffice. Of course, a trained skarmory could be allowed to explore freely and return home on command, but that would require a level of training that’s gonna really decrease their ease of care. You would also need to keep in mind that flying freely outdoors may present a risk to your skarmory or wild pokémon, depending on where you live. In the Galar Region, for example, skarmories are known to “fight viciously over territory” with corviknights (Sword). On a brighter note, these pokémon aren’t too heavy considering their size thanks to their light, hollow bones, a necessity to their flying capabilities (Gold).

Now, for the friendliness factor: there’s decent indication that skarmories may get along well with humans. Both in the past and today, humans use shed skarmory feathers as blades due to their natural strength and exceptional sharpness (Crystal, Emerald, Sun, Ultra Sun). Around the world, this pokémon is a popular heraldic symbol due to their role as a passive source for human weapons (Shield). While the pokédex makes no note of skarmories offering their feathers willingly to humans at any point, it also doesn’t indicate that collecting these feathers is particularly dangerous for humans, indicating to me at the very least a passive, nonviolent relationship between the species. As an added benefit, if you own a skarmory, you’ll have access to valuable blades year-round, which could be sold to support yourself and your pet.

Skarmories, unfortunately, have additionally habitat needs that increase the difficulty of their care. Wild skarmories, like most bird-like pokémon, make their homes in nests. Skarmory nests are built using bramble bushes, whose sharp thorns help skarmory chicks develop their defensive armor (Silver). Such a nest would be difficult to upkeep, to say the least. Not only would you need to provide your skarmory with sufficiently prickly branches to satisfy their nesting needs, you would need to make sure they have a perfectly dry place to build it (i.e. not anywhere where they may get rained on), since their metal feathers are known to rust very easily (Moon). All this to say: a standard pet bed would not cut it for a skarmory. If you’re planning on adopting one, you’d better look into some good bramble bushes.

I’m sure anyone who reads this could see it a mile away but my goodness are skarmories dangerous! Their razor-sharp feathers are sharper than most artificial blades (Sword), and they make skilled use of them in combat. Moves like Steel Wing, Slash, and even Wing Attack and Fury Attack could easily prove lethal to a human. Considering their speed and agility, a skarmory attack is not something you want to risk. Now, the pokédex doesn’t make any mention of the species being particularly aggressive, but we must always recognize that the risk of an accident are always present. A skarmory is essentially a giant bird of prey made of knives. Like, c’mon.

Unfortunately, this pokémon is not one I can comfortably recommend as a house pet. Skilled flying-type keepers may be able to care for them, but the average pet owner would simply be putting themselves and other people and pokémon in their neighborhood at risk by adopting one.

[strip4kaneshiro]

Cole Cassidy x Texan! reader domesticity headcanons

hiii it’s Kay again LOL. My first comeback piece and it’s Overwatch head canons LMAO. Felt some type of way about writing headcanons about real people so we’re moving on to fictional characters as the lord intended. As of rn, I’m fixated on Cassidy, Reaper, and Lifeweaver as my faves. So expect me to write about them TRUST

You and him defo live on a small ranch back in his home state of Texas together

this takes place in a universe where Overwatch is a lil more flexible with him than before, so don’t worry too much about the logistics ok???

Not close too his hometown though ( he’s still wanted there, rip), so you end up choosing a ranch set of land south enough to still be able to reach the coast if wanted. Cole was adamant about being able to take beach road trips

Let’s you do majority of the interior decorating, while he focuses on upkeeping the outdoors of your home

In the process of choosing yalls house and moving in, contrary to popular belief, Cassidy was the super picky one

I swear you had to change real estate agents twice because he wouldn’t stop nitpicking LMAO, but all for good reason, He just wants the best for his darling <3

He will NEVER wake you up earlier than 9 am for any reason unless it’s a doctors appointment or a road trip. Babes just wants to watch you sleep

“Cole! It’s 10:30! You weren’t gonna wake me up?!” You chastise, jumping out of bed and pulling stray hairs out your face

“Now why would I disturb your peace?” and he flashes that damn cowboy charming smile smh i hate him so bad

If your into skincare stuff, he simply watches you in amazement as you go through a multi step routine

Begins asking you to help him, not because he cares much about his skin, but he loves to see you yap about what you love

(Please free this man from the 14 in 1 in the shower)

Bro CANNOT keep his hands off of you for any reason and it makes everyone both envious and uncomfortable

If you’re in the kitchen, hands wrapped around your waist from the side. Doing laundry? He’s leaning on your shoulder and simply watching.

Depending on if Overwatch needs him, he will force them to give him a 14 hour notice so he can tell you. Cole never wants you to wake up confused and alone like how he did Ashe and Deadlock gang

Speaking of, expect to see the, very often in your house. They all just decided y’all’s house was the hangout spot like a bunch of high schoolers

He doesn’t appreciate how Ashe and you team up to tease him

Ended up getting two dogs and a cat with him.

The cat loves you but cannot stand being near Cole unless it’s bribed (male cat)

“Oh, did your wife give you those scratches Cass?” (Baptiste)

Cole begrudgingly acknowledges the scratches on his shoulders and back during a training session.

He forces you to trim his claws and get him a scratching post when he gets back home

If you drink coffee/tea/matcha, he leaves enough hot water in the coffee pot so you can make whatever you choose. Or if he knows, he just does it himself and leaves it for you warm cold (ik some of you r iced coffee fiends)

Cole takes you on shopping trips every couple of months because he loves to spoil you, he even carries all the bags without one single complaint! (He gets to flex his ranch muscles)

Don’t let it be a nice day over 70 degrees, this man will take any chance he gets to have as little clothing on as possible around you (Why he does this we don’t know)

Catch him in a tank top or no shirt at all doing yard work while you lay in a chaise , tanning or quietly reading.

He wouldn’t have it any other way though, he loves working hard for the ones he loves.

So as the day comes to the end, and you come outside with some iced tea for him, he wipes as much sweat as he can off of himself before leaning over and kidding the top of your head.

“I love you, darlin’.” He’ll mutter, before wrapping his toned arms around you and embracing you

[sleepingdeath-light]

s/o who moved to the neighbourhood after a car crash ; wally

requested by ; anonymous (07/05/23)

fandom(s) ; welcome home

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; wally darling

outline ; “Could I get Wally x reader where reader moves into the neighborhood after a car accident, and the two become very close. One day Wally learns that reader's family is actually pretty rich but reader didn't want anyone treating them different because of it? Also Wally finds out around Christmas time as reader's parents wanna meet Wally for Christmas”

warning(s) ; references to injuries, references to a car crash, references to hospitalisation, but mostly fluff

you moving to the neighbourhood had been less of an active choice and more of a compromise with some of your more fretful family members

you’d wanted to maintain your independence after your car accident whilst you healed

they wanted you out of the busy city where it happened (and where you lived)

so rather than move back home and be pitied 24/7 by family, friends and staff, you just barely managed to convince them to let you move away to a smaller, more rural town

you had your little bungalow that gave you full freedom to move around with your mobility aids

everything and everyone was a stone’s throw away from everything else, so there weren’t any cars (in fact the only vehicle you’d seen was a unicycle in front of one of your neighbours’ houses)

it was completely isolated from everywhere else aside from a small gravel road which, being your typical country road, was very thin, very rarely used and you only really saw deliveries being dropped off to the local grocers and the post office

so maybe one or two cars a week tops and they never came anywhere near your little home

your family were appeased, you got to keep your independence, and as an added bonus you got to move into the quaintest little neighbourhood ever

everyone was so friendly and keen to get to know you that it threw you for a loop — having come from such a large city to somewhere where everybody knows everybody it was bound to happen

but you couldn’t say that you particularly minded

eddie, the postman, was always happy to stop by and chat as he went about his rounds in the morning — he was also happy to offer any assistance if a delivery happened to be a bit too heavy or large for you to carry in on your own

howdy, the grocer, always made sure that he had what you needed in stock — even preemptively ordering things like your medications and other things you needed for the upkeep of your health (e.g. new wrappings for injuries, oil if you’re using a wheelchair with a squeaky wheel, and so on)

julie, a particularly colourful neighbour, was always happy to stop by and make you feel beautiful even when you were too worn down to even really get out of bed — keeping materials and items on her that best suit your hair texture from the moment she starts randomly dropping by

frank, a neighbour who was particularly fond of butterflies, was someone you came to appreciate because he didn’t dance around your injury and accident — he’d ask you how you were feeling or drop off some books that might apply to your situation, but he never imposed himself on you too much

poppy, a bird who lived just down the street, was always happy to come to your aid during your bad days — stopping by without a peep of complaint and cooking and baking some food for you, always making sure that you’re taken care of even when you don’t have the energy

barnaby and sally, two more neighbours that live for performance and laughter, became the highlights of your days as they would always make a point to stop by and entertain you with whatever jokes or plays they thought of — becoming part of your routine by making you smile

and they did it all without you needing to ask because they all cared so deeply for one another and for you that it was never even a question about them taking care of you

of course they weren’t overbearing, but they did make sure that you were in good spirits and good health as you healed — keeping enough of an eye out to be able to step in when you weren’t able to step up for yourself

by carrying your deliveries inside, by keeping what you need in stock, by keeping your self confidence high, by keeping you well fed, by making you smile so wide your cheeks hurt and by making you laugh so hard you’re crying

but out of all of your neighbours, one stood out the most; a blue haired painter called wally darling

though you usually just called him ‘darling’ — because you could easily get away with the pet name and because you always got a curious look from him when you did it

wally was the first one to greet you when you moved in, offering to help you put your house back together and complimenting the art pieces you’d been gifted by friends and family

he’s a painter and can appreciate the fine arts, you see — and you appreciated how friendly and conversational he was because you very quickly started to feel at home

and by the time the rest of the town had stepped in to help you organise your belongings, everyone was smiling and laughing and joking and talking like old friends — you almost forgot that you’d known them for less than a day because of it all

it really was a team effort and you smile whenever you recall the utter chaos that was your first week in the neighbourhood

howdy with his four arms carrying a pile of boxes so high that he had to shuffle through your front door on his knees — peering around the stack to smile sheepishly and ask you where everything needed to go (which took you a few moments as you needed to pick your jaw up off of the floor)

julie guiding everyone around the bungalow with the precision of an air traffic controller, using two rolls of wallpaper to ensure that everyone could see her through the mess that was your home layout

eddie and frank carefully — carefully — carrying in your sofa and your bed and placing them according to your and julie’s instructions (and dropping them on poor frank’s foot… twice)

barnaby making good use of his height and strength to bring in the remainder of your furnishings, cracking plenty of jokes along the way that had you snorting and eddie making a victim of poor frank every time he laughed

poppy making good on her promise to keep things organised and ensuring that all of your utensils and trinkets and small things ended up in the right place — leaving the home more organised than you’d ever had it

sally helping move any left over boxes from the moving van to the house all the while making a performance of it — including an impromptu recital of a shakespearean monologue whilst holding a snow globe that had cracked during shipping

wally painting and glossing your walls and cabinets throughout this whole mess, occasionally popping his head back into the main room to poke fun at everyone or to ask how everything was going

all of you dipping your hands — or paws, or wing — in paint and slapping them against the wall just above your fireplace before writing your names in your best handwriting just beneath them

a permanent reminder of your hard work and the mess you made

a mess that was definitely preferable to the weeks you spent bedbound in the hospital after being injured, feeling so very isolated and bored in the aftermath of everything you’d been through

that week was also the start of your relationship — well, at least it was when the two of you started dancing around your feelings and finding excuses to spend time with each other

wally would frequently pop by your home with a new painting or sketch that he’d made for you — getting to the point where a good portion of your house was covered with his work

you’d spend hours talking on the phone — he’d be the first one you called whenever you felt particularly low

he was the only one you divulged the full details of your accident to — thankful that he didn’t pity you or question it beyond telling you to reach out if you needed anything

you’re the only one he shares his apples with (and who gets to see his abnormal way of eating)

you’ll go out on small picnics into a nearby field and he’ll help you get up and down from the blanket, not once making a fuss or batting an eye, instead focusing on more important things like eating and watching butterflies

butterflies like the ones you felt whenever he looked at you or touched you or smiled or laughed or —

needless to say you were head over heels — and since wally was as well, it took very little time for the two of you to become an item

(with plenty of encouragement from your neighbours who were, by now, more than done with both of you tiptoeing around the obvious)

it’s safe to say that he thinks you’re the absolute most

and when the holidays come around and your family, who you haven’t really thought about beyond the occasional letter or phone call, want to stop by and visit, wally is happy to play host

he insists on going the full nine yards but compromises with you that you’ll host at your home and you’ll share the duties of decorating, cleaning and cooking

which quickly become more playful than dull because it’s you two so of course they do

and come the day of, you’re both completely prepared — even if your poor boyfriend is quietly sweating bullets and a mixture of excitement and anxiety as they pull up

and then you realise that you forgot to warn wally about your family

but it’s far too late for that as they’re already at the door and you’re already greeting them — and oh god there’s that antique necklace and that designer handbag and she’s giving his colourful outfit a strange look and wally’s noticed and he’s looking at you and oh dear…

thankfully he’s able to hide his surprise well (has his expression ever changed from that smile?) and as your folks fawn over you and your home and they bring in all of the gifts you’re only given enough time to shrug and smile apologetically before you’re both whisked away to play host

thankfully your boyfriend is an excellent public speaker and is able to charm your family enough to keep them entertained and cooperative (and stop them from invading your personal space and infantilising you) as he serves everyone the meal you’d prepared

by the time he’s sat down beside you and you’re all digging in to the feast you’d made, you’re able to relax because your relatives all clearly adore him

they ask him about the neighbourhood and his job and your relationship — all of which he answers tactfully and politely before moving on with questions of his own

and when the time comes to open your presents (including some generic gifts they’d bought wally as a measure of politeness), your fear of being perceived differently has practically faded away

you’re sat on the sofa, he’s holding your hand in his own, and your family are bickering amongst themselves amongst an ocean of wrapping paper and presents worth half a mortgage but it feels like home — and whilst he does give you a bit of a funny look, he assures you quietly that he gets it

he just would have appreciated a bit of fair warning about it — which is understandable

and you don’t know why you ever doubted your silly little blue haired boyfriend for a moment

he really is the absolute most

[your-lovely-rose]

“They’re cute” Part 2/2 (Nakime || Request by @cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme)

Rating: Explicit

General genre and genre for this part: Romance || Dark fic

Word count and reading time: ±15.8k (1h)

Pairing: (Biwa Demon) Nakime x Human!Reader

Fandom: Kimetsu no Yaiba

⚠ Warnings for this part of the request: Minor death, Dead bodies, Desecration of a human corpse, Larvae and flies, Blood, Falling into madness, Jealousy and possessive behavior, Mental problems, Presented the character's past (from "Kimetsu no Yaiba Official Fanbook: Kisatsutai Kenbunroku 2"), Forbidden Love/Mutual Pining, || NOT EDITED

Autor’s Note: Okay, so before you read this, listen to me, my reader. The reason why this Request is divided into two parts is that with Nakime I immediately filled the limit of 1k text panels. And also the previous part with Daki and Mukago was light, but here it will be very heavy and dark - I don't even know how it happened because it was supposed to be another fluff. All of them were supposed to be fluffy and light, and each of them with a maximum length of 3k words, of which Daki would be the longest (I expected 9k from the start)! I really have no idea what happened here... I swear! All of a sudden, I felt like it was boring, and I panicked a little bit, and then it got wild. After that I felt like it was boring again, and I kind of forgot the exact request that was... And this was created. I hope the characters aren't too OOC here. I will humbly accept any harsh criticism for this.

➵ “They’re cute” Part 1/2 (Daki & Mukago)

> Nakime Masterlist

➻ Little dictionary:

Zataku (座卓) - is the generic term for this kind of low table.

Hadajuban (肌襦袢, はだじゅばん) - are a type of kimono undergarment traditionally worn underneath the nagajuban. Hadajuban are even further removed from resembling a kimono in construction than the nagajuban; the hadajuban comes in two pieces (a wrap-front top and a skirt), features no collar, and either has tube sleeves or is sleeveless.

Kimono (着物, きもの, lit. "thing to wear") - is a traditional Japanese garment. The kimono is a wrapped-front garment with square sleeves and a rectangular body, and is worn left side wrapped over right, unless the wearer is deceased.

Jitō (地頭) - were medieval territory stewards in Japan. Appointed by the shōgun, jitō managed manors, including national holdings governed by the kokushi or provincial governor.

Okyia (置き屋) - residence maiko or geisha and may be inhabited by several of them. The first step of a woman, who wants to become a geisha is to accept in the okiya. The owner of the geisha house, okāsan (Japanese: "mother"), pays for the upkeep and training of their wards. In return, they give part of their earnings to support the house and other non-geisha residents. Okiya isn't a geisha workplace, they work in teahouses called ochaya.

Geisha (芸者) - in Japan, a woman with artistic skills, entertaining guests with conversation, dancing, singing and playing traditional instruments (e.g. shamisen, koto or shakuhachi). She can also conduct a tea ceremony (chadō) and she's as well-read as oiran. They dressed very modestly, but with taste and boasted sugao, i.e. face without makeup. In the opinion of the Japanese, they were considered the ideal of bijin ("beautiful woman"). Before a woman becomes a geisha, she must pass a six-year maiko period. If a geisha has a permanent partner, she must move out of okiya and okāsan can adopt a geisha. She then gains the privilege of a permanent resident of the house. Her debts to okiya are cancelled, but at the same time all of her income goes to upkeep of the house.

Knock, knock, knock.

A loud knocking sounded in Nakime's head. She knew everything that was going on at Infinity Castle.

She could hear the whistling of air as Kokushibo swings his sword when he practiced, the cries of Douma's victims from his Eternal Paradise as he fed and and where its dangerous snares also reached or the hundreds of footsteps of stray, weak demons wandering through her dimension.

It was her domain, her territory, her kingdom. Her world. She was in charge here, and nothing could surprise her.

And yet she didn't expect it.

She knew it was wrong and also that he knew it too. After all, she had His blood in her and could not hide anything from Him.

If he noticed something, he didn't pay attention to it. He was too busy with his tubes and the reactions going on in the glass vessels. For several hours he worked relentlessly mixing his blood with various substances and despite many failures he still managed to remain calm.

'Still' is the keyword here.

Because even he, after millennia of unsuccessful attempts, could finally lose his patience.

Before the knocking could irritate him, she tugged the strings of biwa and moved to another place, the old washitsu room, where her domain merged with the outside world.

So where?

Here, where the smell of blood and stale liquor still hovered. Here, where everything is familiar, though strangely different from what she has created herself with her art and sound.

And where she didn't like to be. This place confused her - filled her with many emotions that she thought she had buried deep and long time ago in her forgotten past, when she was still human.

Sitting straight on tatami mats, she looked around the traditional Japanese room as if it was her first time. There was not much in it: only a low table, at which still stood a clay glass for sake, and a pitcher lying next to it, the contents of which had spilled on the floor long ago.

The zabuton pillow, which she used to use while sitting and practicing on her beloved instrument, began to rot from spilled rice wine and large blood stains staining the floor around her.

The mats were completely ruined by it and had to be replaced, but this was no longer her problem. It belonged to her old life. Just like this house and the emotions it aroused in her.

Anger, grief and sadness all combine into one, giving her both headache and a tightening of abdomen. The smells irritated her nostrils and burning her esophagus.

She wanted to raze this house to the ground to cut herself off from her pathetic, weak, human self once and for all.

It was not her place now.

That woman was dead. She died in an alley by getting carried away in a sea of endorphins, blinded by pride and overestimated her abilities.

Did she really think she could hurt Him? Stupid, pathetic thinking of a weak human.

She lifted up her slender hand holding the wooden batchi pick tighter, ready to give a full show of her power until another knock pulled her out of trance again.

A quick "knock, knock, knock" sounded in the room this time, and it wasn't so loud when it was not only thundering in her head and had to overcome the distance to her in the air. Through the thin shōji door, she could see the shadow of the figure standing behind them in the rays of the rising sun.

She was about to pull the strings again to snagged the person standing at her door, but she heard how familiar voice called her by a name she no longer recognised, adding the honorary title '-sama'.

This voice... evoked a pleasant feeling in her chest, and before the eye of her mind appeared the image of a human. She could not remember the face, because it was shrouded in a thick mist of forgotten like so many elements of her past, but she knew where she remembered this person from.

This human used to come to her shows. Before she was transformed by Him, she made a living entertaining people with her music.

Although many people (traders, craftsmen) came to relax with the sounds of her instrument, she could not afford much at home. Most of her paycheck was taken by her husband...

He was a gambling addict.

And he lost. Time after time. One loss after another. Until finally he finally went too far, took something precious from her and lost it. That was the last straw.

A black-haired woman grabbed her head trying to interrupt the flow of memories. She plunged her sharp, blue nails into her long hair and unconsciously began pulling on them to distract her from them. Wanting to turn the bitter pain of past wrongs into physical.

She couldn't stand it and... What did she do?

Ah, yes.

She killed him.

Now she remembers it exactly. She used a hammer and smashed his head for losing her only kimono in which she could perform, and then she went on stage as usual.

In her head were the voices of people who began to mock her, and their howl hurt her ears. She felt their malicious, unfavorable gazes judging her poor, useless, holey clothes.

The only other kimono she found in the closet that could replace her previous one.

Although she was frightened and humiliated, she tried not to show it and humbly looked down to somehow escape, to separate herself from them, when her legs were heavy as lead, her feet were planted in the ground.

Then her eyes met the only friendly look. Its owner sat the closest to the wooden stage and did not show her the pity, that you feel for a pathetic dying animal. It would only humiliate her even more. He really felt sorry for her. Those eyes were so sweet and gentle. Looking at them from behind her dark bangs, she began to play.

The slender fingers, on which, despite the long friction and washing, she still felt warm blood, moved themselves along the long neck of the instrument, pressing the appropriate chords and getting out of it as much as she could.

The other hand was not left behind, pulling the strings and creating together an unusual composition, although inside her body she was trembling.

She was afraid they would know. That they might already figure out what she did. The tension in her rose and could be felt in her music. Her hands were shaking and sweat was all over her body, but she never stopped playing.

The sounds were as clear as a calm surface of water in a lake and spread throughout the room hypnotizing everyone.

Despite the loud tones of her biwe, she could hear the audience holding their breath at more tense moments or whispering quietly to each other, covering their mouths with their hands or paper fans.

She had nothing left - no kimono, no means of subsistence, no talent...

When she finished playing the first tune, she felt mentally exhausted. She waited for the first signs of discontent among the crowd, but they remained silent. Uncertainly, she looked up from the floor and saw everyone staring at her like enchanted.

A moment later, someone from the end of the room called for an encore, and the rest of the gathered people follow up him, and then everyone chanted for more and more.

Before anyone had time to notice, the night passed them all like a dream. It was... Her best performance so far.

Tired, but drunk with many applause and praise, panting heavily, she returned to her house. Where the smell of alcohol and blood still hovered.

Her hands were all numb and aching from squeezing strings, when the customers was still called for more. Even the owner asked her after the show if she would come the next night and paid her handsomely for her work. She's never made this much money for one show before.

She was planning on buying herself a new, better kimono tomorrow. Maybe even two.

However, when she got home, all her good mood with blush disappear, when she remembered her problems. Actually, the one that was still lying there like she left him all night.

She had no idea how to dispose of the body. Where would she possibly hide them? How long would it take to find them?

Without more thought, she undressed her last kimono and dragged the inert corpse to the other room, which had previously been her bedroom. There she covered them with a sheet and left them.

She was aware of the stench they were about to emit and what might happen to her in return, but she didn't think about it then.

She resisted them and tried to live as before. With an old rag she tried to wipe away the already dried dark stains of blood with tatami, but no matter how much and how hard she rubbed, they remained.

After bathing in the bowl - wiping herself with a damp piece of fabric, she pulled out another futon and lay down in the living room so she not to have to lie next to the corpse and as soon as her head touched the pillow she fell asleep. The sun was slowly rising over the horizon.

She had no dreams that night.

Still hoping for a better day, she got up late in the afternoon and, as she had planned, went out to buy a new outfit.

However, already on the threshold of the house she saw a parcel left at her door. The paper, in which the package was wrapped, rustled when she took it in her hands and after tearing a hole in it she saw inside a beautiful dark material.

It was kimono with silver thread embroidered patterns and multicolored flowers. Among them, she recognized red tsubaki, light pink sakura, purple sakurasou and white ume.

It was beautiful and certainly expensive. She thought it might have cost even more than her paycheck yesterday.

Who could have given it to her?

She'd been offered a patron or danna-san, but she wasn't a geisha. She never went to special schools and was never a maiko. And she's already married, which is unacceptable to a geisha.

Nor was she weak or pathetic enough to accept alms. She could take care of herself and earn money.

But unfortunately, when she returned to the venue in the evening full of energy, her performances were not as unusual as before...

Even though the place was full of people, even though she was wearing a new kimono - a simple, dark brown kimono that she bought the same day from an older woman who ran her own store - and she was calmer than last time, she didn't do so well.

No matter how hard she tried and how much her fingers hurt from the strings after all, she couldn't repeat the success of the night before.

When she finished the first song she looked at the crowd and saw people whispering to each other with disgruntled faces, and the owner looked at her with doubt. Among those closest to her, she even saw a few looking at her with worry written on their faces.

Hoping to improve the situation, she tried again and again, but it was... mediocre. And that was until she started getting nervous and making amateur mistakes.

Anxiety and cold sweat overwhelmed her more and more as she confused the chords or made unclean sounds by improperly pressing the strings. She didn't know what was going on.

Feeling like she was fooling herself, she finished her show earlier than the night before and left. Or rather, she ran away.

She had to get out, she just had to get as far away from them as she could. She felt small under the weight of their eyes and that she was suffocating from the tension.

On the way home, she heard someone calling her. She pretended not to hear the voice, but the pushy person stopped suddenly in front of her, consciously or not, blocking her way back home.

She recognized the person as a client from the place closest to the stage. This was the same customer, who was the only one who looked at her with compassion during her performance last night and today looked worried about her condition.

"May I have a moment?" You asked kindly, bowing and introducing yourself. You was still breathing heavily from running after her.

She think that you have to even fall in the mud, which could be indicated by your dirty clothes on the right side and your wet sleeve.

She didn't want to talk to stranger, but out of courtesy she decided to see what do you wanted from her.

"I saw your performance, and I'd like to ask... Is everything all right?"

"In what sense?"

"During the first performance, you came in a ruined clothes, and today..." You stopped, not knowing how to define today's fiasco.

"Everything is fine, please do not make any more insinuations."

"My apologies, I didn't mean to offend you," you said, trying to defend and not upset the woman even more. It wasn't your intention at all.

"So leave me alone now."

Nakime walked around you and was about to left you behind her back, but you showed up right next to her.

"Could I at least walk you home? It's dangerous to walk alone at night," you said, fall into step with her.

She only answered you with a short, sharp "no" and sped up her step even more. You did the same thing, getting on her nerves.

"Then may I at least ask why you did not wear that kimono?"

"Excuse me?" She asked, but she didn't slow down. She frowned in anger. "So it was you. I do not need anyone's pity or charity."

She said through clenched teeth and her fists until her fingernails left crescent moon prints inside her hand.

"Oh, no! No, that was never my intention! I would never dare!" You defended yourself by raising your hands to your chest as a gesture of submission.

"I do not need this. I can take care of myself."

"I just wanted to help..."

"It is not necessary."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I was worried to see you like that. You've never performed like this before..."

Sweating from nerves and feeling the anger of a dark-haired woman, you slowed down until you finally came to a complete stop. She didn't do the same and didn't even notice your confusion. Your last words were echoing in her head.

Does that mean you've been coming to her shows for a long time? How much could you know about her?

After a moment of hesitation, you followed her a few steps after her. The night could be dangerous even for a single man, let alone a woman.

She heard rustling of your shoes on the ground, but she didn't stop to look at you again. She didn't want to pay attention to you, hoping you'd get bored soon.

In the end, you escorted her all the way home.

- - -

On the third night, when she again failed to reach the previous level with her performance, she started lost her mind again.

Everyone seemed to look at her with contempt or regret or as if they knew what she had done. In a hurry, she fled to her home, wanting to hide in the safe four walls as soon as possible, but even they did not give her comfort.

You walked her home quietly again. You haven't said a word to each other, and that's fine. Otherwise, she felt like she'd scratch your eyes out or pull your tongue.

She didn't understand what she had done wrong, why she couldn't play like she did then. Is there something wrong with her instrument? Or is it with her?

In desperation and to get rid of the excess of overwhelming emotions, she began throwing clay, decorative jugs and screaming. She did not know how much time she had spent demolishing the room, but when she finished, she was kneeling sweaty on the mats, breathless and on the verge of collapse.

She's been so busy she hasn't heard your quiet knock. She only noticed you after you asked her through the door if she was okay.

She told you to leave, and despite the silence, she wasn't sure if you'd listened to her.

- - -

The next day, she didn't go on stage. Nor the next one, or even the day after that.

She lay apathetic in the middle of the room among broken glass, her long hair looked like a big pool of black blood and listening to the sound of flies buzzing behind a thin wall. The body must have started to rot and give off that characteristic insipid sweet smell that had not yet reached her.

She didn't feel up to anything, even to eat or drink water. When she heard the silent knock, she thought it was just a dream.

Sleep was no longer her salvation and escape from reality. She felt threatened all the time during it and was even more tired after waking up, until she stopped sleeping. Time slipped her slowly as she saw changes in the light coming through the window under the very roof.

Soon after, she was no longer sure she was still trapped in her sleep. An endless nightmare she can't escape from.

Only after long hours, when finally the thirst began to overwhelm her, she get up to drink from the nearby well.

With a slight trembling on her limp and weak legs, she moved to the door and almost fell over the pitcher standing next to it. The vessel tipped over pouring water around. There was also a bowl with a clay lid on it.

Nakime barely sit on the ground. She got dizzy and feel foggy for a while, but she managed to come to her senses.

She lifted a warm lid, and the strong smell of spices and hot steam from her shoulder struck her face. Then she felt a pain in her stomach, reminding her that she hadn't had anything in her mouth for a long time.

The bowl had ordinary ramen in it. The black-haired woman swallowed the saliva that flowed into her mouth and lifted the overturned jug with some water left in it. Unlike food, it was pleasantly cool moisturizing her dry throat.

She was about to start crying while she was eating. Food has never tasted so good.

Feeling better, she went home leaving empty dishes on the doorstep. She knew who brought it, and she expected you to come back.

The food was warm, which would indicate you were here recently. Did you come earlier to check on her, too? Were there any more meals? How did it feel to see that she didn't touch the food you brought?

She went to sleep again when she was full. She felt tired, but this time her sleep was peaceful. When she woke up, she felt better, so she decided to do something (although she was still weak).

She carefully collected the glass from the tatami mat and ate the scraps of food she found at home. With the money from the show a few days ago, she bought a big bag of rice and some meat in addition to a kimono, so she still had something to eat.

She hasn't touched any more of the dishes you left her. She was grateful for the meal earlier, but when she didn't need it, she wasn't planning on taking any help from you.

But she didn't spend the day just cleaning room and herself up. All this time, she was thinking too.

Why?

Why aren't her performances so good anymore? Why can't he play like that a second time? How was that show different from the others?

And when someone knocked on the door again, she came to the most frightening conclusions.

- - -

Fuku Ogawa stood at the shōji door of one of the houses. He picked up the dishes earlier that day, before it started to get dark. He was a butcher by profession and a friend of yours privately, so after you asked him to deliver the food here, how could he refuse?

Exceptionally, you couldn't do it in person right now. Well, these things happen sometimes - you have plans, but something came up, something happened, and you have to get out of the routine once or twice.

Fuku knocked on the door again. He heard a murmur behind them and the sound of silent footsteps. For a moment he felt a cramp in the abdomen - the discomfort that occurs when something is wrong. A slight anxiety gently fills our mind and body like poison.

Before he could do anything, the door opened and he saw in it a young, beautiful, but also tired woman. She had long, black, damp hair and pale skin. He saw a slight bruise under her eyes pointing to heavy nights and a black kimono with floral embroidery on it - he recognized them because you bought them a few days ago.

She looks surprised. It was certainly not him she expected to see outside the door, but there was nothing he could do about it. He introduced himself briefly and drew a bowl of food and jug of water towards her.

"Who are you?" she asked, ignoring the dishes in front of her. Instead, she grabbed the kimono with one hand and covered herself tightly. The other hand hung loosely, completely tucked into the sleeve.

"A friend," he said again short, hoping to get out of here as soon as possible. There was a slight, insipid smell coming out of the house, which he did not like and this woman make his hair stand on end.

"Could you take this inside?"

She asked and took a step back to let him come in. He didn't want to do it, he was uncomfortable with that woman, but he also didn't want her to accuse him of being rude.

He carefully entered without taking off his shoes and looked around the dark room. He didn't like the fact that there were no candles burning here and the only light that brightened a few meters in came from the full moon behind him.

"Put the dishes on the table."

He heard next to him. In the dim light on the other side of the room, he saw the outline of a low table and moved towards it, still holding the dishes in front of him.

But with every step he smelled a stronger scent in the house and heard the quiet buzz of insects. He knew it from somewhere, but couldn't tell from where.

Tap, tap, tap - her bare feet made on mats until she stood behind him. He could almost feel her heavier breathing on his neck and the smell of the perfume oils she used for her bath.

He was about to turn around and ask whether to bring some candles for her, if she didn’t have any (he just really wanted to get away from here as soon as possible, he wouldn’t come back here again for all the world) when a heavy object fell on his head.

In contrast, all turned white in front of his eyes from pain and he fell with a bang on a wooden piece of furniture, almost breaking it. The wood crackled silently in protest under his weight. The impact was so strong that he passed out almost immediately, but he was still barely conscious.

Then there was another and another. All he knew was what he got before he lost feeling and awareness of what was happening to him. With the remnants of consciousness, he finally knew what was the odor he smelled at home.

It was the smell of rotting meat.

- - -

Nakime kept hitting the man's head with a hammer until she got tired and left a bloody pulp. The remains of the man's hair and gray brain clung to her murder weapon, hand and also splashed on the zataku underneath.

She was trembling. Her breathing became heavier. She did it. Again.

She looked at the biwa standing on the other side of the room, illuminated by the light coming through the folded door. The strings in the cold light looked like silver thread of a spider. They lured her and summoned with their mute voices.

Now she has to go.

She must be in a hurry.

- - -

At night, you couldn't force yourself to show up at any place to have fun and relax a little. You didn't feel like it, even though some of your friends asked you to come.

They wanted to celebrate with you another big order to some remote place in the mountains. The locals were practically cut off from everyone else, which was perfect for you. Every month you were to send them three wagons with basic food and items - vegetables, flour, rice, spices, pasta, meat, materials and much more. You didn't ask where they got the money, it wasn't your part. What mattered was that they paid.

You liked to talk with them about a lot of things and eat with good music, but... you didn't want to. Why? You had your suspicions, even though you weren't entirely sure.

You've been up all night lying in your futon and flipping from side to side. Your head was still playing the tune of the biwa from a few days ago.

You felt thirsty in the desert. Like a drug addict in rehab. Like a believer who's starting to miss the presence of his God.

But what could you do when your only cure was gone?

Hours went by and you couldn't sleep. You couldn't think either, because your thoughts were filled with one person and their music.

You could've tried to run away until those feelings died off. Stop showing up in pubs, but how could you escape your own thoughts?

How could you hide from the part of you that loves her?

Loves her?

Yes, you could admit you admired her, but loves?

Surprised, you sat on the mattress and ran your hand over your face. You felt stupid. How old were you to fall in love like a naive teenager?

And yet the pleasant warmth inside you and the butterflies in your belly spoke for themselves. Even your friends noticed that you were different after that woman's performance. They teasing you for it, and you couldn't hide your red face or look them in the eye when you denied it.

Everyone thought she was new in town, but that wasn't true. You've noticed her long time before, because you liked her music, even if it wasn't outstanding.

You liked how she kept calm on stage and was always very restrained and elegant. If it weren't for her modest kimono, you'd think she belonged to the aristocracy.

You suppose that's when the feeling began to sprout inside you like a cherry blossom.

But when she showed up that night - terrified, haggard and wearing an old, torn kimono - all you wanted to do was go up to her and comfort her. Take her away from those eyes that surround her.

But then your eyes met and she started playing. She tugged the strings and as if at the touch of a magic wand all the stress and anxiety went away from her.

Then everyone else ceased to exist for you. You thought you and her were the only one in the room... No, in the whole Empire of Japan, or even in the whole world. It's just you and her.

Time stopped, and you could feel your heart beating with hers heavily breathe. Nothing else existed at that time - just you and her, and her music.

When she was done, the spell burst like a soap bubble. Suddenly other people appeared around you again and time went on its normal course.

Yes, it was then that the seed sown in your heart fully blossomed during that one song and gave birth to ripe fruit.

You listened to the rest of her performance breathless and with red cheeks, like she was playing just for you.

It was stupid to think so - she probably had no idea you existed, but there was nothing you could do about it. Everyone likes to dream and think they are special to someone.

So why should you be the exception? Besides, no one will know, it's just your thoughts anyway. Your own private place where you can hide when reality is too hard.

You opened the wooden shutters on a dark night. The moon was hidden far behind the clouds, and you couldn't even see the stars from here. In the background you could hear the quiet life of the insects and the sound of the wind running through the tall grasses.

She doesn't show up for some reason and she doesn't accept your presents.

When you gave her a kimono, you didn't mean to be rude or make it look like you felt pity for her. Same as when you brought her food. You really wanted to help her, but she was too proud.

You were worried about her.

You went out on the wooden engawa at the back of the house and sat down looking out over the meadows and the dark forest towers over the town.

If you wanted to, you could move to a bigger city. Maybe Osaka or Kobe? You could try your luck there. Open a new business of your own. Then maybe you could even afford an apartment in Tokyo? Or not, you don't think downtown would be a good place, it would be crowded. Maybe in one of its neighborhoods? Asakusa? Or Yoshiwara? You could meet a real Geisha or Oiran–...

"No, that's stupid." You scolded yourself in your thoughts. You'll act like a coward, and running away won't bring you anything, but a stain of pride and honor.

You'll keep thinking back here to her. Even if you leave, your heart will stay with her bleeding, because she won't even look at you.

The night was peaceful and quiet. The noise and singing of the wind dancing among tall grasses and branches of trees suppressed other sounds.

Your night passed slowly, looking at the full silver moon as it came out from behind the thick clouds.

Smelled like before the rain. Fuku would say, looking at a scene like this, it's going to be a tragedy. He's always been very superstitious.

But you were here alone.

The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?

You thought you heard her music from afar, but it was too quiet to be considered real.

- - -

The next morning, your friend find you in front of the house. Initially, you expected to see drunk Fuku, who liked to visit you at any time and was sometimes in a state of intoxication before noon.

Did he have some work today? He was a hedonist, but he was also responsible enough not to drink before job.

But no, it was Kiyoshi Hirano. A clerk. You invited him in and offered to make some tea.

"I just came to tell you that your friend with the biwa is back. You've been a little sad because of her lately..."

"What?" you turned to him with a clay jug. The movement was so fast that the right water poured out of the spout of the dish.

"Last night," he began slowly watching your face. "I was waiting for Fuku, where we used to meet to have a drink when she appeared on stage and started her performance again. She was... good. Looks like her lucky streak's back."

"Really? Do you think she will play tonight?"

You put the teapot in the cupboard where it was before, completely forgetting about the tea, and walked up to Kiyoshi again. You didn't notice his serious look and how closely he watched your brightened face.

"I don't know, I guess so. After all, it's what she does for a living." He interrupted your next question with a hand gesture. "I'm not going there today."

"Why?"

You were surprised by his cold reaction. He seemed angry or concerned about something.

"I'm going to check on Ogawa-san. I didn't see him yesterday and he still didn't show up today. From what I see, he's not here either."

"No, he's not here," you repeated deafly. "I haven't seen him since yesterday."

"Did he say something? What he was planning or where he was going?"

"No, I don't remember anything like that."

"Yhm. So nothing here for me. If you remember anything or see him, let me know."

"Something happened?"

"No, nothing. It's just my stupid hunch. But if I don't find him, I'll go to jitō."

Jitō was the deputy owner of the land on which your town was located. He was supposed to watch over his goods and peace, if a problem arose he had to solve it.

You just nodded at that. You didn't understand his concern about Fuku, you saw him yesterday, and he was fine.

"Okay, so be it. I hope to see you both at the show tonight."

"I hope so too."

He said grimly unconvinced and turned his back on you.

- - -

The orange sun had not yet hidden behind the horizon and you were already sitting in a local restaurant, at one of the tables closer to the stage.

People were elegantly dressed, some even more than was required stepping inside and taking their seats. It wasn’t a real okiya, so you didn’t quite understand their efforts to pretend to be better than they were, but you had no intention of pointing it out to them.

It was quiet. Conversations were conducted in a whisper. Glasses were not brought in toast. You could feel the tension in the air. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something. Or someone.

Finally, after a time that seemed to last an eternity. After the sun and its last rays resembling the hands of a drowning man reaching out for help disappeared from the sky, covered by the deep black of the great scape filled with millions of stars, she appeared.

She wasn't looking at anyone. She did not wander around the room with her eyes like a frightened doe. She just took her seat and started playing.

And the music itself was flowing from under her fingers. The sharp notes flooded their all minds.They could not think of anything else, everything outside was in the background. It was just her and them. Her audience.

After the performance was over, there was thunderous applause. Everyone wanted more and more. As we can see, she returned in grand style.

You also listened enchanted. You didn't care that Kiyoshi didn't join you all night. You didn't even notice it. The world outside this room no longer existed.

- - -

"I'm going to the jitō," Kiyoshi told you when you met him buying rice and asked him why he was dressed solemnly.

"Business?"

The man looked at you in surprise, tilting his head as if he wanted to ask if you were kidding.

"I told you I'd go there if I didn't find Ogawa-san anywhere. You haven't forgotten, have you?"

"Oh, no. Maybe a little. I'm sorry."

"Yes, I can see it," he squinted, looking at you critically.

"Have you been at his place to see him?"

"It was the first place I visited. I asked his neighbors if they had seen him, but no one has seen him since he left for work two days ago."

"Then I guess he's not at the slaughterhouse either."

"Exactly."

"Listen, why don't you wait one more day? We'll go to the jitō together if he's still gone. Perhaps he's lost his way back, because he is drunk again."

Although improbable, such situations have happened. One time he took the wrong directions and tried to get into someone's house. The landlord of the house beat him hard, and for a week he walked around with a swollen face and purple bruises all over his body. Another time, he fell asleep in a truck loaded with bags of rice and was driven kilometers from here.

Although Hirano was unconvinced, he accepted your offer and you spent the rest of the day together.

In the evening, you went to your favorite place to eat with music. You only managed to get in because you came earlier - soon after sunset there was such a crowd that no one else could enter.

You saw Kiyoshi looking for your friend, but he didn't even see anyone even remotely resembling him.

When your food were served, she went out on stage. As always, she moved gracefully and without unnecessary movements, as if she knew that part by heart.

The long black hair fell before her face like a funeral veil. She was still wearing a simple brown kimono, and you were a little disappointed that she dismissed your present with contempt.

She raised a pale hand with well-groomed nails holding a wooden bachi pick. The sleeve of the kimono slid down her arm, revealing more of her slender body and silky skin.

You almost fell back into that stunning trance hypnotized by her music when something discreetly pinched your thigh. It was Kiyoshi. He seemed worried.

Surprised at his behaviour, you raised your eyebrows didn't understand.

"Blood," he whispered. His mouth tightened into a line after he repeated it. "She's got blood on her clothes."

And when you looked at the musician you could see how under the kimono, where the collar around her neck covered part of the white hadajuban was a small red spot. If you had sat further away you would never have seen it.

"It could be anything. Maybe she got dirty?"

"Maybe," he admitted grinding his teeth and not taking his eyes off her. Focusing on a small, meaningless speck. "Or maybe not. It will be revealed. Remember, we still haven't found Fuku."

For the rest of the evening, he didn't speak to you, looking for your friend. You too could no longer focus on the music and let yourself be carried away by the pleasant atmosphere - the stain on her collar was bothering you.

What if someone attacked her? What if there's a dangerous animal in the area? Or a madman? What if something could happen to her?

Your restless thoughts rushed more and more as wild mounts were let loose into the increasingly unpleasant, dark recesses of your mind where irrational fear and unlikely scenarios ruled.

But you still haven't found Ogawa-san, have you?

True, but maybe he just got lost again. Maybe he's tired and sleeping at home now. Maybe it's all one big misunderstanding. Maybe the stain on her collar isn't blood.

Maybe.

- - -

The next day, as soon as the sun rose, you set off with Kiyoshi to Fuku's house. You wanted to be absolutely certain, and according to your comrade's supposition, he wasn't there.

Everything looked as usual. There was a bit of a mess inside, but it was nothing disturbing or new. Ogawa was not one of those who paid attention to where he lived.

The futon, instead of being tucked into a closet, lay on the side of the large room with a blanket rolled up into a ball, as if it had just wake up. Around the room stood many pots of sake, which he did not want to throw away, and other things that he probably used lately.

Yeah, it was a mess, but it wasn't unusual.

"Let's go ask the neighbors," you said quickly leaving the house and not looking at Kioshi.

He managed to stop you by grabbing you tightly by the shoulder.

"I already told you, I did it."

"So what now?"

"We can only go to the jitō and he will hire samurai to guard the security. I think that's all we can do."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, for now."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I want to know what happened to Fuku. They won't be looking for the missing." He paused for a moment, feeling his anger rising. "They'll just try to prevent more disappearances. They don't care abo–"

Suddenly he stopped before his voice broke completely and then you noticed how tightly he clenched his fists. As he tries to stop the tears in his eyes and not let them flow down his cheeks.

You... You didn't know he was in such pain. That he feels that way.

You felt guilty that you didn't care more about your friend's disappearance, that you didn't start looking for him right away. That the first person you were worried about when you heard about his disappearance wasn't him, but was someone else.

"Listen Kiyoshi," you started insecure. "I want to hel–"

"No." He cut you of. "You would only be in my way, I prefer to work alone."

"Oh... okey."

You agreed, but you were hurt that your friend wouldn't let you join his investigation and also didn't want to argue with him. He was smart, so you knew he could handle it.

"Ah, and one more thing."

He added before you left the house. That was the last time you saw him, but none of you knew it yet.

"Stay away from that woman. Please."

• • •

The man decided not to involve you knowing how distracted you've been lately. Because of that musician, you couldn't concentrate, and you missed a lot of obvious things.

He was no longer just talking about a bloodstain or a lack of concern about Ogawa.

Yesterday, following the woman from a safe distance (so she could not hear you), he noticed that she was not afraid to travel alone through a dark town or wooded area.

It turned out that she did not live in even on the outskirts of the city, but in a village about an hour away on foot.

She never turned around to see if anyone was following her, and that should be a natural reaction for anyone traveling alone in areas where disappearances occur. Especially women, who are inherently weaker than men.

Almost everyone is talking about the disappearance of Fuku - together with a local vet, he had to help assess whether the animal is suitable for curing or going for slaughter.

Local traders and meat farmers ask about him because he was the cheapest specialist in his trade.

If there were any rivers nearby they could be turned to fish, but within a radius of many kilometers there was none and the delivery could cost them a lot.

Sometimes local doctors needed his help when the only way to save their patients was to amputate a limb.

Did Fuku practice on dead animals for fun, or is the profession of butcher and doctor so similar? He didn't know, and he never wanted to ask.

So what could have happened before he disappeared? And how could a musician you love have anything to do with this?

Unlike Ogawa-san, he was not superstitious or relying on mere hunch, but when he looked at the dark-haired woman he saw cold sophistication in her eyes.

Why a woman traveling alone in the dark didn't fear an attack?

Did she have any weapons on her? Or did she know something that others don't? Maybe she knew she had nothing to fear.

Another thing that caught Kiyoshi's attention was the strange smell around her house.

After "walking" her home safely, he ordered to come closer. Kiyoshi wanted to investigate the source of the scent. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he was already determined to solve the mystery.

He knew that the more days passed, the chance of finding a friend alive dropped drastically. His mind said he was probably dead, but deep down he still hoped of finding him alive.

It's silly how emotions can affect a person's logical thinking and behavior, but there's nothing he can do about it.

After all, he was only human.

Standing in front of her door, he listened to all kinds of sounds from inside, but there was complete silence. The only thing disturbing it was the sound of buzzing wings of flying insects.

Something sat on his hand and automatically killed the bug. He couldn't see what it was, it was too dark for that, but the next one sat on his forehead and another flew past his ear.

Flies?

You tried, slightly confused by his prying behavior, to pull him away, but he just went to the back of the building where the smell intensified.

"Kiyoshi, please sto–"

"Shhhh, be quiet and help me."

"Wha–?"

"Don't talk, just stand against the wall."

He cut off the conversation quickly so the woman couldn't hear you two and showed you where to stand.

In the dim moonlight, he saw a triangular window under the roof. Because the houses in the village were not tall, he could look through them, but he still needed help to reach it.

"Look, I don't think–"

"Shhhh."

You stood straddle and folded your hands, so he could put his foot on it. Then, with a slight swaying, he jumped on your shoulders.

"But listen, I don't–"

"Shhh, ladders don't talk!"

Holding on to the old boards, he tried to find something he could hold on to. Any holes or roughness.

"Stop fidgeting!"

He rebuked you in a whisper almost falling.

"Then don't stand on my head!"

When he stopped wobbling, you grabbed his ankles harder and at his signal, you slowly began to straighten up. Unfortunately, he still didn't reach the window.

He couldn't even pull himself up because he was still missing quite a bit with his hands stretched forth.

"And what? Do you see anything?"

You asked, in disbelief. Did you just help your friend 'peep at' spy on a woman?

"I really don't like what we're doing. Are you listening?"

But Kiyoshi didn't listen. He was mentally preparing for what he was about to do.

He took a deep breath. Then another one, and curled his knees trying not to fall. If he fails, he'll break his leg or arm.

The moment he jumped up, you walked away from the building. He grabbed the edge of the window and the old wood under his weight crackled in protest - they sounded like they were about to break.

At first he wanted to curse you for it, but suddenly he heard footsteps coming from the other side.

You were too loud.

"Is anyone there?"

A harsh female voice spoke up and he froze. He heard you burst through the bushes surrounding the house, rushing to the nearby trees and she stopped just below him.

Time stopped for a man then. Seconds turned into centuries. Flies flying around him sat on his hands and face, tickling him by thier little legs as they walked on him and bit his bare skin.

To keep them from getting up to his nose, he hid his face in a long sleeve, praying that the wood would stand up and that she would not look up.

The black-haired, looking like a yokai in front of her house, stood there for a moment watching the backyard. Long grass could reach her hips - her husband didn't care much about anything but gambling and alcohol, and none of her neighbors ever had the idea of trying to cut down the plants before they became miniature version of the wilderness for rodents and other small animals.

She was sure she heard the conversation, and the tread in the grass clearly indicated someone was here.

Or was it just her imagination? Maybe she's going crazy? Is it possible the smell of carcass lured the predators?

Still, she should be more careful and dispose of the bodies.

When she finally got back inside, Kiyoshi's arms couldn't hold him longer and he let go. He managed to land on his feet, but he leaned back and fell out of the engava into the sticky mud, which with the thick and long grass cushioned the impact like a pillow.

Scared, that she might come back, he quickly hid under wooden porch to wouldn't get caught, but this time he probably didn't make so much noise, because she never showed up again that night.

Unfortunately, he couldn't pull himself up to look inside nad he wasn't even sure if the moonlight allowed him to see anything.

He liked to think of himself as a rational person and more intelligent than the common man based on his intuition, but the smell was too suspicious.

Maybe it's feelings, but he believed that if anyone could know anything about Ogawa's disappearance, it would be her.

He couldn't ask her directly. He'd just freak her out and she'd do something unpredictable. After all, a trapped animal is ready to do anything to survive.

• • •

The next afternoon, Kiyoshi left the house and instead of going to work, he went straight to the jitō that controlled the surrounding area.

He was a clerk, so his request might have meant more to him than to an ordinary farmer.

Personally, he didn't like Hiroto Sasaki.

He got this job only by acquaintance with the landowner and did the necessary minimum of his work - all the money from taxes (which he did not pay to the landowner) was spent on alcohol and courtesans. He often hosted parties for friends in his home and did not care about the problems of the inhabitants.

People often asked him to stand up for them because otherwise he wouldn't even let them in or send them back home.

Kioshi did not have time to take three steps from the gate when an older, stooped woman approached him (as fast as her rheumatism allowed).

She had grey hair tucked into a low bun and a face full of wrinkles showing how her life was filled with both, happiness and worry. Her hands were resting on a long stick that must have helped her on her way here.

"Hirano-sama?" She asked in a quiet voice full of sadness and her half-blind eyes were even sadder. She bowed slightly to him. The man bowed and asked what she had to do with him.

"You see... My son, Kai, went missing yesterday. I can't find him and he's my only support after my husband's death."

"I see, so what can I do?"

Although he asked, he already knew the answer and with even greater determination went to the jitō headquarters to solve the problem.

One of the servants, whom he had managed to meet during his few visits, led him to the back of the mansion.

There, a fat man dressed in gold and surrounded by comfort women, was eating sweets and fruits.

In the background on biwa played them a geisha, sitting under a cherry tree - delicate petals of flowers swirling around her added her femininity and grace.

Kiyoshi, however, shuddered when he saw her resemblance to Nakime from afar. He probably would never have thought that she looked like her up close, but he still hadn't snap out of after yesterday's close encounter with her.

He did not want to look at her, but the sounds constantly emitted by the instrument remind him, that she is there, not allowing to gather thoughts and relax tense muscles ready to fight or escape.

"What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?"

Sasaki hated Hirano. He thought the clerk always poked his nose into his business and added jobs to him. He hated his visits, but his uncle (and the owner of the land he managed) ordered him to let him in because he had already met Kiyoshi by himself.

He said his remarks were accurate and he was able to listen to people. He thought he'd be a good right-hand man for Hiroto, but he knew he was doing better on his own.

The clerk refrained from roll his eyes hearing him and immediately told about the disappearances and pointed out, if the situation doesn't change, they could suspect either a wild dog attack or a serial killer in the area.

"And what do you think I can do about it?"

"Bring the samurai."

He answered without hesitation, instantly enraging the jitō. The fat man blushed so much with anger, he looked like a tomato.

The glass of saki he threw at Hirano luckily passed above his head and crashed somewhere on the rocks behind his back. All he felt was a few drops of alcohol drenching his clothes.

"What do you think you're proposing? Whose money?! Do you think I have no expenses?!"

"Maybe from the taxes we pay you?"

Only the quiet sound of the wind in the branches of the old trees answered him in their own language and the birds singing in them.

The geisha stopped playing as soon as the clay vessel was broken, but even the man, sitting on a chair resembling the emperor’s throne, fell silent.

The clerk, bent all the time, raised his head slightly to see how Hiroto calmed down and turned pale.

As he suspected - all the money went to his and his friends debauchery.

"If you don't think it's appropriate or unnecessary, I can always write a letter to–"

He couldn't finish because Sasaki came to his senses.

"No. There is no need for that. Starting tomorrow, I'll bring in someone to keep an eye on things."

Several times in the past, Kiyoshi threatened to write to his uncle, but it had to be a complete last resort, because he knew Hiroto would be willing to hire an assassin for him.

Not feeling completely satisfied, he had to agree and let go.

He would rather Sasaki did it today (since many samurai looking for new masters to serve recently), but he also knew that after spending all the money that idiot had to somehow get them now.

He could only hope that by tomorrow there would be some samurai in the area.

• • •

As the sun went down, Hirano was already watching the musician's house from afar. He waited for her to come out, so he could sneak in.

She went out to the perform practically every night, so Kiyoshi knew he should soon see her leaving the building and walking along the sandy road.

And an hour after sunset, a woman appears at the door and stands on a wooden engave looking around the neighborhood. Her eyes were scouring the yard like she was looking for something or waiting for someone.

With loose hair and a black kimono, she looked like a yokai demon.

But he didn't understand why she hadn't left yet. Did she know she was there?

No, it's not possible. He made sure he couldn't be seen by her.

So why?

Suddenly, incredibly brisk for a woman of her small stature, she took a large package wrapped in fabric and ran to the back of the house.

What could be in the package, which she was secretly trying to get rid of? She hid letters from her admirers from her jealous husband? She gave birth to an unwanted baby? Or maybe the murder weapon?

The clerk planned to approach there, but also preferred to wait until she went to work. He didn't want to get caught again, and he was afraid it might be a trap.

That she could watch the backyard from the window, and when she saw him, she'd attack him with something. Although Nakime was a woman, he preferred not to underestimate her, especially since their last meeting had completely frightened him.

So he waited.

And he waited all night.

However, she did not go out again and after sunrise - when farmers began to go out to look after animals and crops - he left.

• • •

During the day, Kiyoshi could no longer watch her - as an clerk he had his duties and had to be careful not to fall asleep.

But it wasn't an easy day for him.

Once he poured black ink from the inkpot, staining the sleeve of a silk kimono, and flooded the papers lying next to it. Or he also had to re-read documents a few times because he couldn't concentrate.

He felt completely exhausted, although he didn't feel that way coming here. Tiredness began to catch up with him.

He looked forward to the sunset indicates the end of his work. The steady sound of rain hitting wooden walls or ceramic tiles made him even more sleepy, and he hoped it would clear up by then.

And as soon as it changed from a sad, grey sky to a blood-red color, he immediately went out. There were large puddles everywhere and it still smelled of rain after a few hours, so he took one of the umbrellas with him.

He hoped that someone hired by the jitō would show up during the day to get a map of the area, but no one showed up.

Neither samurai nor any local villagers he would hire to save money.

As he walked, he could hear Fuku's disapproving voice in his head, who, looking at the sky, would say, "Someone good will die today, the sky and the gods are in mourning."

Many times then he looked at him with a sly smile trying not to taunt him after by quoting his grandmother, but now he misses his superstitions.

How much he would give to be able to sit with him and you on an engava and look up at the sky, drinking sake after work and celebrating the start of the day off.

He came to his home first. He wanted to change into darker clothes, so she couldn't see him.

He was hoping she'd leave the house tonight to perform. If not, he's gonna try to look around the back of the building to see what she's hiding.

Kiyosji looked at the unfolded futon, which he didn't hide. It looked so appealing that he lay down on it for a while - after all, she didn't come out with the sunset anyway. He still had time.

And with that thought - he fell asleep.

- - -

He woke up when it was completely dark. Afraid he was running late, he ran towards her house. If he showed up too late, he wouldn't know if she left.

The run didn't last long, he didn't like to practice. If it weren't for his limp stature, you probably never would have been able to hold him on your shoulders.

Intermittently, he switched once from running to marching and his wooden shoes loudly let the surrounding residents know that he was in a hurry. He was panting heavily, like a wounded animal and he could feel that he had fire in his lungs, but he would not stop.

At least until a black-dressed figure stood in his way.

Nakime walked slowly, holding her precious instrument in her hands. One of the sleeves completely concealed her hand, which surrounded the body of the instrument like a mother hugging a child.

Unbelieving (and feeling goose bumps on his sweaty body) he stopped to catch his breath.

The woman passing him did not even look at him.

He looked at her for a moment - she, as if feeling it, stopped and turned completely to face him. A distance of 20 meters separated them, but for him it was still too small.

They stood in silence waiting for any movement of the other person until they were interrupted by a man in armor.

Samurai.

"So this useless pig did something useful at least once." Thought kiyoshi

The man approached the musician and asked if everything was all right, looking suspiciously at Kiyoshi. He was not surprised, but he was still outraged.

She was a wolf in sheep's clothing.

She calmly replied him. Her voice was serious, but pleasing to the ear.

There was also an aversion to the samurai, who had to put on heavy armor just for the show - it was impractical if he came to chase someone lighter and would only slow him down.

After a while, each of them went their way - Nakime to the restaurant, he headed towards her house, and the man watched them.

He was probably making sure Kiyoshi didn't hurt her.

But that's good, because now he's sure he won't get attacked from behind and the house is empty.

Suddenly he realized he was more and more convinced of her guilt, although he had never approved of hasty judgments. He believed everyone was innocent until proven guilty in a court of law or evidence was found to point to the culprit.

Meanwhile, what did he have? Terrible smell coming out of her house and strange behavior. In the past, it wouldn't have been enough for him to pass judgment, but since Fuku's disappearance, his thinking has changed completely.

Standing in front of her house, Hirano stopped and began to listen. The only thing that could be heard from inside was the noise of a flock of flying flies on which the sound he trembled. He hated all kinds of insects, but he forced himself not to vomit or run away.

The odor's gotten worse since the last time he was here, and he had to put a long sleeve on his nose and mouth. He must have blocked it somehow.

It didn't help much.

He planned to get in and out quickly. The building wasn't big, so it couldn't have taken him long.

The door was not locked - probably the smell itself discouraged entering.

Inside, he left them open so the faint moonlight would illuminate this room. He saw the outline of a low table and two seat cushions. In the corner of the wall with the door, there was something white that he thought was bedding.

But in the current light, he couldn't recognize the huge stains on the tatami mats. He needed a candle.

Holding his breath from time to time, he searched the few cabinets inside and found some hidden next to a bag of rice along with a flint.

Satisfied that he managed so well, he started hitting stones against against each other and watched as the sparks light up the room for a moment until he managed to ignite the wick.

What he saw next made his heart stop and all the color drained from his face, making him look like a ghost. At the moment, although he was alone, he felt threatened and wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. He felt like a deer on a hunt.

Blood was everywhere. Dark stains covered the floor at the table, one pillow and led into the other room behind the shōji door.

On the table he saw overturned white sake glass, also stained with blood, and nearby there was a jug in which there was still some alcohol.

Feeling his body getting heavy he moved into the other room and when he reached out to open the door, he saw that he was trembling. There, the smell and the sound intensified like a warning not to go in.

He was afraid of what he'd see, but he had to...

With one quick move, he opened the door. It slammed and the smell hit him in the face with double force, pinching his eyes. Flies immediately sat on him, looking for something to eat, biting his exposed skin and drinking sweat.

There, in the middle of a small room, were two bodies. He saw the white larvae moving in what used to be the heads of the wretchs, and how far the rotten process had gone.

He couldn't hold out and threw up. It was too much for him. He had to get out. Now. Immediately.

But he didn't even have time to take a step because as soon as he turned around, the hammer hit him in the face, smashing his completely nose and knocking out his teeth.

Through the black spots appeared before his eyes, Kiyoshi saw a figure in front of him and then fell, when she hit him a second time, falling into the death chamber. He managed to block the blow with his hand and heard a loud crack of a broken branch.

He didn't think about it then, but that was the sound of his broken fingers. Because of the adrenaline, he couldn't feel it now.

Unfortunately, he didn't see anything else. The candle fell out of his hand and went out.

He felt a weight on his stomach as the woman sat on him and tried to hit him on the head again. He was still covering himself by his wounded arm and trying to get it off her somehow, but she was too heavy for him.

He hoped that someone would hear his scream and come to help him, because at every moment he weaken.

But no one came, and another body was found in Nakime's room. Now she's done her ritual and she is ready to perform.

- - -

The venue was buzzing of impatient voices. All the gathered people were looking forward to the arrival of their favorite musician, who rarely made herself time off. The long-haired woman hypnotized with her music, causing clients to come back for more.

Her fame quickly spread around the area and it became harder and harder to find a place inside. You had to come a few hours earlier to listen to her melody.

Because of this, some (those who never heard it and just wanted to eat) thought it was stupid. They didn't understand and called her audience fools.

And you were one of those fools. You're in front of the stage again, waiting for her to perform like a dog for a treat. Despite your most sincere attempts to stop or listen to your friend, you could not stop coming. She was like a drug.

Every time you've seen her, you've felt the butterflies in your belly start to dance inside and your mind becomes incredibly light, like when you're drunk with alcohol. But you didn't drink sake so you wouldn't be distracted and fully enjoy the performance.

But today she still hasn't shown up. People began to get impatient and the owner of the premises upset - thanks to her his income increased significantly and if she decided to change workplace meant problems for him.

Some of the guests left mad, and some started wondering out loud where she was. At some point, they started chanting her name, thinking it would make her suddenly show up.

You'd probably be the last person to leave this place and still wait a few more hours for her.

You missed her and her music during the day, waiting for the night to see her again.

But you didn't have to because she finally showed up.

She was wearing a black kimono that you once gave her, but something that caught your eye and prevented you from fully enjoying the performance was the numerous tearing of the material that you seemed to be the only one to see.

• • •

Nakime came home in the morning at her regular time. She was fine, both physically and emotionally, despite the scratches on her forearms and the bruises on her abdomen caused by that burglar. Even a not-so-pleasant meeting with a neighbor did not dampen her spirits.

An old woman called her attention to yesterday's noise and said she already thought her husband was dead. Until recently, quarrels and shouts in their home were standard fare.

It was supposed to be a joke, but she didn't even know how much of it was true. She also told musician to take care of the horrible smell coming out of her house.

She didn't care much about her as she was about yesterday's guest.

She did the right thing coming home. Meeting the samurai made her feel a little insecure and afraid of detection - killing someone outside meant more risk.

She wanted to go back and keep trying to dispose of the bodies. Although they made her nauseous, she found the willpower to cut them into pieces and wrapped in her previous kimono.

She finally appreciated the clothes you gave her because you can't see the blood stains on them. But she felt that if she came out on stage all covered in blood, no one would even notice - everyone was mesmerized by her music.

Sighing, she undressed and went to bed. Then maybe she'll try to get rid of the body parts again.

It was a tedious and difficult task. She had to do it in such a way that the origin of the meat could not be determined immediately.

But she was glad she took care of it because otherwise she wouldn't have found the footprints and other tracks behind her house suggesting an unwanted presence.

She was sure it was her night visitor, but who was the other person? Why didn't they come together?

A normal person would feel scared in a situation like this, but after tonight, Nakime felt invincible. The power she had and the impunity with each subsequent murder made her as drunk as alcohol. She became more and more confident and less cautious.

But she now fell asleep without fear.

- - -

Her work was interrupted by a knock on the door. Her fingers and wrist hurt from cutting hardened cartilage, and her knees from long kneeling.

She got up unstably and washed her hands in a bucket of cold water before she opened the door.

Is it that crazy old lady again? Anybody else in the neighborhood who's bothered by the smell? Maybe it's a samurai?

But it wasn't any of them.

That was you.

You stood insecurely, holding a package wrapped in brown paper in your hands. You didn't look her in the eye. Instead, you focused on the floor.

You took small, short breaths to somehow bear the stench from inside, but you did not make a face. You asked if you could come in and talk.

Nakime moved away from the door to let you in. She tried not to show it, but she was glad you came - she was shaking all over her body at the thought of smashing your head and going to perform again in the evening.

You stood in the middle of the room, and the setting sun lit the room for a moment until she quickly closed the door and darkness set in. She didn't have any open windows here.

"I know everything," you started before she had a chance to come up to you. She quietly took the hammer lying on the cabinet near the door.

"And on the one hand, I didn't want to believe it, I've been denying it all the time... But I can't do this anymore. It rips my heart between what I should do and..."

"What do you mean?" She asked, but she wasn't interested in your answer. She just want you to didn't turn around for a second.

Nakime was standing right behind you with a hammer ready to strike.

"You are the murderer, aren't you? You killed Fuku and Kiyoshi..."

Suddenly you turned around when she had her tool raised and made her hesitate. It gave you the precious second to grab her wrist and lowered it, asking her to talk for one more minute longer.

"I should turn you in, but I can't," you confessed. "I'm hurt by what you did and it will never stop, but for some reason I can't do anything against you."

Your voice broke. She was so close now, she saw you were on the verge of mental breakdowns.

"Please tell me what I should do. If you think it's best to kill me, do it and put an end to my torment."

For a moment she didn't know what to say. She felt she should end it with one punch, but instead she told you to leave.

She didn't like the new kind of arousal caused by your confession, the fluttering of her heart or how the blood came up to her cheeks. She felt she was getting a fever because of you. Her legs are even weaker than they were before.

"Then you'd better kill me," you said firmly, surprising her. "Because I can't live without you–your music."

You were too embarrassed by what you said, so you quickly added the first thing that came to your mind. You were hoping it was too dark to see your blush.

But she couldn't bring herself to lift the hammer anymore. When was the last time she felt that way? If ever it must have been a long time ago.

"Get as far away from here as you can," she began in an imperiously tone. "And come back exactly ten years from now, if you still feel the way you feel, you will come back here and I will play only for you."

And you left her with a bleeding heart after an indescribable loss. Nakime thought she was merciful to you, she condemned you to an even worse fate than if she had killed you - from now on you will carry her sins on your back, the betrayal of your friends and miss her for each of the 3 652 days.

Awareness of all this will not allow you to sleep peacefully. Her absence prevents you from eating and function normally. Losing your friends isolated you.

You never stayed anywhere longer after that, looking for your place and running away from that house at the same time.

She was both, your cure and curse.

- - -

You went to her show last one time and left the next morning with the first rays of sunshine.

Nakime put on another kimono, that you brought her - simple, black, because you noticed she doesn't like glamour and extravagance.

In the full light of the room, she could see how the events of the last few days had affected you. You were pale, lost weight and had big bags of sleeplessness under your eyes.

You looked like a shell of your former self.

It gave her the thought that now you belong to her - she will never leave your mind or heart and will be your only one. For the rest of your days, even though you're not together, she will haunt you in your life as a ghost of the past, when you awake and in your dream.

For some reason, she liked the power she had over you.

The melody of that day was very sentimental and passionate. The performance was definitely different and even better than usual. Some felt goosebumps and coldness during climax moments, and wiped away tears at the slower ones.

It wasn't just music meant to show her talent and entertain the audience - it had a message behind it. And everyone felt it.

It was her goodbye to you.

People talked about it for a long time after you left, hoping she'd do it again, but she never did. Her fame came as far as you ran away, haunting you and never letting you forget your sin of silence.

You pretended not to hear and didn't speak up when the subject of a genius musician was raised. All the venues, where the music played you avoided like the plague.

After you left, she felt like she lost something, looking at the table you used to always occupy. She also became even more ruthless in her actions, which led to her demise.

This one time she chose the wrong person, because he could not be called a human, and gave her a new life as a demon.

You, looking for relief after a few years, ended up with one of your clients. A platinum blonde with rainbow eyes greeted you with open arms after seeing your condition.

His closed community was located in a remote area in the mountains. People there like you were broken and destroyed by life or loved ones.

And what it meant to you, they've never heard of her or her music.

Honestly, it didn't surprise you that most of them were women, inherently weaker physically than men. They couldn't defend themselves, so they always had to run away and hope they'd be better off somewhere else.

Every time the Founder called you a "poor thing", you felt like you were getting goosebumps and when he looked at you with those sad eyes, you thought something was wrong. Like he's faking it.

But it used to be, because with your current state, you didn't care.

You felt a slight discomfort associated with the honor of eating in his private chamber, but he did not seem to care.

You didn't notice when you were talking that he doesn't eat anything from a table full of food prepared by his followers. All he did was push plates towards you to make sure you tried everything. And with his elbows on the table, he listened to you like you were telling a fairy tale. You didn't want to talk about her or your problems, so you told him where you were and what you saw.

With his chin resting on his hand with blue long claws nails and sleepy eyes, he listened to everything like enchanted and curious about you.

He, in order for you to stay, persuaded you to hand over your business to someone else and join the cult.

He argued that by your constant fatigue and lack of strength to handle it. He promised to improve your condition after you moved here - he praised the brisk mountain air, pure waters full of minerals and his connection with the gods, giving comfort to his followers.

You weren't convinced by the idea of being one of his followers, who loved his every move, so you got the role of his guest.

You lived with the rest of them in a big common room - the men and women (with children) had their own separate wings in the large building.

You had there your own responsibilities that weren't too heavy, because the Founder of the cult told you to focus on recovery.

And just like anyone else, you could leave whenever you wanted (in theory).

Many times during the talks he offered you the attainment of your own eternal paradise - explaining that it means a state of eternal peace and happiness, without any worry and pain. His ultimate mercy toward broken people.

The offer sound tempting, you had to admit it, but you had a promise to keep, and sinners like you have no place in paradise.

And now, you found yourself again in front of the same door as ten years ago.

Douma was slightly opposed to your departure, saying you were still unhealed and tried to convince you to stay, but you were adamant about it. He gave up after you promised you'd come back and maybe you'd finally accept his offer.

You had to find out if the last ten years of your life were in vain.

To meet her, you left Douma's cult five days earlier and spent the night at the inn, because you arrived a day too early (than you assumed) and you sold your house a long time ago.

The wood on the door started to splinter, but it was strong enough to withstand your knock.

For a moment you wondered if she was still there or had not been caught, until the door with the loud squeak of the old hinges opened itself.

Inside, you thought nothing had changed - only the smell had left. Where there used to be a second room (with the bodies) she was sitting with her biwa. Behind her was an impenetrable darkness as if there were no walls behind her.

After called her by her old surname (which you didn't even notice slipping out of your mouth) you didn't speak to each other anymore.

You were surprised she still had the same kimono you gave her. You know this, it was made especially for your order, because you could not find anything in her type.

As soon as you took your seat on the only pillow (like it's specially set up in front of her for you), she started playing, and you thought the last decade was just a bad dream.

You've both fallen into a trance by hypnotizing each other. So much has happened that she's forgotten your promise, and if you hadn't come, you'd be a relic of her past.

In the morning, before the sun had time to rise, you left with the feeling that you belonged to each other. She was the musician, and you were her audience.

But before you left for the next 29 days, she spoke to you only once to telling you to call her Nakime.

And with every full moon, you'd come back for more. She didn't invite you but you knew she'd be waiting for you and she knew you'd be back.

She never spoke to you, but you didn't mind. You both understood each other without words and your roles in the relationship.

Sometimes after her performance you felt happy, sometimes more depressed than usual which Douma noticed and always asked about. He seemed to care very much about his followers, so you believed it was a real concern.

As history has shown, you are sometimes very naive and blind.

After a long and tiring series of questions from him, you finally revealed the reason for your sudden departures and current changes in mood.

Once Nakime was ordered to bring in all 12 moons, but she had a problem. Douma, as always, had company in his audience chamber and could not move him, when people were close.

She waited patiently to bring him, when she heard you come in to inform him of your another trip. You wanted to do it when he had an audience so you could get out sooner, but unfortunately he was willing to discuss it with you.

"Oh, you're leaving so soon again? Ahh, I was about to call you. I'm soooo bored here alone. Are you sure I couldn't go with you? Please, I'm begging you."

The blonde asked you with a smile and folding his hands as his followers do in prayer, excited as if you'd already agreed. For some reason, you felt like he was putting more and more pressure on you as this time of the month came.

"Douma-sama, you have responsibilities, and I'll see you in a few days."

Sitting cross-legged on a big pillow, a man puffed up his cheeks like a baby. Sometimes you wonder how old he really is.

You refrained from sighing and running your hand over your face. To stop him from pleading further, you drew your last card against him.

"Besides, I thought you couldn't leave the building during the day. And I couldn't just travel at night, you know that, right?"

"Yes, but it'll take so long and you'll be sad again because of that woman."

He closed his eyes and leaning slightly forward started whining in the tone of a child stating the sad obvious.

Untli he suddenly straightened up as if a new energy had entered him and, clapping his hands, said pleased with his new idea.

"I know! It will be better if you stay here this month! Then you will not take a step backward in your treatment."

But you instantly frowned and clenched your fists. His insistence was slowly starting to get on your nerves.

The blonde, feeling as if he were on thin ice, became sad again and rested his chin on his hand. In the second, he was holding a golden fan.

You once had a chance to get a close look at it, during the affiliation of new members in his this same chamber. He covered half of his face with it after hearing another sad story.

After several times spent with him during this meetings (at his request) you noticed that although all the stories were always tragic, they also sound very similar.

You're surprised they didn't affect his psyche after all these years of listening to other people's problems and expecting them to solve them.

Although perhaps that was the reason for his sometimes childish behavior? When he needed to, he was able to remain serious, although most of the time he acted like an actor on stage - sometimes all too exaggeratedly.

Normally, he'd keep pushing you to stay until you escaped into the sunlight, but he's noticed you've become distant and inaccessible to him lately. This prompted him to rethink and change his tactics.

"I'd better go."

"Will you come back?"

"As always," you said, turning your back to him.

You were getting more and more tired of his personality. And it wasn't just you, Nakime listening to it was also running out of patience.

"My, my. You're really quickly trying to get away from me. Wait a minute longer. I have one more question."

You sighed.

After Nakime performances, you discovered that you are finally managed to sleep peacefully all night without the corpses of your friends blaming you for their deaths, and you waited impatiently for her. On the one hand, it gave you relief, and on the other, a sense of guilt.

You wish you were on your way already, but as a courtesy, you always came to let him know you were leaving and then you had to regret it.

"Yes, Douma-sama? What do you want to ask?"

You asked dryly, wanting just to get out. For some time, Douma seemed too interested in your travels and invited you to spend time together much more often. Even when you were too mentally exhausted and didn't accept the offer, he would come to you. He was literally like a little kid, who didn't understand the word "no."

The black-haired woman clenched her fingernails on the instrument until the wood crumbled a little. If she'd used a little more force, she'd have broken her biwa like a stick. The blue fingernails pierced the neck of the instrument, creating holes, but she didn't care about it now.

"What is she like? You never told me much about her."

"Is that all you want to know? After that, can I leave?"

"Of course," Douma said straightening up and putting his hand on his massive chest dressed in a red turtleneck with a black top. "I always keep my promises."

A man was looking at you with those peculiar rainbow eyes waiting for an answer. They were simultaneously alluring and dreadful. Everyone said they were his gift from the gods.

But like you, he also had his curse and it was those beautiful eyes. Maybe that's why blonde demon thought he was the only one, who understood you and what it was like, in his own twisted way, remembering his beginnings from time when he was human.

Knowing that it would be better to answer him (because you may later regret it by his insistence upon your return), you pondered for a moment.

What is Nakime like?

She was elegant, cold and cruel. Merciless. Yes, but you can't deny that you've noticed the silent acts of courtesy she made to you during your meetings. She was too proud to admit them out loud.

The interior of the house has somehow changed, the blood has disappeared and it is definitely warmer for you on cold nights.

Sometimes you seemed to sense a delicate scent of flowers, completely different from Douma - a strong, suffocating smell of lilies. And sometimes you seemed to sense something else underneath it on him.

She was above it all, but she was also...

"She's cute."

You said with such confidence, that the woman's face instantly turned red. Her heart beat faster and in her belly the long-sleeping butterflies woke up.

What did you do to her?

Douma unexpectedly laughed behind his hand. The joyful, spontaneous sound echoes through the walls of the spacious room making it even louder.

When he finished and did nothing more, you raised your eyebrows in silent question.

"Hm? Did something happen? You decided to stay?"

"No, I'm just wondering if that's it."

Douma smiled at you as if you were telling a joke.

"Just like I promised, you're free now." But before you disappearing completely from his sight, he added:

"And remember I can always give you eternal paradise if you ever decide. Then you'll never have to suffer again."

As soon as the shōji door with the painted lily on canvas closed behind you, he was moved to Infinite Castle.

Muzan asked them about their progress in the search for the Blue Spider Lily and their success in eliminating the Ubuyashiki clan, at the same time strongly criticizing and calling them useless. Sometimes he had to relieved his anger on them and somehow get them to work so they wouldn't get too lazy.

Some of the blood of the lower moons was spilled and some of the upper moons were reminded of their place in the hierarchy. Nothing new.

And when the meeting was over in a few strokes of the strings, she sent everyone back where they were. Except for one person.

Douma looked around in surprise wondering why he was not yet in Eternal Paradise in his chamber. As soon as he saw Nakime sitting in the distance, he stood up and waved to her.

"Oh, Biwa Lady, what's wrong? Are you bored too?"

Nakime ignored him and, squeezing the plectra tighter, said imperatively.

"Stay away from that human."

"Hmm?" He muttered, putting his finger to his cheek and tilting his head slightly, thinking for a moment. After that, the man asked carelessly.

"Which one? I have a bit too many of them to guess which one exactly you mean, hahaha."

Douma laughed innocently, pretending not to know what she meant, irritating her even more. If the bangs hadn't covered her face, he could have seen her veins pulsing furiously across her forehead.

As a final warning to him, she repeated this to him through clenched teeth.

"Leave. That. Human. Alone. And. Never. Bother. Again."

"Oh, you mean my friend?"

He tilted his head slightly and with a satisfied smile added.

"But your chosen one lives with me, how could I ever leave my dear friend alone in need?"

Blonde bowed his head slightly, wrinkled in fake worry thick eyebrows and crossed his arms. "Oh, my, my. You're putting me in a difficult position. Friends should help each other and besides..."

He looked at her half-closed, with a predatory smile, and said in a lowered voice. "I don't usually share with my food."

Suddenly Douma was crushed by a wall falling on him from above. When she released him, he looked like a moving mass of flesh and meat.

He recovered quickly as a upper second moon befits, laughing at the woman's reaction. If he wanted to, he could easily avoid it with his speed.

"Oh, my, my, hahaha, you really need it, you're a quite strong, but still too weak and little too slow, my dear."

Seeing that he raised his hand again, he added quickly.

"I'm sorry, sorry, I just bait you. I didn't know you cared so much about this one. If you'd explained it before, I'd understand."

"There is nothing to understand here. Don't elaborate. You're just supposed to stop."

The cult leader giggled again and with a friendly smile refused.

"You see, this is my friend, who came to me for help. Who would I be if I didn't help him get rid of the pain? After all, it's my job."

Before Nakime could pull the strings and hurt him again, he said:

"You're cute."

Imitating your voice and tone. He wasn't the best at it, but it worked well enough that she hesitated for a moment and almost dropped the instrument. Grasping the neck of the biwa again, she changed the acrod, and instead of cutting him vertically with a shōji door, she sent him back to his audience chamber.

It took less than a second, but Douma noticed it, and he was complacent. Although he did not consider himself a master of deduction, as demonstrated by his least fruitful search for the Blue Spider Lily of all the moons.

Who would have expected Biwa Lady to have feelings for human?

But she must have forgotten one thing, when she was ordering and trying to intimidate him, is that demons are very territorial and jealous of their food - especially the upper moons.

Nakime still had over 72 hours left until you arrived, and she started wondered during that time whether it would be better to just lock you up at Infinity Castle after all.

[itsthestutterforme]

Distractions (A Johnny Storm Drabble)

Summary: You are trying to work on your essay, but Johnny is making too much noise.

Notes: GIF is not mine, this is not a beta’d read, reader is afrolatina, allusions to sex, Johnny being a soft goofball

Prompt credit @prompts-in-a-barrel : “Quiet you’re distracting me.” “Distracting you from what?” “From ignoring you.”

—

Your let out a groan when you glanced at the clock in the corner of your lap top. It read 10:52 p.m. You had an hour to do a ten page essay not including the abstract and references.

And you were only on page two.

To say you had writers block was an understatement. It took you damn near two hours to decide on what your thesis was.

And that’s all you managed to do. You’ve been zoning in and out since you sat down at the dining room table.

Johnny loud sigh reverberated from the living room to where you were seated.

Pressing your fingers to your temple, you took a deep breath before stating, “Quiet you’re distracting me.” “Distracting you from what?”

“From ignoring you,” you bit your lip when you heard the TV turn on off, which normally means on of two things.

His footsteps pad through the hallway as he made his way to you. You leg bounced in anticipation when the footsteps grew louder.

His broad shoulders filled in the door frame in the dining room as he crossed his arms.

He leans against the door frame, an amused smile tugs on his lips.

“So that’s what you’re doing. Had I known that I would have came over here sooner.” He takes a step towards you and you held your hand up.

“Don’t even think about it. I still need to get my work done.”

“But I miss you. I haven’t had affection from you all day.” “I gave you a kiss this morning. And I give you affection every day.”

“That was this morning, and I’m a high maintenance man. I need endless kisses.” you chuckle when he pouts and slouches his shoulders.

Such a baby.

“How much do you have left?” “I have to do a ten page essay in.. less than an hour.” You huffed, leaning back in your seat.

“Well that’s not going to happen,” Johnny strolls over to you, shutting your computer.

“Hey!” You protest when he takes the computer and sets it all the way to the other side of the table.

“Johnny,” you warn. Completely ignoring you, he pulls you out of your seat and sets you on the table where your computer just was.

“Let’s face it, sweetheart. You’re not going to get a ten page paper done in less than an hour. You’ll only stress yourself out and we both know how that ends up.”

“No, I don’t know, Johnny. Please enlighten me,” you retort. “Cursing at your laptop in Spanish,” he answers smoothly, placing a hand on either side of you and sliding between your legs.

“Not that it isn’t hot, because it is. I just don’t want you to be stressed, baby.” He adds, pecking your lips gently.

“I’m a college student. Stress is engraved in me at this point.” Your eyes searched his deep blue ones, noticing the faintest speck of light blue around his irises.

Johnny was a gorgeous man. There was no doubt in your mind why women would throw themselves at him.

A part of you always questioned why he chose you to settle down with.

But that doubt faltered when he said, “You don’t have to go through with college if it’s too much for you. I said that I would take care of you, didn’t I?”

“Wh- I thought you were joking.” “Baby, I was dead serious.”

“And how is that supposed to work exactly? I stay home and upkeep the house? Being a trophy wife isn’t in my nature, Johnny.”

“And I didn’t think settling down was in mine. Until I met you and all of your sexy, 5’4” mean girl glory.”

He lifted your left hand and placed a kiss on skin above your ring. You smiled at the memory of Johnny dropping down on one knee and proposing to you.

He had timed everything to the T. He took you to get a mani pedi early in the morning before taking you shopping for a dress so you could attending a premier with him later that day.

Your time at the premier was cut short because he ‘forgot’ his keys to the apartment when he went for a run earlier than morning.

The photographer he hired was already there waiting for you two by the bridge. You were looking for the keys around of the bushes around the bridge and couldn’t find the keys Johnny was talking about.

You were fussing about just making a copy of your key if the two of you couldn’t find it. You damn near fainted when you turned around and saw Johnny on one knee, beaming up at you with a gorgeous blue princess cut ring sparkling from the velvety box.

The photograph took close to a hundred pictures that did, nearly all of them were on the front paper news the next day.

“I’m not a mean girl,” “Sure, if you say so.” He dismisses. “Just promise me you’ll at least consider it,”

“I will. After I finish this paper,” you tried to reach for your laptop. His gaze fell to your small frame swimming one of his t-shirts.

All you were wearing was his tshirt. He groans at the thought, pulling you further between his legs.

“Johnny, I need to at least-“ he lifts your legs over his shoulders, causing you to fall flat on your back.

He made it a house rule for you never to wear panties in the house. Ever. As soon as you step foot in the house, he is in front of you with his hand outstretched.

He ghosts a lick over your cunt and you shudder at the sight of his face buried between your legs.

His bottom lip grazed your clit and the skin throbbed in anticipation. Your hands cup the back of his head, your hips rolling in search for any sort of friction.

He pulls away from your cunt, flipping his shirt over your stomach and presses a wet kiss above your belly button.

“You’re confusing me, sweetheart. I thought you wanted to finish your school work?” He taunts, a proud smirk on his face.

A smirk that widens the longer you stayed silent. “So what’s it gonna be, baby? Me or the work?”

[inevitablestars]

hi hello i’m about to wash my hair so im gonna ask you about the black cousins and their hair care routines!! who uses the most product!! who spends the most time styling it!! who has naturally good hair!! who has to work for it!! <3

hi kat! okay so u don't think i've ever properly thought about this but i do have thoughts

clarification that this is subject to change based on the universe but this is what i've got at the moment

so all of these things vary and have different like rankings of most to least so you're getting a very nuanced answer

who cares the most about their hair: (this is going to be controversial)

1. narcissa - she really cares especially given that she is the outlier of the family with blond hair and that is very special to her and also sometimes an insecurity though most of the time she loves it. she's the one that prefers to leave the house with her hair done and will even do it on days that she's not going anywhere

2. regulus - he takes pride in it in a not shallow way. he wants to look out together to distract from the fact that he is not always put together. reg is really good at putting on a face and a front and his hair plays into that

3. bellatrix - her hair is wild but she loves it. it's one of her favorite features so she cares a lot about it, though not as much as the two above as she will more likely go out without it looking as nice and be okay with that or not care

4. sirius - controversial take but to me it is accurate. sirius doesn't actually care all that much about looks. that being said, stunning flawless, etc etc, but sirius doesn't care. it's not a priority to do their hair they will easily go without doing it because they still look good

5. andromeda - somewhat here by default but also andy is more simple in this regard. looks aren't the most important thing to her so she doesn't care all that much about her hair per say. all of this being said all of them do but andy just ends up last

most product:

1. narcissa, again she has the color upkeep so she uses quite a bit of

2. bellatrix, those curls need it and she cares about them so on good days of taking care of her hair, quite a bit of product

3. andromeda, again any of the curlyness of her hair requires a bit of product but she goes with a fairly simple routine given that

4. sirius, not as much as the girls, but sirius slaps some products in and they do their job and nicely tame their hair

5. regulus, he fusses with it a lot but with minimal product because again he wants to seem put together and seem effortless so if he can use minimal product he will

most time/effort (combining this bit):

1. regulus. it's the longest part of him getting ready because he has some soft curls that he tries to get to sit perfectly around his face everyday. it's all an act for him to seem effortless and near perfect so he puts in the work

2. narcissa, same as up top! she cares so she puts in the work

3. tying bellatrix and sirius here because for both of them it depends. some days sirius puts time into it but a majority of the time it comes easy and they don't have to do anything and they only put the time in when they care to. bellatrix is similar though everyday there's some effort but not much and the days that there's a lot of effort it's a lot

5. andromeda. listen she keeps coming in at the bottom but she really just like is easy when it comes to her hair. most likely to throw it in braids and call it a day when she doesn't want to deal with it (sirius does this too) and the times she does put extra time in are fewer and farther between

this got rambly.... i have a lot of thoughts about them but you knew that. thanks for indulging me <3

[magnus-sm-writes]

WIP Intro: (Demon) Hunting for Love

Genre: queer paranormal romance 

Status: (rough) drafting 

Synopsis: Quincy is a son of Satan, but he’d much rather be stirring up trouble on Earth than struggling to be next in line for his father’s throne. When a demon hunter nearly catches a fellow demon, Quincy sees an opportunity to both be owed a favor by said demon and scare the shit out of a human. But he finds demon hunting with Otto more interesting than it has any right to be, and for the first time, he thinks he might actually trust someone.

Logline: A demon wants to scare the shit out of a human; instead, he falls in love.

Literal Logline: Human makes son of Satan a soft boy.

Vibes: Rainy nights, creaking floorboards, Top 10 Demonic Activity videos, reading Creepypastas late at night when you’re young, the smell of dust, playing with Ouija boards, going to haunted houses, overgrown grass around abandoned buildings, long conversations with your best friend, jean jackets over hoodies, graveyards at night

Inspiration: Buzzfeed Unsolved, CreepCast, Gravity Falls, Good Omens, found footage movies

Tags: Friends to Lovers, First Love, Cuddling for Warmth, Idiots in Love, Paranormal Investigators

Quincy, Devilspawn

(Insta: dragoncuspid)

Despite being a child of Satan, Quincy has little interest in participating in the power struggles and back stabbings in Hell. He wants the upper hand in every situation and gets a bit panicky when he doesn’t have it. Quincy has never had a real friend before.

Otto Jackson

(Insta: delanodeej)

An online demon hunter recovering from a recent “cheating” scandal, Otto is placing a lot of pressure on himself to gain his old following back. He’s determined to find a real demon, this time, not knowing he nearly caught a demon in a previous video. With Quincy by his side, he’s certain he finally has a chance.

Excerpt: 

“Hey, editing Otto. Put in the exact amount of years,” Quincy says. “And throw a party hat on me.”

“Why do I have to put a party hat on you?”

“You’re not editing Otto. But I want to have a party hat because it’s never a bad time to throw a party.” Quincy stretches out his legs. “Anyways, yeah, I’m not discounting our ancestors or whatever. I’m saying that, in a house that’s been empty for a little longer than thirty years—throw in the date of the murder attempt—, it’s kind of a miracle it hasn’t rotted apart by now.”

“It was inhabited until the two-thousands. The family sold it off—”

“Okay, so it’s been abandoned for twenty years. Whoo-hoo, ten less than I originally thought. That’s still a long time without upkeep. It’s like… shit, man, we could’ve fallen through the ceiling.”

(Edit 6.18.24: I updated Otto's face claim since I use Tre Samuels for 2 other projects and even though I think he's really cute, that's a lot of projects.)