#Quit-Barking-At-The-Moon

[ourpl3d]

how we feeling quackblr

[fawntastic]

Quit barking at the moon, Laika

[ourpl3d]

we stay winning

cpurpled fans this ones for you

[whirlybirbs]

— MOONBEAM ; SANEMI ; 実弥

summary: you & shinazugawa have a score to settle, but you never did agree on the stakes, did you? pairing: sanemi shinazugawa / f!reader ; retired hashira word count: 4.7k tags: rated t+, mutual pining, drinking games, romanticization of everything in sight, sun and moon tropes, reader is a hashira, reader is missing her arm, cool prosthetics are my shit, sanemi can be nice when he wants, sanemi has no idea how to be touched, ranging hashira appearances for comedic impact a/n: i love this eyebrow-less fuck. let him be kissed. and pegged, probably.

"Another round."

Someone is going to die tonight. 

Someone is definitely going to die tonight, and no one even seems remotely concerned aside from Tanjiro Kamado, the designated sake pourer. 

H-He shouldn't even be here! 

Wrong place, wrong time, but Mr. Shinazugawa might kill him if he said no to the barked order of fetching sake for the drinking game. 

I mean — sure, sure. You're both Hashiras. Or, well, you were a Hashira. The Light Hashira. The Light Hashira who was forcefully retired as of last year due to losing your right arm facing down an Upper Moon. 

The entire room is packed with fellow rank-and-file members, and with each downed glass of sake, there's a raucous roar of cheers. 

Sanemi Shinazugawa thought this was going to be an easy win. 

After all, you're little Miss Perfect. Delicate and polite and demure, and always so well-mannered, and oh so soft-spoken. 

You may be retired, but you still serve the Demon Slayer Corp, working to rehab injuries just like your own. Your estate is the secondary stop after the Butterfly Mansion for many members who have lost limbs — your prosthetics are state-of-the-art. The custom, mobility aids have changed the lives of men and women who thought they'd never bounce back.

It's beautiful, really.

Just like you, Sanemi laments.

Your silver kimono is faultlessly pressed; the wisteria blossoms embroidered into your obi glimmer in the lantern light of the dining hall. That wisteria hairpin keeping your hair up and out of your face makes his stomach churn. He wants to yank it out of your hair and throw it across the room. He wants to see you... undone. Any less perfect than usual.

It's driving him insane.

You're on your fifth cup of sake. You hold the bottom, tilt it back, and finish it with a slow, thankful nod directed toward Tanjiro. The ceramic prosthetic of your right arm tinkers gently against the cup. Delicate. Poised. Perfect.

Sanemi's lip snarls.

"Oh come on—"

"Another round, if you would, Mr. Kamado."

You slip Sanemi a leveled look through heavy lashes. 

The Wind Hashira is drunk. There's no denying it. You can see the hot flush creeping up his chest, peeking out from the top of his undone uniform. There are his scars, and then there is a flush. It's cute. 

He's always been cute.

More than cute, recently. Handsome. Insufferable in every single way possible, but handsome. 

Rumor has it he's quite the gentleman, too, if you believe the girls over at the Butterfly Mansion. The youngest three seem partial to him — hailing him with an unbridled sense of respect (and infatuation).

"You've gotta be kidding me," he grits out as he runs a calloused palm down his face; he's sweating. He's hot. It's hot in here. Maybe it's the sake. Whatever. Sanemi lets out an exhausted sigh, "There's no way." 

There's a little crack — a tiny, sliver of a crack in your usual placid composure. Sanemi swears he sees a smirk. It's gone before his hazy vision can memorize it. 

"Shinazugawa," you breathe as Tanjiro worriedly pours another cup of sake for you both; your voice is punctuated with repose that dares to lightly mock, "Are you saying you can't continue?"

There's an edge to your voice — a slight slur. The only indication that you have been keeping up, drink-to-drink with him. 

The room coos a goading little cheer. They egg him on. 

Sanemi's eyes narrow dangerously. His eyelashes are quite pretty, you muse. The whole of him is. Scarred and rugged and always so tough...

"Oh, please. You think I'm going to tap out?" he shirks, slamming back the freshly poured sake with reckless abandon. Best to go fast. If he slows down, it's all going to catch up to him. That's five. You're both tied, "I'm not losing to you." 

Your cup pauses, right about to meet painted lips. There's the smirk again. Then:

"Break it up! Curfew started ten minutes ago!" 

You recognize it as Obanai's voice. 

Sanemi's eyes flick to your face, then to the door beyond the gaggle of swordsmen and Kakushi. You're pouting. The interruption has brought a wave of groans and chattered disappointment. 

Sanemi grits his jaw. You mirror his expression.

He wasn't done. 

You weren't done. 

You both concede with scowls on your face. 

No one died. 

Which is great! 

Except that was before, and this is now. Tanjiro winces sharply at the escalating volume of Mr. Shinazugawa's voice across the courtyard. 

"Rematch!" he's shouting at you as you cross the courtyard; a picture of elegance and grace. You've got a large wooden box in your arms. No doubt the delivery of a new prosthetic. 

You glide across the gravel, head held high. 

Perfect. Even in this fuckin' heat. 

Sanemi's jacket is in the grass — every recruit around him is winded. Seems they've begun another training regime. The summer heat beats down your neck as you rake your eyes across his figure. You watch a bead of sweat run down his temple.

"Name the place, Shinazugawa," you throw his way flippantly; Tanjiro can see you're not afraid of Sanemi and it's confusing, "You'll have your rematch."

"Tonight. Same place. M' not loosin' this time, Lady Hashira." 

He hates your laugh. He hates how fucking pretty it is — how soft and light it is, like a bell, like a breeze against his skin. 

Fuck.

You're so pretty. So kind — so... fuckfuckfuck. 

Tanjiro is definitely going to die. Mr. Shinazugawa has never gone this hard on them before, like, ever. This is bad. This is so bad. A wooden sword strike rattles the bones in his hands, pain echoing up his wrists, as he blocks a whirlwind of frustrated attacks.

He's going to die.

Obanai figures this is exactly how this would go.

It is Sanemi after all. The Wind Hashira is worse than himself. At least he can talk to Mitsuri without acting like it was the world's biggest inconvenience... 

Sanemi is not exactly subtle. The pent-up frustration is—

Oh. 

Oh, you're into it. 

Sanemi misses it, but Obanai is watching the rematch from the far table — he was trying his best to mind his business as he eats. The Serpent Hashira can see the way your eyes linger on the Wind Hashira whenever he might not be looking. 

Sanemi tips his head back, as he downs his cup of sake. Obanai notices your gaze.

There's something heavy about the way you take Shinazugawa in. Something... adoring. 

Well, shit.

Tanjiro Kamado's voice wavers as he throws a leg over the bench and settles to sit beside Obanai. 

"Are you sure... this is allowed?" the auburn-haired swordsman laughs nervously as he clutches the designated sake refill bottle, "I mean curfew is soon—"

"Did I say you could sit here?"

Great.

He's going to die.

And this time it's Obanai's stare that's going to do it.

Giyu is the one to enforce the curfew that night. It ends the same. Five drinks even. Sanemi almost kills the Water Hashira, and you smirk as you gather yourself up and retire for the evening. 

Giyu doesn't get it.

"Why entertain this?" he asks the next morning, juggling the large order of birch wood in his arms; you'd asked for his help, and truth be told he was always partial to you. You were kind and easy to talk to. Giyu's voice is level, "He's a brute."

You have a large box in your arms — your second piece of the week. This time, a knee-jointed leg prosthetic made from boxwood. It's for that young swordsman, Hime. 

"I don't mind him," you offer lightly.

Giyu doesn't get it. 

"He's loud," he challenges.

"He has a nice voice," you muse back, falling in step with the Water Hashira.

"He's rude."

"He cares not what others think of him."

"Is that supposed to be a good thing?" Giyu shirks, his lip curling a bit in distaste.

"I think so," you softly reply, slipping Giyu a sly look, "I find it charming."

"Is that what this is about, then?" he asks suddenly, almost tripping over his own feet. The gravel beneath his feet crunches, "Finding him... charming?" 

"...And what if it is?"

Giyu really doesn't fucking get it. 

The Water Hashira is quiet for a long time after that, but the silence is comfortable. You don't mind it. It's just the sounds of summer along the path and the soft footfalls of their steps. 

Then:

"He likes red bean paste mochi," Giyu mutters, "Tanjiro told me."

The parcel lands on his lap. 

He's trying to meditate. He's trying to think about anything other than you — anything other than your smile, your laugh, the way you wear your hair, or the way you say his name. 

Irritation cracks his placid expression.

His lavender eyes are still shut. 

His lips curl into a snarl. "Do you mind?" 

"A little something," comes your soft voice; you're standing before him, your hands clasped in front of you. Oh so proper, "for our next rematch."

Sanemi's eyes fly open. 

The sun is like a halo around your silhouette. Framed by blue sky, it's like staring at an angel. You're so fucking beautiful, it feels like someone's rammed his very own nichirin right through his heart. 

He swallows roughly.

"...What is this?" he grovels hoarsely. 

Skepticism softens into a fading sense of annoyance. Sanemi's eyes flick downward, eyeing the meticulously wrapped parcel on his lap. The handkerchief around the bento is... yours. It's clearly a scrap from your old Haori. He'd know the pattern anywhere. In the dark, even. In his dreams, always.

"Red bean mochi," you say slowly, tilting your head; your voice is coaxing, "Is that not your favorite...?"

You swear his eyes widen a mile. 

What a pretty sight.

Sanemi's lip twitches. He's hesitant to reach out and even touch the box. "...Who told you?"

You shrug. Your expression is light and playful. "Would it matter?"

"I need to know who I should kill," he grits out.

"If you don't want it—"

Sanemi snatches the box up. You'll have to pry it from his cold, dead hands. Handmade, fresh red bean paste mochis? From you? He'd rather die than give this up. 

You wet your lips, the gesture an attempt to hide your growing grin. You drop your gaze and idly fiddle with a sleeve. 

There's a tense moment of silence. Then, his voice rumbles out like a summer thunderstorm:

"Tonight. Rematch."

"Same time?" you ask brightly, already beginning to walk backward down the path. 

Sanemi watches, his eyes glued to your face. "I'm going to win."

"You can try, Sanemi Shinazugawa."

You might lose.

You — ha! 

You might just lose. 

You decidedly blame Mitsuri and Shinobu. They're laughing — and pouring a lot more than poor Tanjiro did. You aren't even that angry about it, because Sanemi looks so damn proud of himself and it's adorable. 

Your tongue is loose. Your posture is slipping. 

Sanemi's never seen something hotter. 

He's going to suffer for this tomorrow — he knows that. He's on his seventh cup, his smirk mingling by the edge of the sake as you drop your head and giggle at something Mitsuri says. 

Your eyes find his. You look so... beautiful. 

The other Hashira have stolen their sips from the jug. Not that either of you mind. You're both locked in your own little game. The others have drifted out to the engawa, sitting in the warm summer evening air. 

Stolen glances between you both bleed into decidedly light banter. 

"You're slipping," he chirps; his expression betrays his words. He's gone soft, "Keep up."

You lean forward onto the table, chin propped up in your hand. You lazily finish the sake in your cup while raking your eyes across his chest and neck and shoulders and face. All of him. 

Openly.

"Haven't you heard the story of the tortoise and the hare, Shinazugawa?"

"Sanemi," he corrects as gently as a man like Sanemi can, ignoring the way his heart skips a beat when your smile cracks just a little bit wider, a little bit looser.

The ceramic cup tinkers against the wooden table as you place it down.

"Sanemi," you sigh back — testing the sound of it — and he wonders if this is some sort of dream. You let your head lull to the other side as you take another sip, "Right."

He lifts his drink to his lips. He hesitates for a second; you trace the line of his jaw with your eyes. 

"Thank you," he says suddenly — and your expression clouds with momentary confusion. That's how he knows you're drunk. You're usually so sharp, so fast. Your wit is like the crack of a whip. Sanemi clarifies before downing his seventh cup, "For the mochi."

Fucking hell.

That smile.

He's never seen someone so fuckin' beautiful before. Light Hashira be damned. You're an angel. You're the sort of woman men throw themselves on their swords for. He gets it. He'd rage a thousand wars if it meant a kiss. He'd even take a slap. Maybe a punch. Anything. 

Fuck. 

Make him bleed. 

You sway a bit as he places his empty cup down sharply. 

"Were they good?"

"Best I've ever had," he admits; he's being honest. 

You feel like you're in battle again. There's an adrenaline rush beneath your skin. Seeing him so... soft. Maybe the girls had a point. Maybe he is a gentleman when he wants to be. Sanemi is being sweet. Must be the sake. 

You let that lovely realization sit in your chest for a moment longer before dragging your eyes away from the Wind Hashira. 

Shinobu is nowhere to be found. 

Mitsuri has relieved herself from her role as designated inebriatior.

She's on the engawa, enjoying the breeze, fingers inching close to Obanai's. The other Hashira — Giyu and Rengoku and Tengen included — seem more interested in the stars hanging in the warm evening air than the competition beyond the open sliding doors.

He clears his throat. You draw your attention back to him.

He's been watching you.

"Do you concede?"

"No, not yet," you admit. Your chin is perched on your hand again, "I suppose I still have another drink in me." 

You watch as he moves, then. He stands and moves across the room to fetch the jug of sake perched by the door. You follow him with your eyes, tracing the line of his figure. He moves with less grace and with more carelessness. The jug swings from his fingers by the twine handle as he returns to your side.

He settles on his knees to your left. 

Sanemi's grin is devilish. Sharp. Handsome. His ashen hair falls in his eyes as he pours himself his next round. "Now, now, Lady Hashira, only one?"

He's so close, you can feel his breath on your neck. His voice makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Shinazugawa leans, scarred knuckles hesitating to pour your eighth cup. His scarred brow quirks in a quiet challenge. He stills himself and waits for your reply, only to smirk when you lazily wave a porcelain hand his way. Go on. 

"Perhaps two with the way you pour," you bite, eyeing the conservative amount of sake that spills into your ceramic cup, "Trying to spare me a loss?"

"Mind your mouth," he warns, rattling the near-empty jug. He tosses his cup back easily before settling back on his haunches. He snaps the cup down on the table and exhales.

Sanemi feels exposed. Moving closer was a bold move.

It's the way you're looking at him.

He watches as a piece of hair falls from your meticulous up-do — undone by the heat and drink — and he feels his entire chest lurch with need.

You're smiling in that honeyed way as you take a slow sip of this round's cup. Your words are slow like molasses on your tongue. "...We never settled on the stakes of this bet, Shinazugawa."

Sanemi is staring at that piece of hair kissing your cheekbone. His expression is less intense than usual, but there's still a burn there. However, it is not rage nor ire. It's something else — something that you're too blind and sake-adled to name. 

"Your hairpin."

He answers it easily without pause or hesitation.

Your painted lips quirk as your eyes flash to his. He sees a question flash behind your eyes but you allow it to slip by, unasked. You watch him cross his wide arms over his chest as if to shield himself from any ill reaction.

Without a word, Sanemi watches you tug the long, silver hairpin from your hair. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

He's never seen you like this before — never, not even in battle. Your hair tumbles free in mussed strands wanting to bend and bow in the humid summer air. 

Sanemi's mouth runs dry as you slip the metal pin between your fingers and offer it. Your eyes are heavy-lidded and you sway a bit as you hand it over.

"Does this mean I've won?" he croaks. His calloused fingers brush yours as he takes the pin into his hands. It's heavier than he anticipated. The intricate amythest wisteria ornaments tinker in his palm as he turns it over.

You tip the last sip of sake back down your throat. 

Then, you shake your head no. 

"Had you asked," you slip out, dotingly pouring him yet another cup; you mirror the action and fill your own, "I would have simply given it to you."

Sanemi swallows.

You watch him as you eye your ninth cup.

You're drunk. Very drunk. Drunk enough that you fail to see the slack-jawed awe sucker-punched across Sanemi's face.

"What will you ask of me, then?" he dares to utter, realizing that this game ended a long time ago — that this is no longer about winning. Maybe it was never about winning at all, Sanemi realizes rather suddenly, but he doesn't dare linger on the thought you may just enjoy his company. 

No one enjoys his company.

He is a bastard. He is a brute. He is horrible and crude and scathingly stubborn. He is not kind, well-spoken, or patient. He's none of the things he sees in you. He is ever bit your opposite — you are the light that breaks through the clouds, and he is the wind that bites.

The idea of drinking another cup of sake makes his head swim.

"...Truthfully? I had not thought that far."

Your voice is small. Sanemi watches the way your porcelain hand stills against the cup. The confession stirs those white-hot feelings in his chest again. He barks out a rough laugh that sounds more like a wheeze than anything.

Then, he pushes his cup across the table. Your eyes widen, and Sanemi is shocked to realize his pride allows him this.

He concedes.

He has his prize, after all. He tucks your hairpin into his jacket, in a pocket beside his heart, before rapping his knuckles upon the wood of the table. 

The Wind Hashira lacks his usual amount of grace as he stumbles to his feet. 

He bends like a birch in the wind, then pushes that strand of hair from your cheek.

"Think on it, then, Lady Hashira," he rasps, "You win."

Tanjiro isn't the only one who notices that Mr. Shinazugawa has been in a better mood lately. 

Training hasn't been nearly as disastrous. The Wind Hashira has even begun offering pointers rather than beaten-in instruction. The ashen-haired man has some sort of reason for being... gentler. It's almost as if his mind is elsewhere.

Obanai notices, which means Mitsuri pries it out of him, which means Shinobu is told over tea, which means Tengen hears about it from Rengoku who hears it from the three youngest Butterfly Mansion servants and proceeds to tell Tokito one evening in the onsen. 

The steam hangs heavy in the air, and Giyu's head is tipped back against the cool stone. 

Tokito, dipped low and deep to nearly his nose in the baths, listens with interest to Tengen babble on. The Sound Hashira is stumped.

"I mean, c'mon, I love him, but the guy is never in a good mood," Uzui mutters as he flicks at a drifting maple leaf atop the water, "And suddenly it's sunshine and rainbows?"

"Hardly," Tokito murmurs.

Rengoku wrinkles his nose and agrees with the Mist Hashira. "I do not believe sunshine and rainbows are within Shinazugawa's purview."

"I'm being hyperbolic," Tengen stresses.

Giyu sighs loudly.

The heads of those present turn towards him owlishly.

He doesn't even open his eyes as he speaks.

"It's her," he states plainly, "Our Lady Light Hashira."

And it is, isn't it?

It becomes painfully apparent.

Even Kagaya Ubuyashiki, whose eyes may not see as they once did, notices — he can feel the weight of something sweet in the air when he calls the Hashira together for a meeting in the early afternoon.

...It makes him smile.

A bird chirps and the sound of a breeze slips through the leaves in the courtyard. The sun is hot on the curve of your knee, beneath your kimono.

You are in the back of the room, hands folded neatly in your lap. 

Your hair hangs across your shoulders. 

Your eyes have not once left Sanemi's back.

He sits rigid and perfect, his nichirin laid before him. 

And then, as the meeting breaks, he dares turn his cheek. Lavender eyes connect with yours only for a second. Then, the room moves, but you stay there on that floor, watching him move gracefully as he sheathes his sword. His jacket parts and you spy the ornament of wisteria flash beneath his breast pocket. 

Your breath catches.

The others pretend not to see as he steps down from the engawa, turning his attention to you once more as he squints in the sun.

"Have you decided?" he asks.

"No," you reply softly, poised as usual.

Sanemi snorts through his nose like a bull; his words may be grating but his tone betrays it. "Fine then. Be indecisive."

The others pretend not to see his smile, nor the bashful way you duck your head as he retreats towards the grass where the recruits have gathered. 

But, Kagaya Ubuyashiki needs not to pretend.

He smiles.

He finds you in the garden, after dinner.

You've made a habit of walking the quiet paths in the evenings while the Ubuyashiki Mansion is quiet and calm. Here, while the sun slips away and the moon chases her kiss, you can linger among the wisteria and their weeping blooms. 

Your getas still upon the gravel.

"I've decided, I think."

Your voice is softer than the petals that drift through the air.

Sanemi, from behind the largest tree, steps into view.

His arms are crossed. He is without his nichirin. 

He ambles closer, his attention drifting to the sky seeped in reds and pinks and purples. The moon is full, and it spills out gilded light that makes your silver kimono glow. You look as if you belong here — among the beauty and calm and peace.

"Yea?" he rasps in reply, realizing you've turned on your heel to face him fully, "Go on then, Lady Hashira. I'm not a patient man. I've waited long enough."

His words lack any sort of real bite. 

(He would wait a thousand years more if it meant hearing you ask of him anything. He'd do it, too. Over and over, as many times as you ask. Anything. For you.)

You venture closer. His eyes are still turned to the sky and the wisteria petals that swirl like clouds.

You spy your hairpin.

Wordlessly, you reach for it.

His hand snatches your wrist and halts it — at first, the movement is rough. It's as if Sanemi forgets what a touch from another can be, what it's like. You exhale, and his calloused fingers loosen their hold. He sets his jaw, and his thumb ghosts along your wrist in silent apology.

Then, you smile.

And you slip your hand down and into his own. 

And, fucking shit, Sanemi doesn't know what the fuck to do with himself with you take one step closer. There's a small voice in the back of his mind telling him to fucking run, telling him to escape this fate — because he's already in too deep, isn't he? He's drowning, and now you're holding his hand. You're going to be the fucking death of him. 

"Is this," he swallows tightly, "What you decided on?"

Hand holding?

"Am I allowed to ask for more, Shinazugawa?"

"Sanemi," he corrects under his breath, his pupils bouncing from your eyes to your mouth. It isn't an answer. 

You take another step forward, and your smile is slow.

"Sanemi," you nod and rectify yourself as you look up at the Hashira, "Am I?"

He looks terrified — and then your porcelain palm touches his cheek.

"I told you," you swear his voice shakes as he turns his cheek and pulls away, "I am not a patient man—"

"A kiss."

Lavender eyes widen, and Sanemi swears he fuckin' dreamt it. 

There's a beat of apprehension — like you're both staring down the precipice. Like you're both one step from hurdling head-first into the crashing waves below. There's only one moment of it though, and it's long enough for both of your breaths to be stolen by the leap.

He knocks the wind out of you.

You suppose there's something poetic about that, him being the Wind Hashira and all.

At first, the kiss is rough. It's as if Sanemi forgets what a kiss from another can be, what it's like.

It's desperate, you realize, as Sanemi's calloused hands thread themselves to cradle your face. His teeth knock yours and his nose butts your own and you all but gasp as you stagger on your getas. It doesn't matter, because you're in his hold — and he won't let you fall. 

Not now, not ever.

One step backward, and then another. And another.

Your back meets the bark of the wisteria. 

The moon finally kisses the sun.

His chest heaves as his hand lands above your head, bracing himself over you. His other hand doesn't dare leave your cheek. It threatens to creep into your hair, to wind your further, to see you undone. 

When he pulls his eyes open, he realizes he has achieved it. 

Finally. Fucking finally. 

Your kimono has slipped further down your shoulder, your obi loosened by the act of being pinned to the tree. Your hair is mussed, your lips parted and near bruised. 

To Sanemi, you're more perfect than you've ever looked like this.

He kisses you again.

And this time, it's nearly chaste.

You sigh into the kiss, and your fingers shake as they come to settle over the patch of bare, scarred skin on his chest. 

His lips are nimble and the pad of his thumb traces the curve of your cheek. It's a gentleness you never thought possible of Sanemi Shinazugawa. You never expected it. 

He is like the wind, then.

Biting and harsh, or soft and beautiful.

You kiss him for a long time, there, beneath the wisterias in the growing dark — like teenagers, like these were moments you were never afforded. There are hardly any words shared, only breathless little laughs between bitten lips and wandering hands. 

It's when the lanterns are lit that Sanemi finally pulls himself away.

You're smiling — and you're a mess.

Soft and disheveled and twining your fingers with his.

That's when someone's voice cuts across the courtyard, calling for curfew.

[cruel-seduction]

If I get more pretty? 

Content Warnings: Mild cursing, angst, emotional vulnerability, themes of insecurity, and crying.

Summary: You and Mattheo have been keeping your relationship under wraps. But when doubts and insecurities begin to creep in, you find yourself questioning your worth. Mattheo, however, won’t let you suffer in silence. He’ll fight through any storm—no matter how many times he has to face it—because the one thing he won’t ever allow is for you to feel unloved. And when it comes to loving you, he’s unstoppable.

Glimpse - You smirked, your lips quivering as you raised an eyebrow. “Don’t speak too much, Riddle. Or I might just impregnate you.”

He withdrew his hands from you in mock horror, covering his body as if you’d just said the most scandalous thing in the world. “I knew it,” he said, feigning shock, “You only want me for my body.”

a/n - I am writing this while I am in metro and I forgot to bring my headphones and there is a really cute guy sitting next to me who also have dimples and he looks like a nerd cause he is doing some maths equation and he even smiled at me so I am fucking happy.

The sun hung low on the horizon, its amber rays stretching lazily across the Black Lake, casting a soft, golden glow over the rippling water. You were sprawled out beneath a towering oak tree, its ancient branches providing just enough shade to temper the warmth of the evening. Your back rested comfortably against the rough bark, while Pansy’s head lolled casually on your shoulder. To your left, Mattheo sat close, his presence grounding you in a way you didn’t quite understand but had come to crave.

You weren’t exactly close friends with the group gathered here. Pansy was an acquaintance at best—though her sharp wit and biting humor had grown on you—but Mattheo? He was your secret. Your boyfriend. A relationship that defied logic and societal expectations. On the surface, you and Mattheo were opposites: you, measured and reserved; him, chaos wrapped in dark allure. You had loathed his reputation once, the stories of his recklessness and destruction, but now you knew the truth—the tender boy beneath the mask, the one who would move mountains just to see you smile.

Still, it was your idea to keep things private. “Private until permanent,” you had insisted, brushing away his protests with a laugh. “People are too eager to cast their evil eye.” It wasn’t that you didn’t want the world to know. You did. But you couldn’t shake the instinct to protect what was precious to you, even if the irony of shielding someone as notorious as Mattheo Riddle from harm didn’t escape you.

Your voice broke through the tranquil atmosphere as you finished recounting a story, one that had the group doubled over in laughter. “It’s not that funny, you assholes,” you muttered, though a smile tugged at your lips. “I’m actually concerned about it, okay? Like, it’s true, but still…” You rolled your eyes, your chuckle mingling with the fading laughter. Eventually, you let your head rest atop Pansy’s, her dark curls tickling your cheek. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Mattheo watching, his dark gaze fixed on where Pansy leaned against you. His jaw tightened ever so slightly, and you couldn’t help but suppress a grin. Jealousy suited him.

As the laughter ebbed, Blaise leaned back on his elbows, a smirk playing on his lips as he turned to Mattheo. “So, Riddle,” he drawled, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “What’s the deal with that redhead who’s been mooning over you?”

Mattheo’s brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “What redhead?”

“Oh, don’t play coy,” Blaise replied with a laugh. “You know exactly who I’m talking about. The redhead—absolute knockout—who’s been fawning over you.”

“She doesn’t,” Mattheo said firmly, his tone laced with mild irritation. “She just assumes we’re friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Blaise quirked an eyebrow. “Let me enlighten you, Riddle. Do women usually parade around in barely-there clothing for their so-called friends?” His teasing earned him a sharp slap to the back of the head from Pansy.

“Any girl can wear whatever she damn well pleases,” she snapped. “And it doesn’t have to be for anyone, let alone a man. And If I hear you say such nonsense I will chop your dick and feed it to that three headed dog, you understand?”

Blaise rubbed the back of his head, chuckling. “Alright, alright. I am sorry, ma’am. But come on, Mattheo. She waits for you at Quidditch practice every morning. Five a.m., mate. No one studies that hard in the field when we’ve got a perfectly good library. She’s practically throwing herself at you.”

Theodore, lounging nearby, chimed in with a smirk. “I have to agree. She’s got a killer figure. Honestly, Riddle, she seems tailor-made for one of your infamous one-night flings. Speaking of which, you’ve been suspiciously… alone lately. Someone caught your eye?”

Before Mattheo could respond, Pansy interjected, her tone light but edged with sarcasm. “Please. Mattheo fawning over just one woman? Not possible. It’s probably against his DNA or something. The man’s practically programmed to bounce from one hot girl to another.” She leaned back, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “And some of those girls, I’ll admit, are downright smashable. Even I’m tempted sometimes.”

The group laughed, the conversation shifting seamlessly to lighter topics, but their words lingered, carving fissures in your confidence. Their teasing shouldn’t have bothered you—you knew Mattheo’s heart belonged to you—but doubts began to creep in, unbidden and persistent. Were you enough for him? Did he deserve someone better, someone more dazzling, more suited to his world?

The thoughts gnawed at you until you felt a warm hand slip over yours. Startled, you turned your head to find Mattheo watching you, his gaze impossibly tender. His lips curved into a small, genuine smile, one that spoke of unspoken promises and quiet devotion. You mustered a smile in return, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

And Mattheo noticed.

He always noticed.

Later that evening, you made your way back from the library, your bag slung lazily over your shoulder and your thoughts preoccupied. Mattheo had skipped your study date, and though disappointment gnawed at the edges of your mind, you reasoned it away. He was probably busy with Quidditch practice—the final match was looming, and the pressure was mounting. He’d make it up to you after the match, you told yourself, because that’s who he was. He always found a way to make things right.

Still, the morning’s conversation lingered, casting a faint shadow over your thoughts. You didn’t want to overthink it—it wasn’t worth ruining your mood—but the words from earlier replayed in your head like an unwelcome echo. To distract yourself, you silently recited the lyrics to a song, focusing on the rhythm of your footsteps as you made your way toward your dorm.

And then, just as you turned a corner, you saw them.

The sight froze you in place, a wave of nausea churning in your stomach as your heart plummeted. There he was—Mattheo—standing with a girl so breathtakingly beautiful it felt like the universe was mocking you. Her golden hair fell in perfect waves, her face framed with elegance, her height poised like a model stepping off a magazine cover. She was flawless. Perfect hair. Perfect face. Perfect everything. She was everything you weren’t.

Your chest tightened as you watched her lean toward him, her laughter like a siren’s call, and bile rose in your throat. You wanted to scream, to curse her, to tear her apart with the fire burning in your chest. But then the sharp edge of reality cut through. Was she really at fault? She didn’t know. To her, Mattheo was just another unattached, impossibly attractive boy. It wasn’t her fault she was flirting with someone who everyone believed was fair game.

Still, your gaze locked on her hand as it brushed his shoulder, and the lump in your throat grew harder to swallow. He moved his arm away, subtle but deliberate. Yet your mind refused to accept it. Why wasn’t he doing more? Why wasn’t he stopping her outright, shutting her down completely? Did he… like the attention? Or worse, did he realize he was better off with someone like her? Someone perfect?

The thought shattered something inside you. Tears welled up in your eyes as you stood there, frozen, watching the scene unfold. The voice in your head whispered cruel truths: He deserves someone better. Someone who fits his world. Someone who isn’t you.

You loved him so much it ached, but wasn’t love about sacrifice? About letting go? You told yourself it was. And so, that’s what you did.

For the next week, you committed to what you bitterly called your “stupid mission” of letting him go. You ignored Mattheo at every turn, cutting off the moments that had once been routine—canceling dates with feeble excuses, skipping his Quidditch practices where you used to show up just to watch him, even avoiding the places where you knew you might run into him. If he was better off without you, you wouldn’t stand in his way.

But boy, you were so wrong.

Which is how you ended up here, in the dim light of an abandoned classroom, your back pressed against the cold stone wall. His dark eyes burned with intensity, locking onto yours as he caged you in with both hands planted firmly on either side of your head. His body radiated heat, and the tension in the air was palpable.

“Mattheo,” you hissed, shoving at his chest, though it was futile against his unyielding strength. “Let me go.”

“Not until you tell me what the hell is going on,” he snapped, his voice low and rough. “You’ve been avoiding me all week. Canceling on me. Ignoring me. And don’t even try to lie, because I know you’ve been doing it on purpose.”

You glared at him, your hands curling into fists as you shoved at him again. “It doesn’t matter, Mattheo. Just—just let me go, fucker.”

“It matters to me,” he growled, his face inches from yours now. “You don’t get to just disappear from my life and act like it’s nothing. Tell me what’s going on.”

Tears pricked at the edges of your vision, but you blinked them away, refusing to let him see you break. “Why are you here?,” you choked out, the words slicing through you like broken glass. “You certainly were enjoying that blondie’s attention..”

Mattheo’s brows furrowed, confusion giving way to something deeper—something that almost looked like heartbreak. “Blondie who?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. “The girl from the last week. The one for whom you cancelled our study date for—”

But before you could finish, Mattheo leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “Stop.” His hand found yours, his grip firm but gentle. “You seriously thought I would cheat on you?”

Your breath hitched, the fight draining from you as his words sank in “But—”

“You don’t even have this much trust in me?” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper, the hurt and disbelief evident in every word.

You shook your head, tears streaming freely now. “No, Mattheo, it’s not about trust. It’s about reality. You deserve better. Someone like her—perfect body, perfect everything. And I don’t think we’re meant for each other. I’m not perfect, not even close. So, it’s not that I think you would cheat,” you choked on the words, your heart breaking with every breath, “but I think you’re better off with her.”

By now, your sobs had overtaken you, the rawness of your feelings too much to contain. You were crying—really crying, like you hadn’t in years. Mattheo’s expression shifted from confusion to something deeper, darker, as he moved towards you.

Before you could even react, his hand found the back of your neck, his touch cold against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. His other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you close, as he pressed your head to his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding you. His lips brushed over your hair, his voice low and insistent.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” His words were like a punch to the gut. “Don’t pull this movie bullshit on me, babe. That I deserve someone better? Cause we both know that I don’t. Come on, I don’t. I have more than enough. I have you. The fucking real goddess.”

You felt his arms tighten around you, his words sinking into your soul. “I don’t believe in reincarnation or any of that shit,” he continued, his voice softer now, “but I do think I’ve done something right in this life, something good, because I get to be with you. And trust me, baby—you and I are the only endgame. At first, I thought this was just some fling, but now? A day without talking to you feels like a waste. And I want to say some romantic shit like I’ll be with you even if the whole world is against you, but fuck that. I’m not weak, baby. I’ll kill anyone who dares go against you. Do you understand?”

A strange, tearful smile tugged at your lips as you looked up at him. His hand ran up and down your back, comforting, reassuring.

“I know now’s not the right time to say this, but you’re getting your snot all over the only clean dress I have, baby.”

You lightly slapped his shoulder in mock annoyance, but the tension in your chest began to ease. He made you laugh, even in the midst of everything. You pulled your face back to look at him, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him. The kiss was slow and soft, unlike any other kiss you’d shared. It was filled with something tender, something fragile, as if he was holding you close, afraid that if he let go, you might vanish.

When you finally broke the kiss, his gaze was fixed on you—his eyes filled with an intensity that spoke volumes. You could see it, clear as day: he was yours, and you were his. You were the endgame.

“You think I’d waste my time with anyone else when I have you?” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Baby, you’re the only person who can handle all of me—the good, the bad, and the downright shitty. You believe in me. You worry about me when I get sick. You scold me when I’m being an idiot. And most importantly, when I look in your eyes, all I see is love. Not fear. Not ‘Riddle’s son.’ Just me.”

You smirked, your lips quivering as you raised an eyebrow. “Don’t speak too much, Riddle. Or I might just impregnate you.”

He withdrew his hands from you in mock horror, covering his body as if you’d just said the most scandalous thing in the world. “I knew it,” he said, feigning shock, “You only want me for my body.”

And you laughed, the sound of it echoing in the empty room, light and carefree, a stark contrast to the heaviness that had settled earlier. But it didn’t matter.

Mattheo Riddle, for all his faults, his arrogance, his unpredictable nature—he was yours. And you loved him. Maybe love wasn’t about letting go, after all. Maybe it was about holding on, cherishing what you had while it was still yours. Because if you had to let go of your love, then maybe it wasn’t meant to be in the first place.

Main Masterlist || Divider - @bernardsbendystraws

[alien-paws]

Younger me: surely I'm not a therian

Also me: howling at the moon, wearing dog collars, eating out of dog bowls, insisting I was a dog numerous times, sticking my head out the windows when in a car, barking, chew toys, literally sleeping in a dog bed, phantom limbs, obsession with wearing tails and ears, running around on all fours, never feeling quite human/never relating to human experiences, desperately wanting a muzzle, asking people to call me "puppy" or "paws", getting overjoyed when people tell me I seemed dog like, drawing paws on my palms, always saying I didn't feel human and didn't know if I was

[ourpl3d]

AHHHHHH DUDE DUDE HDHDHDHD I REFRESHED MY PAGE AND THIS WAS THE FIRST THING I SAW IM INSANE IM DJDBBD

( Not my shitty ass doodle in the corner though I’m sobbing /lh /pos)

the way you did his little ears!!! And dogchamps antenna!!!!!! AND THE PLANNETS DUDE JDBDBDBD I’m losing my mind. I’m losing my mind. Shaking you.

THANK YOU SO MYCH

//Ooc: I know I've been out of character a lot as of lately, but I promise I'll stop after this one (maybe- you never know). Though here's some Purpled art based off of @ourpl3d's Purpled. Go check them out!!

[apollowhoo]

could you pleasee do a gravity falls one shot?

so basically Bill Cipher meets the youngest Pines member but they're like 3-4 years old. And basically Bill doesn't know how to react, he's all confused but also in awe. Make it fluff and i know it's going to be hard to write this as canon Bill Cipher so you can ignore if you want <33

Bill Cipher x Child!Reader (PLATONIC)

The forest surroundcing the Mystery Shack was quiet. Somewhere between dimensions, floating lazily, was Bill Cipher, his single eye half-lidded with boredom. His typical schemes to cause chaos were on hold, and for once, he was simply… existing.

That’s when he heard it—a soft giggle, light as a feather. Bill’s eye snapped open, immediately. There, standing among the wildflowers, was a small figure with messy hair, chubby cheeks, and a bright, curious gaze.

The youngest member of the Pines family.

His eye narrows slightly. A little kid, no older than three or four, was staring right up at him. Her tiny hands gripping a stuffed animal that seemed to be some kind of hybrid between a cat and a duck—perfectly nonsensical, just the way Bill liked things.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Bill floated closer, his voice carrying its usual sarcasm. “A little ankle-biter out all alone? Shouldn’t you be with your oh-so-boring family?”

The girl tilted her head, eyes wide and sparkling with the kind of innocence Bill found really weird. She didn't seemed scared. She suddenly reaches out, poking Bill with a tiny finger in pure curiosity.

Bill’s eye widened a little in surprise. Most people who encountered him would either scream, run, or try to strike some ridiculous bargain. But this little human? She just poked him like he was some new toy.

“Hey, hey! Hands off the merchandise!” Bill exclaimed. He wondered, why wasn’t she afraid? Why wasn’t she running? And why, in all his chaotic glory, did he find this child so… interesting?

The child giggled again, a bubbly sound that seemed to echo in Bill’s mind. She pointed at him with her free hand, her other continuing to clutching her stuffed toy close.

“Triangle!” she declared proudly, their voice high-pitched and filled with wonder.

Bill let out a bark of laughter, genuinely amused. “Oh, you’re a smart one, aren’t you? That’s right, kiddo. I’m a triangle, the best triangle you’ll ever meet. Got any other shapes in that little brain of yours?”

The kid smiled. They started babbling, half-formed words about god know what, pointing excitedly as if expecting Bill to just understand them. The demon was used to others feeling fear, but this… this innocent curiosity was something else.

“Alright, kid, slow down,” Bill said. “You think I can just whip up stars and moons like a party trick? You’re talking to Bill Cipher, not some street magician.”

For the first time in… well, forever, Bill felt utterly out of his element. He could outsmart the smartest, scare the toughest, and twist anyone around his finger, but this kid? She just saw him entertainig.

Bill hovered beside them, his eye following them every move. He had cought a small, harmless ball of light, flickering in and out of existence.

“Yeah, yeah, enjoy it while it lasts, kid,” Bill mumbled, though there was no more venom in his voice.

The girl just grinned, leaning her head against his triangular form as if he were just another friend, not a demon with a penchant for chaos. Bill let her, floating there quietly as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

For once, he wasn’t planning anything. No schemes, no deals, no manipulation. Just a strange, peaceful moment with a little human who saw him not as a threat .

And for reasons Bill couldn’t quite fathom, he didn’t mind it one bit.

[ourpl3d]

Would you like a drawing for Christmas I am making my moots art work (and do you have any preferences on characters or what not? If so [:)

Out of character: I would love that! Idm, dealer’s choice on what you draw :D

[apoemaday]

Personal

by Tony Hoagland

Don’t take it personal, they said; but I did, I took it all quite personal —

the breeze and the river and the color of the fields; the price of grapefruit and stamps,

the wet hair of women in the rain — And I cursed what hurt me

and I praised what gave me joy, the most simple-minded of possible responses.

The government reminded me of my father, with its deafness and its laws,

and the weather reminded me of my mom, with her tropical squalls.

Enjoy it while you can, they said of Happiness Think first, they said of Talk

Get over it, they said at the School of Broken Hearts

but I couldn’t and I didn’t and I don’t believe in the clean break;

I believe in the compound fracture served with a sauce of dirty regret,

I believe in saying it all and taking it all back

and saying it again for good measure while the air fills up with I’m-Sorries

like wheeling birds and the trees look seasick in the wind.

Oh life! Can you blame me for making a scene?

You were that yellow caboose, the moon disappearing over a ridge of cloud.

I was the dog, chained in some fool’s backyard; barking and barking:

trying to convince everything else to take it personal too.

[dreamwavesexploringreality]

Foxes

Requested: Chishiya x Autistic Reader.

Where he lets the reader talk about her hyperfixations, like foxes.

--

Probably the last thing Chishiya expected after returning late from that night’s game was for Y/N to drag him up to the rooftop and sit beside him to talk.

"And did you know that foxes have different types of vocalizations to communicate? They can scream, howl, bark, and even make a strange noise called gekkering when they fight or play!" Y/N said, her words spilling out in an avalanche of enthusiasm.

Yes. Foxes. That was her latest fixation. Chishiya settled into his place, resting his head against the wall behind him and letting out a sigh. He closed his eyes, allowing the girl’s soft voice to rock him gently, momentarily easing the tension from the hours before.

"Ah! And their pups…"

"Kits," the man interrupted softly, still with his eyes closed.

"Yes! Kits! They’re born practically blind, completely dependent on their parents to survive, and they have to work together. Isn’t that amazing?"

Chishiya’s lips curled into a small smile.

"Fascinating," he whispered.

"Also, did you know they can hear a mouse moving under the snow from over a meter away? They use the Earth’s tilt and the magnetic field to hunt with precision." Chishiya couldn’t see her, but he knew she was swinging her arms to emphasize her explanation.

"I’ve heard something about it," he lied.

Then suddenly, silence took over the scene.

Chishiya opened his eyes and looked at her. She was staring at the horizon.

"Foxes are incredible," she sighed to herself, her gaze shifting to the ground as she played with her hands.

The man noticed the change in her demeanor and focused on her for a few seconds. The full moon illuminated her profile, making her glow in a special way. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, a usual sign when she talked about something that excited her.

"Why do you like foxes so much?" he asked, not looking away.

She lifted her head, staring ahead, and remained thoughtful for a few minutes. When she finally had her answer, she turned to look at him.

"Because… they adapt. They always find a way to survive, even in the harshest environments. And they’re clever. I think… I don’t know, they’re just amazing."

Chishiya gave a slight nod, a sign of understanding. He paused for a few seconds before speaking.

"So, they’re like you," he said, turning his gaze back to the wall in front of him.

The comment seemed to take her by surprise, and she didn’t respond. As the silence began to weigh on them, Chishiya turned back to her. She was already looking at him, her eyes wide, radiating curiosity and something else the man couldn’t quite discern. The silence stretched a few seconds longer, during which the world seemed to stop spinning. Then the man spoke again.

"When they’re in danger and can’t protect themselves, do you know what foxes do?"

"They seek shelter," she answered quickly.

"Exactly," he whispered, raising his eyebrows slightly. "If you need to talk, I’m here." He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

The girl noticed her vision blur in an instant. Overcome with emotion, she took the man’s arm and buried her face in his shoulder. Chishiya was a strange man; she knew that from the moment he saw her shiver amid the chaos of a pool party and led her to the calm of this rooftop. She felt the tears slide down her cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Chishiya’s face remained calm and serene. He had slightly opened his eyes when he noticed the girl beginning to cry and hoped she had understood what he was trying to convey, even though he didn’t have the exact words for it. Using silence as his response, stillness returned between them.

By the time he realized it, the first rays of sunlight were beginning to illuminate the sky. When he turned to look at her, he found her peaceful, sleeping expression. Chishiya relaxed his shoulders, filled his lungs with air, and closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift into that long-awaited dream where the world disappeared and it was just the two of them. Alone. Together... Perhaps with a fox or two wandering around the area. The thought made him laugh. He sighed. "As long as she is happy…"

© 2025 [@dreamwavesexploringreality]

---

I really hope you all like it!

I hope I captured the character well, especially when it comes to the little details of autism.

To the person who requested it, I really hope you enjoy it and that I got the character right! It’s such a fascinating topic to write about, and I loved exploring it. Can’t wait to hear what you think! ✨

[trashmouth-richie]

vitiosus + deliciosus [vicious + delicious🥀] || pt 2 of dulcis ut rosa

emperor geta x reader || things progress for geta + his little gnat || 4k

18+ smut, oral: female receiving, choking, slapping, biting, spanking

pt 1: dulcis ut rosa m🥀 || pt 1 ½: dulex🥀

pt iii frangere me 🥀 || 🥀 pt iv: as caelum vel infernum, tecum sum

You didn’t know what was to come of you after tonight’s rendezvous in Geta’s chambers. You could hardly sleep, your body sore in places you didn’t think were possible, but not in a discomforting way.

The pain was more of an ache, a pulsating want for the time spent in his bed. You daydreamed of his strong hands pressing bruises into your hips, of his mouth hot and wet all over your skin, the bitter tang of your own blood on his lips as he licked the bites better. 

Geta was a force to be reckoned with. Dominating both outside and inside of his chambers. All of Rome feared him. A flutter filled your stomach at the mere thought of those dark eyes seamlessly devouring you when you worked up enough courage to look into them. No, you wouldn’t sleep at all tonight. 

—

Caracalla carried on the next day pretending the previous night hadn’t happened. As if his miniscule brain shut out what he had done, carrying on with the daily run of nonsense. He smiled like a gleeful infant who had just discovered his toes at the first meal of the day. Gnawing on ripened fruit and leftover pork, he looked like a wild animal. 

As if he had vanished with the night, Geta was nowhere to be seen. 

During prandium, you asked a woman from your village as casually as you could manage if she had seen the missing Emperor. 

Prisca turned up her nose at your question, questioning why you so desperately needed to know. Replying with a tone that matched her own, you very carefully articulated how Caracalla had asked you to find out. Ending the conversation with a clipped lip, reminding Prisca of your status to the Emperors, and hers with the lowest of soldiers ones missing limbs and their gift of sight. 

Geta didn’t show for any of the day's events, giving Caracalla a taste of running the empire solo, a smear of greed on his protruding crooked nose. You were the only one to notice his absence and if the entire palace didn’t seem to take note, you’d act the same. Deciding to leave it alone, remembering the virtue in patience, you’d wait until tonight to catch his eyes in yours once again. 

The sun seemed to taunt you all day with its beautiful rays, staying longer than it had the day before, never quite ready to go to sleep. The shimmering heat laughing at your dismay as you waited for the moon's powdery face to finally clock in for her shift. 

You could hardly stand being in Caracalla’s arms as he held you close to him, his breath stinking of an ungodly amount of wine, making you promise that you would never leave Palatine Hill. Pleading that you’d stay with him forever until his dying day. Agreeing like a dutiful servant, you hoped and prayed that that day would come sooner than later. 

—

Geta couldn’t pull himself out of bed the next day. Palace servants came and went, offering to move the drapes, karting in mountainous plates of food, but he had refused everything. Only barking orders to bring as much wine as they could carry. 

Drowning himself in rivers of wine, he couldn’t remember a single time since infancy that he felt completely worthless. He was an Emperor for fucks sake. Others may succumb to feelings but not him, never him. 

Maidens fell at his feet, begging for his attention. He called the shots, fucked them stupid then tossed them away like scraps. Not once had he let any of them get to a place inside of himself he couldn’t pinpoint. 

He couldn’t get away from you. Your scent surrounded him, the jasmine perfume of your hair lingered on his sheets. A subtle hint of sugary sweet honey was still on his skin. He hated himself. 

Loathed the love sick pup he had become in the twilight hours as he gazed at the ceiling, still tasting your core on his lips, his rings sticky and coated with it. Unwilling to remove them in fear that the tiny bit that belonged to you, created by him, would wipe away. 

His hair was still askew in the same fashion you had rung it around your fingers. Cock hard again remembering the way your body felt in his hands, how that sweet little cunt gripped him tighter than anyone before. 

The sheets blushed a crimson that neither of you had noticed that broke from your body. He smirked at the thought of his brother unable to make an untouched woman bleed. Clearly he was less than endowed, his size comparable to that of a dangling beetle.

Geta laid in the stains from the two of you, a complete and utter mess of a man unable to forget the sweet little gnat. No longer buzzing in his ear, but pulling at his mind, suffocating every other thought. The gnat wormed her way down into the cavity of his chest, laying against the pinky ventricles cozying up to the dying organ, coaxing it back to life. 

“Cupid’s fool,” he spoke aloud then, as if he confirmed it to nobody but himself, “body and soul.” A small smirk on his lips as his feet swung from his bed heading to the bathing room to wash himself before the moon peaked in the onyx painted sky, and he met you in that corner corridor. 

—

You traced the stones down the hall as you walked until the pads of your finger went numb. After not seeing or hearing from Geta all day, you questioned your sanity as you approached your typical spot as you always did night after night for months. Would he even show?

Caracalla was exceptionally gleeful this evening, an odd thing considering most of the time he cried like an infant throwing tantrums like a toddler. 

Your heart raced at the possibility of seeing Geta. You’d never taken into account how handsome he was, and now without seeing him for a full day, you found yourself almost missing catching glimpses of him. 

He had two looks that he offered to everyone else. Either sheer and utter boredom, fiddling with his rings in a lazy fashion— or his eyes narrowed into slits, nostrils flared and a twitch kissing the corner of his eyelid, that permanent scowl rising on his top lip. 

When he entered a room, he demanded attention in just his body language, shoulders square and broad, chin held high and his jaw tight. Generals rose for him, servants leapt out of the way to avoid him until needed. He was a brute of the highest power.

But in the months of meeting him in the darkness, you had gotten to know how Geta operated. What made him tick, the fatigue wearing on his face after stressful days. The crease between his brows when you told him of Caracalla’s movements—studying, brooding. 

It gave you a sense of power knowing that you were seeked out by him. Even if only for information and a wet mouth, you could feel it emanating from him to you when he came. It started roughly. But lately it was almost as if it could be intimate at times. And you weren’t sure what that meant. Either way— with Geta, you knew you were safe. 

Darkness enveloped you on your blind approach to the infamous corridor. For a second, you thought possibly you were lost, somehow turned around until you heard a throat clear, and the handsome Emperor appeared before you, having been blocking the open window from view. 

“Emperor, my apologies for keeping you waiting,” your lips fumbling as you bowed before him at the waist. 

A chuckle rumbled from Geta, “you aren’t late, I am simply early,” he said, scratching at his chin, “I’ve been roaming around since the light left.” 

“Oh?” 

He simply nodded then, twirling a ruby ring around his finger, “…I have received word that Caracalla is becoming more and more delusional. He has increased his staff, begging our mother to supply a general outside of his door while he sleeps— you’ve probably noticed Acacius following him, yes?” 

The ruggedly handsome salt and pepper haired soldier flanked the aforementioned Emperor all day, but you never gave it another thought— your mind busy on Geta’s whereabouts. 

“I haven’t trusted my brother since we were young boys using sticks as swords, and the older he gets the more his brain stays in our childhood.” He spoke softly then, “it is only a matter of time before your movements after leaving his chambers are tracked… and I can’t have that. This will be our last meeting.” 

You nearly shouted in his face, telling him that these nights were the only thing worth being stolen away from your village. Months you have done this and now it is gone because he was… worried? About Caracalla finding out?

Geta pushed off from the wall, standing with his usual confidence—his jaw tight, a strange look on his face. “What Caracalla does not know— is that Acacius has been loyal to me for years, and has been providing me with information about him for nearly as long.” 

Your eyebrows crease as you try to unravel the thread he’s woven, and a small smile ticks at the corner of his lips as realization spreads across your face. Mischievous Geta, always a step ahead. 

“Join me?” 

—

Geta was approached by Acacius when leaving his chambers this evening. 

“Emperor,” Acacius announced, bowing his head in honor, “I’m sorry to disturb you so late.” 

Geta pulled his chamber door shut waving his hand in dismissal, “nonsense General, whatever it is it must be important for you to seek me out, what is it?” 

“This is not easy for me to say.. I feel like a traitor to you. to these walls—”

“Out with it,” Geta pressed, irritated.

“It’s Emperor Caracalla… your excellency, I have been summoned to be posted outside his quarters and provide security for him during the daylight hours.”

Geta rubbed at his chin, a twitch in his eye, “I know you’re not one to joke on a serious matter Acacius, however this seems quite juvenile, even for my brother.” 

“I assure you, he has been increasingly suspicious over the last few months, ever since that travel wagon arrived with the Virgines from Valleventus.” 

Acacius gave Geta a knowing look, one to convey that he knew what happened in these walls at night once Caracalla’s whore left his chambers. 

Geta smiled then, unable to hide it, his face relaxing as he clapped the General on the shoulder, “you are a great confidant, Acacius— I will take this into great consideration.” 

—

The two of you strolled the corridors in silence, his knuckles grazing yours, your heart pumping wildly in your chest. You were certain that if the two of you were caught you’d be killed on sight, tossed in a deep grave without a second thought. But with Geta… you couldn’t find yourself to care about any of that. Did he?

You knew you were walking a thin line, and it got thinner the more time you spent with him. But if he was willing to walk it as well, you’d risk it… same as he was 

After a few minutes, you broke the silence, “may I…ask you something?” 

Geta tilted his head towards you, “yes.” 

All day he had been gone, and your curiosity finally got the better of you. “Where were you?”

He smirks and your insides melt, “were you looking for me, little dulex?” 

You turn away from his gaze, fumbling with a loose thread on your tolsa, “n-no. Caracalla had asked me.” 

A laugh bubbles from his chest, “I am not fond of being lied to, try again.” 

Sweat drips from your hairline, “He…well, he inquired about it...” 

“Ah, so you were only wondering about my whereabouts when Caracalla finally noticed I was missing?” 

“Yes.” 

He stopped before a large set of doors and pushed them open revealing a large room, suffocated by darkness. You felt him leave your side to cross the room, and suddenly it illuminated by a candle he had lit. Gently tipping the flame into a massive candelabra, each wick of the candle igniting like a little orb, throwing shadows across the room. 

It was one of the many rooms you’d never seen before.  

A single staircase wove upwards with great iron detailing to a room above, a desk as large as a wagon was centered in the room, pictures of faces you didn’t recognize flanked the walls, the floors were spread of  mosaic tiles: shaped and colored to resemble a salmon colored sunset. An open area let in a small breeze that trickled out into a luscious garden where a fountain could be heard bubbling, brought in by the wind. Luxurious armchairs were tucked into corners. 

This room shared the same color of draperies as a room you’ve only been to once before. The dark hues set a mood that belonged to one singular man. This was a private area that even the highest generals weren’t even allowed in. Geta’s study. 

He came back towards you, grasping your wrist, his thumb pressing into your beating pulse, his eyes lit like a roaring fire, “last chance, to be honest, were you the one looking for me?” 

Hesitating with your breath caught in your throat, you peered into Geta’s seemingly soulless eyes, whispering, “yes,” as a heat rose on your cheeks. 

A smirk pulls on his lip, and a dimple you’ve never seen appears, “oh, my puella dulcis,” he purred, shaking his head, those dark eyes hungry as he looked you up and down, “you’re in trouble.”

He pulled you to him, his large hands on your waist leading you further into the room as he walked backwards. “Do you know the pure agony you’ve put me through?” 

“Me?” 

Geta nods, pushing the straps of your tolsa away from your shoulders, admiring the marks he had left on your skin. 

“Yes. You.” he says, rubbing the column of your throat with his thumb. “It is nefarious the hold you have over me. I’ve never felt anything like it. Death would be easier on me. A sword between my ribs to puncture my lungs, the festering boils from a plague, an arrow through my eye— anything and everything would be better than what you do to me.” 

His hand clasps tight around your neck, the gasp you let out trapped in your throat. 

“So, what am I to do with you? What am I to do with someone who keeps causing me this much trouble? Who risks herself being caught by seeking me out? Who is, dare I say, worried about my well-being?”

He slides his hand up and down the length of your neck, his other stroking your cheek resting his thumb on the crease of your lips. 

“I punish my soldiers for much less, and as any great warrior, I shall be fair by keeping all of my subjects to the highest of standards, you unfortunately, are not exempt.”

One minute you’re standing in front of him the next you’re being yanked by your wrist as he stomps towards one of the large chaise lounges, he sits abruptly and pulls you into his lap. He’s hard, the feel of his erection making you whine pathetically. 

He holds you by your hips and twists you around, until your face is level with the ground, your ass resting over his knees. 

The sound of unbinding thread pops in your ears as Geta rips your tolsa away from you, leaving you bare, your ass on display like a holiday feast. 

“I’ve never gazed upon an ass as round and fat as yours, and believe me when I say this my puella dulcis, I will thoroughly enjoy watching it burn in scarlet as it bounces beneath my hand.” 

You don’t have a second to comprehend his words before a large ringed hand is slapped hard across your backside, causing you to shriek in surprise and pain. 

“Fuck,” Geta spit, “we’ve barely just begun, you should be pissing with glee that I don’t keep my horse whip in my study.” Two more licks rip out and you moan. 

He laughs wickedly, his sultry voice shushing you as he rubs his hand over the globe of your ass. “Enjoying this are you? I’ve heard stories from soldiers and even my own father about the whores during their time, how they begged, fucking pleaded to be hit on the ass by a man.” 

Geta slaps his hand down hard more and more until you’d lost count. That same scorching feeling in your lower belly and the wetness between your legs just like last night came back, and you moaned. 

Humming between your lips, you relished in the ache in your back as you tried to hold yourself up. Trying to wiggle forward so maybe his hand would slip and miss your ass but touch down where you needed him most. 

But you didn’t need to ask, Geta laughed through his nose before slipping his thumb through your wet cunt, groaning at the heat of your arousal on his fingers again. 

“What a tight fucking cunt you have,” he grunted before rubbing your clit, “ filtjy girl—looks like those legends were true, weren’t they?” 

“Please,” you begged, trying to swallow his fingers with your dripping pussy. 

Your small pleads tore through him, his cock answering with a twitch as it leaked. He brought you up your throat, holding you in place and moving your hips along the stiff ridge of his length. 

Geta sunk his teeth into your bare shoulder as you moaned, “can you feel what you do to me?” he whispered, “the torture you put me through, the hours I spend like this with nothing but you trapped in my head. It’s murderous.” 

Purring his name he groans, licking sweat from your neck. “I haven’t had a single hour since the first night we met without having this happening without needing to release myself. Do you think I can be a leader to my people with such indecency? As if I’m a young boy discovering his own body and the feel of his hand again. You’re a snake, filled with poisonous venom to come here and kill me.” 

He rips your clothes completely off, wiggling his middle finger against your clit, praising the gods at the angel like whine that whispers from your lips. 

“… and like the gnat, the snake has bit me, feasting upon my flesh, constantly hungry. But it is I who is left hungry by your tormenting ways,” he whispers in your ear, licking the shell of it, “and right now, I’m starving.” 

Geta hoists you up in his arms, kissing your neck and squeezing your skin wherever he can reach as he walks to the enormous desk full of scrolls. With one mighty hand holding you, he swipes the desk clean, tossing everything that was once organized onto the floor. 

He lays you down on the wooden top, your bare back riddling with goosebumps from the cool hard surface. Looking up at him this was the first you’ve seen his face since first entering his study. 

His eyes were black, wide and wild, the candle light throwing shadows onto his face making him look monstrous. Like a creature straight from the dark world, one from a story told to children at night to scare them enough to not leave their beds. 

Anyone else would run at the sight of such a man. Scream and claw their way from him, but not you. You simply opened your knees wider, showing the dripping wetness to him, what he did to you. 

Geta simply watched. Watched and breathed heavily like a predator before leaping to attack his prey. He stared as you sucked a finger into your mouth, he almost flatlined as you brought that spit soaked finger down the length of your body, your nipples pebbling. 

He swore he met death when you slipped that glorious finger into your cunt, and gently pumped it in and out. 

“This,” you murmured weakly, unable to contain your moans, “is what you do to me.” 

He groaned, practically drooling at you laid out before him. You tipped your head back as a small gasp rippled through you. Lifting your shoulders from the desk you looked him in the eyes, “I guess we are both demented, enjoying the torture from eachother.” 

“I didn’t want to admit it,” Geta blurted, his dark eyes piercing the night, scaring away the shadows. “All day I wrestled with it, how you could make me quiver like a lovesick boy. I turned away meals, laying in the darkness, surrounded by your bewitching scent.” 

 “If you’re so hungry,” you whisper seductively, opening your legs wider, your arousal shining in the candlelight as you remove your fingers from inside of yourself, “then by all means, eat.” 

Geta didn’t wait another second before pulling you forward by the crook of knees, your welted red ass skirting across the desk. You giggled as he feverishly lowered himself and held your thighs wide, “keep these open for me.” 

His tongue was like an eel. 

Geta flicked his tongue at a dangerous pace against your clit, groaning into your sex as you whined his name again and again. His licked and sucked your cunt as ravenous as a truly starved man, his moans vibrating your walls, sending your nerve endings into a liquid fired frenzy. 

You’d never experienced anyone’s tongue between your legs, but this was better than anything you’d ever imagined, nothing compared to the way your body electrified beneath his hands, his mouth. 

Geta’s nose rubbed against your clit as he lapped up your arousal. The burn in your belly seared and unraveled as you screamed out his name, your body rigid and then uncoiling as your muscles spasmed and quaked. 

Your hands wrapped in a death grip in his hair, holding him tight to your pussy as you came, Geta encouraging you through the pleasure. 

“Fuck, look at you,” he said, admiring the way you leaked and dripped on his desk, “taste so fucking good, this cunt belongs to me,” he breathed. 

It was lust and vicious desire emanating from him as he spoke. and you melted at the desperate way you craved him. Grabbing him by the nape of his neck you pressed your lips to his, tasting your arousal on his tongue, you felt drunk 

He hauled your weak body up in his arms, murmuring something about wobbly legs. Geta kissed your forehead as he climbed the spiral steps that lead straight into his chambers. His bed was made, but the smell of sex was still lingering from the night before. 

Geta laid you down on his massive bed, careful of the marks on your backside from his hand. You watched as he undressed, his arms showing protruding veins like a river in the fallen snow. A deep scar you didn’t recognize before on his torso, identical to the one on his neck. His eyes seemed to look softer, a deep honey simmering, catching the light. 

When he spoke it wasn’t with malice it was with truth, “you are mine. Understand? Not Caracalla’s, not anyone else’s, I will slaughter any man who challenges that.”

Your heart races as you stare at him, rising to your knees in front of him, “promise?” 

“Meus amor,” Geta speaks, holding your chin with his finger, “that is my veritas, I give you my word.” 

You stroked his hair as you pulled him down to the bed on top of you. Pressing his curls back into an unruly position, you admire the handsome Emperor. Your Emperor. 

Pressing your lips to his, you pull him deeper, swirling your tongue with his in a frenzied tango. His hips respond to your open legs and his cock slides in with ease, fitting like a sword in a sheath. 

“You are a wicked one, my dulcis.” Geta pants in your ear as his hips pick up a butchering rhythm. Your combined breathing is ragged, choked and gasping. 

Biting his ear he hisses, but you lick it better, the same as he did to you last night, only a drop of his blood on your tongue as you whisper, “then we are one in the same, destinatum ease, destined to be.” 

With that he flips you both over, guiding your hips up and down, forward and back as helps you ride his cock. When you both cum it’s loud, skin slapping skin, your arousal pooling around his cock, his fucked deep inside of you. 

Laying in the sweaty, sin stained sheets, you twirl a finger in Geta’s hair, his head laying on your bare chest between your tits, his hand holding your ribs. “Tomorrow I will have the servants change the sheets while I bathe you in my private pool.” 

“Is my Geta turning sweet?” you tease, “what will Rome think?”

Turning his head those ravenous eyes were painted in the midnight onyx that they usually were, returning with mischief laced in the irises, a devilish smirk on his lips. 

He moved like a serpent, biting your right nipple between his teeth and tugging, causing you to squeal in a pleasured pain that is snuffed out by his large hand around your throat. 

“Do not be fooled pretty girl,” the villainous flames flickered again in his eyes, a feral twitch on his lips that made you wet between your legs, “malevolence coats my veins thicker than blood.”

—

latin translation:

vitiosus + deliciosus — vicious + delicious

prandium— lunch

puella dulcis— sweet girl

meus amor— my love

veritas— truth

destinatum ease— destined to be

☻ taglist: @joejoequinnquinn @fallout-girl219 @hellfireadmin @all-will-be-well-love @anythinggoesemily

@eddiesguitarskills @prestinalove @palomahasenteredthechat @wiltinglovers @razzeith

@workingwndrz @probablyin-bed @songforeddiemunson @avobabe87 @creative1writings

@liminalpebble @screaming-blue-bagel @spookyquinnbie @thewondernanazombie

[caoimhewrites]

Unexpected Addition

How TF 141 + König would react to coming home to find you have a new dog

CW: None

WC: 818

Ghost walked through the door of the flat, his boots echoing off the hardwood floor. All he wanted was a quiet evening, but as he stepped into the living room, his eyes immediately landed on something, no, someone that he hadn’t expected. A small and quite obese, scraggly looking dog sat on the couch... in Simon's spot. "What is this... thing?" He muttered, raising a curious eyebrow at you. “Isn’t she adorable?” You reply with an excited grin. He looked down at the little dog, its tail a blur of motion. The dog barked happily, clearly more enthusiastic about the situation than he was. "It's... ugly," he says simply "really ugly... I like it." He pulled off his balaclava and gave you a wink. "It better not get too comfortable in my spot though."

König blinked once, then twice, his eyes landing on a large mass on the carpet. A Great Dane. A huge Great Dane, with its massive body taking up nearly half the space of the room, and its ears perked up in an almost comical display. König wasn't expecting this at all. He usually avoids pets, finding them too much of a hassle. You emerged from the kitchen, casually wiping your hands on a towel. "Surprise,” you smile as you gesture vaguely to the large beast of a dog that's still lounging on the floor. "You like her?" The dog padded toward him, its giant paws almost making the floor creak. “I thought it would be nice,” you said with a grin, leaning against the wall. He stares at you for a moment before giving you a small smile, his hesitation about the dog fading when he sees you smiling so happily, "She's cute. Certainly a surprise."

Price kicked off his boots, stretching his sore shoulders, and took a deep breath, ready for the peace and quiet of home. But as he rounded the corner into the living room, he came to a screeching halt. A small, furious ball of fur was standing in the middle of the room, its beady eyes locked onto him with intense, undiluted disdain. A Chihuahua. A fucking Chihuahua? Out of all the things you could have picked? Price loved dogs, he's been wanting one but he didn't mean anything like this little, evil looking creature that was yapping up at him and biting his boots. "Hi, honey," you say brightly as you walk to the living room, drawn by the intense barking. "Love, what is this thing doing in the house?" He asks without hesitation. He really can not fathom why you brought this mangy little thing home. "You said you wanted a dog, I got one. She's cute, don't you think?" No. No, he did not think that at all. "Love, this... thing isn't what I was talking about." He says lightly, not wanting to hurt your feelings. His heart breaks when he sees you frown. "You really like her?" He asks as he steps closer to you, reaching out to play with your hair. You nod and he sighs, "So... what's her name then? She'll be needing one."

Gaz is over the moon when he walks in to see a fluffy ball waddling up to him and letting out rough barks. It's eyes were huge and bulging, going off in two different directions. It's fur was far too long for it's little skinny body and was tangled beyond belief, and it's impossibly skinny legs looked bent in all the wrong places, but he was ecstatic. “You’re a strange one, aren’t you?” Kyle laughed, crouching down to pet the dog's scruffy head. Kyle picked up the bizarre looking animal, gently stroking its tangled, greasy fur. "You need a bath... like now," he chuckles, setting off for the bathroom. He's surprised to see you already in there and running a bath for the weird little dog. "Hey, Love. Where did you find this beast?"

Soap was used to this, random animals popping up around the house when he got home and tonight was no different. When he trudged up to the bedroom he came face to face with another dog perched on the bed, next to the other three that you insisted on having. It was lounging across the sheets, eyes half-closed. The dog had a massive head with big, floppy ears, and its fur was a mishmash of colors. It didn’t seem particularly energetic, but it was sprawled out in the middle of the bed, like it owned the place. "Not again," he sighs to himself and kicks his shoes off. "Love!" He calls out for you, "What's this one named? You find it on the side of the road like the last one?" He gave up on trying to stop you adopting whatever sorry animal you came across a long time ago. He never had any room on the bed now but at least you were happy.

Taglist: @little-mini-me-world

[wrestlingwithlife]

Chew Toy (COD MONSTER AU)

When you have a mouthy werewolf on the team it pays to have thick skin (or scales).

COD!Monster!AU x Male!Kaiju!Reader

——————————————————————————————————————

Y/n let his eyes follow Soap’s pacing figure as he practically stalked around the common room, obviously restless.

His clawed hand came up, scratching at the skin around his collar.

Price had argued against it, but the higher ups had insisted on the kaiju wearing some kind of “fail safe” of sorts, should he go rouge.

So they settled on a shock collar, much to the displeasure of the task force.

Price had been badgering Laswell to get the order revoked, and the human female was doing her best, but Y/n wasn’t going to complain.

This was a massive upgrade to what he was used to.

“Is it like this for every werewolf?”

Soap’s eyes honed in on the Kaiju, zoning back in to process his question.

His eyes were a much more vibrant shade of blue, atleast they seemed to Y/n.

The werewolf flopped onto the couch with a huff, the cushion dipping and making him accidentally lean closer to the warm body beside him.

Allegedly.

“It’s different for every wolf, but they all experience atleast something similar on full moons.” Soap shrugged, tail flicking back and forth.

Seemed like at least one part of his body insisted on being active.

“Do kaiju’s get anything like that?”

Y/n clicked his tongue, leaning his head back in thought.

He’d only ever met one other Kaiju in his life cycle, and she’d seemed nothing but perfectly calm and capable at any given moment.

“Not that I know of, nothing like this though.” He mused, nodding to Soap’s twitching. “There’s no set time for it, at the very least.”

Soap mulled over his words before his thoughts were cut off.

“How do you cope?”

His eyes flickered back to the kaiju, eyes locking on to the intense e/c hues.

He was honestly shocked, and quite pleased, at how much he was putting into the conversation.

“Depends, sometimes I’m just put in quarantine, most of the time guys come in and help me blow off some steam.”

He caught the way Y/n stopped, giving him a look out of the corner of his eye.

In his defense, coming out of Soap, you just never knew.

“Not like that.” The werewolf huffed, swatting at the larger hybrids arm, before giving him a grin. “But if you wanna…~”

“Down boy.” Y/n snorted, shrugging the wolf off him.

Soap barked out a laugh, tossing his head back, tail speeding up.

“We’ll see~”

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜・

Y/n stood behind Ghost, watch over the wraiths shoulder through the one way glass into the padded training room.

Soap’s wolf prowled around, occasionally lunging at the few training dummies that had been left inside.

“Shouldn’t he have calmed down by now?” Gaz mused, leaning against one of the walls of the viewing room with his arms folded over his chest.

Price sighed, scratching his beard with a nod.

“Doesn’t normally take him this long. I’d say we go down, but he’s more mouthy than usual.”

“I can do it.”

All eyes turned onto the Kaiju, mostly out of surprise that he’d even spoken up at all.

“You sure? You’ve not gone through…” There was a loud rip as Soap tore the head off a dummy. “…this.”

Y/n shrugged, his heavy tail scraping the concrete floor behind him.

“My skins impenetrable, atleast to anything he can do, even like this.” He motioned to the wolf still throwing a fit below them.

Price mulled over it for a moment before reluctantly giving in.

“Fine, but if he gets to wild I’m pulling you out.”

Y/n made his way out of the viewing room and down towards the training room door.

Soap had honed in on him the second he’d heard the door click, posture ridged and ears forward.

His tail was wagging, and Y/n would have taken that as good sign, had he not immediately come barreling towards him.

Y/n braced, catching the wolf on his shoulder and stopping him in his tracks.

He heard the snapping of jaws, but even in the places they were able to connect, they couldn’t break the Kaiju’s skin.

Y/n managed to get his arms around the werewolf’s neck, trapping him in a headlock and dragging them both to the floor.

Soap’s tongue lolled out as they wrestled, blue eyes widening as Y/n’s arm came within reach, lunging for the exposed limb.

The s/c skin immediately changed black as it hardened protectively, the werewolves ivory teeth bouncing off uselessly.

Soap broke away, eyes wide as he stared, as if offended, at the slowly fading color of Y/n’s arm.

He huffed, curiosity seemingly taking over whatever fight he had left as he padded closer, sniffing at the skin of the arm.

The kaiju offered the arm to him for a closer look, happy to do this instead of wrestle.

Soap gave the skin a tentative lick, eyeing Y/n’s face before taking the arm back into his mouth and biting down again, softer this time.

Once again, the skin changed color, hardening where the teeth pressed.

He let out a rumble, the brown canine clearly unsure what to make of his new discovery.

The door to the room opened again, the rest of the force making their way in, but Soap hardly looked up from Y/n’s arm.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜・

“Got any threes?”

“Go fish.”

Gaz groaned, drawing a card from the pile, giving Y/n a skeptical look.

“You’re cheating.”

“Who cheats at ‘Go Fish’?”

His wings fluffed, almost hitting Price who was sitting behind him, watching over his shoulder.

Ghost was doing to the same to Y/n, leaning closer to peer over his cards.

“Nope, he’s got a clear conscience.”

Y/n gave a pleased hum, shifting a bit as Soap moved his tail once more.

The wolf was splayed out behind the group, the Kaiju’s black, scaled tail held between his two front paws as he gnawed on the end.

Y/n could hardly feel the pressure, and besides the wolf drool, there was no evidence of anything out of the ordinary when the wolf would pull back to look at his work.

“Got any fours?”

Gaz grumbled, but passed the card to Y/n who added the pair to his ever growing collection.

“Yer getting obliterated.” Price chuckled, dodging a wing slap from Gaz.

“I know that!”

The outburst drew Soap’s attention, the werewolf now keen on being apart of the circle.

Y/n felt his tail drop, looking back only to see the quickly approaching wall of fur and muscle.

Neither Y/n nor Ghost stood a chance as the werewolf came crashing down onto the them, pinning the two under his massive weight.

“Get off, ya mutt.” The wraith hissed, fighting to free atleast one of his limbs, shadows pulling and pushing on the canine to try and will him to move with no such luck.

Y/n groan as the air was forced out of his lungs, dodging playful licks to the face as best as he could.

The cards were scattered everywhere, Price and Gaz blinking in surprise at the turn.

“Does this mean I win?”

Soap whipped his head around, tongue lolling, giving Y/n a chance to catch his breath.

Soap reached out with a massive paw, hooking it around Gaz. Price, who’d been sitting to close, getting dragged in along with him in a mass of tangled wings and thrashing tails.

Price grunted, getting tucked right next to Y/n beneath the mass of fur.

“Come here often?”

Price rolled his eyes playfully at that, swatting the e/c eyed male with his tail.

“More often than not.”

“So this is normal?” Y/n nodded up at Soap, who was now giving Gaz the same treatment he’d give Y/n moments before.

“Eh, something along the lines of it. Never seen this before.” He mused, using his one free arm to gesture to the dog pile they were trapped in.

Y/n puffed before settling back, as if accepting his fate, and Price followed suite, head flopping back against the padded floor.

The dragon felt the scraping of other scales against his tail, finding that his tail had instinctively wrapped itself with the thicker tail of the Kaiju beside him.

He was about to apologize, to move his rouge appendage, when he felt the other’s tail tighten around his in return.

No words were said, they didn’t need to be, Price was already turning a pretty shade of pink.

—————————————————————————

Boom, only took me way to long to get this done haha

Sorry if the ending felt a bit abrupt, I wanted to end on something fluffy but obviously nothing romantic has been established in this story line and I didn’t want to have them acting to out of character.

So I still haven’t decided on a call sign yet, but I have narrowed it down to two choices for you guys to pick from below, so please let me know!

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Stray {Blurb}

Postwar!Remus Lupin x Muggle!Reader

Summery: After drifting aimlessly and struggling with the aftermath of war, Remus finds an unexpected ally in a compassionate woman who sees beyond his scars. Through her unwavering kindness and the simple life, Remus maybe he deserves the similar things in life.

Wc:3860

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, fem reader, self doubt, mentions of major character death, financial insecurity, drifting, self indulgent.

Remus Lupin never really believed in rock bottom. Everytime he thought he'd hit it he would fall harder and deeper than he ever thought possible.

After the war there was a long period of time he was drifting. Not necessarily liking the idea of staying in one place too long, not that he could if he tried. Most of the highlands were packed with nosey wizards and witches, his paranoia getting the best of him every time someone asked a bit too many questions, and then it was on to the next town.

It didn't help that no one was enthusiastic about hiring him after learning of his special requirements. He couldn't hold down a job let alone a stable place to stay, staying in the rougher bits of London and Scotland, too busy wallowing in grief to truly feel sorry for his situation.

His full moons were the worst of it. Without James, Peter, and Sirius, Moony reverted back to its most volatile form. His mental state didn't help much either. He had grown comfortable, complacent, with the nurture his friends provided him those nights. So much so he forgot what it was like to have battered and bruised skin. What the scars on his body felt like.

Everything was back to his normal.

Well, not everything. This was the first time he's woken up to the sight of a gun barrel in his face. His body throbbing and his leg caught in a snare. If he looked just past the barrel, he could see glimmering eyes. Fear. He was used to that look.

Though, he could argue he should be the fearful one, considering his lack of dress and immobile position. Bleeding and scared, with a women he's never seen before saying something his ringing ears couldn't quite comprehend.

Soon, his blood loss and blurry eyes made him unable to stay awake. The last thing he saw was a large white dog coming up to sniff his face.

~~~

It was soft, everywhere he turned. Like he was being held in a cloud, he was sure she must have shot him.

When his eyes opened he was greeted with a dim room. It was small, a cream off white with floral designs, it looked like his mother’s, truthfully. He tried to shift his leg only to notice a sizable weight, looking down to see a large white cattle dog, he couldn't quite place the breed immediately, but the moment he shifted it seemed to wake up. Staring at him in his very soul.

The large beast gave a low and steady grumble before he gave a few barks, something he didn't quite know how to place. He just sunk back into the soft plush bedding, giving a low sigh. “Bloody hell..” He mumbled and closed his eyes.

He was still in pain, a lot of it, and he could feel the throb of his injuries pulsing through his body. But there was also a strange sense of comfort in the softness of the bed and the warmth of the room. Even the soft smell of Shea butter and thick wool. It had been so long since he had felt anything remotely close to comfort that it almost seemed foreign to him. He almost convinced himself to fall right back asleep, screw the consequences.

The dog continued to bark, and soon after, Remus heard the soft patter of footsteps approaching. His instincts kicked in, and he tried to sit up, but his body protested vehemently. Leaving him to prop pathetically on his elbows.

As the door creaked open, he came to the conclusion that he was most certainly dead. And he guessed the muggles were right about God. Why else in Merlin’s name would an angel be stepping into this room? With a tray of food, no less.

Like that, the barking stopped. The dog satisfied he notified his master in time.

The woman who had been holding the gun stood in the doorway, looking significantly less threatening now. She had a cautious yet gentle expression, her eyes scanning Remus with a mix of curiosity and concern. Retracing his now bandaged chest and bruised skin, clicking her tongue before she walked over. Setting the tray down and picking up two pill bottles from the side of the bed.

"You're awake.” She assessed softly, her voice carrying a lilting accent that Remus recognized to be Scottish. "I wasn't sure if you'd make it through the night.”

Remus tried to respond, but his throat was dry and his voice came out as a weak croak. She poured a glass of water from the tray and handed it to him, with three pills in her palm.

He didn't think twice before he took them, his concern for his life had far since left his mind. He just felt.. safe.

As the cool water soothed his parched throat, Remus couldn't help but wonder who this woman was and why she was helping him. He hadn't known genuine kindness from anyone since he entered the war- everyone was a suspect until proven otherwise. He glanced around the room, taking in the subtle details- the worn but clean furniture, the soft light filtering through the curtains, and the faint smell of herbs mingling with the scent of the shea butter that he could now conclude came from you.

"Thank you.” He managed to say, his voice still weak but sincere. "For... everything."

The woman gave a small smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're welcome. My name is {Y/N}." She hesitated for a moment before adding, "You're lucky I found you when I did. The Highlands aren't exactly the safest place for someone to be..” She gestured vaguely. “What were you up to? Naked forest dancing?”

Remus let out a weak, humorless chuckle at your comment. Despite the situation, he couldn't help but appreciate your attempt to lighten the mood. His muscles protested every small movement, but he managed to shift slightly, trying to get more comfortable.

"Something like that. I'm Remus.” He muttered, his voice still hoarse. He didn't dare dream of expressing the full length of his woes; the full moon, the transformation, the uncontrollable rage and pain. It was too much to burden you with, not to mention the rapid fire excuses he'd have to come up with. Still, he still felt horrid for lying, especially to someone as kind as you.

You seemed to sense his reluctance and didn't press further. Instead, you busied herself with adjusting the pillows behind his back, making sure he was as comfortable as possible. "Well, whatever it was, you're safe now.” You muttered gently. "You need rest and time to heal. Those pills should help with the pain and prevent any infection."

Remus nodded, grateful for your understanding. "Thank you, {Y/N}.” He repeated, feeling a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the cozy room or the medication. "I don't know how to repay you for this."

You waved off his gratitude with a dismissive huff before walking over to set up the simple bowl of oatmeal and apple slices you had managed in the kitchen.

“Seriously, I don't have much but-”

“Your money's no good here, I fear.” You remarked calmly and turned to face him as you handed him the bowl carefully, wrapped in an oven mitt so he wouldn't burn himself. “But your body is.”

Remus blinked, taken aback by the statement. He opened his mouth to respond, but you quickly clarified, sensing his alarm.

"Not in that way.” You quickly corrected with a soft laugh, the first sign of genuine amusement he'd seen from you. "I meant, it's coming up on winter. Once you get better, if you'd like to repay me, there are holes in the barn that need to be patched. There is wood to be collected, there is always work.”

Relief washed over him, and he nodded slowly, understanding the exchange you were offering. That was something he could do. Easily. "I can do that.” His voice was still weak but filled with sincerity. "I'm more than willing to help out."

You smiled, this time a bit more genuinely. "Good. We'll worry about that when you're back on your feet. For now, just focus on getting better." You placed the bowl of oatmeal and apple slices on his lap. "Eat up, you'll need your strength."

Remus took the bowl, feeling a deep sense of,, peace. It had been so long since anyone had shown him patience and kindness this real. He spooned some of the oatmeal into his mouth, savoring the warmth and simple flavor. It was raw. Something unfiltered and unprocessed. You had made these from scratch, while it wasn't impressive, it made the gesture all the more real to him.

As he ate, you busied yourself around the room, tidying up and making sure everything was in order. The large white dog, now lying by the foot of the bed, watched him with curious eyes.

"What’s his name?" Remus asked, nodding towards the dog.

"That's Hugo.” You hummed, a fond smile tugging at your lips. "He's a good boy. A fine worker, too. Found him as a pup wandering near the woods. Much like you, I suppose."

Remus chuckled softly, though it hurt his chest a bit. "Well, I'm glad he found his way to you. And I'm glad I did too."

You paused for a moment, looking at him with a studying looking in your eyes. "We all need a bit of help sometimes.” You said quietly. "No shame in that."

Remus nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat. For the first time in a long while, he felt a glimmer of hope. The care you had shown him was a balm to his weary soul, and he couldn't help but feel that perhaps, just maybe, things could get better from here.

As he finished his meal, he felt a wave of exhaustion washing over him again. The combination of the medication and the warm food was making it difficult to keep his eyes open. You seemed to notice and gently took the empty bowl from his hands.

"You should rest.” You said softly, but stern, placing the bowl back on the tray. "Sleep will help you heal faster."

Remus nodded, unable to argue with common sense. As he settled back into the pillows, he felt the soft weight of Hugo shifting in a commando crawl up to his side, offering him a sense of security and companionship. His heavy head resting on his chest.

"Thank you, {Y/N}, Hugo.” He murmured one last time, his voice trailing off as sleep began to claim him.

You watched as his eyes closed, a small smile playing on your lips. "You're welcome, Remus," you whispered, turning to leave the room. "Rest well."

As Remus drifted off into a deep, healing sleep, he couldn't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, he had found a place where he could finally stop destroying himself and start rebuilding.

~~~

The days turned into weeks, and Remus slowly but surely regained his strength. Each day, he marveled at the patience and empathy you and Hugo showed him. It was a simple life, far removed from the chaos and pain of his past, but it was exactly what he needed.

You never pried into his past, never asked questions, never pushed past what you needed to know in the moment. You hardly even acknowledged the night he showed up on your property. Instead, you offered gentle conversation, warm meals, and a quiet companionship that Remus found deeply comforting. In return, he began to help around the property as he had promised. Fixing the holes in the barn, chopping wood for the winter, and tending to any task you needed of him.

It was symbiotic. You got the help you needed, and he felt like he was contributing to something meaningful without the threat of being chased away.

As the weeks turned into a month, the next full moon loomed. Even as his irritation grew and his stomach sank with dread, you never said a word. You filled his plate, kept him busy with work on your land, and didn't question him when he took a stroll into the woods on the night of the full moon. Though you were a bit baffled when Hugo went with him.

That morning, you were on the porch waiting for him. You said nothing about his tattered clothes and suitcase, just welcomed him home with a warm smile.

It was more than he ever thought he'd deserve. You reminded him of nectar in the mornings and like fine wine most nights. As sweet as honey but as deep and rich as the most ancient oak, your presence grounded him in ways he hadn't thought possible. Each day with you was a melody, a harmony that soothed the tempest within him. He found himself looking forward to your soft laughter, the way your eyes sparkled with unspoken thoughts, and the gentle touch of your hand as you handed him a steaming cup of tea.

Your kindness wasn't just a balm for his physical wounds; it seeped into the deepest recesses of his heart, mending the fractures that years of pain and loss had wrought. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but somewhere between your shared meals and quiet evenings by the fireplace, he realized he was falling in love with you.

It wasn't a whirlwind or a blaze; it was a slow, steady burn that warmed him from the inside out. He cherished the simplicity of your life together, the unspoken understanding that passed between you, and the way Hugo seemed to understand it all, lying at your feet as if guarding this fragile, precious thing you were building together.

In those quiet moments, when the world outside seemed a distant memory, Remus realized he had found something he never thought possible: a home, a sanctuary, and he didn't dare hope for more.

Even as you sat on the small couch, in the simple living room. Knees tucked to your chest as you continued to fight with yourself.

“Writer's block?” He prodded as he walked over, sitting down in front of you. Your eyes flickered up to his, your expression still holding slight irritation. “You've been looking at that page for ages.”

“I have ideas.” You argued, looking back down at your pages with a huff. “Just not sure.. how to work them together.”

“Isn't that supposed to be the fun part?” He teased softly and that earned a playful glare form you. He flicked his hands up in defense, slowly smirking.

You managed a soft laugh, your irritation melting away under his gentle look. "Easy for you to say, you're not the one staring at a blank page.” You challenged, but there was no real bite to your words.

Remus leaned closer, peering at your notes with genuine curiosity. "Maybe you should write something else. Just for today. Heard it's supposed to help, yeah?”

You sighed, but there was a hint of a smile on your lips. "Alright, Mr. Lupin, what do you suggest I write about?"

“Maybe your affinity for strays?” He teased and that earned a belly laugh from you.

“Do you hear him, Hugo? He just called you a stray.” You smirked and Hugo gave a huff and a long sigh from were he laid on the floor by Remus’s feet.

“I meant the both of us, really.” He muttered, eyes drifting away. But he knew you knew that already. You would do anything to make him think he wasn't burdening you, but self doubt was his biggest flaw.

Your eyes softened that way that made him feel his stomach turn. Then, your lips turned upward, eyes sparking with amusement. “You make it sound like a talent.” You hummed before you leaned in a bit. “But I wouldn't call you a stray, Remus. You're no more a stray then Hugo.”

Remus felt his mouth go dry as he stared down at you, his heart pounding with an intensity that made his ribs feel bruised. The way your eyes seemed to look straight through him, seeing every hidden part of his soul, left him feeling exposed, yet desperate for the intimacy of it all. The air between you crackled with a palpable tension, each second stretching out as his expression turned thoughtful.

He watched as you slowly reached out, your fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against his arm. The contact sent a shiver down his spine, and he couldn't help but lean into your touch, his breath hitching.

“I mean it, Remus.” You whispered, your voice barely audible but the loudest thing he's ever heard.

He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving yours as he nodded, inching closer. The space between you seemed to shrink and expand all at once, his movements hesitant yet driven by an undeniable force he couldn't fully understand.

“Yeah?” He whispered, his voice raw and almost pleading, his vulnerability never felt more purposeful.

“Yeah.” You affirmed without a moment's hesitation, your grip on his arm tightening as if to anchor him to your reality. A reality he wanted to understand more then anything. Your gentle loving reality, one that fooled him again and again into safeties he didn't think he deserved. “You're home, Remus.”

The words hung in the air, a lifeline he desperately needed. The tension between you reached a breaking point as you tilted your head. Every so slightly, your eyes lingering on his lips.

It wasn't long before his lips were on yours, not giving himself time to second guess it all. It was patient. It was sweet. It was ancient and timeless and yet as new as the flowers that were blooming just outside the door. Winter had come and gone and yet here he was, still demanding more of you. As he moved in closer, you felt the book fall against the ground. Not that you minded, it freed up your hands to slide along his chest.

He continued to test the waters, his hand coming up to cup your cheek and deepen the kiss. Affection you reciprocated easily. Just as hungry for it as he was. He couldn't find himself wondering if he should think it through. He didn't have much of a choice, the way your hands traveled up to his hair, the way you shifted your legs to make room for him.

“You're home, Remus.” You whispered again, much softer, in between the ever heating kisses. He pushed you fully on your back, his lips traveling the bare skin of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, each kiss igniting a fire that spread through your veins. The words you had spoken echoed in his mind, grounding him in the moment, making everything feel more real and more impossible to resist. He whispered your name, a reverent prayer, as his hands explored the contours of your body, committing every inch to memory.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as if afraid he might disappear if you let go. The urgency of your kisses matched his own, a silent agreement that this was right were you both belonged.

~~~

The next morning, you woke up in your bed. Remus was hugging you from behind, his nose buried in your neck and still sound asleep.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room. You felt the warmth of Remus's body against yours, his steady breathing a comforting rhythm that lulled you into a delightful peace. For a moment, you simply lay there, savoring the feeling of being so intimately connected to someone who had come to mean so much to you. Your heart ached with affection, selfishly hoping he'd wake up so you could stare into his lovely eyes again.

You shifted slightly, careful not to wake him despite yourself, and turned to gaze at his sleeping face. There was a peaceful calm there that you hadn't seen before, a loveliness that spoke of a man who had finally found a measure of peace. It made your heart swell with a mixture of love and protectiveness.

As if sensing your gaze, Remus stirred, his eyes slowly fluttering open. When he saw you looking at him, a soft smile curved his lips, and he tightened his hold on you, pulling you closer. Your eyes indulged in his own like it was sin.

"Good morning.” He murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Good morning.” You whispered, your own smile mirroring his. "Did you sleep well?"

"Better than I have in years.” He admitted, his eyes searching yours for any sign of regret or hesitation. Finding none, he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Thank you, {Y/N}."

"For what?" You asked, absolutely melting as he continued to trail kisses from your temple to your neck.

"For everything.” He sighed, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that took your breath away. "For giving me a place to heal, for your patience, and for... well, for last night." He cheeked.

Your cheeks flushed at the memory of the previous night, but you couldn't help but smile, playfully glaring at him. "I should be the one thanking you, Remus. You've brought something into my life that I didn't even realize I was missing."

He looked at you with a mixture of surprise and gratitude, his fingers gently tracing the contours of your face. "I'm not easy.” He whispered.

“I've always been one for a challenge, Remus.” You whispered as he leaned down to bury his face into your neck. “Unfortunately, I find falling for you quite easy.”

He chuckled, the base in his voice bringing a shiver to your spine. “... I'm a lot of work.”

“You earn your keep, Remus.” You whispered softly and he slowly began to let his hands slip up to your waist, lowering himself to draw lazy kisses along your chest.

“You'll tire of me. When you know me.” He urged and you closed your eyes blissfully.

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

“You'll-” Before he could finish and fall deeper into his own self doubt, you covered his mouth. Cupping his jaw to pull him into another kiss. One he returned with full earnestness.

You broke the kiss and stared up at him with your doe eyes he almost caved.

“I'll love you, Remus. I do. I will. I'm not going to give up that easily,” You huffed. “No matter how much convincing you try to do.”

He stared at you a moment longer, leaning in and running his lips along yours. “It's rotten work.”

“I've never shied away from work.” You whispered and pulled him close. Letting him hide away from the world in your room. “I'm never going to shy away from you.”

Remus sighed deeply, the weight of his doubts lifting as he whispered, "Then I'll never let you go."

And in that shared promise, they found a peace that neither had ever dared to hope for.

[breelandwalker]

Worm Moon - March 13-14 2025

The world is thawing and spring will soon be sprung. Dust off your garden tools and get ready for the Worm Moon!

Worm Moon

The Worm Moon is the name given to the full moon which occurs in the month of March in the Northern Hemisphere. Most sources claim this name is taken from the renewed visible presence of vermicast (worm droppings) and earthworms themselves, as the spring thaw allows them to emerge from the soil.

There is a possible alternative explanation, involving a colonial explorer's notes about the Naudowessie (Dakota) observation of emerging worm-like beetle larvae from the bark of trees. "Every month has with them a name expressive of its season; for instance, they call the month of March (in which their year generally begins at the first New Moon after the vernal Equinox) the Worm Month or Moon; because at this time the worms quit their retreats in the bark of the trees, wood, &c. where they have sheltered themselves during the winter." (It's entirely possible that this "worm" in this instance is a mistranslation of an indigenous word for "larva," since it refers to the larval state of certain beetles. Without knowing whether the language in question makes a distinction between larval worms and earthworms, it's impossible to tell, and I was unable to find further sources.)

Other North American Indigenous names for this moon include Goose Moon (Algonquin and Cree) and Crow Comes Back Moon (Northern Ojibwe), in reference to the reappearance of migratory birds, and Sugar Moon (Ojibwe) and Sap Moon (Shawnee), in reference to the season in which the maple sap begins to run and can be tapped for the production of maple syrup.

Fun Fact: The term "Worm Moon" only occurs in southerly indigenous nations. The March moon is commonly named for trees or birds in more northerly areas of North America because in those places, the native species of earthworms went extinct during the period when glaciers covered that portion of the continent. About 12,000 years ago when the glaciers receded, the forest grew back without earthworms. The species which now inhabit those areas are invasive or introduced specimens originating from Europe and Asia.

The March moon, if it occurs prior to the spring equinox, is also the Lenten Moon, named for the Christian holiday of Lent. If it occurs after the equinox, it is called the Paschal Full Moon, corresponding with the Christian holiday of Easter, or Paschal Sunday (This year's Worm Moon will occur the week before the equinox and Easter Sunday will be in April.)

This year's Worm Moon will also feature a lunar eclipse, the only one we'll see this year. The peak of the full moon will occur at 2:55am EST on March 14th, but the moon will appear to be full and the eclipse should be visible on the night of the 13th. Check the Dark Sky Place Finder for visibility conditions in your area and livestreams of the event.

What Does It Mean For Witches?

Full moons are both the beginning and end of the lunar cycle. With the Worm Moon, we can look forward to the beginning of spring and the yearly harvest cycle. So now is the perfect time for seasonal divination, plans for the coming months, and the setting of goals for the future, both short-term and long-term. You can also check in with goals you may have set back in January and record your progress. (Remember - even a little progress is still progress!)

Consider also how you can change or begin new routines and habits to improve your life, make better choices, streamline your schedule, or just give yourself a much-needed break. If there’s something hanging around that no longer serves you, now is the time to consider bidding it adieu and moving forward to a new path.

What Witchy Things Can We Do?

The Worm Moon heralds the imminent start of the planting season. If you’ve got green fingers, now is the time to begin planning your garden for the season. Prepare your sprouting trays and browse your favorite seed catalog for inspiration.

It’s also time for that all-important spring cleaning, so open up those windows on a warm day and air out all the staleness from winter. As you scrub and dust and declutter, you can also magically cleanse your space of stagnant, disruptive, or unwanted things, replacing them with your own energy and your good wishes and goals for the upcoming season.

This is also an excellent time for spells focused on fertility, optimism, and new growth. It’s important to remember that fertility spells don’t just have to focus on procreation. They can also be geared toward planting, creating, opportunity, inspiration, motivation, prosperity, abundance, and anything that requires nurturing and productivity.

As the land begins to turn toward springtime, even if the weather is still cold, take note of the changes in the flora and fauna in your area. What species can you identify? How are the animals acting? Is there anything new that you notice since last year? Tracking these changes can help you connect with your local biome and identify patterns that can help you draw forecasts for the weather, the coming crop cycle, and any personal omens you have which are connected to nature. Try this knowledge-building exercise as part of your study - Dig Through The Ditches.

Since there is a lunar eclipse set to occur, this is also an optimal time for not only the usual fulfillment and abundance magic associated with the full moon, but for any magic meant to yeet something into the all-devouring void with all your might. Contrary to certain schools of belief, eclipses do not automatically negate magical workings done on the date they occur and there are ways of employing that energy to useful purpose. Picture the earth's shadow moving over the moon like a giant cosmic disposal bin which carries away anything thrown into it to be released into the void of space.

As always, for best results, make sure you are focused and specific with your intentions and close loopholes in your wording. Remember that YOU are the most important component in your spell, since you're the one providing the impetus and the energy and telling the magic what to do. Don't be afraid to clear and emphatic!

Recall also that in any environment, there comes a time when progress cannot occur until harmful elements are removed, stagnation is released, and detritus is returned to a state where it can decay and benefit new growth. Do with this what you will.

The season of greening and renewal is upon us, so it’s time to Ready, Set, GROW!

Happy Worm Moon, witches! 🌕🌱

Further Reading:

Worm Moon: Full Moon for March 2025, The Old Farmer’s Almanac.

Worm Moon: The Stunning Full Moon of March 2025, The Peculiar Brunette.

Witchcraft Exercise - Dig Through The Ditches, Bree NicGarran.

Travels Through the Interior Parts of North America, in the Years 1766, 1767 and 1768, Capt. Jonathan Carver, London, 1781. (Text available on Project Gutenberg)

Total Lunar Eclipse March 2025, Space.com.

Easter and the Paschal Full Moon: Determining the Date of Easter, The Old Farmer's Almanac.

Everyday Moon Magic: Spells & Rituals for Abundant Living, Dorothy Morrison, Llewellyn Publications, 2004.

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