#and a sense of ownership but shush

[fandomrose]

Sunday - Love Hypnosis

Sunday hypnotises you (consensually) to relax you.

No spoilers.

No description of reader or readers troubles so project what you are personally struggling with as you see fit.

No angst just fluff. I thought this concept would be cute. I've seen many a yandere Sunday hypnotises you, and that's great but consider - consent and fluff.

(This isn't a jab, I too enjoy a yandere fic from time to time but I also want to see fluff and I haven't seen this done in a fluffy way yet.)

I don't know why I'm mildly obsessed with this man but I am. (Cough Cough, I read maximum ride as a kid and now I automatically fall in love with winged characters. Cough Cough.) I need him to hypnotise me please and thank you.

(I have a few fics in the works that I need to finish but I'm struggling.)

As usual enjoy. Love ya 💙

"Darling?" Came the light and airy tone of your beloved. Though there was a hint of worry in his voice as he took in your face down, slumped form. "Are you alright?"

He could tell very well that you were not alright. But he would coax an answer out of you one way or another. Though the only answer he received was a groan.

"Darling." He sighs but chuckles at your obviously aggravated self. "Allow me to help you." 

Your body goes limp as you let him move you from a sofa to your shared bed. "My darling. Tell me what's gotten into you."

He chuckles as you groan out a single word relating to your issues. "Life."

"Oh, my darling. You'll let me soothe you for the night won't you?" He only felt it was right after the many nights you had soothed him. 

Patient, kind, understanding. Three words that when asked by others what you think about each other, you'd both say about each other. A pure give and take without a scoreboard, that's how you operated. You were both busy or stressed for one reason or another so that's how things had to be.

The simple love you shared was enough most days but sometimes things went wrong.

Sunday had performed hypnosis on you before so he knew it worked but he'd never engage unless you agreed. You knew the question he asked meant he wanted to soothe you via hypnosis, and with the state of your mind you would happily agree. 

"Please do." 

He wouldn't offer if he didn't have the energy you knew this, a rather large argument took care of that when he'd overworked himself then passed out after hypnotising you once and a medic had to be rushed in. Needless to say, you weren't happy with his carelessness. And seeing how upset you were he agreed to be more careful with his health.

You didn't want to think anymore so as you lay there looking up at him with your tired eyes and weary mind, he smiles. He caresses your face and hair before taking a deep breath and reciting that familiar chant.

"Oh triple faced soul, allow me to take hold of this one's mind and soothe them of all worries and burdens. The word Beloved will be the catalyst for control."

With that simple incantation your mind belonged to Sunday for a short while. Your mind felt fuzzy and slow but not unpleasantly, the way it would when you achieved complete relaxation. 

Like he had done before, he would take you through your nightly routine with this hypnosis.

"Beloved, follow me to to the bathroom." He helped you up while your body automatically followed his words and stood up. 

Walking was about the most complex task you could complete, he wasn't Xipe Themself, so his power only went so far. 

"Beloved, lift your arms." 

You do as told and he aids in stripping you, ready to be cleaned. 

"Beloved, sit on this stool and close your eyes." 

You again do as told his voice muffled through the layers of hypnosis, but soothing nonetheless. "I am going to wash your face first darling." He always narrates what he does before doing it as not to startle you.

You felt a cool, wet, cloth glide over your face and you can't help but sigh with satisfaction. You feel it gently caress your cheeks and softly rub your eyes tickle behind your ears. You hear the cloth being rinsed and wrung, the muffled sounds of the water soothing you further.

"I am going to wash your upper body now darling." And, as before, you feel the damp cloth glide over your neck and upper body, letting him move you has he sees fit. Soft humming coming from him lulls you deeper into his hypnosis. The cloth glides down and caresses your chest before moving to wash your back. You'd make sounds of relaxed satisfaction if you could but your exhausted body coupled with the hypnosis has made your brain devoid of any thought or control. Just how you want it. 

He moves back to the front of you with a new cloth. "Beloved, spread your legs, I need to clean you." 

Your body complies without hesitation and that's what he does, making sure to be extra gentle around this sensitive area. He is thorough but doesn't linger long this time, not wanting to spark anything in you this evening.

Standing to switch the cloth again, "I'm going to wash your legs and feet now darling." Still being as gentle as ever his hands and the cloth slowly makes their way down your legs massaging them as they go. A light massage is given to your feet as well before he finishes and pats you dry with a towel before he deems your body clean.

"Beloved, open your mouth wide." 

He orders next, your mind too fuzzy to think of what else could be doing. You hear more water then feel a hand on your chin. "I'm going to brush your teeth darling." Then light scrubbing of your teeth and tongue can be felt, he is thorough with this area too. Not wanting to be the reason you have cavities he takes his time. Not too long later he finishes with you. You can hear things being put away and muffled sounds of him walking around you, maybe inspecting you. Before he stops in front and, 

"Beloved, open your eyes and stand up. Its time to go to bed."

You're led back into the bedroom now that he is satisfied that you are clean. "Beloved, are you ready to sleep?" 

Compelled to answer, you do. "yes"

"Beloved, do you want to sleep with me?"

"Yes"

"Good, let's get to sleep then shall we." 

The sounds of fabric and draws is all you hear for a moment before he guides you into bed with him. 

"Beloved, lay down." 

When he's satisfied you are comfortable You feel his soft skin against yours, the wings on his head lightly brushing your face in reverence before he pulls them back. It isn't often he blesses you with his naked body, the vulnerability gets to him at times. 

Once you've laid down and he's pulled you close he asked one more question.

"Beloved, are you ready to be released from hypnosis?"

"Yes"

As the words leave your lips he begins the incantation to remove his influence on your mind. 

"Oh triple faced soul, this one has completed this ones tasks and can now be freed from the shackles of my control with no burden."

Everything goes still as your senses return slowly, reacclimating you to reality. A few minutes pass of him softly stroking your head and neck while you come back to him.

"Thank you Sunday" a soft whisper conveying how grateful you are before you promptly pass out the exhaustion and relaxation hitting you full force as you melt into the bed and his arms.

"Oh my beloved, I'd do anything to see you happy and relaxed like this more often. I am grateful for all you do for me so it's only natural. I love you, so much my beloved."

He whispers to your sleeping self, pressing small kisses to your forehead, cheeks and nose. Watching the small twitches at the contact makes his evening and he feels like he too can finally relax.

[moongreenlight]

John ‘Soap’ ‘won’t take no for an answer’ MacTavish

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

You break up because of his work, not because you don’t love him anymore. It feels unfair that he’s always getting dragged away for work and that you’re expected to sit and wait him out. You make the mistake of saying the two of you could stay friends. Truly not thinking much of it. A real right person, wrong time situation. He takes it as more of a challenge.

You sometimes worry he doesn’t think the two of you are broken up. Still invites you out for drinks twice a week when he can. Squashes you both into one side of the booth so he can throw his arm around your shoulders and nuzzle into the crook of your neck. He only has one beer, but keeps ordering you cocktails and encourages you to drink up to soothe your nerves. You think it’s a coincidence the first few times when you’re too drunk to drive and he insists you come stay the night at his place. He’ll drive you home in the morning.

You try to tell him you’ll sleep on the couch just so the lines don’t blur. He just smiles and nods and continues jabbering on about nothing. It doesn’t take him long to get handsy when he’s stopped at a red light. Spreads his hand over your thigh and fusses with the hem of your skirt. You don’t think you’re stopped at the light for very long, but by the time it turns green again he’s already pushed your panties out of the way and stuffed two fingers inside of you. Talks over your moans and soft keening noises and tells you that he’s glad he was with you tonight. Could have been picked up by some sick bastard because you never did know your limit.

“‘S’alright, dollie. Always got a place with me.”

He stops working his fingers a heartbeat before you’re about to come. Pulls them out and licks them clean after he parks out front of his flat. Doesn’t bother helping you out of the car, just lets you stumble after him in a haze.

You’re convinced the sex is somehow better than when you were dating. He ebbs and flows between being sickly sweet and meaner than you’ve ever seen him. Shoves you down on his bed and immediately tucks in on your cunt. Cooing directly into your sex about how he’s missed her. She’s so pretty. It’s cruel of you to keep him from such a pretty pussy.

He strictly fucks you in positions that ensure he can see your face. Clamps down on your chin and forces you to look up at him when he’s splitting you open. Doesn’t let you come on his cock unless you’re saying his name and making eye contact. Pulls out while you’re trying to clench around his length if your eyes roll back. Gives you a mean pinch to your nipple and smacks your clit a few times until you’re teary and begging for him.

Sometimes he flat out refuses to put it back in unless you say you love him. Runs his cock through your soaked folds and leaves you to whine and cry under him for a few minutes until you take the hint and slur some cockdrunk nonsense about how only he can fuck you like this. You miss him. You still love him so much.

This drives him insane. He takes your words to heart. Convinces himself he just needs to try harder to get you back. If you’re saying all this, then he’s still got a chance. He’ll bury himself deep into you and piston his hips with no further regard to your pleasure after that. Bottoms out inside you and still somehow tries to fill you further when he paints your walls with his release. Bites down hard on your shoulder or your neck and leaves a sickly yellow bruise around the indent of his teeth. Snarls in your ear about how he knows you still need him because if you didn’t then you wouldn’t be letting him do this. Marks you like he still feels a sense of ownership.

After the first dozen few times, you sit him down and try to tell him that you can’t do this anymore. It’s making things too hard on the both of you. He smooths your hair and kisses away your tears on his couch. Shushes you sweetly when you sniffle and go on about how you wish things were different. He fucks you more gently that night before you leave.

[helloescapist]

Hello, is it possible to get headcanons of Hashira!gyutaro with a tsuguko? It's OK if not

Thank you in advance

It's kind of fun to think about an alternate world in which the uppermoons are hashiras, and the hashiras are uppermoons. It's a really fun concept to explore, and I enjoyed it! I imagine that having Gyutaro as a Hashira can go one of two ways at the beginning. He can either be uneasy with the concept, due to his upbringing and his personality, Gyutaro would likely recoil from such interactions, or duties, or depending on a tsuguko who has been blessed in life, he very well would initially be bitter, and aggressive. Since there was no defining characteristic of the tsuguko, I chose to focus more on what Gyutaro would be like. I hope you enjoy!

Hashira!Gyutaro with a Tsuguko

Word Count: 3317

Setting: Hashira!Gyutaro x tsuguko!gn!reader [platonic, but could be romantic if you squint.]

Content Warning(s): blood, gore, red light district, Opposite AU, alternative universe in which Gyutaro and Daki are not members of the UpperMoons, but of the Demon Slayer Corps.

Summary: headcanons for an alternate universe where Gyutaro is a Hashira (essentially, if we were to disrupt the canon time line, and have a demon slayer corps member opt to save, or buy out the siblings’ ownership following the death of their mother, and place them in service of the Slayer Corps.)

This place is warm, the Ubuyashiki clan is kind. He has known the sympathies of strangers, has met the warmth of blankets, the soothing ointments that help to ease the discomfort from his joints. The welcome of comrades, and for once in his life, to know the security of a full belly at night when he tucks Ume into her bedding.  He has known the safety of the area, and the guidance of a caretaker, one who greets his arrival home, and scolds him when his temper flares.

He is grateful, he is.

This life is more than he had ever hoped for, ever considered possible for one of his nature, unfamiliar and foreign as the kindness that meets pressed lips, but he is not naïve.

He can still hear the scathing remarks of his appearance that he carries with him from his childhood home. The kind pressed lips, as gentle as they try to be, still bear the same discomfort.

Gyutaro is painfully aware of the stutter amongst the staff. The clench of their jaws when he greets them. The distance they provide between bows. The clatter of glass, swift hand movements placed between dinner wary of potential contact.

Unease that dips into forced smiles, first introductions amongst newly recruited members are painful, unbearable. Appraising eyes, withdrawn hands that dare not meet his touch. Whispers amongst mizunoto.

Quiet rememberances, those that dare not scoff him in person, the days of dodged glances, and recoiled grasps of his training days left in the past.

Scrapped clean with his promotion to Hashira, the open commentary of his skin condition, the outright disgust, and horrified urgency in which peers rushed to scrap their hands of implied hazards passed on by his touch had been left in the past, but like ghosts, they clung to his senses. Dwelled in the back of his mind at the unnatural dip of smiles plastered upon faces.

Echoed in the back of his mind, overheard whispers hushed and trembled amongst startled new maids. No shushing able to sooth the inflicted burdens of his mind, nor the way his fingernails threatened to gnaw at his flesh, peppering scars amongst the markings littered across his body.

For the sake of his diminishing pride, and the comfort of the other Demon Slayer Corps members, Gyutaro keeps his presence to a minimum. He will dodge casual visits amongst the other Hashiras, as well as the main house. This is in no  ways a reflection of cold behavior, rather, it really is well intended. For those who are considerate of him, he will maintain in regular contact through his Kasugai crow, sending gifts for significant moments (promotions, birth of a child, retirement, etc).

Because of this, he likely only has a few staff members amongst his mansion, truly for Ume’s benefit. Gyutaro is content to hole up in his means, tend to his own meals, patch his own haori.

Due to his reclusive nature, I imagine that there is a specific kakushi assigned to retrieving the Hashira. The lengths he reaches to avoid unfamiliar attendants until begrudgingly, this specific individual retrieves him. Scolding him.

Gyutaro’s summoning had not been what he had expected. Drawn from the depths of the Tottori prefecture, robbed of his seclusion, and forced to travel from the security of the mountain sides.  The discomfort scratched across his rashes, averted eyes as he wandered throughout the estate before collapsing to his knees before the master. Forehead bend to the mats below him, his greeting met with the most peculiar of circumstances.

A recruit that sat at the side of the wall.

Confusion that captivated his senses, and the quiver of his gaze. Bitten back frustration, and internal conflict upon receiving instruction. Orders not to be refuted, or denied. Dutifully attended to.

The gnaw of his lip beneath his sharp teeth, he was not unfamiliar with the term tsuguko.  Gyutaro had been under the direction of the Water Hashira years ago, and there were certainly a few tsuguko under the current Hashira tier. However, all of these occurrences were, well hand selected. Proteges selected by superior officers, all too aware of the close proximity of apprenticeship.

He’s reluctant, downright uneasy, and shifting his heels. The blank stare he offers, caught at the appearance of your smile gauging him, the bend of your head lower to him. Respectful in a manner that is foreign to him, eliciting a gnawing bitter discomfort that concaves his chest.

Yet, Gyutaro cannot out right deny the commands of the Master,

This does not mean he will make it easy on you.

Gyutaro will not be out right wrathful, at first. The trek to his abode a near gravesite visit. Silent, bitterly gnawing at his bottom lip, scratching at the litter of markings across his cheeks.

Averted eyes, and small mumbled curses across from a campsite. The small glower you receive when you suggest paying for a  inn amongst the journey.

Completely unaware that the villagers would view him as a yokai, an infestation upon their home.

When the trip was not marred by near unbearable silence that shattered under your desperate grasp to make any sort of conversation amongst the voyage. Why do you insist upon learning from him? Why are you speaking to him? Gyutaro really and truly does not understand why it is you SHARED a meal with him.

In truth, he’s not intentionally ignoring you, he is just down right befuddled, and confused as hell as why it is you are teetering after him. If there was ever an opportunity to flee this command, it is this one.

Yet, you follow dutifully so.

The draw of his brow, the gentle confusion that bubbles at each campsite. How unbothered your hand meets his as you share provisions.

When the altitude of the mountains meets the winter season, the snow fall that greets your climb into prefecture, how you do not hesitate to burrow yourself just a little closer to seek out warmth. Batted away from the chill of winter winds.

Gyutaro cannot comprehend your dedication to the Slayer Corps. What has possessed you so to remain pungently faithful? Regardless of being left in the care of a curse?

He’ll resort to placing you in visually horrifying encounters. He assumes that your steadfast loyalty to orders is the result of having yet to wet your blade in slaying.

The Hashira is mournful—the thought has crossed his mind that he would be unforgiving if anyone had ever treated his little sister in such regards, yet he whispers to himself that it is the only way to free you of your apprenticeship.

The swift of your blade, not so much a flinch upon your brow as he utilizes his technique to splatter the battle field in a stomach churning display of blood and gore, the way his very blood has caught at the edge of your cheek. Your only concern to evaluate the depths of his inflictions---

Shit. He’s stuck with you.

Resigned, and bitter. Small bouts of muttering and furrow. Like a wet cat who does not quite make eye contact, yet the moment you dare to sooth its fur, lashes out in a sudden rush before turning from your gaze…

Gyutaro is left to only pray that perhaps, training will be ample enough justification for you to seek out another master. Sure, you’ve been… briefly introduced to the grotesque nature of his breathing style, but to regularly interact with the training.

To endure the nature of  blood breathing, is another matter entirely.

Gyutaro will sort of welcome you to his home—he does not place blame on your presence so much on yourself, but has accepted that you were likely coerced into this arrangement just as much as he was.

Orders are orders after all, however I can’t imagine that Gyutaro is fond of the lavish décor Ume has elicited amongst the mansion.

Likely, he has gifted the main house to his little sister, given her full reign of staff bear in mind that the hashira who raised them would have educated Daki properly on etiquette and manners befitting of a woman of the golden era. As such, I imagine that the main house is in all rightful words, Daki’s to decorate, to run, and arrange as she deems necessary, and it is in her care he will happily hand you off.

Seeking sanctuary in an annex building unoccupied by any others, and without visits amongst the staff of the main house.

Unlike that of her brother, who reassures you that Gyutaro means no harm, but rather finds the company of others stuffy, and leaves him on edge as he worries that he is intruding, Ume is pleased to welcome you into her home.

 Delighted to make your acquantince, and foster a relationship the maids have tired of the Lady of the manner’s unladylike antics.

In many ways, Ume is bright, and playful.

A young woman who has had little opportunity to explore the world, and interactions of others, and upon having a new arrival brought into her home, regardless of how willing it may have been of her brother, she is excited at the prospect.

She’s likely to linger, courageous in the way she bridges conversation.

Shameless and perhaps more naïve than she would admit in gauging difficult topics. Her direct nature having forced out a demand to know why it is you have selected her brother as your master when there are others available. The warmth, charming nature of her smile mixed with the sweet joyful scent of peaches upon her skin, you likely overlooked, or missed the lethality laced within her question. Poised as a cobra, beautiful and enchanting in a dance, only calmed by the soothing response you provide.

The genuine desire to learn.

In this, you will have a loyal and mischievous ally in the young woman.

Ume will not hesitate to place you in compromising positions, one that run the potential of eliciting a fierce reaction from her older brother.  Oh, she cannot help but notice how beautiful the moonlight is, coincidentally, the maids were unable to bring in the laundry, would you mind?

Shamelessly sending you out in the middle of the night, knowing full well that as others are deep in the throws of slumber, Gyutaro tackles the opportunity for training without prying eyes.

You completely unaware of the trap she has set for you, left only torn asunder under a barrage of verbal assaults that could mar your own flesh.

Horrified to be caught training freely amongst the night air, to have your eyes wander across his form with only his hakama at his hips. The chill upon his bare skin, the marks of his condition soothed beneath the snow. Ribs that jutted beneath his weight, a sickening sheer of flesh that fought to bind his bones. Blood that dripped from his finger tips—your snooping having eliciting the worst of him.

Convinced that this was what you had accompanied him for—to witness a monster in the flesh beneath the moonlight.

Whether it was the shudder of your eyes, all too aware of the fury you had elicited in him, or perhaps the shock of his violent outburst, the turn of your back as you fled into the main house and left him empty. Weary. Heavier than expected. Alone.

For the best, he told himself. Convinced that in the morning, your sword amongst your personal belongings would have fled from the mountains.

Instead, it was a rightful slap by his little sister that had greeted him in the morning hours rather than your absence.

The bond will take some time to form; Gyutaro is far more accustomed to the dodged glances of strangers, and shunned touches of acquaintances that your bold welcome to share close quarters leaves him drawn, and shaken.

The concept of friends, of a protégé is so foreign to the Kama wielder that he is naturally mistrustful of your intentions.

Yet, he is observant, he will notice the way you smile as you speak to his sister. The care you take in assisting her with the household duties, or the kind regards you have to even the lowest of the staff members.

A kindness to the lowest amongst the hierarchy despite the lack of benefits it offered you. Such consideration that does not miss his gaze, and slowly over time, he will begin to question if perhaps, you have no alternative intentions as his sister has claimed.

Her acceptance far easier to earn than that of his own.

It will be small approaches. One that are easy to miss, or mistake as kindnesses of his little sister. A fresh cloth accompanied by a water bucket that greets you when you have taken a break from unguided training, submitting yourself to familiar swings in the hope it will offer growth.

Until slowly but surely, Ume’s insistence that you escort his meals to his annex building have landed merit.

The shy way in which he dodges your glances before grumbling a small inquiry. If you would like to share a meal with him, like you had upon your journey to the mansion.

Training with Gyutaro will not be easy, and the small part of him wishes that he could protect you from the inevitable, but to have undertaken the art of blood breathing means that you will have to face grueling conditions, self inflicted wounds, and gore that you would not encounter with other alternative breathing styles.

He will ask if you are sure before he begins your training.

The movements will be the first things that Gyutaro guides you in. You will be surprised out patient he can be have as he guides your forms. Bold in the way that his hand meets the bend of your elbows, adjusts the positions of your footing.

In many ways, he’s tender as a master. As gentle in his instruction as he is in his speech with you, a trait he has carried from his relationship with his little sister into this one.

 Though there are moments in which he is rough, the shred of gravel, warned moments inherited from his own master. The reality is when you have hit a mental block, he will resort to these tactics. In the same way that his master before him had done so, utilized the moment to break you down.

To build you up, to drag you from the mud, and usher in pain that feels near unbearable.

The kindness that meets his features as he presses a compass to your cheek. One hit having landed especially hard, bruised and lacerated the flesh. Tempted to cease training for the day, only pushed to continue beneath your insistence.

Ume will slap him later.

Balancing his natural caretaker tendencies, and the ferocity of his battle prowess. It’s a balancing act that he had never considered—one on one hand to hand combat with someone that was not  a demon is an uncommon occurrence for him, and so just as this is for you, it will be quite the learning curb.

One that will be quite the experience for the both of you.

Some punches will knock you into the ground, fracture your jaw, and others will be little more than a kitten’s swipe. He’ll get there, he will, but it’s going to be a potentially painful experience for the both of you.

Because he feels like shit for accidentally laying you out flat. Worried this is the moment you give your resignation. Praise will be a struggle as well. His first attempts will be mangled, and incoherent.

Dare to ask him to repeat himself for comprehension will result in the most scalding, bitter praise before he strides down the hall way out of sight.

You’re both confused.

Ume is the only one laughing.

Outside of battle, Gyutaro has slower mannerisms. In part this is due to his nature, but also due to the accommodations that he has to carry himself in order to navigate his world.  

Not that he’ll ever admit any of this to you. In many ways, Gyutaro is forthcoming about his upbringing—but only to a certain extent. He will never divulge the especially dark aspects of his upbringing. He doesn’t need any further pity from his tsuguko.

The dynamic you’ve built—he wants to keep that.

Friendly, and warm. One in which he feels… well, he assumes this is what normal people feel like? Able to bear that of your wondering eyes as you catch the little details of how he holds his kama, the turn of his hips during his breathing technique.

Your voice curiously sharing whatever comes to mind, and how his fingers do not nab at the scared flesh of his cheeks, nor at his sides.

He has heard himself laugh—it’s been many years since he’s done that.  The last time Gyutaro can remember was when Ume was a toddler, meowing at a stray cat, proud of herself for identifying the right animal.

Conversation with your Hashria superior is gentle. Casual as it develops. Many would be surprised how considerate Gyutaro can be in conversations, or the way his jagged teeth meet the high of his lips, the apple of his cheeks brightened when you have wandered onto a memory of Ume’s childhood.

How blissfully he shares antics of her upbringing. Heedlessly proud, and all too aware that when this circles around back to his little sister by prying maids—he will receive a verbal lashing.

As your mentor, Gyutaro is proud. Shamelessly so, he will proudly express praise for you at the Hashira gatherings.

Suddenly vocal after years of silence, brought on by the inquiry of your progress. The way he boasts of your accomplishments, emerging abilities.

Teased at how quickly you’ve risen in his company—implications if Ume should be worried about competition. The bitter scoff of his lips, red at his cheeks.

Unaware how off track he had gotten in his open praise.

He’s protective of you, akin to that of his little sister. Gyutaro will not hesitate to restate that he cares about your progress, but will not take slights from the Hashiras at your abilities. You are his tsuguko, and under his care.

To be so, means to endure a brother’s protection.

BONUS: Blood Breathing

First Form: Decapitation Kama, an immediate defense technique in which Gyutaro flows with his breathing, utilizing the bend of a sword user, or hand-to-hand combatant, caught at the bend of the opponent’s elbow. Following through, catches with the alternative kama to go straight for the throat. Second Form: Ketsueki-gata, due to Gyutaro’s routine exposure to poisons amongst his childhood in the Red Light District, he has a natural resilience to a wide variety of poisons. Utilizing this, he eats small doses of wisteria seeds, during battle, Gyutaro will use Ketsueki-gata, a slashed dipped in that of his blood. Third Form: Jubokko, Gyutaro utilizes his blood that has been shed to create a dome in which he can enhance his fury blades. Fourth Form: Uji Vermillion Flow: Gyutaro capsizes on his blood loss, utilizing its location throughout the battle field to flow from blood spot to blood shed, slashing as he goes. Fifth Form: Kuraokami, in a final desperate move, Gyutaro has suffered blood substantial blood loss. By loosing a grip on earth bound ties, he utilizes the remainder of his blood to rain down upon the area, its wisteria acidic corrosion eating through the flesh of opponents, as he makes one last desperate barrage of attacks to take his opponent to the afterlife at his side.

[bright-tatters]

Tatters #36

In the city of Photia, the ritual of the Grupping is the ceremonial beginning of adulthood. On a child’s fourteenth birthday they are given a feast featuring traditional foods from the entire country. They are given presents that they open and then dole out to their guests, with the option to challenge any given guest to a negot dance for ownership of that guest’s present.

The Grupp’s parents are usually heavily involved, and Grupping is often a time for announcing a Gruppguide, an adult selected to guide the Grupp into adult responsibilities. The Gruppguide’s role may vary according to Grupp, and in fact sometimes goes as far as a promise to take the Grupp in if the parents were to die, but whatever the level of involvement, it is in all cases considered an honor.

*

Audrey la Rose was a little overawed by her own Grupping. She was an only child, but still, her parents had outdone themselves. They had rented a ballroom freshened by a breeze from the Inner Docks to the east. Audrey’s entire Trash class was here, and most of their parents as well. A couple of big guys in dark coats were standing by the doors, looking at nothing. Mr. and Mrs. la Rose sat by the presents, apparently content to have put all this in motion. The string quartet was especially obnoxious, but shushing them seemed rude.

There was the greeting, so much greeting, and then a dinner, so much dinner, under a blessing from the happy parents. Then everyone was let loose to dance and lubricate and socialize before the present giving and the final dedication of the Gruppguide.

Yeah, that part was weird.

The lean, pale man in a red ascot tied too tight for the weather sat poisedly upright and watched the proceedings with pale blue eyes. Audrey’s parents had been vague about whether a Gruppguide would happen at all, but things just seemed to make sense when she looked at him.

She straightened her frilly white dress (not her choice) and approached him. “It’s really you, isn’t it,” she said.

“The devil’s in the antecedent,” he said in a soft, smooth voice, and looked her in the eye. “My name is Fortune.”

Right. Yeah. She could be nonchalant too. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Your parents asked me to stand as your Gruppguide.”

“And you just agreed?”

“Yes.”

“Why? You must get a zillion of these.”

“I’ve had you in mind for a scholarship.”

“I go to public school. I don’t need scholarships.”

“For the future.”

“Weird.”

He smiled, either at her or to himself, she couldn’t tell. “You have potential and your teachers recognize it. It’s in my interest to open opportunities to that potential. Your parents heard of the scholarship and asked me very kindly to stand Gruppguide for you. Who knows, this could work very well for us both.”

“You’re very, uh.”

“Hm?”

“Low-key. For a criminal mastermind.”

“Today is your day, Audrey la Rose. I’m not here to perform.”

“You don’t mind that we’ve never met before now?”

“You walk into a new teacher’s classroom every year. No prior relationship. But you listen to them. Mostly. And I assume they show some inclination toward helping you.”

“I don’t know about ‘help.’”

“Hm. You can benefit from people who aren’t trying to be nice to you. It’s a very important life skill if you don’t want to be perpetually exhausted.”

“Hey, hey, no guiding until you’re Gruppguiding.”

His smile warmed. “Of course. Let me know if I can otherwise improve your Grupping.”

“I’ve got fucking Fortune at my party. Scary guys in black and all. I’m not sure how you top that.” She turned away.

After the dancing, Audrey opened the white and silver spangled presents and chose guests to distribute them to. There were board games, accessories, children’s toys, even a few books, and Audrey comfortably chose recipients. She didn’t challenge anyone to a negot for their present; the negot was a completely dumbass dance. She ended up with a purple top printed with a spiral pattern all around the top. She spun it once on the floor and watched it whirl to a rest.

She looked at Fortune. “This one’s for you.”

He took it gravely. “There’s no such thing as a perfect spin,” he said. “Nor an imperfect one. Even the wildest throw will draw something new before it runs down.”

“Again. No guiding yet.”

He grinned as if to himself. Then he turned to the assembly and his voice just expanded in this confident, resonant way. “Everyone, a word. My name is Fortune. Mr. and Mrs. la Rose very generously offered to name me as Audrey’s Gruppguide.

“This is trivia.”

He spun the top in his palm. “A person is the sum of the lessons they've learned. Some people are a very small sum indeed. But by use of opportunity we celebrate a remarkable sum today. I could start on embarrassing stories I was entrusted with this morning, but I don’t think I will.” The palm closed. “Audrey is a precocious, independent, markedly self-sufficient student with a world yet to learn, and with the perseverance and drive perfectly suited to do that learning. Dianne in her meadow learning the wisdom of the stars is...well, a slow learner by comparison. From the first time I heard of a student who bucked the tour group and went to interview the Council of Light, I have known Audrey as a fighter and a tenacious asker of questions. It really makes my role as guide somewhat redundant. So, my regards to you, Audrey. Welcome to the Grupp club. I don’t have a manual for you, but I suspect you’ll manage anyhow.” People applauded politely, because of course they did. You didn’t play it cool when Fortune of the Tatters did something that was supposed to be impressive.

She did applaud with them, anyway.

Her parents came up as the applause died away. “Mr. Fortune, said Audrey’s mom, “you really do honor us. Thanks for coming out.”

“You know I’ve been sponsoring the scholarship program for quite some time. It’s very nice to meet one of the contestants. And I won’t forget my responsibilities.”

“It’s purely nominal,” Audrey’s dad said hastily.

“On the contrary. Call on me when you need a second opinion.” This was directed at Audrey.

“Do I just send you a telegram?” Audrey said incredulously.

“Yes,” said Fortune. “That will do. I fear I must cut the evening short.” He raised the purple top, played it across the backs of his fingers, and pocketed it again. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Good night?” said Audrey, since her parents were busy gawping.

“Good night, Grupp. And good luck to you.” He smiled, at her or possibly himself, and walked away.

[dustedmagazine]

Ibelisse Guardia Ferragutti & Frank Rosaly — Mestizx (Nonesuch/Intl Anthem)

Two musicians with Latin roots but primarily Western musical training and experience dig into a multicultural heritage, incorporating indigenous rhythms, instruments and sounds into intricate space-age explorations of history, myth and personal authenticity.

The two musicians in question are Frank Rosaly, a well-regarded free jazz drummer whose exploits have been frequently chronicled here at Dusted. Jazz fans may associate him primarily with a thriving Chicago scene, but he has Puerto Rican heritage and now lives in Amsterdam. His wife Ibelisse Guardia Ferragutti is a singer and multimedia artist, classical trained but born in Bolivia. This is their first collaborative album, a careful excavation of the sounds and musical traditions of their respective Latin cultures, a reclamation, of sorts, of influences that neither artist feels fully able to claim as his or her own.

Authenticity, is, of course, a tricky concept. Ferragutti freely admits that growing up in Bolivia doesn’t necessarily entitle her to ownership of indigenous culture, while Rosaly, in the liners, admits to experiencing Puerto Rican culture largely as an outsider. Mestizx (a non-gendered term for people of mixed heritage) is as much about being estranged from one’s history as it is about participating in it.  

So there is joy but also a sense of longing in these multi-rhythmed, intricatedly constructed cuts. The beats are insistent, celebratory, all-enveloping, and yet you glimpse them as through a window. Elements may come from isolated rainforest tribes—the two enlisted Fredy Velásquez a scholar and performance artist with expertise in Colombian indigenous rites as a collaborator—but they are viewed through the whole of the western tradition: jazz, rock and classical. The gorgeous “Saber do Mar” flickers like a hallucination, threads of drone winding through intricate structures of malleted percussion; it feels both real and imaginary, a place visited in febrile dreams.

These songs are sung mostly in Spanish, with occasional diversions into other dialects. The titles indicate political engagement (“Balada Para La Corporatocracia” translates as “ballad for corporatocracy,” “Destejer” as “to unravel.”) yet the music is anything but didactic. It seethes and undulates with an easy fluidity, Ferragutti’s serene vocals cresting over the synchronized clatter of percussive instruments made of metal, wood and skin. Other artists, mostly from Chicago, drop by to play. Ben LaMar Gay, Bill MacKay, Rob Frye, Mikel Patrick Avery and Avreeayl Ra all make appearances.

All of which coalesces in some genuine sonic pleasures. “Turbulência” barrels down a groove like a freight train, the shush and pop of samba rhythms clattering amid grinding bass and the trebly sparkle of keyboards. “Writing with Knots” pounds a two-toned cadence, shakers and fluttery melody at play, the thread of dissolution always looming. This one, in English, recounts the terrible history of colonialism, but also points towards the future. Like the Meztizx project writ large, It sends tendrils back into the past in order to plot a better way forward.  

Jennifer Kelly

[reallyromealone]

BB 😌

I IS HERE WITH A REQUEST 😭💖

Remember the mikey x takemichi’ brother reader smut you wrote? Can like there be a part two (non smut 💀) like mikey takes reader to his base and then just them being love birds coz like i am lacking in fluff 😔

HOW YOU DOIN

HOWS MY GIRL LILY 😼

I do remember it, I sure fucking can my broski

And had my child reader fluff NOT PLEASED YOU ?!

and I'm good 💖 my aunt got bird pooped yesterday so 💅

And she's terrible she sucks, she keeps chewing cords.

♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

Mikey woke before (name), staring down his boyfriend with a possessive look as he gently stroked his cheek and just took him in.

God, he missed him.

Gently he kissed the other before pulling out and watching last night's events leak out before going to the bathroom and and getting a wash cloth to clean him up, knowing (name) hated the feeling of cum in his ass all day.

Mikey was thankful he took his car last night as he put (name) in a set of pajamas and wrapped him in a blanket before carrying him off to said vehicle carefully.

(Name) had always been a heavy sleeper.

No one was expecting Mikey to walk in with Hanagakis brother, the young man passed out in Mikey's arms "hm? Is he a prisoner boss?" Shion asked curiously, excited at the possibility of torturing him but immediately stopped those thoughts when Mikey turned and stared at all of them "If any of you touch him I will kill you" his voice grave as he walked towards his room where he set (name) down and watched him intently, finally he was where he was supposed to be.

With Mikey.

He had Sanzu get breakfast for the two, Mikey began waking his boyfriend and looking soft when (name) opened his eyes.

"Morning baby" Mikey's voice was unusually soft, a tone only reserved for (name) and (name) alone "morning... Where am I?"

"At Kanto base, it's safer here"

(Name) struggled a bit waking up as Sanzu returned with their food "hey Sanzu..." (Name) mumbled, unsure what to make of the pink haired man who was either lukewarm to him or a little creepy because he was Mikey's boyfriend.

Before mikey and (name) broke up he constantly called (name) his 'queen' which was a little weird not gonna lie.

"Oh you didn't need to bring breakfast!" (Name) fussed, in Hanagaki fashion be began fretting slightly only for Mikey to shush him "you need to eat, last night took a lot of energy from you"

(Name) blushed at the memory of the night before as Sanzu stepped out to give them privacy "I-I still don't wanna choose sides... I care a lot about you both..."

"Don't worry baby soon you won't have to" Mikey said resolutely as he began feeding (name) (breakfast of choice), the couple eating together happily and (name) distracted by the almost grave tone in his voice.

The two were practically glued to the hip as mikey kept him close, kissing him gently and generally making sure (name)s eyes were only on him.

He had Mikey, he didn't need to look at anyone else.

The Kanto men remembered (name) well, though he was never in gang stuff be was a constant especially when they began dating and when they broke up, Mikey made them hunt through the city to find him.

They refrained from talking how they planned on beating his brother and loved ones and possibly killing them.

Mikey wouldn't be happy if (name) was upset.

Mikey looked pleased as he draped his jacket over (name), a sense of ownership washed over the blond as he gently kissed (name)s neck infront of the others "m-mikey! Not here!"

"Hmm? Why not?" Mikey said not stopping his kisses "because they're watching".

"Are they?" Mikey asked and glanced to see if they were in fact watching and all the men quickly made themselves look busy "please Mikey..."

(Name) was honestly the only person who Mikey would listen too.

And the only person who would make him actually listen to the meeting.

The day was spent like this, Mikey practically carrying (name) everywhere and the two sharing food and just generally being disgustingly cute together.

It was unsettling to see Mikey so domestic with another person and even sharing his snacks with the Hanagaki.

"I missed you so much..." Mikey mumbled as they kissed sweetly, the gang leader deciding to stay in tonight and watch movies on his bed with (name), already mentally planning on how to get (name) to move in with him so he couldn't leave his side again.

"I missed you too..." (Name) was a weak man, he knew he was and he knew the backlash he would get from his brother and his friends but he couldn't find it in him to care as be undid the hair tie on Mikey's head and gently raked through the locks of blond, Mikey snuggling into his chest like a child.

For the first time in a while (name) felt content and he didn't want the feeling to stop.

[ectoentity]

Late Night Answers

Ectoberhaunt Day 5: Witching hour vs Twilight

Fandom: Danny Phantom

Rating: G

Characters: Danny Fenton, Kitty, Johnny 13

Tags: Witching hour, ghost culture?

Danny keeps waking up in the middle of the night. The same exact time every night. He decides to take a flight around town and runs into a couple ghosts who're willing to give him some answers.

Read on AO3 here.

Danny’s eyes opened. It was night. Above him, the stars on his ceiling gave off a dim glow. He was still wrapped in his blanket. There was no cold ache in his throat that would indicate his ghost sense had woken him up.

He glanced at his alarm clock. The red numbers read 3:00. Danny grumbled and turned on his side, away from the clock, and tried to go back to sleep. This was the third night this had happened. For the last two nights he’d woken up at exactly three in the morning for no reason. He’d tossed and turned in bed until around four.

This night apparently wasn’t much different. He laid in bed for about ten minutes, but his brain just kept going back to worries about the next day. It wasn’t restful at all. Danny sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes. If he was going to be awake for a while, he should at least do something useful.

In a flash of light Danny transformed. He flew through the wall into the chilly night air. He could feel the cold against his face, but it didn’t bother him like it would a normal human. There was no moon tonight - it had set before nightfall - but he could see perfectly well. Danny decided to head towards the city park. The night was fairly quiet. There were some cars on the roads, but not very many. Just a few night shift workers and late night travelers.

His ghost sense went off when he was halfway to the park. It felt familiar: kind of spiky but not painful or aggressive. Danny was slowly getting better at identifying ghosts based on how his ghost sense felt, but it was more of an art than a science. He had no idea who this could be. Who would be out at the park in the middle of the night and not causing havoc?

The sound reached him before he saw who it was. A motorcycle revved its engines, and someone shrieked in joy. It had to be Johnny, Shadow, and Kitty. Danny landed near the park fountain. They didn’t seem to be causing much trouble aside from being loud. He sat on the edge of the fountain and waited for them to come around again. It wasn’t long before Johnny’s ghostly bike flew in from the opposite area from where they’d left. As expected, Kitty was hugging Johnny as he did some spins that would have been dangerous if they’d still been alive. They rose up on the front wheel of the bike and spun three times before landing again. Then Johnny pulled into an empty parking spot in front of the fountain.

“Hey, kid,” Johnny called. “Surprised it took you so long to come out.”

Danny shrugged. “Didn’t seem like you were really causing trouble tonight.”

Behind Johnny, Kitty giggled. “You mean the last three nights?” she asked.

That got his attention. Danny floated up into a standing position, though his feet didn’t touch the ground. “What do you mean?” he asked. “What’ve you been doing?”

“Chill out, kid,” Johnny said. He got off his bike and offered his hand to Kitty. She grabbed it and jumped down from the bike. “We’ve just been riding around. Witching hour season, you know how it is."

Danny didn’t know exactly what Johnny meant, but he had a feeling it had to do with why he kept waking up. “I keep waking up at three,” he admitted, settling down to stand on the ground. “What’s that about?”

“How long’ve you been a ghost?” Kitty asked. “Or, whatever you are.”

Danny’s eyes flashed. “A little over a year.”

Kitty put a finger up to her chin. “And you didn’t notice last year? That’s a little weird, with how strong you are.”

“You guys kept me up almost every night for three months straight last year,” Danny grumbled. He was still a little bitter about that. It had ruined his grades. Now that he’d cemented his ownership of Amity Park, ghosts didn’t try to challenge him as much, but it had been a really awful for a while.

“Oh, right.” Kitty at least had the manners to look embarrassed. “Well, this time of night is when we’re more… present, I guess?” She looked at Johnny for confirmation, but he just shrugged. Kitty frowned and looked back at Danny. “The closer we get to Halloween, the more it affects us. I can be out of the Zone a little bit longer, Johnny and Shadow can ride faster, that sort of thing.”

On the one hand, Danny was glad to get some kind of answer for why he kept waking up. On the other… “So I’m gonna wake up in the middle of the night for no reason for a month?”

“Two months,” Johnny corrected. “Sorry, Phantom. It doesn’t just stop on November first.”

Danny sagged. He wiped a hand across his face in frustration. “Great. Thanks for telling me. I guess I could… get homework done,” he said weakly. It sounded like the worst possible thing to do in the middle of the night.

Johnny and Kitty stared at him and then burst out laughing. Danny glared until they quieted down enough to talk.

“Oh, Ancients, you’re such a goody-two-shoes,” Johnny snorted. “That’s awful. No, kid, this is ghost time. You can’t do lame shit like homework.”

“What do you want to do?” Kitty asked. “Really? Do you wanna do homework, or… I dunno, fight people? What do you even do when you’re having fun as a ghost?”

Danny frowned. “I don’t have fun as a ghost.” He gestured to his glowing, jumpsuit-clad form. “I’m only like this when I have to fight ghosts.”

The ghosts shared a glance before looking back at Danny. “That’s really sad, kid,” Kitty said. She brushed a lock of hair back behind her ear. “Do you even know what you’re like as a ghost?”

He blinked at her. “I mean… I’m me? I’m more, uh. Protective of stuff.” He blushed green and looked away. He didn’t really like thinking about all the weird ghost instincts that had popped up over the last year. It made him worry about being less human.

Johnny snorted. “No shit. You spent the last year beating the crap out of anyone who laid a foot in your territory.” Kitty elbowed him in the gut.

“Come on, Johnny, he was just a mote. We weren’t too chill for a few years, either.”

“Ow! Babe, we weren’t… you know!” Johnny waved at Danny, indicating his whole self. Danny raised an eyebrow.

“You did kind of try to take over my sister’s body and then possessed one of my classmates,” he reminded her.

Kitty rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but that was before I knew you were just a kid. Like, really a kid. Most ghosts don’t get near as strong as you in their first year, you know. We both thought you were super old but just acted like you were a kid.”

“Even though my human form looks just like me?” Danny asked, crossing his arms.

“Yeah?” Kitty said with a shrug. “Look, the only other one like you we’d heard about was the old guy. He’s been the same age for like, fifteen years or whatever. Why would we think you were any different?”

A lot of questions crossed Danny’s mind. Did that mean Vlad stopped aging? He knew the fruitloop looked weirdly young, even though he had grey hair, but he figured that was botox or something. Did that mean Danny was going to stop aging in a couple years? He was pretty sure he had grown some in the last year, but what if-

No, he had immediate things to deal with. These two probably didn’t know any of the answers to those questions.

“Okay, so, let me get this straight,” Danny said, “Witching hour is for doing ghost stuff. And I’m supposed to figure out what I like to do as a ghost, so I can do it for a couple months.”

“I guess?” Johnny said with a frown. “Not like we had to figure that out.”

Danny picked up his feet so he was hovering a couple feet above the ground in a seated position, one leg dangling and the other hiked up so his knee was in front of his torso. “I guess I like flying? It’s pretty nice. I can go over a hundred miles an hour.”

“Yeah, we can tell,” Kitty said, a hint of a laugh in her voice. She picked up her legs too so she hovered in a cross-legged position in front of him. “That’s not really a you thing, though, is it? Most ghosts like flying.”

“I still prefer the bike,” Johnny said.

“Objection noted, sweet heart,” Kitty teased. “You like protecting the town, right? Maybe you should fly around to make sure it’s okay?”

It wasn’t a bad idea, but something about it felt sour. “I do that all evening anyway,” Danny grumbled. “It’s not like I hate it, I just… It’s not fun.”

Kitty hummed. Danny was very glad she didn’t poke at that. Fighting ghosts could be fun sometimes, but mostly it was something he felt driven to do. He didn’t enjoy it like he would playing a game, or watching a meteor shower, or…

His eyes lit up. “There’s two meteor showers this month,” he said, remembering it suddenly. “The Draconids are in just a couple of days, and then the Orionids near the end of the month.”

“That’s like shooting stars, right?” Kitty asked.

“Exactly. It's rocks from space burning up in the atmosphere,” Danny said, a smile spreading across his face. Why hadn’t he thought about this before? He could get up above the clouds, away from the light pollution. “I bet I could get the best view in town now.”

“Of course he’s a nerd,” Johnny grumbled. Kitty shushed him.

“That sounds like a great thing to enjoy,” Kitty said to Danny. “Wanna ride with us one day and get out of town? Away from the lights?”

Danny hesitated. “You’d be okay with that?” He glanced from her to Johnny. Kitty seemed friendly enough when they weren’t fighting, but Johnny was the one who drove the bike.

Johnny frowned for a moment. He looked back at his bike. Danny could practically see the gears turning in his head. Finally Johnny turned back to Danny and said, “If it gets us out of this dump, yeah, we’ll take you stargazing.”

Before he knew what he was doing, Danny was hugging Johnny. “Holy shit thank you I haven’t gone in years I won’t let you regret it.”

After a few moments had passed, Johnny gently put his hand on Danny’s shoulder. “H-hey, it’s no big deal, kid.”

Far in the distance, a church bell rang.

“Well, that’s our cue,” Kitty said. “Same time tomorrow?”

Danny straightened up, a little embarrassed that he’d just hugged Johnny of all people. “Yeah. See you then.”

When he made it back to his bed, he fell asleep instantly.

[whaleofatjme1920]

Searching for Hidden Things (Ticci Toby X F!Reader)

Searching for Hidden Things

[Ticci Toby X F!Reader]

[Warnings: it's kinda sad? Language, blood but only slight.]

[AN: Another good one from Eris]

You are convinced that your home is haunted now more than ever. While you are not particularly ghost believer inclined, as a witch, your mind is open to these kinds of happenings but that’s not your field of study - you’re much more inclined to herbology and green witchery as opposed to medium and seership into other planes of existence. The natural, real world is what you are focused on. Not some spectre that happens to like little knickknacks that you don’t even claim ownership to.

How on earth did you end up here?

Simple. Fresh out of college and working from home, you decided to leave your stuffy city and come out to the countryside to get back into nature. It took forever to find a place that piqued your interest, but a small town smack dab in the middle of Alabama. You’re almost dead certain there’s barely five thousand people in the area. Though, you hardly stick around long enough to find out.

You only dip into town in the evenings and get the groceries that you can’t grow. Let’s just say you really enjoy living off the land and that practice helps you further your own craft. It’s anything a hedgewitch might dream of. The people that live here are pleasant, but they’re silent.

It was a normal evening visiting your favorite curiosity and occult shop run by a sweet girl and her partner who have come to expect you weekly on Saturdays. You usually stay for tea and a cupcake or whatever baked good Zinnia and Briar have set up for you, and it is from one of these little sit downs that you found out your home isn’t exactly normal.

“It’s so nice to see you again, love bug!” Briar smiles widely, their arms opening to greet you.

You smile back and walk into their arms and hug back just as tightly. “I could never miss tea time with my two favorite curio owners,” you chuckle.

Zinnia pops out from the back, her hands are covered by oven mitts. “I just made some brownies! Also have some angel food cake from last night. Come, come. Briar? Get the tea,” she says as she rushes to the back to set up the table in the sunroom.

Briar nods and puts their hand on your upper back, guiding you to the back. “My wife thought you would’ve liked the angel food cake. She’s been talking about it all night,” they explain, a giggle on their lips.

Zinnia is buzzing around like a bumble bee while her partner attempts to get her to sit down. She’s a good host, you’ll give her that. This is your fourth sit down with them and she’s like this every time.

“Reader isn’t going to care about the plates-” Briar attempts to say before getting shushed by Zinnia.

“I like being aesthetically pleasing,” she says as Briar absentmindedly ties her curly black hair into a ponytail. “Unlike you,” she giggles.

You roll your eyes playfully at their sweet gestures. “Aesthetically pleasing or not, those brownies and the cake look delicious.”

“See? Reader gets it,” Briar lightly ribs before bringing the tea to the table, Zinnia following close behind them with platters and plates. “So,” Briar hums. “How is your place?”

You begin pouring yourself some tea and shrug. “I don’t think I ever mentioned it to you, have I?”

The couple shake their heads as they get comfortable in their seats. “Where have you put your boots down?” Zinnia inquires.

“There’s this little house in the woods,” you begin to explain before sipping at your tea. “Had a great garden and was already furnished, asked the realtor and she practically threw it into my arms.” You put down your tea cup and cut a brownie for yourself before raising a brow at the couple’s shocked and slightly confused expressions. “What’s wrong?”

Briar blinks a few times before shaking their head. “It’s nothing! Just, it’s the house in the woods?”

You nod in confirmation. “The house in the west woods, near the pond with water lilies?” You continue in an attempt to further their understanding, getting the feeling there’s something you don’t know but should. “Guys..?”

“S-Sorry,” Zinnia suddenly says. “It’s just that…” Her eyes shift around for a few moments before she leans in close, as if she was telling you a secret. “That house is haunted.”

Your eyes go wide before you laugh. You laugh and laugh and then when you realize they’re silent, you blink. “Wait what? Why do you say that?”

“Someone used to live there a few years ago, we moved in after her… disappearance,” Briar explains. “She just,” Briar makes a poof shape with their hands, “like nothing. No trace, no leads, the house was empty but everything of theirs? Still there.”

“Who was the person that lived there before?” You ask, intrigue kicking up before you bite into the brownies and then try the angel food cake. Zinnia was right, you do like it.

Briar shrugs, “we don’t know. Whispers say it was the girl named Natalie. She kept to herself but from the people I’ve talked to so far - at least, those who would talk about it - said she was sweet and spunky.”

“Guy at the grocery store, Mr. Wu? He said that Natalie was his regular. They were friends,” Zinnia adds on. “He used to visit her house every now and then and said near the end, her behavior got kind of squirrely. One night, he went to visit her and saw her running. Of course, guy is like seventy, got scared and ran back home. Called the police over it. They got there? Nothing.”

You nod as you listen to them give out their theories on what might have happened to Natalie. It’s one of the most interesting things you’ve heard of since you moved in.

When you returned home, you couldn’t help but shake the thought you were a guest in what used to be Natalie’s home. Your hands flew over the slightly dusty shelves and found it wrong to really touch anything that might not be yours. There’s books about boring things, encyclopedias, general knowledge, young adult fiction, but nothing that tells you who she was.

As you stand with your arms crossed in your living room, you search for the things that were left from her. Your room is entirely yours, you’ve already managed to find a room and clear it out for your witchy things, the kitchen was empty and there is no basement. This house is small, more like a cottage. If there were any signs of who she was, they’re not easy at making themselves known.

All you have to go off of from her is the living room and is undoubtedly Natalie’s and not yours. The shelves and other knick knacks are things that don’t match your aesthetic at all. Seems she was fond of the color green, just not plants like you are.

It’s by the living room that you’re able to learn some things about Natalie, even if they’re minute. For instance, you can tell that either she likes costumes or she’s missing an eye due to a small box of eyepatches varying in color and design. She’s got a frew petal pressed flowers - tulips - and last you checked, that meant a declaration of love according to the standard Victorian language of flowers.

You know absolutely nothing about Natalie other than her name and that she may be missing an eye and that she has tulips, but she permeates your mind like a virus that refuses to go away. You’re entranced with her, and want to know more of her.

When you work on sigils, you make one for her and put it in the corners of the front windows and in the doorframe. You wonder if she’s out there, and if she is, if she’s safe. If she is, you hope the runes and sigils you’ve made for her will keep her that way.

One evening at the grocery store, you have the privilege of being able to speak to Mr. Wu when ringing up some craving you’ll know you’ll inevitably have.

“Natalie?” He hums as he rings up your items. “She was a nice girl,” he continues. “Very kind, had a good sense of humor.”

You furrow your brows and smile sympathetically at him. “I’m sorry for-”

“It’s no matter,” Mr. Wu brushes off. “I don’t know what happened to her, and I’d like to think she’s still out there,” he begins checking the register for the total. “I’d like to think that when she was running, it was towards better and away from whatever it was she couldn’t get here..” His old, weathered hand reaches out to show you the total on the screen. You notice he’s put on a 50% discount. “On me,” he smiles.

Ever since then, Natalie has consumed your thoughts entirely.

So, how does this all tie into a little sparrow figurine going missing? You think it’s haunted. Genuinely. Have you angered Natalie’s spirit by messing with her house? You’re not so sure. You don’t communicate with spirits, though you’re considering picking up a pendulum and attempting.

Ever since you’ve heard about Natalie, things in your house have been getting moved or straight up lifted. It doesn’t help that you hear, no, you think you hear, things outside lurking around your home. Spiritually, you’ve protected the place more than you think is necessary. The not deer, skinny legends and Wendy boys really shouldn’t be knocking around her mostly because the place is just one giant protective bubble. Still, as you sit up late in the night and look at the moon as it reflects the water from the pond and the peer through the darkness of the trees that hang much too low, you know something is out there that shouldn’t be.

This has all come to a head when you wake up one morning to see that the sparrow figurine is gone. It makes you startle and almost drop your mug in response.

“How the hell..?” You say as you stare at the empty space. Its little circular base has left the real shade of the wood it sits on open. The dust has accumulated around it. You saw it here just yesterday! Little brown and tan sparrow and now it’s gone.

On instinct, you open your front door. It was still locked, and it doesn’t seem that anyone came in. But you know that you didn’t move it either. You haven’t touched any of Natalie’s things, you wouldn’t because you’re worried you’re going to upset her spirit or something. Who took it?

Unfortunately, that’s not even the first time it’s happened. A few days later, the little robin is gone too. Now you are absolutely convinced your home is haunted.

Of course, you call up one of your friends who also practices witchcraft like you do to see what you can do about making amends with a spirit. He’s a death witch - he should know.

“Wait what?” He says, his voice conveying nothing but confusion.

“You heard me,” you sigh as you plop down on the couch. “I think she’s been like, taking things because she doesn’t trust me with them?” You say in a slightly confused tone.

“But you really haven’t moved anything in the living room, right? From the pictures you sent me, you left that space as hers. She shouldn’t be upset considering you never touched her stuff.”

“But these figurines are still missing. How did they just get up and go?” You ask in a slightly exasperated tone, staring at the empty space.

“Y’know what you should try?” He begins, a small audible smile on his face. “Find something personal of hers and return it to her. Maybe she’s looking for something and is just settling.”

“Do you have a protocol for that or..?” You trail off.

“I’ll send you a page from my grimoire, sounds good?”

Here you are, late at night, not able to sleep and looking for something personal of hers. You don’t think it’s anything out in the open that she wants because why would she want that? It’s in her line of sight. You’ve practically turned up your home looking for it - her home? You’re not sure what kind of terminology you should use in regards to this house, but you know you’re hellbent on finding something, anything of importance to her home.

“Come on, Natalie,” you mumble to yourself as you head to your bedroom and begin overturning things. “I just need something of yours, help me make it make sense,” you say. “Natlie, Natalie, Nat, Nat-” and immediately after that nickname tumbles from your lips, you get the overwhelming urge to check under your bed.

Like a mad woman, you dive down to the floor and begin pulling your storage boxes out from under it. One of them snags slightly, and when you tug on it, you pull. Odd. You tug even harder. That’s when part of the carpet comes up. You raise your brow and shove the box out of the way before crawling under yourself and use the flashlight on your phone. It’s dark, a little dusty under here, but you clearly know someone has been under here before.

Your fingertips creep around the edge of the odd piece of carpet before you pull it up, seeing that it’s already been cut up. And there, you feel a handle.

“Oh my gods,” you mumble creeping further under the bed before yanking at the small handle. It doesn’t give right away. In fact, it makes you bump your head from the sheer force of trying to open it. It’s almost as if it was a secret and you’re violating the parties who knew it existed. Still, you continue to tug on it before it finally pops open. You move your phone over to see that there’s a box with the lid loosely placed on. Your hand gently reaches in and scoops the box up. You hold it like it’s glass. “Thank you, Natalie, thank you,” you mumble as you roughly and awkwardly crawl out from back under the bed.

You sit on your bedroom floor now, your phone now forgotten as your fingertips gently trace the box. You mentally ask for Natalie’s permission to open it and when you get the feeling of something warm, like a hug, you do so. Inside the box that you gingerly open, you see that there are letters, letters upon letters in a writing addressed to her.

“Can I read these, Natalie?” You ask softly, your eyes scanning over the one you hold in your hand dates from a few years ago. You feel that warm hug again, and the night alights with songs from the birds on the pond. You know you have her permission.

‘March 16, 20XX. Dear Natalie, how are you? I just wanted to apologize for the other day. I shouldnt have left that soon, but you know hoy my dad is. Anyways, just wanted to check in. Hope to see you soon.’

‘March 22, 20XX. Dear Natalie, I wasn’t actually expecting you to get back to me after what happened! I - thank you. Things have been just fine with me, but I miss being in Alabama. No reason, just miss the woods by your place.’

‘May 5th, 20XX. It’s funny you mentioned that, I saw something last night that reminded me of you too. Y’know how you’re always going on about time and being punctual? The other day, me and my comrades were walking through an antique store. Whole bunch of clocks. Made me think of you:).’

You keep reading the letters and piecing together the story of these two as it picks up through the years as general friendship to something more. This person that Natalie was writing to told them a lot of things - everything from the general happenings of the day to more quieter, intimate things (that you tend to skip over out of respect for Natalie.)

Reading the letters to Natalie becomes a daily occurrence for you. There’s so many that you decide it wouldn’t be right to read them all in one day. So, you read two a night and piece together their story, learning of their love and finding out just who they were. Natalie left some letters that she never sent to her love, mostly the ones that she must have considered duds or the angry ones that she decided not to send when her fire had died down. What? All couples go through those patches. It’s whether you can fix it and get back on the road or hitchhike with another driver that determines the outcome. And them? They loved each other so much, looking at another driver to get to their destination was never an option.

It takes months for you to get through the letters. Even reading two a day, it’s hard to get through a few years worth of content. They wrote to each other often. You’re able to see the full spectrum of emotions from them two, even if you’re on;y reading the letters addressed TO Natalie and not from her (for the most part). You read them smiling, and can hear their tears alongside their laughter. They no longer feel like names on paper, but real, once breathing people.

Eventually, you reach a letter that finally completes the story as you know it. It’s dated from right around the time you know Zinnia and Briar moved in. It explains a lot.

You know that whoever Natalie’s love was working for was NOT a good man. He struck the fear of the gods into them. He was called ‘The Operator’ and apparently had eyes everywhere despite being faceless. The way Natalie’s love writes about him has you feeling chills down your spine. Them too, because it was enough for them to want to run away. Natalie’s love was called a proxy, and from what you can understand, that means he’s a person who does work for someone else because they don’t want to get directly involved. The Operator treats those who work under him like cattle, and nothing more. He was a scary, scary man, and the society he runs is one you know is not intertwined with yours.

The letter that’s in your hands is the last one before their escape it seems.

‘August 31st, 2018. Dear Nat, are you nervous? I’m nervous - you can probably tell by my writing. Tonight we leave everything behind. We run. I hope you know that it’s never too late for you to back out. Because after this, we can never go back to what we used to. I’m so sorry that being around that tall fuck-but did this to you - and shit, by extension, me. I’m so sorry for hurting you, but this is it. This is it. This is the final stop.

Who knew that me striking up a conversation with a cute girl behind the counter of some hippy’s coffee shop would lead to a love like ours? You mean the world to me, Nat. I’m more and more thankful every day that I think about you and receiving your letters has me up to the moon. If you asked me about this kind of thing before I met you, I would have told you that I would never have gotten rid of the proxy lifestyle for a human. Humans are… Well, according to the Operator, they’re dangerous. They’re not worth us.

But you? Oh gods, you? You changed everything. You made it worthwhile. You came into my life like a splash of color in a world so grey and cold and bathed me in warmth until I could reciprocate your love and make room for it to grow. I love you, Natalie. I love you so, so much. After tonight, we won’t ever have to worry about this - the space and the distance between us. No more hiding. No more secrets. Just us and our transparency.

I love you, Natalie. I love you so, so much. I’ll see you tonight, backdoor as per what is our usual. To the moon and back! Love, Toby.’

You don’t know why, but Toby’s letter makes you tear up. It’s like you can feel exactly how Natalie must’ve felt when she received it. The tears that prick your eyes roll down your cheeks and you can’t help but take a few moments. You’d always known their story ended with something sad due to the whispers in the town, but getting confirmation that Natalie ran… It didn’t work. It just didn’t work.

You’re wiping away your tears when you hear your backdoor get thrown open. No one comes out to your neck of the woods, and it makes you panic. You can’t find your phone - dang it! Must’ve left it in the kitchen. You scramble around your room as you hear whoever just broke into your house walk confidently without a care in the world to the living room.

“W-Who the f-fuck lives here n-now?” You hear a male voice mutter as they pass your bedroom door. “A-All this w-w-witchy shit,” they continue.

You mentally huff. Rude. You then quietly slink around before grabbing a large chunk of amethyst. It’s rough to the touch and weighty, and unfortunately, one of the only things you have as a weapon now. Your heart is pounding as you quietly move through your hallway to the living room.

“Where i-is it?” He continues mumbling to himself as he tears your living room apart.

You’re able to see him by the faint light of the moon. He’s got brown hair and twitches slightly. Is he nervous? He’s still tearing up your living room though and touching Natalie’s things, and that's unforgivable in your head. So, you raise your chunk of amethyst pillar and quietly creep behind him.

He turns around to look at you, genuinely surprised someone is here when you whack him as hard as you can with the chunk of amethyst. “Are y-you fucking s-serious?!” He yells as he pushes you back.

You look at him with confusion as you back up, still clutching the amethyst before you notice that he didn’t react in the way he should. You hit him really, really hard and in the back of the head. He’s back up and glaring at you like you mildly inconvenienced him. And now? Now he’s pissed and looking at you like he’s going to kill you. You notice that he has hatchets on the sides of his waist.

“C-Come here,” he taunts, eyes narrowed and slowly closing the distance between you.

“Stop,” you shout in an attempt to command him back. “I will hit you-”

“With t-that?” He sneers.

“I swear to the gods I will-”

He looks like he’s ready to pounce when he suddenly stops, a certain sadness and pause rushing over his body and his face as he looks at the letters in your hand. You’d honestly forgotten you were still holding them.

“Where d-did you g-g-g-get those?” He asks quietly, his shoulder dropping.

“What?” You ask, surprised he can do an impression of a human being.

“Those l-letters! They’re n-not yours!” You pull back hard when he tries to grab them from you and swing the amethyst at him and sneer when he ducks. “They’re not yours either!”

“T-The hell t-they aren’t! I-I wrote t-t-them!” He shouts back.

You immediately deflate. “You’re Toby?”

He freezes and flails his arms slightly as if to ask nonverbally, ‘you read those?’

You sigh deeply and rest your hand on your forehead before you rest your arms down slowly, showing that you’re not going to fight him. It’s a pleasant surprise that he slowly copies your movements. “Do you know how a keurig works?”

He nods slowly.

“Make us some coffee. We got a lot to talk about.”

“So, t-t-that’s why you’re here,” Toby hums as he dumps another unholy amount of sugar into his coffee cup. “I-I thought y-you were some s-squatter in Nat’s h-house,” he admits with a small chuckle before scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck.

You take in a small breath and nod, a small smile pulling your lips upwards. “This is what you were looking for, huh?” You say as you push the box full of memories towards him.

He puts the cup down and takes it into his hands carefully before hugging it to his chest. He then takes in a deep breath, relaxing. “Y-Yes, this is t-them,” he says quietly. “That’s a-a-all I really w-wanted.”

“And the little figurines?” You hum, a knowing smirk on your face.

Toby flushes slightly and nods once more. “T-They just r-r-reminded me o-of her.” He then places the box in front of him and leans back, his eyes blinking upwards towards the ceiling before he stares up at the ceiling. “I lost h-her that n-night,” he says, voice so soft and scared as if he’s reliving it.

“Toby…”

“That w-w-was our thing, y-y’know? W-We were gonna b-b-be free. My b-b-boss found out,” Toby hisses as he picks one of the letters up and gestures with it, “a-and he s-sent my own c-comrades to…” He closes his eyes to stop the tears from welling within them.

-

Natalie was grabbing her backpack from her room with everything important when Toby came to the doorway and smiled at her. “What’re you doing here?” She chuckled, her green eye flashing with amusement. “Thought you were gonna be getting stuff ready in the kitchen and watching the door.”

“Just d-don’t like being a-a-away from you,” Toby said, a small smirk on his face as he came up to Natalie and brushed a long strand of brown hair from her face. “You’re s-s-such a p-pretty girl,” he complimented.

Natalie blushed slightly and took his hand that rested on her cheek into hers. “Go. I’ll be fine in here.”

“W-Whatever you s-say, p-princess,” he teased before pressing a kiss to her forehead and hesitantly leaving her side.

Natalie rolled her eyes with that smile never leaving her face as she continued getting the last of her things ready for the leave. When she was absolutely certain she was ready to go, she slid the backpack on and headed to the living room. She was ready to go and start a new life with Toby, the only man who ever made her heart skip a beat.

“Are you ready?” She asked, her arms wrapping around Toby’s waist as he finished his cup of coffee.

“S-Sure am,” he replied before turning around and wrapping her in his arms. “You g-gonna miss t-t-this place?”

“Absolutely not,” Natalie laughed. “I can’t wait to get out-”

What happened next was pure chaos. The back and front door were both breached by men in masks, and Natalie quickly deduced that they were Toby’s comrades. His boss found out. Toby reached for the front table and palmed his hatchets and swung them at the man in the white mask.

“Run!” Toby shouted, pushing Natalie towards the open front door. He watched his heart run out and shake off the backpack to gain speed as she took off into the night. Masky hit him, but he did not flinch.

“Fucking hell, Toby!” A gruff voice shouted.

The young proxy then watched in horror as a flash of yellow zipped out into the night to chase after Natalie. Toby felt worry cloud hsi every movement as he dodged and hit Masky. Hoodie’s specialty was tracking and hunting. He had to get out there to help Natalie.

Toby took a step back then ran into Masky as hard as he could, slamming his leader into the floor before attempting to brutalize, but not kill him. When he was sure that Masky was going to need a moment, he shot up and sprinted out of the house and into the darkened forest to find Natalie. He must’ve prayed the entire time he ran.

He ran over the heavy forest growth and cursed the roots that almost tripped him before he felt his world go quiet.

Natalie was screaming.

Toby heard his name cried out in the trees and his heart sunk down to the forest floor as he ran wildly to the source. He felt hot tears as they rolled down his cheeks as he finally found that same damned hue of yellow waiting for him.

“Was wondering when you’d show up,” Hoodie mused as he dug his boot onto Natalie’s skull, making her cry out in pain and fear. Her arms reached out for Toby, his name permanently on her lips.

“You f-fucking bastard!” Toby roared as he lurched forward, attempting to beat Hoodie within an inch of his life when something hard smacked into the back of his head. Toby turned around to see Masky. His brown eyes were full of murder as he stalked towards Toby.

“I should kill you for this,” Masky sneered as he got within arm’s distance of Toby.

Toby glared and swung his hatchet again at Masky, now out for blood when Hoodie slammed his boot back into Natalie’s skull, a crack sending Toby into a fury.

“You won’t touch him if you know what’s good for you,” Hoodie said, his hands loosely hung in his pockets. “Leave him alone and focus on your girl.”

Toby felt chills down his spine as he turned his full attention to Natalie. “My g-g-girl,” he whispered as he fell to his knees to hold her. “M-My s-sweet, sweet g-girl.” His hands shoved Hoodie off of her skull, giving her room to breathe. After that, he turned her over on her back as she cried out in pain. He rested her head on his lap and let her sob.

“Toby,” she croaked in a voice like sandpaper. “Toby, it hurts,” she cried, hands reaching out to his face.

“I know,” he said as he gripped her hand. “I k-know, baby, I k-know.” Tears were pouring from his eyes just to see someone he loved in such pain. “It’ll b-be over soon, I p-promise.” His other hand that wasn’t being gripped by Natalie’s went to pet her hair and give her some comfort.

“Over real soon,” Masky huffed. “You better finish this.” Masky continued. “Or I’ll make Hoodie put a bullet in her skull.”

Toby sent another glare up to Masky and protectively held onto Natalie just a bit harder to not cause her physical body anymore pain.

“We need to run,” Natalie whispered as she reached up to hold Toby’s face. “We can still go-”

Toby hushed her as his eyes scanned over her body. She was beyond repair. Hoodie had broken her legs and bent them at angles that should not exist. “You n-need to r-rest, okay? W-We’ll go in t-t-the morning, I p-promise.”

“You do?” She asked, her beautiful green eye beginning to see the world more in shapes than in

“Y-Yes,” Toby promises. “Have I e-e-ever broken a p-promise to y-you?” He hummed before leaning down as best he could to kiss her forehead. “I l-love you, s-so, so m-much.”

Natalie sleepily giggled and allowed her tears to cascade down her face. “I love you too. To the moon and back?”

“T-To the moon a-a-and back,” he said as the grip she held on his hand weakened.

“Toby, my Toby,” she said softly, her voice growing softer as she repeated the words like a mantra. When her breathing slowed until it was nothing, her hand went limp in Toby’s.

Toby closed his eyes as his heart fell into millions of pieces. He refused to let Natalie go that night, and his teammates, who had acted on behalf of a father who did not love them, let him.

-

“A p-part of m-me died with h-her that night,” Toby says as he lovingly looks over the letters. “I still c-can’t breathe r-right without her.” He closes his eyes and allows his tears to fall. “I d-don’t think I e-e-ever will.”

You get up from your seat and pick it up, silently moving it to rest next to Toby as he begins to cry. You know he must’ve held this one in for so, so long. After planting your chair down next to him, you take him into your arms and allow him to cry.

Toby holds onto you and doesn’t let go. It’s like he views you as a comfort blanket or a teddy bear. And you let him. You let him get it all out.

You feel tears well in your eyes and let them fall too.

[izzielizzie]

life’s uncertain and sometimes it’s strange chapter one

okay this is the fastest i’ve written the first chapter of a fic like... ever but here’s the crossover i considered writing here!! i actually had a lot of fun, and it jumps around so feel free to ask me questions about anything that doesn’t make sense

song title from The Sun Will Come Up, the Seasons Will Change by Nina Nesbitt

Maeve

Wednesday, December 15

“Okay so remind me what the problem is again?” Luis asks me as he sits on my bed, watching me pack my bags.

“The island, Luis."

Luis stares at me and I sigh, crossing my room to curl up in his lap. His arms go around me instantly. “And, what, my love, is wrong with an island?”

I sigh again, stretching out so my head is on my pillow. “It’s cold. There’s nothing fun about an island when it’s covered in ice!”

“Can you even get to an island in December?” Luis asks, absentmindedly drawing patterns on my stomach. When my mother had told our family over dinner last week that she had been invited to a mansion unveiling by her former best friend - some vaguely famous guy named Archer Story who basked in the glory of being young and rich in New England along with my mother - Bronwyn and I had no say in whether we were going or not. Our father got out of it easily with an arsenal of work excuses, but no trips to New York City with friends will stop our mother when she’s deep in her planning mode. Especially if it means she gets to go back to being rich on an island off the coast of Boston.

“That’s what I asked and Bronwyn laughed at me.”

Luis snorts. He and my sister have never gotten along as well as Nate and I do, but it’s stopped bothering me at this point. “Well, Maevey,” Luis hooks an arm under me and lifts me up so I’m sitting. “It’s just one week on the weird ass island and then you get to go to New York City with the rest of us. What could go wrong?”

I grin, my bad mood ebbing away at the thought of spending a week with my boyfriend and friends in one of my favorite cities. “Ugh fine.”

“Good. Now are you really going to bring all of my sweaters?”

I laugh as Luis lifts me up so we can sort out the sweater ownership debate that’s lasted for nearly a year now. 

Aubrey

Saturday, December 18 

“No plans of swimming in that water I hope?” Uncle Archer asks as I look at the ocean from the balcony of Catmint House. Yes. The same one that burnt down over the summer. Gull Cove Island is essentially the same as it was when I moved back to Oregon in July, with the exception of the large manor. 

When the media asked Aunt Allison and Uncle Archer what they wanted to do with the remains of their childhood home, they hadn’t said anything, but in secret they both agreed that burning the ashes might be overdramatic, but most certainly warranted. Almost as if they had overheard, the Gull Cove Island Historical Society swept in and restored the mansion to its former glory, ultimately gifting the new building to Milly and I. Since Jonah North isn’t really part of the family, it’s not his.

“Who the hell would want that place?” he’d asked when we told him about the exclusion. Fair point.

“Hey, hey, don’t look so sullen,” Uncle Archer says, bringing me back to myself as he slips an arm around me. I hug him back with all my might. When I think about how close we came to losing him, I want to cry.

“Sorry,” I mumble into his shoulder. 

“Don’t be. Now I hear we’ve got a family of three coming from California today. The kids are around your age.”

“Fun,” I say, making a face. Uncle Archer tugs on my sweater sleeve. 

“Hey, their mom was my best friend. They’re probably good kids.”

Almost on cue, the doorbell rings. 

“That’s them?” I ask as I look down at the black car that - presumably - houses the family in question. Archer nods. “You go. I’ll find Milly and Jonah.”

My uncle fakes a punch to my nose as he saunters off. I giggle. Rehab has done him well. I watch him walk away, and then exit the balcony into the hallway. I turn left towards my and Milly’s room, staying close to the middle of the hall. It’s strange being in here after what happened over the summer, especially since it feels almost unrealistic that everything could be restored so quickly. But I guess the fire Paula started didn’t really burn down the entire house. Just like, half of the inside. If I pause for long enough, I can still smell the smoke. Or maybe that’s just my imagination. Sometimes I’m fine, and other times I feel like I’m back with the gun pressed to my neck. I felt so helpless then, and I never want to feel that way again. 

I knock on the door to our room, and I hear Milly and Jonah’s voices floating towards me, half giggly, half teasing. Whatever is going on in there, I do not want to see. “I’m coming in!” I call, pushing the door open with my eyes shut. “There is a person. Entering this room!”

I hear a crash, and I open my eyes to see Jonah perched awkwardly on the corner of my bed. Oh fun. At least they’re separated. 

“What’s up Aubrey?” Milly asks, smoothing down her hair. After spending months angsting about cutting it or not, Milly decided on a respectable bob. She looks gorgeous, especially now that it’s grown enough to be just touching her shoulders. She’s more dressed up for the occasion than I am in a red knitted pullover tucked into a pair of black jeans. I glance down at my faded grey crew neck and my blue jeans.

“Should I change?” I ask in response. 

“No way! You look beautiful,” Milly says, standing and pulling me to stand in front of the mirror. I look at my long blonde hair. 

“Maybe I should just braid my hair or something?”

Milly huffs. “Jonah!”

“You look adorable Aubrey,” Jonah says dutifully from his spot behind us. I glance over at him. 

“Easy for you to say! You look like a J.Crew model.”

Jonah grins. “Wow you just described my life’s ambition Aubrey,” he says dryly.

I grin and shake my head. I’ve missed this: being back with my cousin and friend. Even if they do spend a lot of time kissing each other. “Come on you two, the first guests are here,” I say, throwing my arm around my cousin.

Ezra

Sunday, December 19

“Ellery please stop bouncing,” I say to my sister. We’re on a train to New York City from Boston and Ellery is way too excited.

“Ez! I can’t! Do you know how many unsolved murders there are in Manhattan alone?”

“No. I do not.”

“And no one should!” Mia adds from the seats behind us. Ellery turns to see if Malcolm will back her up, but he’s asleep. Probably exhausted from dealing with her. 

Ellery is still looking super excited so I turn to her. “Okay, I’ll bite. How many?”

“More than 480. And those are just recorded homicides.”

“Shhh,” I say, shushing Ellery as I catch sight of a red haired girl looking at us strangely from across the aisle. “Sorry, my sister’s really weird,” I say to her. She looks around our age. She’s wearing a fashionable beige coat and a black cap, but something about the way she’s burrowing into the jacket tells me she’s not used to the cold.  There’s a boy sleeping in the seat next to her, whose hand she hasn’t let go of.

The girl smiles. “It’s alright! My best friend solved two murders once.” She pauses and makes a face. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that.” She shakes her head. “This is really odd, I'm sorry. I’m Phoebe Lawton.”

I grin. “I’m Ezra Corcoran, and this is my twin Ellery.”

Phoebe grins back. “Twins! That’s so cool. I don’t really know any twins.”

“Wait, can we go back to the part where you said your best friend solved two murders?” Ellery asks, leaning across me to look at Phoebe, who smiles a little. Mia groans from behind us. I turn to see her pull her headphones up over her ears. We exchange a look. Leave it to my sister to ask the awkward questions. 

“Yeah well, we’re from Bayview, California, and I don’t know if you’ve ever heard about the-”

“Oh. My. God.” 

I look down at Ellery, who looks as if she’s hit a goldmine. Phoebe looks startled but resigned. 

“We’re from California too, before we moved to Vermont,” I offer, surprised despite myself. The story of Simon Kelleher was all over California before we left, and if I’m not mistaken, I think I know who this girl is talking about.

“Wait so your best friend is Maeve Rojas?” Ellery asks. 

“Did someone say Maeve?” a new voice asks from the seat behind Phoebe. A boy who looks vaguely familiar with tan skin and wavy dark hair pokes his head into the aisle to look at Phoebe.

Ellery gasps. “You’re the boyfriend!”

The boy blinks slowly. “I… what?”

“Okay so in mysteries there’s always this boyfriend that is part of the drama but not really? And he like jumps around but he’s got a heart of gold and-”

“Ellery,” I hiss. “Let’s not reduce strangers to stereotypes please.”

“Murder?” yet another voice asks. This time it’s attached to a person the entire country knows well. Cooper Clay, pitcher for the Padres. Ellery takes a strangled breath. She looks up at me and I sigh. 

“Switch seats with me,” she says in her “don’t mess with me” voice. I happily oblige, pulling out my own headphones. Maybe Mia was right. Just leave this crazy girl to her own devices. 

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

My Oh My

Summary: The reader and her next door neighbor Dean have an arrangement to help one another through heats and ruts or just to fool around when they feel like it. When the reader’s heat hits though, things go differently this time around...

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x omega!reader

Square: Fuck Buddies

Word Count: 1,796

Warnings: mature (language, smut (sex), a/b/o dynamics)

A/N: Written for @spnkinkbingo​​

______

“Hey, Y/N!” called Dean from next door. You popped your head up from where you were washing your tires, spinning around to catch Dean smiling at you from his driveway. “How many times I got to tell you girl. Wash ‘em with soap and water first, then use the expensive buffer, hm?”

“I didn’t even use to wash my tires, Winchester,” you said, smirking as you stood up and he crossed the yard into yours. 

“Yeah but that’s why you got me around,” he laughed. You crossed your arms and leaned back against the wet car, Dean looking you up and down. “You free tonight?”

“Maybe. You got something planned?”

He stared at you and cocked his head adorably under his hat. You returned it and looked around.

“My bad. I uh, I thought I smelled your...heat,” he said quietly. You looked down and put a hand over your core.

“Oh. I guess today is the first day. It’s not even come on yet. You could really smell it?” you asked.

“It was faint,” he shrugged. “If it’s not that bad we don’t gotta.”

“No. No, suppressants help but an Alpha really makes it bearable,” you said. “Unless you’re busy.”

“No, not at all,” he smiled. “My place? Last time you said it helped being over there, my scent.”

“Yeah. I can pop over at 8 if that’s cool,” you said. He smiled and started to head back across his yard. 

“I’ll order a pizza. See you later, Y/L/N.”

“Hey,” you said, lightly sweating when Dean answered his door that night. You spotted a pizza box on his counter behind him.

“Hey,” he said, taking your bag from you. “Come on ‘mega.”

He locked up after you and grabbed your waist, lifting you up with one arm until you clung to him. 

“You have no idea how hot it is when you go Alpha,” you breathed into his neck, taking in his scent and getting dizzy off of it.

“Upstairs Omega. I’m gonna fuck you senseless,” he said. You were halfway up the stairs when the doorbell rang. Dean sighed and set you down on the step. “I will be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

You hummed, still soaking up his scent as he skirted back down the stairs and opened the door.

“Hey! You ready to go cutie?” said a feminine voice. Your nose twitched up and you smelled Omega, enough to put you back in reality. 

“Uh,” said Dean as you wandered back down the stairs and stepped into view. 

“Hi. I’m Elyse...Dean’s girlfriend. You must be his bestie neighbor he’s always telling me about. You’re coming out with us tonight...right?” she asked. 

“Oh,” you said, grabbing your bag, shooting Dean a look. “I would but my heat’s acting up. I’m out of pain medicine and was stopping by to see if Dean had some.”

“I got you. I never go anywhere without some,” she said, digging around in her purse and holding out a bottle.

“Thanks,” you grit out, forcing a smile. “Enjoy your date.”

You slipped past them both and outside, heading back into your house with a groan.

It was three in the morning and you were squirming in bed, arms wrapped around your core when a figure entered your bedroom. You jumped and saw Dean step into the dim light.

“Hey. Sorry. I used my emergency key. You uh, you doing okay?” he asked.

“Go fuck your Omega. We had a deal. Either one of us gets in a relationship, we call off the fuck buddies thing. That was the deal you apparently no longer care about,” you said, face scrunching up in pain. “Ah. Go away. You’re making it worse.”

“Y/N-”

“I said leave!” you shouted. You sat up and got out of bed, pushing him towards the door. “Go!”

You shoved again and fell down to your knees, gripping your stomach.

“Y/N,” said Dean. You were crying, even his scent not helping. “Y/N, come on.”

He picked you up and sat back on the bed with you, your face jamming in his neck.

“Elyse is not my girlfriend. She’s an old...client,” he said. “Occasionally she needs help through a heat too. I do it under the table. Only her. I swear.”

“She pays you money to fuck her?” you said, raising your head. Dean looked away and you grabbed his jaw. “Are you an Alpha for hire? Fucks sake, Dean.”

“I was young and made good money doing it. So yeah, I was an Alpha for hire. I didn’t like it anymore so I stopped,” he said.

“Obviously not,” you said. “Still screwing the neighbor and apparently the occasional old fuck.”

“Fuck you,” he said as he stood up, leaving you on the bed. You cried as he walked away, letting out tiny gasps of pain. He paused in the doorway and you doubled over. “Do you want me to fuck you or not?”

“You lied, all those ground rules we set out months ago and you lied,” you said. “Call me an ambulance and then get out of my life. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

“Fine. Good riddance,” he said.

“Good! Get out of my house,” you said. He stared at you and you glared back. “What?”

“You know how whenever we fool around, I don’t let you take off my shirt?” he asked quietly.

“I figured you were self-conscious,” you said. He shook his head and stepped in front of you, ripping it off. You saw a tattoo on his chest, Dean looking away. “Is that-”

“An ownership brand? Yeah. I did something stupid as a teenager. Egged a house of a local official stupid. I presented early though. He wanted to set an example. I could do a longer stint in jail or I could be an Alpha for hire for five years and then get out,” he said.

“How old were you?”

“Eighteen. I was technically an adult.”

“Why did you pick being that?” you asked, Dean sitting down on the bed again.

“Because I was small back then and small Alpha boys get torn apart in places like that,” he said. “I wouldn’t have lasted a week before they fucked me up for good. So I chose the less horrible option.”

“Elyse isn’t your girlfriend?”

“No. She never...the truth is she’s a lawyer. She’s my lawyer. We keep all of this quiet. No one knows. I was embarrassed. I still am. I’m sorry I lied. But I never…” he said, trailing off when you put his hand on your stomach.

“You shouldn’t have sex with someone unless you want to, Dean,” you said.

“I don’t,” he said. “Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry for assuming.”

“I’m sorry for lying.”

“Dean. I think we need to stop doing this. I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

“I’ve never felt like that with you. I like having fun sex and heat sex and rut sex. I like it a lot with you. I’m only here for two reasons. I like it and I don’t like you in pain which you are clearly in a lot of.”

“I didn’t take any painkillers,” you said. 

“Oh, Omega, why?” said Dean, standing up and going into your bathroom, returning with a few in the palm of his hand.

“I was upset and hormonal and I changed my mind so please fuck me if that’s okay,” you said, sniffling as you chugged down the pills.

“Can you make it to my house?” he asked.

“I need a nest,” you said, throwing your head back. “I need one. Fuck, I haven’t waited this long to take medicine since I presented.”

“I made you one already,” he said, grabbing some clothes for you. “Come on. Let’s get you taken care of.”

“De, I need it,” you groaned, your hands digging into his back not five minutes later, Dean letting you mark him up as he rocked his hips into you in his room.

“Say it,” he murmured, nipping lightly at your neck, just over where your mating bond would go. He wouldn’t dare actually bite down but the thought made you shiver.

“Alpha.”

“Thatta girl,” he said, kissing your skin as he thrust his knot inside of you. He let it nearly pop back out but he slammed in hard, locking you together.

A pleasure pain ripped through your core, you heat temporarily sated as your muscles milked him.

“Good ‘mega. Good girl,” shushed Dean, pulling the blankets around you further. It was hot and smelled like pure Alpha in the tiny nest he’d built, your face jammed in his neck as he turned to his side. “Good. You did real good.”

“You’re pretty,” you hummed, placing a hand over the tattoo on his chest. “Who was the guy that did it?”

“Nance,” he said. “I think he’s in the mayor’s office now.”

“Dean. My mom works for the disciplinary agency for the state,” you breathed out, holding onto him tight. “She would love to bring down an ass like that.”

“It was legal what they did,” he said.

“No. It wasn’t. It’s called Alpha-Alpha owning. It’s illegal. Trust me,” you said.

“I don’t want to get in trouble.”

“You can’t. You’re protected under the law,” you said. “It’s there if you’re ever looking for a little payback is all. Maybe you can bring it up to Elyse.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said, pushing sweaty strands of hair away from your face. “You know I always used to hate this part. The cuddling, being stuck, all that stuff. I think I like it now.”

“I like it,” you said, closing your eyes. “Thank you for coming over.”

“You needed it. I could sense it,” he said.

“Still. Thank you,” you murmured. You shut your eyes, falling asleep on top of him but that wasn’t unusual whenever you slept together.

Waking up to Dean still in bed the next morning was new though. Him rolling over and kissing your cheek was definitely new. Making out was normal, soft sweet kisses, not so much.

You didn’t want to think about it too much. You still had the rest of your heat to get through after all.

_____

[batsforbadones]

Okay so in your love at first sight fic for Herbert West you said you didn't think he would be a love at first sight kinda guy unless it was with one of his creations. So now I'm wondering if I can request a fic where Herbert brings someone back to life successfully and this boy is just hooked instantly on her?

I was really hoping someone would ask about this just so I could talk about how I kind of think Herbert is a necrophiliac. I know that’s pretty rough but I mean-  Heyyyyyy if y’all want to hear about how I think Herbert West is loweky a necrophiliac, I’m down. That won’t be this post though.

He didn’t know ‘your’ name . He didn’t need to. To Herbert West, you were the fifth and final trial of this kind. To him, ‘you’, or what was about to become you, was a pile of dead limbs he hand picked from the nearby cemetery with one certain thought in mind. Perfection. Your hands would be that of a writer, as told by the callouses on both the left and right hands he’d acquired. You’d be ambidextrous, once he taught you basic motor skill again. Your hands would desire to move in graceful strokes of poetry and rhyme. Your legs were that of a soccer player who was crushed at a nearby construction site, her legs the only salvageable part of her. They were toned- Strong. A tattoo of a serpent winding its way down from the peak of your calf to your ankle- Stopping just before the feet of a trapeze artist. Years of balance and performance poured into your lower body alone.  Your breast and arms were that of a prudish college student a couple of universities away. She had passed from a simple concussion. A waste of a very attractive upper torso. She came into the morgue with ever sliver of skin covered by thick, scratchy fabric, laced in cat hair. Herbert West took the personal liberties of taking her untainted womb as well. The only concern Herbert had about this trial was the circumstances unto which he came into ownership of your heart. It was the only liability. He had managed to make you look as truly human as possible. Your tightly stitched skin hid meters of tubing deep within your body- He’d be able to test drive you in public, nonetheless. All it would take would be hiding that beautiful, stitch ridden torso- But the heart. It was such a volatile organ. One at such high demand- He couldn’t exactly fuss when one was practically handed to him. But there were so many concerns to be had. It was the human motor, after all. One wrong thing with the heart- even the most minor thing- Would cause you to implode before your eyes could ever reopen. Herbert was willing to take that chance. And here you were, air rushing into your lungs, and then back out again to scream at the top of your lungs- Pain. Inevitable, revitalizing pain. Your skin burn, your eyes watered, and you began sobbing in tandem with the shushing of the man beside you.

You - You- there was no sentience in you mere moments ago, and as if the world, God, to make up for that lack of time, gave you far too much. Voices- all crumbling down onto your brain- Screams of agony in the moments of death- A rage setting itself thickly beside a fear. You lunged at the man, knocking him back roughly against vials and beakers and packets of gunk and goop and blood- CRASH CRASH SMACK SPLAT.

Herbert starred upon you, your hair matted, smoke billowing off of your form- Upon his creation. And, much like your heart had moments ago, his began to beat. Violently. Sporadically.

“ Your name. “ He asked immediately. “ Do you have a name- ‘

“ Who are you?! “ You wailed, lip quivering as you took guard behind the table you once laid dead on. As you struggled to find a sense for the body, you did your best not to peer down at your hands- the ones you could remember crafting the story of mad man just last week- To look down at yourself, nude in front of a man you had never met- Oh what would your mother say if she saw your skin like this- To not peer down, at the ground, for if you did, there would be the inevitable plummet off of the tight rope that had led to your death- “ Dear god, who am I? “ You croaked.

“ I’m Herbert West. “ The man said, shakily. He slowly stood, hands tight on the wall behind him. He shoved his glasses up quickly. You’d turned out better than he had ever imagined. Better than he had ever hoped. And you were- stable. For the most part- Standing. Not leaking. Not oozing. Not decaying before him. There was color in your skin- Life in your terrified eyes.

Crying, is all you were. A crying mess of- Limbs. A beautiful, crying mess of limbs he made. 

A hand pressed to his mouth. He struggled to hide a shaking smile as tears sprung to his eyes. He couldn’t stop them from flowing, from feeling the weight in his chest evaporate at the mere sight of your crumbling form. You truly were his everything in that moment. The most precious human being he’d ever had the euphoria of laying eyes on.

He could sleep at night again.

“ I made you. “ He whispered, taking in a rough breathe of air, trying to calm himself down. “ My name is Herbert West, and I made you. “ He extended a hand that you flinched back at, tugging the gurney back toward you in a weak attempt at self defense. “ What’s your name? “

Emma Delilah Sophia Mary Melanie- Many names came to mind- Many fought to introduce themselves at various levels of vigor. Anger. Fear. Worry-

But a calling in your chest, the most dominant voice, tore its name from your voice box,

“ Y/n. “ It wept. 

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Ways to Show You Care| Bad Dreams and Real Discussions

Prompt: Calming them down when they have a bad dream

Character: Charlie Weasley

Warning/Notes: Mildly angst. Also kind of a kind at some of the themes in Summer Nights (which still hasn’t been completed and is sat in my drafts judging me)

Gif is my own, using my art of Charlie Weasley which you can find on my art blog @artisticwarnug here. If you use please make sure you credit me and my art blog properly, that the ownership is clear as it is my own art and I would hate for it to be unclear that I made it <3 x 

You can buy stickers of Charlie (without the background) from my redbubble artisticwarnug.redbubble.com

The war took its toll on everyone. Barely any of the wizarding community remained untouched. Everyone had lost a friend, a family member, or an acquaintance. Everyone had seen places they loved touched by war...damaged...destroyed. Diagon Alley and Hogwarts would never be pure, untouched memories anymore. Those places you’d discovered and loved as a child were tainted but death and destruction. 

You’d lost friends and family. Being muggle born was hard, not just because you were a target, but because your family had been targeted as well. You wish every day that your worst nightmares hadn’t come true, that those fears hadn’t been justified, that your family was still here...but they weren’t. You were on your own in a sense, but the Weasleys...especially Charlie always reminded you that you weren’t truly alone. You had people who cared about you. People who loved you. 

Nighttime was the hardest for you. During the day people distracted you, made you laugh, your job as a healer kept you busy and your friends were never far. As hard as life was post-war during the day there was always something to remind you that things weren’t as bad as they seemed. Those days where nothing good seemed to happen, you found yourself too busy to really dwell on the past. 

But, when the sun set, when the moon rose, and you settled into your bed beside Charlie that’s when the memories and the dreams came out. Sometimes you dreamt of things that had been, that had happened... Fred dying, Tonks and Remus, the moment you found out about your family. Sometimes you dreamt of things that hadn’t happened, but that would devastate you if they did. Charlie dying was usually the most common theme. In your dreams he died in so many ways, some muggle, some magical.

Tonight was no different, it started at the Battle. Spells flying, walls breaking, acromantula, giants, and death eaters...you did what you always did, what you had done. You flung spells and ducked and dived, looking for familiar faces, people you wanted to protect, people you wanted to stick beside. The familiar feeling of fear deep within your chest, tightening, like a weight that stopped you breathing easy. The feeling of imminent and ever present danger. 

“Y/N!” A shout, your name, familiar and filled with relief. Charlie, you smile in your dream, he’s here. He’s okay and you can stick with Charlie now, protect each other.

You turn to greet him, your smile drops as he stops in his tracks, green light hitting him, his eyes going blank, his body dropping and you scream.

You scream and you scream and you scream, you’re still screaming when hands gently shake you awake. It dies on your lips as you’re greeted by familiar concerned eyes, long red hair and stark freckles, freckles that you’d always try to count but never be able too. You always lost count after 30. 

Your breath is shaky and stutters as your eyes flit over Charlie’s face, trying to burn it into your memory, to remind yourself that he’s here, that he’s okay, that he’s not dead. 

“It’s okay, love...it’s okay. It was just a dream.” His voice is low and soothing as he moves to sit next to you, pulling you into his arms. Fingers start running through your hair and you close your eyes focusing on the sensation as you try to slow your breathing and calm yourself down. 

You grounded yourself with the feeling of Charlie’s fingers in your hair, legs beneath your own, the sound of his humming and shushing noises, those little things that remind you where you are and who you are with.  

“Do you want to tell me what it was about?” His voice is still low and quiet, soft, like he’s scared to spook you. Charlie always asked but you knew that if you said no he’d accept that answer and not push for more. He asked because he wanted to help and because knowing helped him to help you.

You take in a deep breath, the smell of Jasmine from Charlie’s washing detergent calming you a little bit more. “It was the battle...again.” He hums, knowing just how many dreams you’ve had about that day. 

“Except it was different...” Fingers are still brushing through your hair, soothing circles against your scalp. You let out a shaky breath, “You died. You died and I couldn’t...I couldn’t do a thing.”

It’s silent because he doesn’t know what to say. Because his worst nightmare is losing you and the rest of his family. He knows yours is losing him, after your family...after everything you’ve lost the idea of losing another person breaks your heart and tortures you whenever you fall asleep. It breaks his heart to know you’re tormented so much by dangers that are no longer real. 

“Do you...do you think maybe it’s time to see a healer?” You stop yourself from immediately reacting poorly and think...and think some more. The truth is you’ve been suffering from dreams for months, getting barely any interrupted sleep and looking over your shoulder at the slightest sound. Charlie was right, it was clear you were struggling and while Hermione and the other’s had sought help, you hadn’t...maybe it was time you did.

“Yeah...I think so. I’m just...i’m scared to do it.”

“We’ve all been there...you know that I...that I went after Fred.” You nod against his shoulder, he’d been devastated that he’d ‘failed’ as a big brother, that he hadn’t stopped Fred’s death even though he wasn’t there to stop it. He’d felt like he should of been. “It really does help...and it’s hard, facing all of it, but I want you to be happy and I want you to be able to sleep through the night, love. If you want to do it, i’ll be here the whole time and we can try and find a healer you like.” 

Another shaky breath leaves you as you pull away enough to look Charlie in the eyes, to grimace at him, “I think I need to...thanks for...thanks for making me realise that. I don’t want to be like this forever. I want to be happy. With you. Planning the future and not living in the past.”

[veilfireshadows]

angbang fluff please? ya know those tropes about old married couples managing to keep it romantic with each other after like a 100 years together?? plz.

Hi Nonnie! Sorry this took so long to do but here you go!

They lay together in the large chair, limbs entwined, so close that it was hard to tell where one body began and the next began. A storm battered the walls of their fortress, a howling rage that refused to be soothed, giving voice to the rage that had built in Melkor for so long.

He held Mairon close to him, one hand gently stroking his flame-bright hair, revelling in the warmth of his body pressed up against him. The Maia was fast asleep, exhausted from his re-embodiment at his Lord’s hand, but Melkor could not bring himself to take his eyes off him, nor send him to a more comfortable bed. He had long waited for this day.

A war was coming, more terrible and more destructive than ever before, and they would be at its heart. Together, as was only right. Melkor remembered all too well that fëa-wrenching loneliness of the Void, listening to Mairon’s whispered prayers in the night that he was unable to answer. He remembered the agony in his own fëa as Mairon ripped his apart for the crafting of his Ring. And he remembered in fury as the Valar plotted and spun to topple his Maia at every turn.

They would pay for every injury done to them both. Every Vala and every Maia would burn. Every Elf, and Man, and Dwarf, and Hobbit would scream their last breath beneath his storm.

For his Mairon.

Mairon stirred in his arms, his fair face twisting as he sensed his Lord’s rage, even caught deep in sleep. Melkor froze and then resumed his soothing petting of Mairon’s hair, shushing him back to calm rest.

“Hush now, my dear Lieutenant,” he murmured, pressing his face down into Mairon’s hair, breathing in the familiar scent of ash and hot metals, and without the tang of Aulë’s ownership that had long tainted it. Mairon was now wholly and utterly his. “Sleep and recover, Mairon. I will need you in the war to come.”

For now, while they rested and their deep bond reforged itself in their closeness, the storm outside would keep any ambitious Valar at bay for a time. They did not have long like this, but Melkor was determined to enjoy every second. It was strange, in its own way, to be holding someone and to be held once more, after so long in the nothingness of the Void.

Mairon gave a deep sigh, burrowing in closer to Melkor instinctively as he sunk back down into restful sleep. Melkor was careful to keep his own body temperature high, for if he let himself be cloaked in his usual darkness and extreme cold, he would only hinder Mairon’s recovery. Already he could sense the growing power in the Maia and was glad.

Would there be time for them to speak as they had long ago? To bicker fondly and to taunt? He needed Mairon to fall back into his role as his Lieutenant, to keep him from following his temper and his impulses with his calm perfectionism. Would Mairon be able to do that still? He had long behaved under his own power, following his own desires, answerable to none. Perhaps he had changed.

Once the Valar were defeated, he told himself, there would be time again to be as they used to be. His dear faithful Mairon would be by his side forever, Lord and Lieutenant ruling this Arda until time failed, or Illúvatar came to smite Himself.

Melkor glanced quickly around the starkly furnished room, a far cry from the lavish suites they used to inhabit, and then assured that there was no one around to see, pressed a soft kiss into Mairon’s hair.

Then, he closed his eyes, sending out his mind in different directions. He had a war to plan, forces to muster, and thankfully he did not actually need to be physically present to do any of those. For now, he could just stay here and enjoy the warmth, and the company, and the deep satisfaction in his fëa.

[bingbong21]

Clouds and Cliff Faces

Summary:  It's here, tied up and helpless to Shiro's whims, that Keith feels the highest.

A/N: For @aceofspeight, who’s thirst for Shiro has inspired many porn works currently sitting on my phone. This can be found on ao3 here and found on FFN here. Under the read more because honest to God this is just straight up porn. 

“Shiro,” Keith whined, head thrown back into the pillows. He tugged uselessly against his binds; the rope tying his wrists together stayed strong, slack enough to allow his back to arch from the bed. He cried out as the vibrator inside him shifted, the bulbous head moving to just miss striking his prostate dead on. Shiro scoffed from the other side, footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent room. Keith turned his head to watch the other man stalk towards him, his erect cock swaying slightly with each step he took.

“Stop squirming so much.” Shiro reached down and adjusted the vibrator back to mercilessly stimulating the spot. Keith choked out a moan, the sensation bordering on just too much after the hours of merciless stimulation.  

“Shiro please,” He begged, looking up at the man with teary eyes, “Please let me cum!”

He sighed, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “You know I can’t do that babe.”

It was what they had agreed on before starting the scene: Keith was not allowed to cum until Shiro said so. He could be teased and brought to the edge until he was delirious, but the ring tight around the base of his cock would prevent him from reaching completion until either Shiro saw fit or he safeworded out.

Keith whined as the older man reached out to stroke his cheek. He leaned into the touch as best he could, the cool touch soothing to his overheated flesh. “Please Shiro, I can’t…I can’t t-take a-anymore.”

“Do you need to use the safe word?” Shiro’s eyebrows had drawn together as he frowned. Always the model dominant, Shiro was ever vigilant of any cues that a scene had become too much for Keith. It took Keith a few moments to gather his thoughts through the haze of pleasure and affection, but soon he was shaking his head.

“N-No.”

Shiro’s face softened slightly as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead before pulling away. His gaze instantly changed from that of a concerned lover to someone disinterested in his plight. He grabbed at Keith’s cock, tugging the engorged flesh relentlessly.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, taking in the way Keith violently writhed., “I would’ve gladly let you cum if you had. But since you refused to, you’ll be at my mercy until I say so? Got it?”

Keith nodded, tongue darting out to dampen his lips. Before he could retract it Shiro dove down and sucked the appendage into his mouth. Keith moaned as he pressed as close as he could, tongue rubbing against Shiro’s.

The kiss was downright pornographic. Drool gathered in the corners of his lips as Shiro thoroughly fucked his mouth with his tongue. Slow steady thrusts, each rubbing along the length of his tongue, tip pulling back to tease at his mouth before diving back in. It was the same technique he employed when prepping him for the vibrator currently nestled inside him; Keith could still taste the tang of musk and lube on his tongue. It only fueled his arousal, reminding him of how he had sobbed for something bigger to penetrate him.

Keith whined, pulling away for a moment as Shiro began to pull out the vibrator. He didn’t get far before Shiro grasped his cheeks in one hand, jerking his face back to look him dead in the eye.

“You think you get to decide what happens,” Shiro taunted. Below he felt the large head of the toy stop at his entrance, dancing along the edge of in or out. As he held it there Shiro continued, uncaring of how Keith shook.

“Well you’re wrong baby. You take whatever I give you, whenever I give it to you, and however I give it to you. Got it?”

“Shiro,” Keith clawed at the rope; he cried out as Shiro slammed the toy back into his prostate with a growl.

“I said, got it?”

“Yes yes, please,” Keith barely got the last word out before Shiro had yanked the toy out and replaced it with his cock. Keith felt his eyes roll into the back of his head as he screamed. Distantly he registered the clatter of the toy falling to the ground, still buzzing insistently.

“Shiro, Shiro please,” Keith chanted, thrashing from the sensation of that thick cock seated deep within him. The plush head was too far in to properly stimulate his prostate, but the way it plugged his tight hole better than any toy had his mind reeling. It could be so much better though, if only Shiro would move. He attempted to roll his hips to entice his dom to get to the good part; Shiro held him still in a tight grip guaranteed to bruise, watching in amusement as he thrashed beneath him.

“Beg all you want baby, but I’m in charge.” He pulled out slightly only to thrust back into his warmth immediately. Keith’s head lolled onto his shoulder, breaths coming in quick pants. The teasing he could handle, but this downright mimicry of what he truly wanted was enough to have the tears finally falling.

“Oh baby,” Shiro cooed; he reached out to wipe the tears from his cheeks, “Do you really need to get fucked that bad?”

Unable to form the words Keith nodded. Shiro leaned down, brushing the hair from his forehead to place a tender kiss in the center.

“Then take it like the good little bitch you are.”

His grip tightened on his hips; Shiro began viciously fucking into the tight body beneath him. For a moment Keith forgot how to breathe, only able to focus on the feeling of Shiro’s cock impaling him over and over again. Could only concentrate on the slight pain from the stretch of a girth and length that no toy could ever truly recreate. It was only when Shiro reached up to cruelly twist a nipple that Keith came back to all his faculties with a scream.  

“Shiro,” He arched into the touch, driving that punishing cock deeper into his channel, “Shhh-iro, Shiro, Shiro!”

“Fuck yes, say my name.” Shiro groaned, grinding his hips against the soft flesh of his ass. “Let everyone hear who fucks you so good.”

“You, you, only you!”

Shiro smiled at the babbling, gently cupping Keith’s face. Even in the midst of a scene he couldn’t stifle the absolute love and adoration he held for the young man. “And you’re the only one for me too.”

He leaned down, locking their lips together in a sweet embrace. This kiss was so different from before, a worship of his being instead of a mark of ownership. The punishing slam of his hips slowed to the tender incessant grind against Keith’s prostate he used during their gentle lovemaking. Keith went taut, the emotional rollercoaster too much for his overstimulated mind to comprehend.

Shiro pulled back from the kiss, propping himself on one arm as his other trailed down Keith’s body. “Now,” He breathed, the words brushing their lips together in a butterfly’s kiss, “Fucking cum and milk my cock.”

As quick as lightning Shiro reaches down and releases Keith’s cock from the ring. All at once the combined release of multiple denied orgasms slammed into Keith. He threw his head back, emitting an inhuman howl as he painted his stomach and chest white. He was being tossed about in a stormy sea of pleasure, each thrust bringing a wave taller than the last. In the distance he knew the rocky shores of unconsciousness loomed, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to care. If falling under and drowning was the price to pay this euphoria than he would gladly bash his head against the rocks himself.

With a final thrust and a choked moan Shiro came deep inside him, throwing him into the cliff face with another powerful orgasm. Keith found himself fading into the welcoming depths of unconsciousness and then, nothing.

When he began to come back to wakefulness the first thing Keith noted was how safe he felt. Cocooned in what he realized to be the softest blanket they owned, he decided he wouldn’t trade this feeling of warmth and love for anything in the world. He nuzzled closer to the body holding him, whining when it shifted.

“I know babe, but I want to make sure you’re okay.” Shiro cooed, pushing back the bangs on Keith’s forehead. Keith looked up at him, blinking slowly as he tried to piece together how he felt. He was exhausted, but in the way that a good work out or vigorous round of sex would cause. He felt like he was floating on a cloud; nothing could touch him up there, leaving him free to relax as he pleased. Yet underneath that freeing feeling was the familiar sense that one wrong move would send him plummeting back to Earth. Keith shoved himself back against Shiro’s side, desperate to keep the focus on the good.

“I just want to cuddle.” Already he could feel the panic and anger gripping at his heart. The cloud was slowly dissolving beneath him, revealing the cold unyielding ground of reality.

Shiro shushed him, pulling him closer to his side and stroking his hair, “Of course baby, whatever you want.”

Keith sighed as Shiro pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. He could feel the tension leave his body as he rode along the waves of Shiro’s breathing. His eyelids grew heavy; he burrowed closer to Shiro, adjusting his head to listen to his heartbeat. Perhaps later they could take a bath together after placing an order for take-out and deciding on what movie to watch. They’d watch one of those fast paced action films he loved while eating greasy Chinese or pizza, wrapped together in the blanket currently surrounding Keith.

But for now-Keith yawned, a smile on his face-now was the time to just drift along the current without a care in the world.

[junker-town]

NBA scores 2017: Paul George reluctantly plays villain in Indiana return & 10 more things from Wednesday

Maybe George just wanted Indiana to love him in his return, but the former state hero was booed for the entire game.

Paul George struggled for damn near 48 minutes, as booed crashed down all around him. Oklahoma City fans know all about hostile environments, and this game wasn’t quite Kevin Durant’s homecoming. But right or wrong, George spent several hours in front of a Pacers crowd that used to lift him up no matter what. And they made themselves loud and clear: they don’t anymore.

The Pacers even picked this game to honor franchise legends, and George was nowhere to be seen.

George only scored two points in the fourth quarter, and a steal. It all happened, of course, with 10 seconds left on the game clock as the Thunder put the game away for good. The two points were two free throws at the line. For someone who scored 12 points on 3-of-14 shooting, it was an anticlimactic finish. But it was enough for George to make his own gesture to the crowd.

“Give it up already,” his shushing finger seemed to indicate.

George had worn bright yellow-gold kicks during the game, strobe lights that could be seen from anywhere on the screen. And he certainly seemed to play up the villain role — in all black, mind you — after the game.

Paul George on defending #Pacers Oladipo on the last play---> 'Ballgame!' <slams the table> http://pic.twitter.com/vO0GRt3vnO

— Clark Wade (@ClarkWade34) December 14, 2017

But George also said he “didn’t remember” the shushing motion headed back to the Thunder bench. His villain part about Oladipo ... kind of didn’t make sense? It was actually just a very normal basketball player answer, disguised between a rhetorical question, a tiny little fist pound on the table, and George abruptly cutting short the press conference afterwards.

Indiana was always going to boo and heckle George in his first game back, even as George tried to apologize for the way he left town.

"I think both sides, myself and the front office, would definitely like to have handled things better,” George admitted earlier on Wednesday. “I for sure will take ownership on that. But I have no regrets on the outcome."

Given all that, George’s villain role felt half-hearted. He did it because he had to, because Indiana’s fanbase wants him to be one. George still loves Indiana, even if he didn’t want to play there. It’s hard to hate a place where you spent seven years and accumulated so many good memories. But the Pacers forgot, and they expected George to act the part. He tried, and yet everything he did still subtly indicated that he wasn’t cut out for this.

The George kicks mentioned above

Photo by Andy Lyons/Getty Images

They’re great shoes, but they also don’t match with a single color of Oklahoma City’s uniform. This has to be on purpose ... and to me, it seems more of an olive branch than an insult. “Hey, I still remember all the good times,” not, “Screw y’all, don’t you miss me?’ But it’s impossible to read tea leaves this vague with any certainty.

George also only had love for his Indiana teammates afterwards, for what it’s worth.

Respect! #ThisIsWhyWePlay http://pic.twitter.com/uDbgmWbS2u

— NBA (@NBA) December 14, 2017

More coverage of George’s return

How Indiana fans fell in and our of love with Paul George

Pacers fans have almost forgotten George due to Oladipo and Sabonis

PODCAST: The Pacers are neither bad nor boring. Shoutout Kevin Pritchard!

Wednesday was an ugly, necessary win for Oklahoma City

We really should be calling this the Victor Oladipo trade

How do you stop the Rockets?

Houston is 11-0 since Chris Paul returned (and 12-0 with him in a Rockets uniform, mind you).

Eleven Straight Wins! #StrangerThings http://pic.twitter.com/WzpTJh6bos

— Houston Rockets (@HoustonRockets) December 14, 2017

How they won their 11th straight game, in the ESPN nightcap after George’s return, was just as impressive. With 4:43 left in the first quarter, Charlotte actually led 19-13. By the 10 minute mark in the second quarter, Houston had taken the lead ... by a score of 49-25.

Houston outscored Charlotte by 32 points in seven minutes. They went on a 25-point unanswered run! They outscored the Hornets 36-4 over that entire duration, until Jeremy Lamb free throws finally broke that stretch. They even had Paul hitting shots like this.

James Harden is out there having the time of his life. http://pic.twitter.com/jU2KQs0BMP

— ESPN (@espn) December 14, 2017

It appeared the Luc Richard Mbah a Moute could miss some time with a shoulder injury suffered in the first half, but Houston can survive that. They are a scary team that features more defense, twice as many elite ball-handers as last season, and the same amount of shooting and rim running. They create offense from 30 feet away from the basket, and then burn you by getting within three feet. It’s a mesmerizing show, and there’s a reason that Houston has the best record in the league so far.

Gary Harris went off! (But sadly to not avail.)

Gary Harris sets a new career-high with 36 points for @nuggets! http://pic.twitter.com/4Bqndd93Ul

— NBA (@NBA) December 14, 2017

Some of these moves are just sensational. Harris finished with 36 points on 16-of-25 shooting and six assists. Of course, Denver still fell to Boston by six points. But the Nuggets remain without Nikola Jokic, Paul Millsap, and Will Barton, players they badly need back.

2 more things from Wednesday

Joel Embiid roasted Karl-Anthony Towns on Instagram. They’re friends, so we’re assuming this was all fun and games!

Jameer Nelson passed out of a wide-open layup because Giannis Antetokounmpo spooked him, and it was amazingly the right play.

Wednesday’s final scores

Clippers 106, Magic 95 (Clips Nation recap | Orlando Pinstriped Post recap)

Wizards 93, Grizzlies 87 (Bullets Forever recap | Grizzly Bear Blues recap)

Thunder 100, Pacers 95 (Welcome to Loud City recap | Indy Cornrows recap)

Celtics 124, Nuggets 118 (Celtics Blog recap | Denver Stiffs recap)

Trail Blazers 102, Heat 95 (Blazer’s Edge recap | Hot Hot Hoops recap)

Pelicans 115, Bucks 108 (The Bird Writes recap | Brew Hoop recap)

Bulls 103, Jazz 100 (Blog a Bull recap | SLC Dunk recap)

Raptors 115, Suns 109 (Raptors HQ recap | Bright Side of the Sun recap)

Rockets 108, Hornets 96 (The Dream Shake recap | At the Hive recap)