#and the centaur was her second to last

[erlandious]

Doodle crumbs

[quarterlifekitty]

Another strange little idea

cw: child death, Catholic school trauma (based on outlast 2)

As I lay down my head to sleep

Johnny could tell you when his issues with authority started. Still has them now, though Price knows where to direct the teeth of a mad dog. He could tell you so much more than just the age— he could tell you the very day. The hour. The minute. The second.

It was the last second he saw you alive. The moment before your body made its final fall from the last step, cracking your skull on the linoleum, a halo of blood soaking your hair and the skewed blue wool of your uniform vest.

Johnny talks a lot. In fact, it’s hard to get him to stop. But that one moment has stayed buried deep, still stuck at the base of his 12 year old spine.

I pray the lord my soul to keep

They say girls grow up faster than boys. It’s true. Your best friend—your girl best friend, that is— clumsily shoved a pile of loose leaf paper into his hands when school had resumed on Monday. When everyone knew. He looked at them, confused— like runic cryptograms of femininity, the pages were covered in doodles of hearts and centaur men, creased by dozens upon dozens of repeated intricate folds, emblazoned with line after line of glitter pen ink.

“She, uhm— she really… I think she’d want you to know— she really liked you.” He barely looked up in time to see the flutter of a navy skirt as she ran away, having finished her grave deed.

They stayed clandestinely tucked into the back pocket of his binder for an agonizing week before he’d had the courage to read them.

Johnny? As in Johnny Mactavish? Ewwwww. he’s so stupid.

All boys are stupid. At least he’s cute. His eyes are pretty. And he’s like…. Funny-stupid. Not mean-stupid.

So when are you gonna get married? Are you gonna have a hundred babies and have a dog and a cat? And live in million-pound house in London?

Shut up!!! Bitch.

Slag.

Maybe we will get married. And have a million babies and they’ll all have his blue eyes and my perfect hair and you’re gonna be so jealous!!!

And if I die

He was still in his boyhood then. When he looks back now, it was all so obvious… the excuses to hold his hand. To come over to his house after school. Begging him to join the same after school club as you. Leaving butterscotches in the little pocket on his book bag.

Maybe if he’d had just a little more time to grow into himself— to understand the fairer sex, he’d have known things. He’d have liked you back. Maybe you would’ve been happy together. Maybe it would’ve lasted two weeks.

But now there was just no way to know.

You died running. Pushing. Escaping. No more than five minutes after you’d begged fearfully for him not to leave you to pray with—

And it planted the awful little rotting seed deep in some under-used vessel in the recesses of his heart. A purpling bruise from every possibility that was shattered. Everything that could’ve been. It warped your image in his mind. How could it not, when he was taught to admire and adore innocents that had died?

You became his personal saint. And try as he might to move on, to forget, no earthly woman had a chance to compete with that. Not really.

Before I wake

He should’ve known. When he saw that patch of blue in the corner of his eye. That strictly kept length of hair. When Simon had to snap at him to get him to fucking pay attention if y’wanna keep that useless ‘ead on ya shoulders.

When he heard that little—

Please don’t go.

Right in front of the tunnel.

When your halo became a blinding light where it had been the blood of an ingenue spilled against cheap, beige and white speckled plastic flooring. When he smelled angel’s trumpets instead of rubber burnt into the grit on the edge of the steps.

When he heard the click of a three ring binder instead of the gunshot.

I pray the lord my soul to take

But he does feel it when the bullet makes a home in the side of his skull. And he prays to god that he falls the very same way you did.

[lady-ashfade]

Blood And Pressure

Part three

Yandere!Pjo × Fem!Grisha!reader. (Platonic Yandere gods) (romantic!various characters)

-♡ Chapters: Previous // Next

-♡ characters: Percy Jackson, Luke Castellan, Clarisse La Rue, Annabeth Chase, Grover Underwood

-♡ this is a shadow & bone slight crossover. Reader is a heartrender and that's all really (maybe more in the future!)

-♡ Please note that all characters are aged appropriately, so all characters are older versions of the book characters. So 17-19 characters for these, you can choose any of them really. Just that they are older teens. (Except for Clarisse and Luke at pjo show actors)

-♡ warnings: short, yandere behaviors, obsession, stalking, slightly sick love, possessive, manipulative, gaslighting, platonic yandere too, blood powers, powerful powers but not godly, and future warnings when more chapters come out. (Luke will be back don’t worry)

“Well,” you sigh and look at Percy with sadness but tried to not show it. In this short time you had someone who dispute just meeting you, gave you something you wanted for as long as you have been here. A friend.

“You’ll be great here. Luke will take care of you.” Percy gripped the straps of his backpack at his name on your lips.

“Yeah, he seems nice..” he looked past your shoulder at the boy that must have been a year older then him. But he was much larger then he was..more muscular and a few inches taller.

“It’s hard to be in a new place, trust me I know that.” You paused for a second and he could see you running over your thoughts. Before he could piece together anything you wrapped your arms around him and embraced him.

He was stunned in place as his chest become breathless at being close to you. This was his chance, so he wrapped his arms around you and smiled at how your hair smelled sweet.

“Thank you Percy,” you whispered while still holding so tightly onto him. You cared little about anything else.

“For what?”

“Giving me a friend for as long as I can.” You pulled back from him and stepped away with a embarrassed expression. Before percy could reply, Chiron called your name and you gave him one last look and walked away.

You walked out the cabin beside the centaur with your legs practically dragging.

You felt sick to your stomach while thinking of being back in the house and being stuck there again with no one your age to hang out with. You stared at the ground while waking and you could feel Chirons gaze on you but you didn’t bother looking up.

Deep down you knew you weren’t supposed to be here. It didn’t make sense to you but you blacked out everything before this “camp” and only pieces came back to you. You remember someone training you…you remembered your powers and how to use them. And, you remember the book you had- the only thing of your old life. But not what you are.

“It’s just a silly little story,” you overheard the first night in the big house. “Just let her keep it.” Chiron convinced the god.

Now you got a taste of freedom you didn’t want to go back. You wanted to be with people your own age, you wanted friends. You think i’d go insane to spend another week trapped in that place.

“So,” a new voice creeped up in your ears. You both come to a stop and you find yourself looking up. A new girl. She was beautiful but her harsh glare and muscles set a shiver down your spine. Her eyes looked you up and down causing you to shift uncomfortably.

“She’s finally out of her cage.” Her teeth poked out from her smile and for some reason it reminded you of a shark or a lion…like she hunted pray for fun, and you were her next kill.

“Clarisse, lovely to see you.” The man smiled softly but his voice sounded different like a warning of some sort. “We are just going back, is there anything you need?” You throat goes dry when she starts to step closer to you.

“What is she? No one at camp knows but you guys seem to,” you play with your fingers under her almost threatening gaze. You remember one glare like that…Ares had one.

Not that you ever met him really but there was a dream. You were in a place with thrones around you and people sat amongst them and screamed at each other. Not much did you catch or remember of what was said, almost like you were meant to. But the subject did revolve around you.

“Tell me, what are you?” That’s when things clicked in your mind. Someone had asked that before.

“That’s enough. Go back to your cabin—”

“I’m a heartrender.”

The pair stare at you before moving their wide eyes up. You feel your blood pump faster and a growing confidence and remember who you were. Slowly coming down from high you felt, you notice their gaze wasn’t on you anymore but just above you.

“What?” You asked before taking a glance above you and see something shining bright above you. Stepping back you found yourself confused…no god was your parent, you weren’t a half blood. So why was one claiming you…

Thunder could be heard and rumbled underneath your feet. This couldn’t be right.

“That’s impossible..”

A peacock feather hung above your head in all its glory.

Taglist @maria699669 @gorgeourrific-nerd @alliriseabove @targaryenluvs @theaaeht @dabalyuteeeftia @weepingwitchofthewest @iris1587 @tulipmagnoliaisme @ameliashideout @purplerose291 @poppyflower-22 @riaaavm

[foldingfittedsheets]

So tonight in DnD. I have laughed harder than I have in a very very long time.

As background knowledge, we have an “Oops All Dragons” party. We’re modified young dragons so it’s not a huge advantage but at this point three fourths of the party are dragons.

We get called in to usurp two warlords. The setting is like fantasy mad max desert. One warlord was a warlock, the other a centaur fighter. Our first plan was that our dragons would dye themselves a different color to pretend to be rogue dragons and attack the city. They would take out the warlord. Then our bunnyfolk barbarian was gonna run in and take us down afterward to become the figurehead for the city.

But when we turned up the warlord had a pact with a demon who threatened that if we didn’t throw the fight he’d destroy the town with meteors. We started trying to scope out the magical trigger for the threatened spell. Our cleric-dragon started trying to sense magic.

After swooping all over the town we realized the magic was centered on the warlord. But we didn’t know for sure. And one dragon swooping close was just gonna be a target. So I said, “Hey… this one time my younger siblings loosed their… feces… after a dive”

The resulting hilarity took a while to calm down but finally the DM was like, “You want to try to blind him with your shit?”

Yes. Yes we did. But none of the dragons wanted to be the only one raining shit. It was embarrassing. So we decided that all three of us would try this gambit.

My dragon went, they doused him with a face full of poop but didn’t blind him. The Druid-dragon went next and did similarly well.

But he got the jump on the cleric-dragon, and furious, covered in dragon shit, he cast a fireball at her. Unfortunately for him, she has the ability to steal a spell. So the fireball launched then sling shotted straight back into his face.

There he was. A steaming flaming pile of burning shit. And then she shit on him too.

My dragon managed to dispel the rune circle we’d detected with the gambit, and he fled into the crowd to be torn apart by his oppressed people.

Then we did a WWE style fight with our barbarian and he managed to almost kill our Druid on accident and the dragons fled on schedule.

Success- after a fashion! We usurped the guy and shit all over the town.

There’s a second warlord we need to target. We decide what’s a little identity theft so our cleric posed as a grunt we’d killed previously called “The Haboob Wraith.” A haboob is genuinely a desert sandstorm but it was hilarious regardless.

We roll into town deciding to duplicate our piggyback tactics from the last one on one fight we had. The party was escorted into a champions tent and presented with the finest things before their fight to the death. The finest thing in this case is…. Milk.

We all paused and out of character said, “Did you just say milk?”

“Yeah! Like nice cow milk! It’s rare in the desert!”

I lost my fucking shit that the finest thing on offer was milk. So the Haboob Wraith strode into combat with a stomach full of milk.

The centaur warlord said, "I hope you've prayed to your gods, you're about to meet them."

"The gods pray to ME!" she shouted and went on to slaughter him.

We installed a second puppet warlord and rode off into the sunset, all of us staggered by the utter silliness of the whole session, and said goodnight with many a shit pun.

[alkali1]

Belly Attendant 3: Delivery Pt 1

The next morning you awaken to Naia whimpering and moaning through a strong contraction, her womb quivering and rolling under your fingertips. Her contractions picked up in frequency and intensity over night, and you figure that sometime today she'll have to push out the overgrown centaur foal. "Oh god, my hips are so sore. Maybe I overdid it last night" Naia whines. "Your body was probably telling you to help loosen them up and get things moving." You respond, pressing your hands deep into her plush buttocks to provide soothing counterpressure to her strained pelvis.

You cuddle for hours, keeping her milked, fed, and pleasured, as the contractions slowly dilate her. You pay special attention to her sore pelvis, spending lots of time squeezing her fat birthing hips as she struggles with the pain of them opening up to pass the overdeveloped surrogate foal. With the help of her magical weightbearing harness, you ease her into whatever positions her body urges her to take. A semi-squat on the edge of the bed is perfect for burying your face between her plump thighs and making her gasp and moan in pleasure for an hour. Wiping off your face, you check her dilation again. "15 centimeters. But it still feels like you have a ways to go." Privately you wonder what the absolute maximum diameter is that she can possibly stretch to. Having to go beyond 10 is rare for her, only needed for the absolute largest of her surrogate children, and this foal is large enough to really push her limits.

After laboring all day, it's now early evening. When you sense her energy and willpower flagging you wipe the sweat from her brow and pepper her face with kisses, whispering loving reassurances to her. "Oh God, I feel like I'm about to hit transition." she moans. "Should we get you to the birth chamber?" you ask. "Ooh, not quite yet" she moans, grabbing your hand and pulling it towards her needy cunt. You finger her clit, feeling her thighs squeezing desperately around your arm, while kissing and worshiping her heaving, lopsided belly. She cums hard after only a few minutes, but her moans of pleasure are soon replaced by pain as she feels something deep and low inside her shift. "Get me to the birthing room, now. I need to walk to get this foal positioned right." You hold her arm and arm, helping her balance as she slowly waddles through the temple halls. Each contraction makes her stop and let loose guttural screams of discomfort and pain. She realizes that the baby is malpositioned, and the too-large head is jammed awkwardly against her back. You provide as much counterpressure as you can in the small of her back but it seems to do very little to help with the crushing pain.

"This is the worst back labor I've had since that stubborn half-giant a few years ago. It feels like my spine is going to pop out of alignment."

The contractions get stronger and closer together as her womb attempts to squeeze the awkwardly angled head through her painfully stretched cervix. She's barely able to waddle for 30 seconds between each one before instinctively dropping into a wide squat, clutching desperately at her poor hips while pushing furiously. Even with the harness it's difficult for you to heave her back upright. You finally make to to the chamber when her water bursts dramatically, soaking the tiled floor and your shoes. Without the cushioning bag of fluid the head is able to align well enough with her birth canal for her pushes to start to make progress.

You get her lying down on the room's mattress, on her side with one plump leg hiked up as far as she can, resting in a loop of fabric dangling from the ceiling. You push your arm into her darkly swollen pussy to check her, and feel a cervical lip impeding her progress. You gently, manually stretch her cervix during her pushes, feeling the cannonball-sized head bulging forward millimeters at a time.

Elves have the unique ability for their pelvic ligaments to stretch like rubber, a necessity for a race that carries babies for 36 to 40 months. After two hours of pushing, her hip bones have separated several inches, just barely enough for the foal's human head to start squeezing its way between.

"I can't stretch any more!" she whines, "It's so big!" "You're doing such a great job, honey. I know this is a big one but it's nothing you can't handle."

She pleads for you to help her into the ceiling harness: a device similar to her magical belly support belt. It allows birthing surrogates to be suspended semi-weightlessly with their body supported, to allow for a greater variety of birthing positions. You strap her in and hoist her up so she's lying on top of her belly, which still touches the ground. You help her pull her legs forward to open up her hips. Finally, her desperate, grunting pushes are starting to force the oversized head through her separated hips. Her pussy starts to get puffy and bulgy, a sliver of hair visible deep within her folds. "Oh god I can feel it, it's way too big!" Petting her belly and covering her in tender kisses, you reassure her that it isn't, that she's going to be able to do this. Privately, you're starting to have your doubts. The horse half is going to be wider than the head, will it get stuck in her straining, creaking pelvis? You quickly tap out a magic message to the temple abbot, letting her know that Naia is having a difficult birth, and to remain on standby to provide auxiliary support if needed.

You work soothing oil into her swollen pussy, magically infused to help her stretch beyond her natural capacity. Though it may help her stretch, it does almost nothing to help with the pain of being spread and stretched around a 70 pound centaur. You can tell the burning pain is unbearable for her. She lets out a high pitched shriek of "Noooooooo!" with the push that parts her tender lips around the beginnings of the massive crown.

"Oh my god it burns so bad! Please get me to the pool now!" she cries out. You move the harness over the room's hot-spring fed birthing pool, lowering her in and unstrapping her swollen body from the uncomfortably tight fabric. Kneeling down behind her, you run your finger around the tight rim of her cunt. She's stretched tighter than she has been in months, and the head is still not even at its widest point.

You start to worry that she could tear. With one hand, you brace her perineum, and with the other, you press down on her clit, reassuring her that she's not going to rip, that she just needs a little extra time to stretch. You help coach her through panting away the contractions, fighting the urge to push to let her body work at the pace it needs to. But no extra stretch is forthcoming, even as you hold the head in place for over half an hour. You painstakingly manipulate her achingly tight lips a millimeter at a time, gradually pulling them back around the hard surface of the head, easing it out of her without letting her tear. Finally, with a guttural shriek from Naia, it squirts forward on its own, finally fully crowned. But you both know that the hardest part is still to come: the horse body.

[fannedandflawless]

Professors as Social Media Platforms

1. Severus Snape — Tumblr (dark mode, obviously)

Unsearchable username. Reblogs potion disasters and gothic poetry at 2AM. No tags. No comments. Just layered emotional trauma and an occasional hex.

“He’s been online this whole time. He just never speaks.”

2. Minerva McGonagall — LinkedIn (with terrifying precision)

A CV so flawless it terrifies Ministry recruiters. Endorses Transfiguration and Professional Decency.

“Tenure: Eternal. Patience: Exhausted.”

3. Albus Dumbledore — Reddit

Knows everything. Posts nothing. Occasionally leaves cryptic comments that start philosophical wars.

“User prophecyWatcher_1865 strikes again.”

4. Sybill Trelawney — Pinterest (but cursed)

Boards full of teacup patterns, celestial charts, and unsettling predictions. Half aesthetic, half apocalyptic.

“Today’s vibe: Death… or a new beginning.”

5. Filius Flitwick — Duolingo

Tiny. Cheerful. Slightly too enthusiastic about correct pronunciation. Your streak is his pride and joy.

“Ten points to Ravenclaw for properly rolled Rs!”

6. Pomona Sprout — YouTube (gardening side of the internet)

Uploads low-res but heartwarming videos about herbology. Comments are wholesome chaos.

“This video taught me to love magical compost. Thank you, Professor!”

7. Remus Lupin — WordPress (password protected blog)

Wrote three brilliant posts in 2006. Hasn’t updated since. Still logs in weekly just to reread the comments.

“It was always about the subtext.”

8. Gilderoy Lockhart — Instagram (blue-tick energy)

Heavily filtered. All selfies, no substance. Somehow still gets brand deals from Flourish & Blotts.

“New wand, same charming smile! 💫✨”

9. Dolores Umbridge — Nextdoor

Uses all caps. Reports students for breathing too loud. Wants to ban Centaur-owned businesses.

“Just a neighbourly reminder: no loitering on school grounds after 6PM.”

10. Horace Slughorn — X (formerly Twitter, still self-important)

Knows exactly who to follow and when to retweet. Every post sounds like a dinner party anecdote. Only uses “exclusive” group chats.

“Ah yes, I taught her! Bright girl. Very tweetable.”

11. Rubeus Hagrid — Facebook (but only uses it for photos of magical creatures)

Every post starts with “Bless ‘em.” Half blurry selfies, half emotional rants about dragons. Comments on your post just to say “proud of yeh.”

“Tha’s Fang in his wee jumper. Don’t he look smart?”

12. Poppy Pomfrey — NHS Online (but with magic and no patience)

Diagnoses in 0.5 seconds. Treats in 0.2. You leave the ward cured… and slightly afraid.

“Mr Weasley, this is not a hotel.”

13. Professor Binns — Wikipedia (but the 2004 version)

Outdated. Uneditable. And somehow still being cited. Monotone delivery. Nobody knows when he last logged out.

“Still loading… eternally.” Then… “He died mid-sentence and the syllabus didn’t even notice.”

14. Rolanda Hooch — Strava (but make it brooms)

She tracks your flight patterns and your attitude.Will not hesitate to bench you mid-air.

“You crash it, you clean it.”

15. Quirinus Quirrell — YouTube (Conspiracy Channel Edition)

Starts with potion reviews. Ends in full possession. Comments turned off. For safety.

“This went from ‘fun facts’ to ‘run fast’ real quick.”

16. Alastor Moody — Telegram (but for ex-Aurors only)

Locked. Paranoid. Sends seven messages when you say “hi.” Profile picture is just his magical eye.

“CONSTANT VIGILANCE. Even in group chats.”

⸻ 🐾 Bonus

Argus Filch — Maintenance Admin page Mrs Norris — CCTV in feline form

🧹 Filch — Admin Dashboard (password: pain) Only logs in to block students. 🚨 Mrs Norris — Notification System (with claws) Silent. All-seeing. And somehow already behind you. “Student presence detected. Begin glaring.”

[rainintheevening]

There's nothing Oreius dislikes so much as a liar or a traitor. He's more than a little disgusted with the idea of one of their kings being a traitor, but he's also saddened. He liked Peter instantly, something in his eyes, something strong and brave for a colt his age. But the other king? A traitor?

In all his years as a leader among the centaurs faithful to Aslan, he has often had to be ruthless with his trust. He's been betrayed more than once, by friends, creatures he gave second chances to. He's had to take a stand on 'trust once broken, forever broken'. (He knows that traitors die under a knife.)

Of course he's still going to do what Aslan tells him, of course he's still going to help rescue the boy. But he worries, he's got his guard up, ready for anything from this traitor-boy.

And then just outside the Witch’s camp, Edmund faints dead away, and Oreius does not hesitate to scoop the boy up in his arms, and oh.

He's too light for one thing. Yes, he's human, not colt, but still. He's got gangly arms and legs, he looks like he's growing. He feels like he should weigh more. His face is battered, and Oreius remembers how they found that dwarf with his knife at the boy's throat, and, well... he's very glad they got there when they did.

Oreius carries Edmund gently through the night, until he stirs.

He halts, lays the boy down carefully as soon as he moans, wary of him lashing out, and gestures for the others not to crowd too close.

Edmund surges to his feet, almost falls down again at once, and Oreius catches his shoulder to steady him. "Careful, young one. If you can't walk you will need to ride."

A wild-eyed glance around in the half-moonlight, and the Son of Adam looks up him, up at Oreius, and he's the same height as Oreius's sister-colt when he'd been but a week past born.

"Are you going to kill me too?" Edmund asks, and the quiet despair in his voice cuts Oreius deeper than he would have liked.

"No," Oreius says quietly. "We have come to rescue you. Aslan’s orders."

"But why would He ever want me?" Edmund wavers again, and Oreius wonders when he last ate, or drank. "Is He going to kill me? I don't think I much care if He does though, it's got to be better than her."

That's when Oreius's softening heart decides it's time to give second chances again.

"No, He waits for you," Oreius speaks soft. "His lost one. I know He seeks a way to make it right. To save you."

The Son of Adam stares at him for too long, and doesn't turn away quickly enough for Oreius to miss the tears.

He hates having to break this moment, but the Witch could come after them at any time. "We need to move, you majesty. We will not make you walk, you may ride me."

Oreius gestures to one of the fauns who lifts the Son of Adam up onto the centaur’s back. "Hold onto me," Oreius said over his shoulder, and hands grasp awkwardly at his armour. "I will not let you fall," he adds.

Oreius carries Edmund back to Aslan, and his heart is warm, when he realizes the boy is nodding sleepy against Oreius spine.

Perhaps this traitor can mend, he thinks. I will do all I can to help you, colt and king as you are.

Oreius doesn't like liars, or traitors. But when Aslan breaks the curse, not just for Edmund but for all such beings, he is glad. He is glad to offer second chances again.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 28 - Grimy

@jegulus-microfic January 28, Word count 554

Previous part First part

They’d only just made it back to the shack before the sun rose. Moony had been dragging his feet, tired from all the running around in the forbidden forest. But they’d got him back inside and comfortable before he started whimpering and howling, nuzzling at Padfoot for comfort as slowly the wolf disappeared to reveal Remus beneath. James hated the transformations; they were so hard on Remus, but the thrill he got from running around with a literal werewolf was like no other, not even quidditch made him feel like that. 

The second that Remus was no longer in his wolf form, Sirius changed back into himself and checked Remus over, healing a few of the deeper cuts he’d got when he’d tried to get past them and chase a herd of centaurs. , a very bad idea that Moony. 

“Thanks, Pads,” Remus said weakly, his voice hoarse from howling. 

“Shhh, Moons. You need to rest before Poppy comes,” Sirius hushed him, stroking his grimy hair out of his eyes. 

Too soon the telltale sounds of Madam Pomfrey coming down the tunnel to collect Remus drifted up to them. 

“Padfoot, come on,” James urged, holding up the invisibility cloak. Peter was fast asleep in James’s front pocket as Wormtail still and would stay that way until James put him in his bed once they got back up to the dorm room. 

“Remus?” Madam Pomfrey called out as she came into the shack. 

“Up here,” Remus answered back, coughing harshly as he raised his voice for her. Sirius’s hands fluttered uselessly above him as he continued to cough. James knew Sirius wouldn’t move on his own now, so he grabbed him around the middle and yanked him under the cloak just in time as Madam Pomfrey opened the bedroom door. 

It took her a while to get Remus back on his feet, Sirius twitching under James’s hands as he held him back.

“Sirius, stop!” He hissed in his ear, but it didn’t help. Finally, Remus was on his feet, leaning heavily on Madam Pomfrey and making their way down the stairs. They followed a minute or so after them, heading up to the castle.

James let go of Sirius as they climbed the steps into the entrance hall. Remus was back in the castle, and Sirius would calm down now. He grabbed his hand, Sirius still needed some contact when Remus was in the hospital wing, and they began the long walk back up to Gryffindor Tower. 

Only a few seventh years were up at that hour, but still, they didn’t want it to be obvious that they’d been out of bed all night. They snuck through the common room and up the spiral staircase, throwing off the invisibility cloak only once their dorm room door was closed. James deposited Wormtail on his bed and got Sirius into his before walking over to his own. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to collapse for a few hours. 

His curtains were drawn, which was odd because they’d definitely been open before he left last night. He pulled them open and froze as he came face to face with the tip of a wand. 

“Hello, love,” Regulus crooned before dragging him into the bed. Well, either this was going to be spectacularly good or spectacularly bad. 

Next part

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Male Monster Musume: Feeding The Beasts Pt. III

Last Part

“Good Morning, (Y/n). Are you ready to spend the day together?”

As you expected, Centoreo was so much easier. Waking up in a timely matter with a warm cup of tea or coffee. It was relaxing, being able to rely on someone else. Able to serve little biscuits and cucumber slices without burning the house down. It wasn’t too often that you got such a quiet morning for yourself.

“Thanks, Centoreo, I appreciate it.”

“No problem, (Y/n)! As my Master, it’s a given that on my day; we’ll get to relax together.”

Sitting across from each other on the newly installed tatami mats. The morning’s light shining through the window gently warmed your face. It was quiet between you two. A tad too quiet.

Centoreo was still smiling at you. 

Constantly smiling as you began to get nervous.

“Uh so?”

“So what, my Master?”

“....I don’t know…what’ve you been up to?”

He sighed, “Only counting down the hours until my day was here.”

A mirth smile spread across your face as you imagined the sight of Centoreo waiting anxiously by a clock. You took another sip of your drink admiring his stylized room. Coming to realize there’s no clock within the room you turned back to the centaur.

“You don’t have a clock in here.”

“I do not. Back home we centaurs are taught to dictate the time by the sun or better yet to count the hours in a day.”

“Wow, I didn’t know that. That’s pretty hardcore.”

“Thank you, Master!”

“Do you guys also get trained with the sword?”

You missed the way his eyes widened and the way his hands twitched. He tilted his head when he asked his question.  

“Excuse me?”

“Like don’t centaurs get swords? I’m sure you couldn’t bring a real one with you but still.”

Centoreo hesitated, “Some do but aren’t swords considered archaic in today's age?”

Shoot. 

You mentally kicked yourself. In the anime, Cerea was very upfront about her sword replica. Having it on her waist or drawing it the second she felt necessary. It was a big part of her character. But now that you thought about it Centoreo had no such thing, even with the way you both met; chasing criminals and using the sword just wasn’t a part of it. Supposedly that had happened before you even met up with him. So without your prior knowledge, this line of questioning seemed completely out of left field. Your best chance now was to do damage control.

“Uhm yes, but I thought Centaurs preferred a more traditional type of learning and lifestyle. Like the way you chose a master.”

Centoreo seemed to nod as he accepted your lie coverup. Clapping his hands in confirmation.

“I see, how you might have thought that! But you’re not wrong, we do get a myriad of training with different weapons and I do have one.”

“A replica? Neat!”

Centorea dwelled in your excitement,” Would you like to see my sword?”

At that moment the door to Centoreo’s room slams open and in a flurry of blue feathers and a scaly tail, the two other monster transfer students barged in. Both are standing guard in front of you blocking your sight from the centaur. 

“No! There will be no showing any ‘swords’ of yours! Not before mine!”

“Yeah! I want to show my sword too! We’re not going to let you get away with it.”

You could hear his polite chuckles from behind his hand, “Oh so you don’t want (Y/n) to protect themselves?”

“Yes! I mean, wait–”

“Of course not! That’s my job!”

“No you bird brain! He’s talking about some weapon he brought overseas with him.”

“Oh…I already thought your rear-end was enough of a weapon.”

“Pypi!”

The harpy had a nonchalant expression as you scolded him while coughing to hide the snicker that threatened to spread on your face. The lamia immediately began to coil around himself in laughter, making it easy for the red-in-the-face centaur to push most of him out the door. 

With a huff, Centoreo shut his door and locked it. When he turned to you he had an angry blush at the smile you were failing to cover. 

“I’m sorry, Centoreo…but if you’re still willing to show me I’d love to see.”

A small smile spread on his face as he turned back to you. Guiding you to stand over a specific floorboard he revealed a hidden case that robotically raised out of the ground and showed a myriad of weapons…some of which were not all that traditional.

“And this is my 177 Caliber BB Gun Air Pistol…it’s not incredibly new but it’s close enough to what I’m comfortable with.”

“Oh wow….”

“What’s with that face?”

“It’s just that I didn’t think guns counted as traditional weaponry.”

He laughed, “It’s alright, that’s what we’re here for. To learn about each other.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

That was a really good point. The anime made a point to use the laws and societal changes to move the plot. It was mostly about how the girls were fitting into the human world, with their love interest somehow being all-knowing about their idiosyncrasies. Granted there were some exceptions but it wasn’t a major theme to learn in-depth about their cultures. 

You thought that was cool. 

“If you’d like I can teach you how to shoot it.”

“Really?"

"Of course.”

Sooner than you realized it you found yourself in the position of every male protagonist during a pool game. Trying to hyper-focus on the gun you were holding instead of the muscular chest on the back of your head as well as the hands supporting your back. While you could only see the target board you could feel the warmth of his breath as he gave his advice.

“Don’t close your eye, and use the sight to aim. That’s it. You’re doing perfectly my Master.”

This was a lot more than you were expecting.

Crttt Crttt Crttt Crttt

A grating sound broke the moment, thankfully. Bringing both of you to look at the curiously opened door, With only a crack wide enough for furiously yellow-slitted eyes and a fanged set of teeth gritting against each other. Centoreo let out an uncharacteristically long groan before excusing himself out of his room. 

“My Master I’ll return shortly, after I speak with…them.”

“But it’s okay I can talk to him–”

“No no dear it’s fine. Just keep practicing, I’ll be just a moment.”

The Japanese-style door slides shut and you can’t help but expect to hear screaming and sounds of a fight. But there was nothing. After a few minutes had passed you began to feel bored with just shooting the air-gun. Finally putting it down you left his room, poking your head out into the hall and finding no one. Searching around you found the monster boys in the living room with 2 of them sleeping peacefully on the couch. Centoreo was standing over them pulling a blanket over their forms, before turning to you.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, my master.”

“Ah, it’s okay. I’m surprised they’d fall asleep so easily.”

Centoreo shrugged before perking up with an idea.

“(Y/n). I wanted to ask if maybe we could meal prep together. I was hoping we could be…adventurous with the vegetables this time since we usually cater to them.”

“Sure I don’t mind, though I don’t think they’d be too interested in what we make.”

“I have a feeling they’ll sleep through dinner, I convinced them to eat something hearty before they slept.”

You decided not to question the weird timing. 

“Then let’s have fun, shall we?”

“Perfect!”

______________________________________________________________

You both most certainly did. Able to even light a candle or two while you enjoyed the roasted and sauteed veggies you’d both made. As Centoreo predicted they did sleep through dinner, letting you both enjoy a quiet and peaceful evening together. It was hard to be cautious when he was just so sweet. It might have made you soften up a bit when it came to him.

“Centoreo you don’t have to call me master all the time.”

“Then what should call you then?”

“My name or some other nickname. I don’t really care. Milo’s got like a thousand for me.”

“I want you to pick what I’ll call you. Otherwise, I’ll just stick to master. Or your name, both are really important to me.”

“You’re so stubborn.”

“It’s a quality of a good knight. Cheers.”

Even as the night began to close you were almost certain he’d abashedly ask you to snuggle in his bed with him. But he politely offered to let you relax offering to watch your phone and clothes while you headed to the bath. It’s become a bit of an issue with Milo and Pypi taking advantage of your unattended clothes. Even though they were asleep you were hesitant to let him. Cerea was still a prominent member of the harem; it wouldn’t be unheard of that he was as dangerously interested in you as Milo and Pypi. But you might have wanted to take advantage of the unattended bath…without the possible intrusion…an opportunity so hard to pass up.

“Okay but don’t do anything weird. I’ll be out in a bit.”

He smiled graciously as though a halo was meant to appear. “Of course, I’m here to help. Enjoy your bath.”

A refreshing bath later and a final cup of tea. You bid Centoreo goodnight as you shut your metal door. 

The schedule worked. The strengthening of your bonds was important to hopefully disassembling and keeping a reign on the alternate versions of the monster girls. This could work if you kept this up, not to mention the later events of the anime. Maybe pushing past their insecurities would be the way to go. 

Things were looking up. 

___________________________________________________________

Blonde strands of hair cascaded over Centoreo’s face as he glared at the messages from the agent. Looking down at the contact he scrolled through the text history, with scrunched brows. He felt disgusted as he glared at the mail he’d intercepted. 

It was an opt-out form.

The letter of allowance is meant to let the host peacefully transfer their guardianship to another. 

He was already burning the added note from the agent jovially informing him of his new promotion. There were other disturbing litigations in cursive but Centoreo deemed it all unworthy of thought. Taking only the main points to heart. 

“Did you really think you have a chance? While I’m here?  Please.”

It was a minor concern, that another tenant was going to arrive. This would be returned to the mailbox. The others could be burned. 

“It’s only a matter of time. Bide your time Centoreo. It will all be worth it then.”

[hollowed-theory-hall]

What do you think about Hermione? Love her? Hate her? Any thoughts about her being given the time Turner? Because that's what made me dislike her. There's literally no way it makes sense for her to have that other than favouritism from Dumbledore. Because if they were really willing to give out time turners to any smart kid, Barty Crouch Jr. and Tom Riddle should also have gotten time turners.

Okay, there are two parts for this answer. The first part is that I got to defend Hermione on the Time Turner bit because it's not her fault Dumbledore plays favorites.

I'm pretty sure Dumbledore knew Sirius was innocent all along (or at least suspected it) and intended Harry and Hermione to have all the means to help him at their disposal.

“Dumbledore just said — just said we could save more than one innocent life. . . .” And then it hit him. “Hermione, we’re going to save Buckbeak!” “But — how will that help Sirius?” “Dumbledore said — he just told us where the window is — the window of Flitwick’s office! Where they’ve got Sirius locked up! We’ve got to fly Buckbeak up to the window and rescue Sirius! Sirius can escape on Buckbeak — they can escape together!”

(PoA, page 395)

They were still ten feet away from the forest, in plain view of Hagrid’s back door. “One moment, please, Macnair,” came Dumbledore’s voice. “You need to sign too.” The footsteps stopped.

(PoA, page 401)

The back in time Dumbledore, before he sent Harry and Hermione back in time, seems almost too aware of what's going on. Even though he hasn't sent them back in time yet. So, I'm suspicious he had a plan there.

“Where is it?” said the reedy voice of the Committee member. “Where is the beast?” “It was tied here!” said the executioner furiously. “I saw it! Just here!” “How extraordinary,” said Dumbledore. There was a note of amusement in his voice.

(PoA, page 402)

But even if Dumbledore didn't plan Sirius' escape and the Time Turner shenanigans, it's not Hermione's fault Dumbledore wanted her to have a Time Turner. Honestly, it's good she had it for Sirius' sake, but Dumbledore's favoritism isn't on her. I feel it's wrong to blame her for a decision that wasn't hers. It was Dumbledore's and McGonagall's decision to give Hermione a Time Turner and not to other students. We don't even know how common Time Turners are for students (my guess is not at all, and Hermione wasn't supposed to have one, but that's a different post), but it was still a decision completely out of Hermione's hands.

As for the second part, which is my opinion on Hermione:

I like Hermione, she isn't in my top favorite characters, but I do like her. She's interesting, adds contrast to Ron and Harry and I related to her a lot when I was younger.

I hate what the movies did to her. They stripped her of everything that made her interesting and made her this perfect figure who always knew what to do which Hermione just isn't. Hermione tends to panic and stress out in the books often. It's often Harry who comes up with last-minute plans under pressure.

And yes, she's smart, but she isn't always the cleverest or wisest (I'll say Ron has the most common sense in the Trio), and a lot of times she doesn't think her plans through (like with Umbridge, the centaurs, and Gwamp. She didn't plan anything other than not wanting to see Harry in pain). And that's an interesting character flaw for her to have. And she knows this about herself. I mean, she says herself there's more to magic than just reading books.

And book Hermione really loves Harry and Ron and appreciates their cleverness compared to movie Hermione who's just done with both of them and their idiocy constantly. Which is a disservice to the Golden Trio's friendship. All three are really smart in different ways. and the three of them know this (sorta, Harry has really low self-esteem so he doesn't think he's smart).

My biggest grief with Hermione's character in the books was always her complete faith in authority she trusts. Throughout the series, Hermione is the one of the Trio who always speaks up that they should trust Dumbledore and do what Dumbledore says because she respects him. Hermione, once she respects an authority figure, she tends to just have full faith in them and their judgment. And that really got on my nerves sometimes. But again, that's an interesting character flaw that contrasts Harry and Ron and creates an interesting dynamic. It's a character flaw that is an extension of Hermione's loyalty. I think her loyalty is a trait that is often downplayed too, but she is so loyal. Like, once she decides you have her loyalty you could do pretty much anything and she'll try to justify you. She'll make excuses and justifications so people she's loyal to are in the right.

And she does this justification with her own actions too. I like Hermione's ruthlessness that is so often ignored. She:

Set Snape on fire as a 1st year (but, yeah she loves all authority *sarcasm*)

Kept Rita Skeeter in a jar

Marietta Edgcomb (the curse on the DA parchment in general)

Came up with the DA coins and told Harry she got inspiration from the Dark Mark:

Harry looked sideways at Hermione. “You know what these remind me of?” “No, what’s that?” “The Death Eaters’ scars. Voldemort touches one of them, and all their scars burn, and they know they’ve got to join him.” “Well . . . yes,” said Hermione quietly. “That is where I got the idea . . . but you’ll notice I decided to engrave the date on bits of metal rather than on our members’ skin. . . .”

(OotP, 399)

6. Confounded Cormac McLaggen so Ron would get the Keeper position.

7. Basically everything she did in Deathly Hollows, I'm not listing all of it.

And there are more I'm probably forgetting!

The point is, Hermione is ruthless when she wants to be. She's not to be trifled with.

I think her loyalty, as I mentioned above, is a very distinctive trait of her character. She didn't have friends before Hogwarts (she was probably bullied for being a know-it-all. Like, it shows in her behavior) and she latched onto Harry and Ron and has been incredibly devoted to their friendship since. She's not only devoted to her friends but invested in keeping Harry and Ron as her friends (and each other's freinds).

And she actually is really smart. Yes, book smart, she can memorize books like a pro, but she's also a really good puzzle solver. From the riddle in the obstacle course in 1st year, figuring out the basilisk, finding out Lupin's a werewolf, figuring out Rita's Animagus form, etc... Hermione is really good at organizing information and putting the puzzle pieces together. And that's before I mentioned her magical talent, from brewing Pulyjuice Potion (a complex and advanced potion) in 2nd year in the girls' bathroom to usually being the first in class to get spells right.

Hermione's desire to know everything, as I mentioned in another post, I think is an extension of her desire to belong. She arrives in a new world as a muggleborn, and she takes each and every chance she gets to learn about the Wizarding World. To appear as if she was always there. Because she wants to be a witch so badly she doesn't mind Obliviating her parents and sending them to Australia.

I have more thoughts, but I'm just blabbering...

So, Hermione, while not in my top five, is an interesting and flawed character that I like a lot.

[thesummerstorms]

Camp Half-Blood Numbers Over Time

Okay, I was originally doing this to figure out my own headcanons and confirm what I had figured out before, but I thought it might be useful to actual PJO fic writers or something.

So here's a quick reference post of the number of demigods in CHB through out the first series (not HoO or TOA) with screenshots of the relevant text evidence. Everything from The Last Olympian & "Son of Magic" is under a cut because there were more quotes to pull and things got long.

Beginning of the Lightning Thief: 100+ Campers attend CHB in the summer

(mentioned in BOTL as a contrast)

Begining of Battle of the Labyrinth: ~80 Campers left in attendance at CHB

Number of Campers dead in actual BOTL: 2+

(Lee Fletcher & Castor are confirmed dead, but more deaths are implied by the phrases "among the dead" and "there were too many goodbyes" which would be odd if only referring to two deaths)

Number of Campers Dead between Battle of the Labyrinth & Battle of Manhattan: ~1+ Beckendorf dies on screen. It's implied that there are demigods on raids and missions spread throughout the country, and we don't know the results of those.

Number of New Campers between BOTL & TLO: 0.

Number of Campers @ Battle of Manhattan: 40 before the Ares Cabin showed up.

45+ after Ares Cabin arrived. (Chris, 3 specific Ares kids, Clarisse + an unknown number of "cabin mates)

Kids left at Camp during the B.o.M.: 0 (it's unknown if the difference between the number from BOTL and those at Manhattan is due entirely to losses during the Battle of the Labyrinth or other previous skirmishes/missions.

Some of the missing numbers might be kids who chose not to fight, kids were sent home for being to young/unable to fight, kids who deserted, kids who were on other missions and couldn't make it back in time, etc.)

Campers Dead On-Screen in the B.o.M.: ~5-6 (Silena Beauregard, Ares kid eaten by Drakon, Apollo kid eaten by hellhound, Michael Yew, Apollo kid under shroud, possibly that Ares kid whose armor was destroyed by acid given what the acid did to Silena through her helmet)

Possible Off-Screen Deaths: ??? Many???

It's mentioned that some CHB demigods disappeared during the fighting.

Many are too injured to keep fighting and could have died from their wounds since only 16 Campers out of 45+ are in fighting shape on the final day of the Battle.

The Apollo cabin likely had more than three losses since they were referred to in the plural even when Michael had sent Kayla and Austin to lay traps and the one had already been killed by the hellhound, even though the only other named Apollo kid is Will. However, the exact numbers are unknown.

While Apollo went from having the second most number of kids to only having three kids at the start of at least TOA (possibly HOO? I don't remember enough to search for that) we don't know how many were lost here, how many were lost in other skirmishes, how many defected, or how many aged out after the War or left for other reasons.

Deaths During the B.o.M. per Alabaster: 16

Technically he said this was CHB 's losses total, but someone already disproved the possibility of this including the Hunters, Satyrs, centaurs, or nature spirits so we can infer it is mostly likely meant to be the number of demigods.

I don't love Son of Magic as a source for several reasons including narrator bias. Plus we know the "hundreds" of causalities can't be all TA demigods based on CHB's prior numbers and the run down the other poster did on the on screen ration of monsters to demigods in the TA.

But this is canon and isn't directly contradicted elsewhere, so do with it what you will.

New Campers who arrived after the B.O.M.:

??? Many, compared to the previous few summer's number of "new enrollments", but exact numbers are unspecified.

Son of Magic also states that some former defectors rejoined camp under an amnesty, though it's never brought up anywhere else and no numbers are given. It does seem strange that it's never a point of contention, honestly.

Ending Figures?

Because of the vagueness of the descriptions of the number of defectors and new kids, we don't end up with an updated total number of Campers. (There may be evidence in HOO but that's another post.)

Personally I would interpret it as still slightly under the enrollment during TLT. It's also going to be a really interesting dynamic because so many of the "replacement" numbers missed the war entirely but are going to be walking into a Camp that is dealing with its aftermath.

[only-horse-polls]

I'd like to nominate the elegant Halla, a showjumper of vague and less than refined bloodlines who became a Guinness World Record holder for being the horse with the most Olympic medals.

A trim bay mare with a white star, Halla was allegedly the daughter of a German officer's horse (her mother) and a trotter (her father). As a foal, she was raised in some isolation, and perhaps that helped her cultivate independence. According to different sources, her owners tried to make her a trotter and a steeplechaser. She was kind of a wreck at dressage, and it seems some riders found her frustrating to work with. But everything changed when she met rider Hans Gunter Winkler.

Halla thrived as a showjumper under Winkler, evidently the only rider who could effectively partner with her. To quote an article:

He watched her for hours and came to the verdict that she was a mixture of “crazy goat” and “genius”.

“Halla” was the diva, who knew what she could do. Like an actress she wanted to be left in peace an hour before performing. Then she approached her task professionally. And yet, like a real star, she remained unpredictable. If previously she was calm and concentrated, she could also freak out, for instance when the victory wreath was to be hung round her neck.

Winkler accepted this character and developed his own style. It was barely visible to any one watching but when he rode her, he used only his thighs and his knees and spread his bodyweight forwards, which became known as the “Winkler style”. Otherwise “Halla” knew neither whip nor spurs nor loud commands. On the course, looking at the last obstacle, the rider spoke to her: “Watch out!”, “Make an effort!”, “Don’t let me down!”. They merged like a mythical centaur.

Halla's true brilliance, both as a jumper and an individual, was proven when she represented Germany in the 1956 Olympics. During one of his rides, Winkler painfully tore a groin muscle, and despite the significant pain, chose to keep riding.

In this state, Winkler was only able to bring Halla up to the obstacles, but could no longer transmit the usual signals to her by means of leg pressure. Winkler, who could hardly stay in the saddle, screamed in pain over the obstacles - and was the only rider to jump clear.

"It was evident when Winkler went in to ride his second round that he was still in great pain. Eye witnesses reported that all he could do was to point the mare in the right direction, sit as still as he could and leave the rest to her – riding as such being quite out of the question. Incredibly the mare, seeming to understand her rider’s plight, simply carried him round, jumping the entire course without an error.”

Let's see them go, shall we?

At the last obstacle, the reporter Hans-Heinrich Isenbart enthusiastically shouted the legendary sentence: "And Halla laughs as if she knew what it was all about."

Commemorative stamp, which is cool even though they got her facial marking wrong.

Halla was a great jumper under Winkler's direction, but even with him incapacitated, she turned out a stunning performance. In all, she had 125 jumping wins.

They made a statue.

Halla lived to be a respectable 34 years old.

Up until her death Halla received countless thank-you letters and packets of sugar cubes. Even today, the exceptional horse receives fan mail.

And, lacking a huge commemorative statue, lucky kids got to take her home as a Breyer model.

Halla deserves consideration not just for her many wins and medals, and not even just for her enormous natural ability (look at the cute little kicks as she goes over the fences), but for keeping her cool and excelling when her human was far from able.

.

[goes-whump-in-the-night]

frequently bought together

Synopsis: Beckett is ready to say yes to the pets.

Content Warnings: winged/twin/female whumpees, pet whump, caged, gagged, electrocuted, sale of nonhumans, whumper POV

Author's Notes: I've been wanting to do winged whumpees for ages, so I'm just as excited to play with these two as Beckett is! In case you're curious, their wings are based on those of the European Bee Eater - look them up, they have some really striking colors!

The intercom in his office buzzed, and Beckett knew what his assistant was going to say before she even said it.

"Mr. Beckett, a Ms Delaney here to see you."

Letting out a bored puff of breath, Beckett set down the tennis ball he'd been mindlessly tossing up and catching repeatedly for the past hour, and pressed the button to offer his reply.

"Okay. Send her in."

It was hard to feel enthusiastic about any of it anymore. Sutton had auditioned nearly a dozen potential pets for him in the last two months, ever since he let her know he was getting bored of the old one. There had been the mermaid at the beginning of May, but she had failed to sparkle in the way he liked. A week after that, the naga - deadly poisonous, but apparently scared out of his mind.

There'd been the draft horse-sized centaur that would've been way to unwieldy to manage, the demon who wouldn't stop screaming curses for two seconds while he tried to inspect her teeth, the fox-girl who started shaking whenever he so much as looked at her, and a litany of others who had all equally fallen flat. The only reason Beckett was even entertaining Sutton again was because she had promised this next pick was guaranteed to blow his mind, and if it didn't, she'd give him 90% off his next purchase.

And with a woman like Sutton who would normally rather cut off a trading partner's fingers before she agreed to haggle, that was an interesting offer to pass up on.

Still, Beckett was intent on playing it cool as he heard the keycard beep and click at his office door as his assistant allowed her in. All he had to do was be as bored with this one as he'd been with the rest and he'd be pulling a major discount out of Sutton - and that would be something to brag about.

"Becky-boy!" Sutton greeted him with her usual broad, toothy smile as she stepped in ahead of her couriers and the merchandise they wheeled in. "How ya been?"

Beckett returned her smile with teeth, keeping his feet kicked up on his desk. "Since the last time you failed to impress? On last Friday? Oh, just super," came his smug reply.

It was their circle's worst kept secret that the two did not get along. Sutton hated him for being a daddy's boy who only played at working in his big fancy office. Beckett hated her for being trashy new money who thought she was better than him just for being a few years ahead of him at school.

But damn if her supply and his demand didn't make beautiful music together.

Sutton brushed his reply off easily. "Like I said, this one's sure to make the sale for you," she said, before snapping her fingers with a curt, "Boys?"

Her two muscular, sunglasses-wearing couriers wheeled their package further into the office - a waist-high, rectangular container covered entirely by a hideous, leopard-print tarp. They turned it to face Beckett length-wise as they approached, allowing him to realize the container was twice as long as the ones he had come to expect for most of Sutton's merchandise.

"Oh, not another centaur," he sighed, thinking she might've shoved one into a smaller cage to undersell its size after the last one. "I've told you, I'm not really interested outside of investing for racing season."

Sutton rolled her eyes. "It's not a fucking - just get your feet off your fucking desk and come and look at this," she told him.

Generally, the only person who Beckett let boss him around in his office was his dad, but curiosity was still gnawing at his mind. He got up, but continued to act like this was all a favor to Sutton.

"Probably haven't gotten Blake to sell off that little immortal spitfire of his either, I bet," he jabbed, ignoring his own low-key desire to get his hands on that girl someday. Those home videos Blake's people produced really had all of their circle talking - and no, it wasn't just because immortals were the rarest of the rare and now Blake had something the rest of them didn't.

Definitely not.

At that, Sutton's grin widened, a more evil look in her eyes. "No, but I might've ruined the bitch for him, just a little," she bragged in a way that was unsettling, even for Beckett.

Sutton had some nerve thinking she could ruin an immortal - that, or she was just as efficiently brutal as she'd always claimed to be.

"Anyway, enough small talk," she carried on, standing at the corner of her container and putting a hand on the tarp. "Let's meet your new pets!"

Before Beckett could even begin to question the plural in that assertion, Sutton ripped off the cover with a whirl, revealing beneath not one, but two large, wire cages and within them, not one, but two avians - two almost entirely identical winged girls.

Despite all his attempts to play it cool, his eyes widened at the sight of them and his mouth fell open. Two young women - olive skinned, black hair in recently cut identical bobs, dark eyes staring out between the mesh of their cages.

They were dressed in very revealing white satin nightgowns and clearly only that. Their wrists and ankles alike were bound firmly with silk ties, while thick, rubber muzzles kept their mouths hidden and clamped shut, unable to make all but the most muffled of sounds.

All that, of course, was just standard treatment of Sutton's merchandise whenever it was first delivered, but the wings on them - those were exceptional. Creamy browns and greys on the interior, burnt orange that turned to teal on the exterior, with an elegant highlight of black.

Avians were difficult to find, even harder to capture, and for their natural frailty, those that were brought into captivity were not always as...desirable as their mystique might suggest.

But these two - apparently uninjured either in body or wing.

Delivered to him in a matched set.

And best of all, they were pretty damn hot.

"Well, fuck me, Lanes," Beckett murmured. "You really delivered."

"Fucking told you I would," Sutton crowed, and then gave the cage on the right a decent kick. The avian inside cried out from behind her muzzle and awkwardly wriggled away from the impact, attempting to lean towards her sister.

Sisters, Beckett thought again. Fucking twins.

He squatted down in front of the cages to get a closer look at them. There would be a proper examination from his own physician before the sale just to make sure there were no defects Sutton was trying to pass off on him, but in the moment, he really just couldn't get enough of them.

They really were almost exactly identical. There were a few slight physical differences - a small mole under the right eye of one, an old scar on the arm of the other - but it was already clear the differences in personality would make them easier to tell apart.

The one with the mole - the one whose cage Sutton had kicked - still seemed rattled, cowering in her corner, her pretty eyes red and puffy like she'd been crying recently.

The one with the scar, on the other hand, started slamming her head and shoulder against the mesh of her cage as soon as Beckett was eye-level with her, one of the couriers needing to hold it still to keep her from tipping over.

The brief look he got of her face in between all the thrashing showed a fury and determination he rarely saw on Sutton's catches. That was usually already beaten out of them by the time they went to market.

"This one looks like she's going to be troublesome," Beckett commented, pointing at the scarred one.

Sutton shrugged. "She's got spunk, sure, but avians break in quick enough," she said. "And besides - there's a real simple trick that gets her to shut up every time."

The woman held out a hand expectantly, and one of her couriers handed over a sleek, arm-length metal rod with a few thin prongs at the end. Beckett had seen Sutton use that hundreds of times, so he new exactly what it would do - but he was admittedly surprised when she stuck it through the bars of the cowering twin's cage and jabbed it into her back.

The girl screamed from behind her gag as brief but powerful electric shock ran through her. She bent forward, cloaking herself with her pretty wings as the scream became choked sobs. Immediately, her sister stopped thrashing and looked at her with concern, before shooting a venomous glare and a growl at Sutton.

"Oooh, sooo scaryyyy," Sutton told her with a fake, mocking shiver. "Behave for my friend or this bitch - " She smacked the cowering twin's cage with her taser stick, making her flinch. " - gets another dose. Clear?"

For a moment, the scarred twin looked like she would've done anything for the chance to murder Sutton, but she made no more noise, only kneeling forward so she could rest her head as close to her twin's as she could manage across separate cages.

With the demonstration done, Sutton gave Beckett a cheeky grin. "Sisters," she said as if that explained everything. "You only need to hurt one to keep the other in line."

It was beyond frustrating how smug she was about this, and how smug the sale would enable her to be for years to come, but it was undeniable how perfect a pair they were. Two pretty little things, easy enough to break with his bare hands, holding the keys to each other cells.

And besides - even Blake had never had twin pets.

"What're their names?" Beckett asked.

Sutton used her stick to point at the angry twin. "Merro." Then the scared one. "And Astra. But pay the right price, Becky-boy, and you can call them anything you want."

'The right price,' of course, wound up being extravagant. There was no discount, no two-for-one sale. If anything, it cost far more than two pets would've normally. Beckett would've felt cheap if it had been any less though, so that was just fine by him.

Sutton, at least, did offer removal services for his old pet free of charge, as thanks for taking such a high ticket item, but Beckett paid full price on that as well so she would get the old nag out of the way sooner rather than later.

He had two shiny new toys on the way, and he needed to make sure everything was just right for them.

[ms-m-astrologer]

Cosmic Events March 2025

Executive summary: eclipse season, Mercury retrograde, Venus retrograde. The Aries Equinox. A couple of very long void Moons. Here in the US of A, stupid fucking Daylight Savings Time starts. And we all thought January went on too long!

Lunar Phases

Monday, March 3, 07:16 UTC - Crescent Moon, 27°57’ Aries

Thursday, March 6, 16:32 UTC - First Quarter Moon, 16°21’ Gemini

Monday, March 10, 08:19 UTC - Gibbous Moon, 5°01’ Leo

Friday, March 14, 06:55 UTC - Full Moon/Eclipse, 23°57’ Virgo

The Pisces Sun is conjunct Saturn, Neptune, the North Node, and the Centaur Nessus; the Virgo Moon opposes them. Ouch. It’s going to hurt, but in the same way that we sometimes feel worse before we start to feel better. Like taking medicine that tastes horrible, but we know it works.

Tuesday, March 18, 10:01 UTC - Disseminating Moon, 13°03’ Scorpio

Saturday, March 22, 11:29 UTC - Last Quarter Moon, 2°05’ Capricorn

Wednesday, March 26, 03:49 UTC - Balsamic Moon, 20:44 Aquarius

Saturday, March 29, 10:58 UTC - New Moon/Eclipse, 9°00’ Aries

From a Saros Series that tends to manifest physically - squared by the Centaur Pholus/Capricorn (blows things up; alcohol), sextiled widely by Jupiter/Gemini (overextension, not paying attention) and by Pluto/Aquarius (à bas les aristos). Astrologer Bernadette Brady recommends, “undertake some physical activity, with an ever-watchful eye to safety.”

Void of Course Moon

Saturday, March 1, 08:05 UTC (Pisces) - 09:52 UTC (Aries)

Sunday, March 2, 13:52 UTC (Aries) - Monday, March 3, 10:37 UTC (Taurus)

At 20 hours 45 minutes, this is merely the second-longest March void Moon.

Wednesday, March 5, 10:53 UTC (Taurus) - 12:29 UTC (Gemini)

Friday, March 7, 14:57 UTC (Gemini) - 16:29 UTC (Cancer)

Sunday, March 9, 21:32 UTC (Cancer) - 22:59 UTC (Leo)

Tuesday, March 11, 20:16 UTC (Leo) - Wednesday, March 12, 07:56 UTC (Virgo)

Friday, March 14, 17:47 UTC (Virgo) - 18:59 UTC (Libra)

Sunday, March 16, 09:53 UTC (Libra) - Monday, March 17, 07:30 UTC (Scorpio)

At 21 hours 37 minutes, this is the longest March void Moon.

Wednesday, March 19, 19:28 UTC (Scorpio) - 20:17 UTC (Sagittarius)

Saturday, March 22, 06:53 UTC (Sagittarius) - 07:29 UTC (Capricorn)

Monday, March 24, 15:01 UTC (Capricorn) - 15:25 UTC (Aquarius)

Wednesday, March 26, 10:15 UTC (Aquarius) - 19:31 UTC (Pisces)

Friday, March 28, 20:30 UTC (Pisces) - 20:36 UTC (Aries)

At six minutes, this is the shortest March void Moon.

Sunday, March 30, 09:18 UTC (Aries) - 20:16 UTC (Taurus)

**US followers are reminded that filing income tax during a void of course Moon is said to prevent audits. (“Filing” - the physical act of dropping the envelope into the mailbox, or of pushing the “send” button.)

Retrograde/Direct/Etc.

Transiting Mercury enters its pre-retrograde shadow on Saturday, March 1; it stations retrograde on Saturday, March 15 (the effing Ides of March dammit), and remains retrograde for the rest of the month.

Transiting Venus begins March in her pre-retrograde shadow; she stations retrograde on March 2, and remains retrograde for the rest of the month.

Transiting Pallas enters her pre-retrograde shadow on Friday, March 7, and remains there for the rest of the month.

Transiting Juno begins March in her pre-retrograde shadow; she stations retrograde on March 19, and remains retrograde for the rest of the month.

Transiting Vesta begins March in her pre-retrograde shadow; she stations retrograde on March 21, and remains retrograde for the rest of the month.

Transiting Jupiter is in its post-retrograde shadow all month.

Ingresses

Monday, March 3 - transiting Mercury enters Aries

Thursday, March 20 - transiting Sun enters Aries (aka the Aries Equinox)

Thursday, March 27 - transiting Venus retrogrades back into Pisces

Saturday, March 29 - transiting Mercury retrogrades back into Pisces

Sunday, March 30 - transiting Neptune enters Aries

Opportunity Periods

Friday, February 28, 23:32 UTC - Saturday, March 1, 09:52 UTC. “Great Friday night to have fun, see old friends, and expand your mind.”

Wednesday, March 5, 01:56 UTC - 12:29 UTC. “Good for work or play.”

Sunday, March 9, 00:52 UTC - 22:59 UTC. “This dynamic OP is suitable for many things, from hard work to family life. It is the last chance before Mercury slows down and turns retrograde.”

Wednesday, March 19, 08:38 UTC - 19:28 UTC. “Good for deep experiences and creativity, but we’re between two eclipses and Mercury is retrograde, so be practical and keep working on projects you have already started.”

Friday, March 28, 11:55 UTC - 20:36 UTC. “This Last Quarter Moon OP is good for reviewing work or fixing relationship issues, helped by Venus and Mercury retrograde.”

Et Cetera

The “shadow of the eclipse” begins on Tuesday, March 4, and continues through Tuesday, April 1. Not a good time to start anything, unless you don’t care if results vary hugely from what you want &/or expect.

In the US, Daylight Savings Time starts on Sunday, March 9, at 2 am local time. (Your devices will go from 1:59 to 3:00; you may have to manually reset the stove and microwave displays.)

The Aries Equinox happens Thursday, March 20, at 09:01 UTC. It’s a very dithery chart, with lots of planetary back/forth over the 0° Aries point. Going to be critical for us to get enough rest, eat sensibly, and hydrate.

[wizisbored]

wip wednesday sentences for 26/3/25

From the Back of a Blood Red Mare @twyrewolf @somefishycat @zyrafowe-sny @batteredrugosa @tamsinswriting @violet-prism-creatively @kalira @thefandomlesbian @oriharaizayadividesintoslytherin

“And what exactly did they see?”

Nimona grins. “Exactly who they were hoping to.”

Boldheart groans, head in his hand.

“You never specified what I should look like!”

“Why didn’t you just go and pay for another night while he was still there?

“Where’s the fun in that? And hey, it worked, didn’t it? It worked perfectly, they’re definitely not gonna go running off now!”

He sighs. “I suppose not. But from now on, no looking like me. I don’t want to know what you might do to my reputation.”

“Respectfully, Boss, your reputation is ‘murderer’.”

“And yet I have faith in your ability to make it worse.”

The rest of that day is spent with Ballister hiding in various shady spots around town, and the kid simultaneously playing lookout and spying on the gang. He doesn’t see her for most of that time - she hides well - but at twilight a reddish-brown bird swoops down and finds him behind a tack shop.

“They’re staying at the same place we did,” she reports. “Heard them talking in there over dinner.”

“Were they drinking?”

“All aside from the lady and your fancy man. How the hell does his hair stay that neat, by the way?”

“I don’t know, he insists it’s natural. But anyway, if the gang is drinking they’ll be up for a while, she’ll definitely be the first to head upstairs.”

“Giving us the perfect opportunity to strike!”

“In a way. But she’s not to be harmed, understand? Intimidated, maybe, if necessary, but not harmed.”

“You’re still no fun.”

The Book in the Birdbath @twyrewolf @nonbinary-octopus @kalira @meggiejolly @stonemaskedtaliesin

Lowering her camera to hang around her neck, Lydia grips her walker tight and hauls herself up onto her feet. She doesn’t have the balance to stand with both hands on the camera, and she doesn’t have the arm strength to have one on the camera and one on the walker, and so her solution has been kneeling with her elbows on the walker, and it keeps her steady enough. She gets herself balanced on her feet again just in time for her dad to reach her. It’s a little embarrassing how warm she feels, seeing the pride on his face. He looks like that every time she manages to stand. She’s wondered if that was how he looked when she learnt the first time.

“Hello, Pumpkin,” he says, putting an arm around her and kissing the top of her head. “It’s good to see you up and about.”

“Hi Dad. Honestly I could probably do with sitting down again, unless you really wanna go on a walk.”

“No, no, we can sit,” her dad insists. So, they make their way over to one of the garden’s picnic tables.

“No hat today?” he asks as they walk.

“I’m trying something out.”

“Right, right. And I see now why you wanted your sewing box.”

Lydia glances down at her shirt.

The Running Iron @dreamed-for-not @eriquin @zyrafowe-sny @tamsinswriting @thefandomlesbian

She’s seen that kind of thing before, with the amount of travelling centaur labourers that passed through the small town she was raised in for the last four years, but she’s not aware of any details beyond it just being something those kinds of taurs do. Before he answers, he sees him look over her brand new harness, only accented with white stitching and small metal studs.

“You’re new to this, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright well, to put it simply, ribbons are people, trinkets are wins.”

“Ribbons? The wraps on your traces, you mean?”

He snorts in amusement. “The wraps are just wraps. These are ribbons.”

He flicks at a ragged scrap of blue fabric knotted tightly to a ring on his hames.

“So if ribbons are people,” Lydia says cautiously, “who’s that?”

This could be a tactic, she reasons. Sure, he could lie to her, but still if she has an in to make him talk about himself it’s a chance to assess her safety. She finds herself once again incredibly aware of the second straw mattress in the room she was made to sleep in. If the backstory to one of those ribbons or trinkets is going to be enough to make her demand Oscar let her spend her nights outside, she’d rather know that now.

“Eh, some fling,” is all he says about that particular decoration.

Netherborne ch17 on @auburnlaughter

“Are you sure you’d be comfortable doing that?”

That’s Barbara’s immediate response to being brought up to speed. Lydia rocks slightly where she’s sat watching the oven, considering her answer carefully.

Ten Paces @asha10100101010 @batteredrugosa

It was slow and thorough, and soothing. She remembers after her tears dried up, leaning heavily against her dad with her eyes shut, the familiar feeling of the comb running through her hair the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

So their probably-last real conversation was an argument, and their probably-last grooming session was on one of the worst days of their lives. Figures.

The demon isn’t much more thorough with the bath than he was the first time he groomed her. Just a wipe down with cold water, nothing more than boringly unpleasant until he’s standing on a box to reach her upper torso and shoulders, and he grabs the long tail hanging from the buckle of her collar. She tries to move away, and he yanks on it.

[wynndigogh]

Bring me a dream...

You stand brushing your teeth in an outdated bathroom. 

The light over the vanity appears to be from the sixties and considering the way the bulb flashes and surges every few seconds with a zz-ut-zhut sound, it may be that old as well.

The light it gives off is yellow and dull; however, you aren’t very sure you’d like a bright view of that bathroom anyway.  The tub, sink, and toilet have more rings than the Olympics logo and the faucets are pockmarked with rust.

The tiny mosaic flooring tiles are missing in random spots and the bold floral designed wallpaper, which you are sure at one time contained bright yellows, oranges and greens, is now a faded façade that is barely clinging to the walls.

You roll your eyes and spit the last of the toothpaste foam from your mouth, “Not exactly the Hilton, but a bed is a bed.”

With a sigh you exit the small washroom, opting to leave on the flickering yellow light and close the door just enough to for it to act as a nightlight.  You are single, traveling alone, and unfamiliar dark rooms are intimidating. The sliver of light from the bathroom brings you some small amount of comfort, no matter the poor quality.

You walk stiffly through the small motel room.  After two straight days of driving, with little rest, your body feels like stone.  In your overly caffeinated, yet insanely exhausted, state you are trying to remember exactly why you thought driving from Georgia to your job interview in Oregon would be a good idea.

Ah, yes, Skinwalker Ranch. 

You started watching the spooky series on the History channel months ago and have become obsessed with the thought of other-worldly portals that connect our world to places unknown.  In a misguided a-ha moment you decided to drive, instead of fly, so that you could pass through Gusher, Utah just to be close to the supposed interdimensional portals. 

You know getting on the actual ranch will be a no-go, but you want to be in the town, as close as possible to the actual ranch, just to see if anyone has tales of their own to share of extraordinary happenings in the area.

So, that is how you ended up in this rundown motel pretty much in the middle of nowhere. 

With a sigh, you pull back the old comforter on the bed, noting the dingy sheets with a shutter.  You hesitate for just a moment, contemplating if you should put leggings under your oversized tee shirt, but your tired body encourages you to tough it out.  Reluctantly, you crawl into the bed. 

Since your last coffee was only an hour ago, a desperate attempt to make it to Gusher before your heavy eyelids forced you to stop, you are a little too wired to just drift off to sleep.  So, you pull out the latest creature-feature romance novel that you’ve been reading and turn to your ear-marked page.  You will read until the caffeine-kick wears off.

The small room is quiet except for the faint zz-ut-zhut from the blinking bathroom light. 

In fact, the whole motel is as quiet as a graveyard.  You doubt any of the other rooms have occupants in them.  The parking lot was empty, and the front desk clerk seemed genuinely surprised to be checking someone into the establishment.

You twist to your left side, trying to get the aged lamp beside your bed to illuminate your book’s page.  You need to see the details clearly; the story is just getting spicy. 

The story’s heroine has been fighting a growing attraction to her Centaur field-guide, whom she hired to lead her through a dangerous forest.  A recent Trogg attack has the suppressed protagonist clinging to the Centaur’s broad equine back as he races her to safety.  The author is detailing the baritone sound of his huffs of exertion, the heated moisture coating his muscles, and how the heroine is enjoying the bouncing rhythmic friction of the chaotic ride just a little too much.

You subconsciously swallow and rub your stacked legs together out of need.  You feel a slight ache in your nether region followed by the tell-tale sign of slick starting to gather at your entrance.  You shift your position, and the bedsprings protest with a squeak and a hiss.

You flip the page in your book, and you are halfway through the first sentence at the top of the page when the thought finally registers in your tired mind, did the bed just hiss?

You lower your paperback book to scan the bed and the dimly lit room.  The fossil-age lamp beside your bed and the sliver of yellow bathroom light illuminates the area around the bed decently enough but they do little to chase away the deep shadows in the far corners of the room. 

Oh, how you hate the dark.  Ever since you were a child, you always felt like the darkness itself was watching.  Watching and waiting. 

The longer you look at the shadows of the room, the more your skin wants to crawl with goosebumps.  You know it’s silly and that it is probably just your anxiety of being alone in an unknown space, but that same feeling of being watched surfaces in the back of your mind.

However, after a moment of observation, nothing seems amiss.  With a shiver and a shake, you turn your attention back to your book.

By the middle of the page, the heroine is reaching her peak bouncing up and down on the Centaur’s back.  You are fully invested in her ride, fantasizing about riding astride the strong creature yourself.  As your mind wanders, your body reacts to the imagery.  Your nipples harden under your nightshirt and your internal temperature peaks causing you to sweat.  You throw off your covers and start to fan yourself with your book, when you hear a muted in-take of breath, like a soft gasp.

In shock and fear, you bolt into a sitting position, “Who’s there?”, you call out in panic.

Your eyes and ears strain for clues.  The only movement and sound coming from the flickering bathroom light. 

Seconds tick by, counted off by the zz-ut-zhut of the old light bulb. 

The stillness growing into an uneasy stalemate.

You shift nervously on the bed.  Preparing, waiting.  Yet, nothing happens. 

Slowly, your racing heart begins to ease.  The muscles around your eyes begin to relax as your body adjusts to burning through the last of your caffeine-high just now. 

As your eyelids grow a bit heavy, a yawn surfaces.  Your face contorts in the yawn, your eyelids shielding most of your vision.  That’s when you see it, a flash of light deep in one of the room’s shadows. 

No, that isn’t right.  It wasn’t a light, there were two.  You saw two flashes of light, almost like the blink of dual fireflies, in the corner across from you.

You quickly stifle the yawn, blinking back the reflexive tears from your eyes, and stare hard at the space.  Only, the lights don’t reappear. 

Was it your imagination?  Is your fatigued brain experiencing hallucinations? 

You focus hard on the corner, and you see something…at least, you think you do.

Is that…a shadow? 

For a moment it’s there and then, with the next blink of your eyes, it’s gone again.  Was something there?

You strain to see.  Your eyes sting with dryness and feel gritty, even as tears from your yawn leak from the corners.  You squeeze your eyes shut repeatedly, trying to lubricate them.  Surely, you’ll be able to blink away the fog that seems to be forming on your pupils, obscuring your vision.  However, no matter how many times you try, your eyes refuse to focus.  You use the heel of your free hand to rub one orbital, in a pitiful attempt to literally wipe away the opaque quality of your vision.

Deep in the corner, the shadow flickers into existence and two glowing orbs reappear.  The orbs aren’t the luminous bottoms of bugs, they are two glowing eyes staring straight at you.

For just a moment, shorter than a gasp, your heart stops.  Pausing in stillness, preparing for the surge. 

Then, with the quickness of a lightning strike, the adrenaline jolts through your system.  Your heartrate spiking, sending blood to your muscles, preparing you for fight and flight.

You instinctually shriek and fling the book in your hand at the tall form in the darkness while simultaneously rolling off the far side of the bed with a resounding thud.

“Tsk, tsk, is that any way to treat a coveted possession?”

The voice that you hear from your hiding spot beside the bed is masculine.  It has an elegant cadence with an accent you can’t place.  It sounds otherworldly, almost ethereal, and yet hollow, like it’s muffled.  The sound of a male voice inside the room with you triggers the third fear response, freeze. 

You are utterly frozen in place on the grimy carpet, your mind racing.  Who is it?  How did he get in?  What does he want?  The sound of soft footsteps interrupts the chaos storming through your mind.  The footfalls are coming closer. 

Over the lip of the mattress, you see a dark hooded figure leisurely making his way around the bed.  You just stare with wide eyes as he comes to a stop at the foot of the bed, stares down at you, and tilts his head to the side inquisitively. 

Is it panic or shock that has your back glued to the floor, your body unable to move, or is it awe?  

The man, no – that isn’t right, it can’t be right. 

The being standing over you has swirling, glowing eyes.  You watch as the color of those luminous orbs shift and twirl in tones of blue, white, violet, and gold.  They are oddly mesmerizing and unnerving at the same time.  Just as your mind starts to get those in their depths, he breaks eye contact, and you watch those shimmering rings of light trace a line down your body, lingering with interest on the peaks of your nightshirt and the exposed swatch of your lacy underwear.

After a long pause at your lacy covered apex, those shining eyes blaze white and lift to make eye contact with you, “My lady, I do believe you are in need of my assistance”.  His eloquent, ethereal voice placing emphasis on the word ‘need’. 

The bedside lamp casts enough light to reveal his face beneath the hood. His eyes aren’t just floating orbs, they are pupils set in a pair of elongated eyes, framed high and tight by steep cheek bones.  His skin, a deep velvety blue with sparkling specks that catch and reflect the light, resembling a starry night sky.  You can only see a small portion of skin around his eyes, and you understand why his voice sounds muffled, he’s wearing a mask over the lower half of his face.

You hear screaming.  It takes you a moment to realize the sound is coming from yourself.  Your voice sounds so far away, like you are having an out-of-body type of experience.

The creature…being…man, whatever he is, raises his finger to his masked mouth and issues a command, “Shhhhhhhh”.  

A glimmering tendril of some type of floating substance, ribbons out from his hand, wafting over you, and stealing your panic.  Like a drug, your body starts to feel heavy and your voice stalls in your throat.

“Allow me to help you”, his foreign accent drawls out from behind his mask.  The shapes of his swirling eyes pinching thin, in what could be a cheeky grin, as he reaches down and takes your delicate hand in his indigo colored one, pulling you to your feet, your body just obeying.

Standing toe to toe it is apparent that this being is tall, at least 6’4” because your petite frame is only reaching the top of his chest. 

You are staring up into those hypnotic eyes when you feel him grip your chin.  His fingers are tipped with dark claws, and he is careful not to stab them into the tender flesh of your face.

“Are you hurt?”, he questions behind his barrier, “Maybe I should check, eh?”

His long eyes turning cheshire-shaped from another impish grin.  You are feeling too dazed to protest when his free hand glides over your shoulders, down one of your sides, and pauses on your hip, gripping into the amp flesh.

“Who-what are you”, your words come out slow and groggy.

“Hmmmm, I am called many things by your kind, faerie, demon, Sonnaya Tuchka, Ole Lukøje, Pesochnyy chelovek, we call ourselves Zeez; however, my favorite is your tongue, what you called me when you were youngling.”

The creature pauses staring at you; your transfixed dreamy stare telling him that you were not processing his words as quickly as he is speaking.  He watches patiently as the information clicks into place in your mind, your eyes widening ever so slightly with the realization that you two have met before.

“You, my desert flower, called me The Sandman.  But, if you wish, you may call me by given name Der.”

Der’s face loses its brash flirtatiousness and takes on a more somber look, his eyes phasing more blue, as he releases your chin to run his outside of forefinger down the side of your cheek.  The action doesn’t feel intrusive or offensive, it feels more familiar…sad.

Your gaze swipes lazily across his face as your mind tries to fight through the haze clouding it.  You take in the colors and reflecting light of his skin, those enthralling eyes, and then your sight slides down to his covering.

“Why do you wear a mask?”

You watch the tall being’s shoulders shake with a huffing laugh, “Always the curious one.  You asked me the same thing when you were much smaller.” 

He lifted a claw tapping the hard mask, the sound telling you it is made of some type of hardened leather or shell of some kind, “This is the burden of my kind, if we wish to remain culturally acceptable and welcomed in our world.”

Your forehead draws together in confusion. 

Der’s eyes twinkle with mischief as he continues, “My kind’s verbalizations can be very persuasive without a filter to cushion its affects.  The other species of my world grew tired of losing partners to my kind’s talented tongues.”, he finishes with a wink.

Ah, his words are as beguiling and seductive as his eyes and the mask acts as his muzzle.  Interesting.

Maybe it’s the fact that you were nose deep in a creature-feature smut book just prior to his arrival, or the fact that you haven’t been laid in longer than you’d like to admit, but your mind betrays you.  An intrusive thought pops up out of nowhere, and your inner voice wonders just how tantalizing a sexual experience with this Zeez would be.

You feel Der’s glowing eyes on your face and, almost as if he reads your mind, the swirling vortexes of his pupils surge from a golden hue to bright white.  You watch the glowing whirlpools circle into ever deeper depths, pulling you under with their currents.

One moment you are standing in a dingey motel room with this otherworldly creature, the next you are sinking in a sea of sand.  The particles rush up your body as you sink further into the abyss.  Your nightshirt is lifted from your body and pulled away by the grit’s undertow. 

Down you slide through the bottleneck of the sandy spiral, landing carefully on a bed of dark mist.  The hooded Zeez astride above you, smiling like a cat who ate the canary, behind his thick face mask, at the sight of your topless form on display for him.

“I have waited a long time for you to ask this of me”, Der purrs in his ethereal accent.  His indigo hand reaches up and detaches the muzzle from his lower face, revealing the remainder of his deep velvet skin and a wide fanged smile framed by a delectable set of dark blue lips.

Feeling self-conscience and exposed under his blazing glare, and his smile that is barely hiding some vicious looking teeth, your arms crisscross over your breasts in a protective manner.

“I-I thought you couldn’t remove the muzzle.”

Der opens his mouth, and a tongue of sand licks the tip of one fang, "Ah, but we are not in my world, my little desert flower, we are in your inner world.  Welcome to your dreamland.”

Without his face mask filtering his essence, the full force of the Zeez’s influence slides over you making you feel heady and drunk with euphoria.  The effect steals the air right out of your lungs, causing beads of sweat to pebble across your skin, your muscles to twitch for release, and your back to arch from the cool dark mist.  With just two short sentences, his words alone have you teetering on the precipice of an orgasm. 

An unguarded moan slips past your lips causing him to chuckle.  The sound of his chuckle, much like that of sand flowing through a wooden cylinder ‘rain-stick’, is its own form of a soothing aphrodisiac.

He leans close and whispers into your ear, as your eyes flutter in ecstasy, “Hold on, my flower, I’ve waited too long for this opportunity to pluck you.”

The inner walls of your pussy twitch in rhythm to his vocal cadence.  To keep from crying out you bite hard into your bottom lip, breaking and bruising the delicate skin.

“Tsk, tsk, is that any way to treat a coveted possession?”, he growls at you in his thick accent. 

You squirm as the slick between your legs becomes so abundant that it is pushing forward, up around your clit, “You-you, sa-said that about my-my book”, you stutter as your mind’s focus splits between talking and the throbbing of the delicate nub in your apex.

Der literally purrs.  His body vibrating above yours, tickling your exposed skin, he’s so close to your ear you can feel his lips brushing the shell with each word, “I was never talking about the book, Love.”

His purring, his lips caressing your ear, along with his declaration pushes you over the edge.  Your inner walls clinch in release.  Your hands forget their mission to guard your modesty and reach out fisting his hood cowl as your body shivers in release.

Der sighs in slight disappointment.  “Next time I will need to keep the mask on until we are further along, you are delightfully sensitive.”, he chides with a salacious grin.

Your release subsides and he slides your hands from his cowl.  As you lay cool in the swirl black mist of your own dreamland, the Zeez releases the clips of his hood cloak, shedding the heavy covering and exposing a torso that you were not expecting. 

Instead of a swath of blue, speckled skin, you are shocked to see short sleek indigo fur coating his neck, the backs of his muscled arms, across his stout shoulders, and down his strong back.  The inner portions of his torso, his chiseled chest, and washboard stomach, sport that starry skin that matches his face.  A face that, now you can see, has a pair of long pointed ears on each side of its head.

Farther behind him a new astonishment swishes through the air, catching you off guard and causing you to jerk in surprise.  A long thin tail with a furry tuft at the end whips back and forth in anticipation.

You are in a state of shock and awe, staring mesmerized at the unique being above you.

“What are you?”, is what slips out of your mouth without going through your internal filter.

That same raspy chuckle of his, slides over your skin like a caress, “I am a Zeez.”

Seeing the lack of recognition, or satisfaction, on your face from his answer, he pauses a moment to rethink his approach.

“I guess your kind would most closely associate my species with your mythical Sphinxes or Manicores. We are timeless creatures with no natural end.  We originate from a cold dark desert in my world”, you watch his eyes dim a deeper hue of blue than you have noticed previously, “but that area is no longer ours.  We now live among tribes and clans of many.”

His long tail gives a sharp whip, creating a snapping sound and breaking his reverie.  Der’s eyes shift back into their golden, white tones as he stares down at you.  His fanged grin grows wide, and his purr returns tenfold.

Suddenly, you feel like a cornered mouse.  Plump and ripe for the devouring.

“You smell delicious”, he rasps out above his vibrations.

TO BE CONTINUED if you want(because it is time for me to catch some Zeez 😘)….

@thelaundrybitch @leoandraphssoulmate @kokosworld95

Author Note: There are three points to know about this story.

1. You may be surprised to learn that Der (and his species) are a MINOR character in my main book series that I'm trying to finish. I wanted a way to expand and explain more about Zeez and this story was born.

2. The book that Der's human is reading in this story will be a vehicle that I will use to introduce other MINOR characters/species from my books as well. So, yes, you will get the read the Centaur's story too, which will feature many of my own creature creations.

3. There is SOOOO much more to Der and his human's story. I am happy to tell it if anyone is interested. The amount of detail and I have created for all the characters still amazing me. (I have no life LOL).

Eh, let's throw a 4th point in here. Der's species was born from an a scene in an actual dream I had. It may not come across as well here in this story, but in further expansions of the story, it explains that humans can only see Zeez when they are tired or sleepy.

Hence the phrase...."catching Z's".