#cellar door records

[indefinite-pitch]

Clarence Rise - Sleep Deprivation

Buy & Support: Clarence Rise - Dissociative Events

[tombofmemories]

Spiritbox - The Fear of Fear

[fancypantsrecords]

A Shell In The Pit & Tettix - Rogue Legacy 2 | Fangamer | 2023 | Purple Translucent + Blue Translucent

[coochellati]

Living With Bruno - Headcanons

Hi guys. I hope you are all doing okay. These past 24 hours have been rough for those affected by American politics.

In the name of comfort and escapism, I’ve been imagining what living with Bruno would look like. For instance—What does Bruno do in his spare time? What does his house look like? Is he a neat person? (spoiler alert: he definitely is.) And what is he like behind closed doors?

I’ll be diving into these questions (and more!) under the break!

Bruno lives in his modest childhood home by the sea, and he hasn’t changed much of the furniture or decor since his parents decorated it. Almost everything is as it was when he was a kid—it gives him a sense of comfort.

During the day, he loves to let the salty sea breeze in through open windows. At night, the lighting feels warm and inviting. Bruno is mindful of energy costs; he only uses lights when needed. Candlelight often fills the home after dark, adding a cozy ambiance. Bruno Bucciarati is a neat person, so his home is impeccably kept.

Bruno spends most of his time in his living room, partly because it’s where his record player lives. It sits between two speakers on top of a waist-high bookshelf in his living room that holds his impressive record collection, including genres such as jazz, prog rock, classical, and more. (He has a whole section dedicated to Miles Davis.) He’s added a desk to the room so he can work while listening to his vinyls. On the wall hangs one of his father’s old fishing nets, a reminder of the vow he made to his father to fight against drugs.

His childhood bedroom is mostly unchanged, having the same furniture and arrangement as when he was young. A small bookshelf holds the stories his mother used to read to him, and pictures of his parents rest on his nightstand.

His parents’ bedroom remains as it was when his father passed. Besides keeping it clean, Bruno hasn’t altered a thing in there, finding something almost sacred in its preservation.

Bruno’s also got a pretty decent wine collection stashed in the cellar, with some expensive, rare bottles. Being careful with money, he rarely splurges on high-end wine, so most of these rare bottles were gifts.

(I headcanon that Bruno is passionate about wine. If you’re interested in hearing about why I believe this, here’s a link to this post.)

Bruno Bucciarati definitely uses his walls for storage.

Before moving in, Bruno will chat with you about your needs. For instance, do you have any allergies? Do you have sensitive skin and need to use special laundry detergent? Are there certain foods you won’t eat? His home is now your home—he wants to make sure you’re comfortable.

Bruno may not be a fan of PDA, but behind closed doors, he isn’t shy about showing affection. Whether it be a peck on the cheek, warm smiles, hand-holding, cuddling to Miles Davis, etc., Bruno is always happy to be close to you. (This goes without saying, but he loves when you reciprocate!)

You might often catch Bruno watching you with quiet admiration. For example, he lets you get ready for bed first so he can just observe you—it’s his way of reminding himself that he now has someone to come home to. For him, it’s like gazing at a winning lottery ticket.

However, like many people, there are moments when Bruno needs his personal space. (Especially if he’s very stressed or it’s work-related.) After all, everyone needs some alone time now and then, and he’ll do his best to let you know ahead of time. Don’t worry about upsetting him if you need to see him during this time—Bruno would never be mad about it. He’ll also reassure you there’s nothing wrong with your relationship if it’s something you need to hear.

Everyone has their flaws, and communication isn’t something Bruno is always the best about. He tends to keep stressful things to himself, to “shoulder the burden,” so to speak. In his mind, he believes he’s protecting you, but this can lead to him acting in unpredictable ways that only make sense if you have the full story.

For instance—remember when Trish asked Narancia why Bruno was such a cold person?

Bruno had a reason for his behavior, as he was close to death. But without knowing the entire story, Trish saw him as cold and uncaring. This is exactly the kind of misunderstanding I’m talking about—without context, Bruno’s actions can give the wrong impression.

Afterward, Narancia told to Trish that this was just how Bruno behaved, and she would understand if she got to know him better. While this dynamic of unexplained behavior may work in a subordinate-leader relationship, this isn’t the type of relationship you and Bruno have. Seeing you happy and safe is what matters most to him, but he doesn’t always go about it in the best way.

Communication is something the two of you may have to work through together.

As noted, Bruno is a neat person. Keeping everything clean and organized helps him stay focused and level-headed. On his days off, he keeps up with chores so his place stays in top shape—he also finds it calming.

Laundry and Ironing are two chores he doesn’t mind doing. Bruno takes great pride in the way he dresses so taking care of his clothes is very important to him. He also happens to be very good at removing stains. (Wearing white clothes regularly will force you to get good at it.) Like many Italians, Bruno doesn’t own a washer or dryer. This means everything gets washed by hand and hung outside to dry. (No need to splurge when you can do your laundry yourself.) Because clothes get stiff when air dried, Bruno irons everything, including socks, underwear, and towels. (This isn’t uncommon in Italy either.)

Bruno is quite skilled at cooking, a talent he developed while caring for his father. (He’s also picked up tips from Polpo’s unsolicited rants about food.) On the topic of cooking, Bruno tends to be big on meal prep, given that he doesn’t always have the time or energy to cook after a long day at work. Therefore, I can see him making a comical amount of food at once to store for later. You’ll walk in and the kitchen table looks like this:

If there’s one chore Bruno doesn’t enjoy, it’s taking out the trash. At first, I thought he’d have it easy because of the fact he could “zipper” it away inside the ground, but as stated to Trish inside Coco Jumbo, he has no idea where things go when he does that—probably best not to risk littering underground.

Bruno is very good about keeping clean. Every morning starts with a cold shower, which he enjoys for the mental clarity and alertness it brings. He’s happy to let you join him if he isn’t in a time constraint, and upon doing so, he’ll adjust the water temperature to something more suited to your preference. (Since he takes cold showers, he’s fine with pretty much any temperature as long as it isn’t scalding.)

If you end up showering with him, expect it to take a while. ;) (Especially if he has nothing going on that day.) His hands gently grazing your sides, he’ll likely start by asking if he can wash you. If you say yes, he’ll begin to gently and meticulously wash every part of you with an awestruck expression gracing his face. (“How did I get so lucky?” He’ll wonder.)

Araki designed Bruno with shiny, meticulously styled hair, which suggests to me that Bruno puts effort into caring for his hair. Healthy hair isn’t just good genes—Bruno goes a little further than just using shampoo and conditioner to maintain it. For instance, he definitely uses leave-in conditioner and hair oil. I can also see him using a hairdryer to blow out his hair and give it that perfect bob shape.

It’s impressive how fast Bruno can get ready for the day, considering all that goes into his daily styling. (You should see how fast he can braid his hair.) It takes him about 16-17 minutes to get ready, 10 more if he has to dry his hair.

Bruno finishes his routine with a few spritzes of cologne.

Around the house, Bruno dresses casually—no need for a fancy suit if no one’s around to see it. However, he will dress up if he’s expecting a visitor.

Sleeping next to you makes Bruno realize how fucking stressed he is all the time. His lifestyle/career has turned him into someone who is constantly hyper-vigilant, so it’s no wonder that Bruno is a very light sleeper. (That, plus the trauma from the night two intruders tried to kill Bruno’s dad while his dad was asleep. ) On his own, he tends to wake up multiple times in the middle of the night, but when he sleeps next to you, he usually stays asleep.

The best part about sleeping next to Bruno? He doesn’t really snore, possibly thanks to being a side sleeper. He also sleeps in pajamas, just in case he has to get up quickly. (Imagine being caught naked as intruders walk into your bedroom.)

I imagine Bruno uses the same bed he did as a kid. Therefore, I bet it is the Italian equivalent of a full-sized bed. This bed size has always worked for him, though he’d likely get a larger one if a partner moved in.

(You really can’t tell the size of the bed from the photo. It could very well be a twin instead of a full.)

Bruno typically starts his mornings bright and early at 6:30 am. He usually aims for about seven hours of sleep, going to bed around 11 p.m. or midnight, though it’s not unusual to see him working until 1 or 2 a.m. (So yeah… he never really gets enough sleep.)

In his downtime, Bruno likes to unwind with a book or by listening to records with a glass of wine—though these moments don’t happen as often as they should since he’s a bit of a workaholic.

Sometimes, he’ll take a walk to the shore where his dad used to dock and sit for a while. He finds it comforting—this is one way he feels he can stay connected to his dad.

Thank you for reading!!! this was super fun to write! I hope this post was able to provide you some comfort 💕

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Perv!Charlie Walker headcanons

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warning : perverted behavior, yandere thoughts, stalking, obsession, nothing graphical, mention of nudeness, clueless reader, obsessed love

second part , third part, fourth part

masterlist

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°It all started when you switched to his history class. When you came in and chose a seat diagonally opposite to him. You hadn't noticed his presence when you entered. But his gaze fixed on you the whole class. You were perfect. More perfect than Kirby could ever have been.

°My beautiful victim he thought as he walked past her, trying to catch a glimpse of her scent. You smelled so sweet and innocent. He would make her his Sydney. Keep her forever.

°A few weeks passed and his obsession with her grew from day to day. Every day he tried to talk to you as often as he could. No matter if it was the little talks during the break. Trivial or not, it was all the same. Your affection was enough for him. He just needed to have you with him. Just for him.

°He could hardly believe his luck when one day you asked him if you could come to the film club.

°Of course he immediately agreed and couldn't hide the blush on his cheeks when you pulled him into a thankful hug. You are so soft and warm...she's everything he thought as his arms wrapped around your body. It was only a moment but it meant so much more to him.

°The weeks went by and besides the activities at the club he helped her with her homework almost every day. Acting a little foolish with his own, knowing that you would help him. That you would pull him into the library and the two of you would sit together at the table next to each other. Yet you didn't see the look in his blue eyes. But he saw her and his heart beat with happiness every time you pulled him here by the wrist. She likes me he thought delightedly and continued to watch you.

°Soon he would find a way to get to know you even better. To see you whenever he wanted. To record you in his camera. Just for himself.

°It was the last lunch break before the weekend when he approached her. A smile played around his lips as she waved at him. A simple plan but it would do. ,,Hey, I was wondering if you would like to work together on the history presentation?" he asked and immediately saw her nod. ,,Of course I would love to, how about tomorrow afternoon, my parents are at work so we can relax" she suggested and there was joy in her eyes as she almost proudly told him about the free house. ,,Cool, see you tomorrow," he said, knowing that you would already have him in your house forever.

°As soon as he was in your house the next day his heart beat faster with joy. It was your house, your home, just you and him. He looked at your shape as you walked up the stairs in front of him and showed him your room. ,,You have good taste," he commented and smiled. You couldn't have been more perfect. Several horror movie posters and fantasy books were on the wall. Some he had read and watched himself. She's perfect for me he thought, letting his fingers roam over some of the books and posters.

°Everything here seemed to reflect you as if he could see and understand you so indirectly. He could touch you. He heard you say that you would fetch something to drink from the cellar. He just nodded before waiting for the door to close. His smile widened, his gaze determined as he pulled out of his backpack the many small cameras. They were not cheap, but for you, anything was enough. He quickly thought of the right places and set up the cameras. Before he saw on his mobile phone that he could see the whole room.

°He listened, but you were still searching in the basement. Before his gaze fell on your dresser with clothes inside. A blush crept into his cheeks. He knew he was close to being caught. But he wanted to finally possess something of you. To finally have you. Just a small part. Carefully he opened one of the many drawers. Your clothes came out, with the same engaging smell. It's almost like she's embracing me, he thought with a sigh as he reached for one of your t-shirts and stuffed it into his backpack.

°Then his eyes caught a pair of black folded panties with black lace. His cheeks grew even darker. His fantasy of what you would look like in them began to come together in his head. She's only wearing it for me he thought and a furtive smile crept onto his lips. It smelled just like you. Hastily he stuffed the garment into his backpack before the door to your room opened only a moment later.

°The remaining hours he was full of enthusiasm and admiration. He enjoyed the contact, touched you as often as he could and finally wanted to have you for himself. Only when you said goodbye to him in the evening did he practically run home. Connecting his mobile phone to his computer and opening the programme, he finally saw your room.

°You had already gone back to your bedroom and had just closed the curtains to your window when you started to undress. ,,So beautiful," he murmured and zoomed in with the camera. He saw you take off your pullover and fold it carefully. He saw your torso, saw the dark red bra with black lace that nestled comfortably against your breasts. His heart beat faster, you were so unbelievably captivating. He saw her take off her trousers and put them with the pullover. A matching pair of panties in the same colour showed itself to him. They clung to your hips and your body.

°He thought you were going to bed when you turned to one of the cameras. For a moment he was afraid that you had seen him. Instead you walked to your full body mirror and took off your bra. For a split moment, all thought was gone from his mind. Before he felt the slight tug at his centre. He could see your naked breasts and you seemed to almost present yourself to him as you looked at yourself in the mirror for a moment. Before she finally went to her bed and lay down under the covers. It turned him on, nervous and crazy for you, knowing that you slept only in your underwear.

°For him, for his image of you, you seemed to long for him. Seeming to wait for him. Loving him too. He continued to watch you through the hours. Taking in every bit of your features that he saw and loving you more and more. ,,Charlie" he heard you murmur as you moved slightly and seemed to almost hug the blanket. She's dreaming of me, the brown-haired man realised, and at that moment he would have loved to look inside your head.

°But for him it was just another proof. Another proof that maybe he should slip into your room tonight. Into you. Not just watch you anymore. Finally kiss you and finally have you to himself. Not kill you no you were better than Sydney he would keep you with him. You loved him as much as he loved you, he just knew it. But in the end you would have no choice. For no matter how much time passed he would always be watching you. Because love would always find its way. Willingly or not.

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[hannahssimblr]

Winter. 

When did this happen? Was I looking away for long enough for the season to change without my notice? I haven’t spent enough time here watching time, from this old velvet seat by the window that overlooks brutalist blocks, each building identical to the next. These utilitarian slabs might stand like this, grey cubes jutting from the asphalt, for five hundred years. I’m here for five months now. Thoroughly settled, used to this place, this apartment with the tarry flavour of cigarettes clinging to the furniture the landlady never took away. 

Jonas says she’s strange, this woman who has left all of her old things for us to live around. Her lamps, with sun-faded shades, her record collection, the chenille bedspreads stuffed into a closet, and the ancient television I replaced the day after I landed. I’ve never met her. Sometimes, I slip a dusty bottle from her wine rack in the cellar and serve it to my friends at dinner. Surely, by the time she ever notices, I’ll be long gone.

Through the vignette of condensation, the snow drifts, white flecks, across the beam of the streetlights. Kreuzberg is quiet. Sunday. 

I refocus my eyes to look into my face, a mirror reflection in the black window. I look older, perhaps, than in the photographs Jen posted to me in September, the ones from the summer, where the light is hazy and our noses are sun blushed, from that time that feels like another lifetime already, or like fiction. At Christmas, I returned to Ireland, and it rained for two weeks without stopping, and it felt something more like reality.

My grandmother told me that my hair was straggly, and she’s right. It’s been too long since I’ve cut it, but the ends of my hair spent the summer with me. Even though my skin cells have replaced themselves, the parts of my hair touching the collar of my coat and curling around my ears hold the memories that the rest of me is slowly losing. 

I haven’t stayed in touch with my friends from there as much as I would have liked. These days are busy, with friends, with college. I draw and paint more than I ever have, lashing out piece after piece, sketchbook after sketchbook, building a tower upon the desk in my cold little bedroom, though the women in my pieces don’t have green eyes anymore. Now, I choose blue.

The door buzzes, and I stand to answer it. 

My finger on the button, “Yeah?”

“Hurry! Open up, it’s fucking cold.”

I buzz her in, then stand waiting by the open door as she ascends the stairway. Three floors. I hear her the whole way, the snap of boot heels against tile. There’s an elevator in her building, and I feel acutely guilty about my building’s lack of one, despite being entirely powerless to do anything about it, as I am an art student, not an engineer, and was not yet actually born during its construction. 

She appears on the landing, shivering, with snowflakes clinging to her hair, and sitting on the structured shoulders of her trench coat. 

“Ugh, oh God, those stairs. I hate them.” She says. She unzips her boot and tosses onto the pile of shoes next to the door, and I notice immediately that she’s barefoot, toes balanced on the tiles like a ballerina. 

“You didn’t wear socks?”

She’s not wearing tights either. Her long, pale legs poke, completely exposed beneath the beige gabardine. 

“Did you take the U-Bahn like this? It must be five below zero.”

Her second boot hits the tile with a clatter, and she backs me into my apartment. As the door clicks shut, she pulls on the tie of her coat.

She’s wearing nothing but black lingerie. 

“Ah,” I am enlightened. This now makes perfect sense to me, in much the same way it does to her. Astrid has a way of bringing me around to her way of thinking. 

This was actually an excellent idea. 

“I was bored,” she says, which makes sense too. She is always bored. This is why she does what she’s seen people do in films. It’s a way to keep herself entertained. An unwelcome thought flashes into my mind, as I wonder if she has done this specific thing for previous boyfriends. I hop off that path. With Astrid, it is important to dwell only upon the present. Anything before this, now, me, us, is nothing worth worrying about. 

I slip my hands under her coat, onto the soft, downy velvet of her skin. 

“Nice and warm,” she murmurs. 

“Astrid, you shouldn’t have gone out like this.”

“It was only thirty minutes.”

“I know, but,” Her hands are freezing between mine as I heat them with my breath. “It’s too cold.” I’ll have to give her something of mine to wear when she goes home, but begin to worry that nothing is clean. I have been avoiding taking my dirty clothes to the basement since I flew back in ten days ago, too cowardly to face the seizing cold of the communal laundry room and that ever present leak in the ceiling surely turned to an icicle by now. 

These are not sexy thoughts. 

It’s like she can tell just by looking at me. “The point is, you will heat me up,” she says, a bit slowly, like I’m thick.

I don’t want to be the guy that lacks spontaneity. That would make me anxious. She pulls her hands from mine and pouts at me, as though at a little dog. “Look at you, you’re so nice.”

It’s not intended as a compliment, and I understand I should be doing something a bit wilder, like, I don’t know, taking my own clothes off already. Why on earth haven’t I started to do that?

Ah, because I am nice. 

“Okay, fuck your hands then. They can freeze.” Often, jokes are a mistake around Astrid. She rarely laughs at them. In fact, she rarely smiles at all, and only indulges us when she feels like doing it. It’s never to be polite. She knows her own mind. I’m obsessed with her. 

I’m obsessed to an ever greater extent now, because, once again, she’s not laughing. She’s not trying to please me. It’s me, always, trying to please her instead. I tug on her coat and it pools to the floor, then I kiss her. 

“God, I love you.” 

I murmur it, the truth. 

I knew it the third or fourth night we spent together, in November, as the last stubborn leaves clung to the branches. She wasn’t like anybody I had ever met before. She reminded me of nobody, and that was the point. 

I felt it, that weakness, my molten insides, and the deep fear of it in the early hours of one morning as she lay on the sheets with moonlight spilling across her back. She has a tattoo between her shoulder blades of a heart pierced by three daggers. She says it’s from a tarot card, and she was younger and stupider when she got it. That night, as she slept, I uncovered some kind of symbolism in it that moved me, but in the morning light I had forgotten all the profound thoughts I’d come up with except one: That I loved her. It surprised me. I ignored the tiny pang of sadness I felt, like mourning for a part of my life that was already long gone. It was useless to miss it.

I chose Astrid instead. 

I choose her now, love her in the same way I kiss her and touch her and fuck her, by doing what she wants me to do. It’s not a submissive situation. I’m not into that stuff. I am a man clocking in and doing as he's asked, thoroughly, diligently, excelling at his job. Eager to please. Employee of the month.

“Will you put your hand on my throat?” She breathes. Beneath me, her hands claw the bedsheets. 

Yes, I think. That would be nice. 

I am interested to discover that I like it too. I don’t think the other girls I’ve slept with would have let me try the things that Astrid does. They couldn’t picture themselves doing it, I’m sure, and neither could I. Back then I didn’t think about sex the way I do now, but Berlin has been bringing it out in me. 

She comes first. That’s mandatory. Then afterwards, when I have, and thoughts return to my brain, I’ll lay here, haunted by the years I didn’t know about this golden rule, and all the time that I thought I was good at sex but wasn’t. Dwelling on the disappointment I brought upon women and girls will make me spiral a bit, I’ll feel it rising, but I’ll feel better when I fuck Astrid again, in some new, fascinating position, and she’ll tell me I’m pretty good, in fact.

She’ll be loud enough about it that Klaus from downstairs may complain, and point out that such volume levels are forbidden on Sundays. He’ll threaten to raise it with the building management, so I’ll bring up the fact I know it was he who put cat food containers in the recycling bin. Neither of us will do anything, and the cycle will repeat until one of us moves or dies.

“Klaus is a miserable, jealous old fool,” Astrid says. “He probably doesn’t have sex, so he’s furious at people who do. I think it’s basic psychology.”

“He lives with his wife, you know.”

“Oh, that doesn’t mean he’s having sex. Married people don’t do it. Or at least hardly ever. That’s why I’ll never be tied down like that.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“You think Mr and Mrs Klaus are fucking like rabbits down there?”

I scrunch up my face. “I’ve never heard them. Maybe they do it very quietly while I’m out of the apartment.”

“They never do. I bet they hate one another. Surely they sleep in separate rooms and only speak when they have to.” Astrid invents this story with glee. She is describing what is to her an indisputable fact of life. Her parents, and her mother’s relationship with her stepfather, too. I think she believed these things about marriage before meeting me, but the confirmation that my parents are the same has solidified it. 

“I don’t like to think about things in such a black and white way,” I say, and hold my palm against hers. Her fingers are long and slender. “Just because a lot of marriages are bad, doesn’t mean they’re all doomed. I believe some people are happy.”

“Trapped,” she whispers. “Like canaries in a cage. Maybe they don’t know any better.”

“If I was married, it’d be because I loved that person completely. I wouldn’t do it unless I was sure, and if I loved someone that much, I think I’d still have sex all the time. I can’t really picture that changing. When would I ever not be doing it, you know?”

She hums gently. “So you would never join a monastery.”

“Ugh.”

“And if you married me, you’d want me like this forever?”

This isn’t a serious question about marriage. That would be ridiculous. This is a test for me to pass, and am about to, with flying colours.  

“Yeah, you’re so appealing in every way. I can’t imagine not being completely crazy about you forever.”

“You definitely wouldn’t get over me if I left you.”

“Nah, probably not. In my grief, I might even refuse to sign the divorce papers or some shit.”

She nods, satisfied, and rests her head on my chest. It slots nicely beneath my chin. “I want to go to sleep,” she says.

“Alright, me too.”

I switch off the light and listen to the pitter patter of the snow on the window, drifting slowly away with it.

Astrid shifts, restless. 

“Tomorrow, I have a lecture at eight.”

“Unlucky.”

“I don’t have any clothes.”

“Ah, yeah, probably because of the lingerie stunt.”

A pout. “It was a gift for you.”

“And I loved it. I can find you something to wear.”

“To my class? Your clothes? I’ll look ridiculous. Can you get me a taxi to my house so I can change?”

“Yeah, of course. If you wear my clothes in the taxi.”

“I won’t be naked under my coat in front of a strange man, Jude.”

“Okay. Good. I’ll arrange a taxi, then.”

“That’s sweet of you.” She adjusts her position again, and the subtle contact of our bodies sets off a chain of sensation. I rake my nails lightly over her back, and she shudders. 

“You’re so pretty,” I say. “Did you know that?” I know she does, but I like the smug way she always says yes. 

“It’s okay if I leave my underwear here?”

“If you want to, yeah. Why? Do you think I wanted to carry it around in my pocket or something?”

“So you can wash it for me.”

“Yeah,” I press my lips to the back of her hand. “I’ve been meaning to go to the laundry basement for too long now. I’ll just add them to the pile.”

“No, you need to hand-wash them. They’re made of lace.”

“Oh right. So like, in the sink, or something.”

“I thought you might have known that.”

“Nah, see, in Dublin, we had a cleaner who washed all of my lace underwear for me.”

“Mm…”

“... That was a joke about the lace underwear. We did actually have a cleaner, though.”

“You’ll take care of it? They were quite expensive. It’s not as though I have a lot of that kind, so if it got ruined…”

“I will.”

She slips a hand into my hair and seeks my lips in the dark. She kisses me with such affection that I melt into her. “I love you, Jude. Thank you.”

“I love you too.”

A low chuckle as I bite her earlobe. “You really would never be a monk, would you?”

“Oh, my God. The thought makes me sick.”

I roll over her, and we give Klaus one more thing to complain about.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[todaysdocument]

Homestead Proof Testimony of Almanzo Wilder

Record Group 49: Records of the Bureau of Land ManagementSeries: Homestead Final Certificates

HOMESTEAD PROOF --- TESTIMONY OF WITNESS A. J. Sheldon being called as a witness in support of the Homestead entry of Almanzo J Wilder for NE- 21-111-56. testifies as follows: Ques. 1-What is your occupation, and where is your residence? Ans. Farmer Sec 10-111-56. Ques. 2-Have you been well acquainted with Almanzo J Wilder the claimant, in this case ever since he made his Homestead entry No. Ans. Yes. for 5 year. [^I think] he had taken his land at [Yorktown] about 3 weeks before I met him. Ques. 3-Was claimant qualified to make said entry? (State whether the settler was a citizen of the United States, over the age of twenty-one years, or the head of a family, and whether he ever made a former Homestead entry.) Ans. Yes. Citizen of U.S. over 21 yer old. Single. Never made former hd entry. Ques. 4-When did claimant settle upon the homestead and at what date did he establish actual residence thereon? (Describe the dwelling and other improvements, giving total value thereof.) Ans. About Oct. 1st 1879. same time. House - frame about 12 ft. square. 2 doors. 3 windows. Stable. frame. Well of water. Cellar. Acres broken & cultivated. Some trees. Value at least $300.00 Ques. 5-Have claimant and family resided continuously on the homestead since first establishing residence thereon? Ans. Single man. Residence continuous Ques. 6-For what period or periods has the settler been absent from the land since making settle- ment, and for what purpose; and if temporarily absent, did claimant's family reside upon and culti- vate the land during such absence? Ans. Was temporarily absent [^at times] working on the R. R. and visiting in Minn. Not more that about 2 months at a time. Ques. 7 -How much of the homestead has the settler cultivated, and for how many seasons did he raise crops thereon? Ans. Acre cultivated. crops on past 4 years. breaking 5 yr. about 20 acres of wheat this year. 1884 Ques. 8-Are there any indications of coal, salines or other minerals of any kind on the Homestead? (If so, describe what they are, and state whether the land is more valuable for agricultural than for mineral purposes.) As. No. No. No. More valuable for agriculture Ques. 9-Has the claimant mortgaged, sold, or contracted to sell, any portion of said Homestead? As. Not to my knowlidge Ques 10-Are you interested in this claim, and do you think the settler has acted in entire good faith in perfecting this entry? Ans. No. nor am I in any way related to claimant. Think he has acted in good faith. A. J. Sheldon I hereby certify that the witness is a person of respectability; that the foregoing testimony was read to him before being subscribed, and was sworn to before me this 12 day of September 1884 W J Barnes +ex officio clerk (See NOTE ON FOURTH PAGE.)

HOMESTEAD PROOF---TESTIMONY OF WITNESS

OC Sheldon being called as witness in support of the Homestead

entry of Almanzo J Wilder for NE 4-21-111-56

testifies as follows:

Ques. 1-What is your occupation, and where is your residence?

Ans. Farmer Sec-10-111-56-

Ques. 2-Have you been well acquainted with Almanzo J Wilder

the claimant, in this case ever since he made his Homestead entry No.

Ans. Yes. for 5 years think he made his hd entry about

3 weeks before I met him.

Ques. 3-Was claimant qualified to make said entry? (State whether the settler was a citizen of

the United States, over the age of twenty-one years, or the head of a family, and whether he ever made

a former Homestead entry.)

Ans. Yes. citizen of U.S. over 21 years old

never made former hd entry

Ques. 4-When did claimant settle upon the homestead and at what date did he establish actual

residence thereon? (Describe the dwelling and other improvements, giving total value thereof.)

Ans. In [fore] part of October 1879 Residence same time.

House 12 by 12 ft frame. 2 doors 1. window stable. cellar

well of water 32 acre broken & cultivated, [sum total]

value $300

Ques. 5-Have claimant and family resided continuously on the homestead since first establishing

residence thereon?

Ans. Single man. Residence continuous

Ques. 6-For what period or periods has the settler been absent from the land since making settle-

ment, and for what purpose; and if temporarily absent, did claimant's family reside upon and culti-

vate the land during such absence?

Ans. Was temporarily absent working on R.R. and

in Minnesota during first winter. [Neccesarily] to

get money to improve his land

Ques. 7-How much of the homestead has the settler cultivated, and for how many seasons did he

raise crops thereon?

Ans. 32 acres cultivated. crops on part 4 years-making 5 [gr.]

20 acres cropped this year 1884

Ques. 8-Are there any indications of coal, salines or other minerals of any kind on the Homestead?

(If so, describe what they are, and state whether the land is more valuable for agricultural than for

mineral purposes.)

Ans. No. No. No. more valuable for agriculture

Ques. 9-Has the claimant mortgaged, sold, or contracted to sell, any portion of said Homestead?

Ans. no no no

Ques. 10-Are you interested in this claim; and do you think the settler has acted in entire good

faith in perfecting this entry?

Ans. No. nor am I in any way related to claimant

think he has acted in good faith. O. C. Sheldon

I hereby certify that the witness is a person of respectability; that the foregoing testimony was read

to him before being subscribed, and was sworn to before me this 12

day of September 1884

OC St W [J] Barnes

+ex officio clerk

[prttygirlposts]

mapping out malfoy manor while reviewing the Malfoy legacy !!

front exterior

Fun fact! The iconic shots of Malfoy Manor from the Deathly Hallow movies were actually shots of the real Hardwick Hall in Chesterfield, England. While this could not be the real home of the Malfoys, that is due to location rather than sociability.

Considering the Malfoys were still fraternizing with Muggles during the Elizabethan era (Lucius Malfoy the First was even a suitor for Queen Elizabeth the First) and that Hardwick Hall is an Elizabethan manor, the Malfoys could've bought it out. However; this isn't the case because their land is found in Wiltshire, England.

Since Hardwick Hall is the official shot of the home's exterior, I'll be using it here. Hardwick Hall is most well known for its extravagant windows. Similarly, Malfoy Manor also has these windows.

The fourth picture I have provided is not an overview of Hardwick Hall. It is actually a rendering of the description from the Deathly Hallows book: "They turned right, into a wide driveway that led off the lane. The high hedge curved with them, running off into the distance beyond the pair of impressive wrought-iron gates barring the men's way... the source of the noise proved to be nothing more than a pure-white peacock, stirring majestically along the top of the hedge."

This actually brings me to my little Malfoy theory about the peacocks. In the Goblet of Fire, during the Quidditch World Cup, the golden trio spots a tent with seven albino peacocks milling about: "Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance." This is so clearly a Malfoy Easter egg to me, and no one talks about it. My theory is that the peacocks represent extravagance, their albino condition represents purity, and there being seven peacocks (that's an assumption on my part) is supposed to bring good fortune. Hence them being at the Cup, because Lucius was probably betting on the game.

the entrance hallway

The entrance hallway to Malfoy Manor is described in Deathly Hallows for a brief moment: "The hallway was large, dimly lit and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering most of the stone floor. The eyes of the pale-faced portraits on the walls followed Snape and Yaxley as they strode past. The two men halted at a heavy wooden door leading into the next room, hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, then Snape turned the bronze handle."

I actually want to take this section as an opportunity to discuss the Malfoy lineage. Mainly because this is where we see the portraits of former family members and because I imagine the decorations are actually family possessions (I think this since Lucius hid his personal artifacts in the cellar.)

I am going to go chronologically about every Malfoy we know about prior to Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco.

Armand Malfoy - He brought the Malfoy family to England in the 11th century. He came from France as a soldier in the Norman Conquests. He rose to wealth through his connections to King William the first. Armand actually did magical, shady jobs for the king. He stole the Wiltshire property that would expand into Malfoy Manor.

Nicholas Malfoy - He lived in the fourteenth century and he knocked off his muggle adversaries under the guise of the black plague. While it's implied Armand was a murderous Malfoy (with him being apart of the Norman Conquest, him doing "shady" jobs for King William, and him stealing muggle land) Nicholas is the first recorded murderous Malfoy.

Lucius Malfoy the First - He was a possible suitor for Queen Elizabeth the First. He was rumored to have jinxed her when he wasn't chosen.

Brutus Malfoy - He was an editor in the 17th century, anti-muggle periodical "Wizards at War." In the spin off book The Tales of Beedle the Bard, we actually get to see one of his pieces. He wrote, "This we may state with certainty; any wizard who shows fondness for the society of Muggles is of low intelligence, with magic so feeble and pitiful that he can only feel himself superior is surrounded by Muggle pigmen."

Septimus Malfoy - He used the Minister of Magic, Unctuous Osbert as a political pupper in the late 18th century. That relationship mimics the one Lucius and Cornelius Fudge would have many years later.

Abraxas Malfoy - Outside of the family we meet in the books, Abraxas is Malfoy we know the most about. He was Lucius Malfoy the Second's father. According to Draco in the Half-Blood Prince, he was in the slug club ( DM: "Sir, I think you knew my grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy?" HS:  "Yes. I was sorry to hear he had died, although of course it wasn't unexpected, dragon pox at his age...") We also know that he lived a fairly long life and he died of dragon pox. Most criminally, Abraxas was known for being involved in forcing the first muggle-born Magical Minister to step down early.

You might've noticed there aren't any Malfoy women mentioned. It's a shame that they don't have any descriptions. Though, with the amount of portraits mentioned, it's likely their paintings are present in the Malfoy household.

the drawing room

In Deathly Hallows there's two descriptions of the drawing room- one from the meeting where Professor Burbage is murdered and one where Harry is kidnapped by the snatchers. They go as follows:

"The drawing room was full of silent people, sitting at a long and ornate table...Illumination came from a roasting fire beneath a handsome marble mantelpiece surmounted by a gilded mirror."

"The drawing room dazzled... Harry could make out the wide proportions of the room. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceilings, more portraits against purple walls."

This brings me to the green ick I have. Everything with the Malfoys is dark green in fan media. Please guys they had a drawing room with purple walls. Also, I think it's interesting that purple was chosen. Purple is the color of royalty, so of course the Malfoys have it in their home.

Then there's this mirror. It's brought up multiple times, which leads me to think it's pretty damn noticeable. Almost like a centerpiece. Knowing the Malfoys and Lucius's interest in dark artifacts, I believe this mirror to be a magical heirloom. Mirrors are actually spiritual veils in traditional witchcraft, and in HP we see mirrors/glass be used as magical tools twice. Once with the Mirror of Erised and again with the glass the Marauders used as a communication device. It's just a headcanon, take it or leave it.

There's also a description of the marble fireplace under that mirror. When the death eaters aren't meeting, there are chairs set next to it. Apparently it's big enough to illuminate the entire drawing room when lit. Actually, it's big enough for Lucius to be stupefied into the hearth. This leads me to believe the drawing room used to be a lot cozier. Which makes sense, considering how much schmoozing this family does. A drawing room is where you entertain guests, and if you want the Minister to be in your pocket you want the drawing room to be comfortable. In conclusion, this drawing room was nice before Voldemort over took it.

Finally, I included a picture of a pine organ because I swear I read something about one being featured in the drawing room. I can't find it, but I know I saw someone say that. I'm still including it, because it makes perfect sense to me. Like yeah, these people have a pine wood, pipe organ.

Narcissa's bedroom

These three bedrooms are a complete, self-indulgent headcanon intermission, but I will include fun facts about the characters.

Narcissa- the queen- is up first. I do think Lucius and Narcissa have their own rooms. I mean they were an arranged marriage, neither of them slept well (due to the first war), and they seem like two people who need their space.

Narcissa's room would be a cross between who she was as the youngest Black sister (star themes, moody lights, and fancy mirrors) and who she is now as the Malfoy queen (feminine colors, indulgent decorations, and luxurious furniture.)

I do think the Malfoys are a mirror to the Blacks. They are both extremely powerful families, but they go about it differently. The Black family is strict- hardened by centuries of discipline. Every action must align with their motto, "always pure." Meanwhile, the Malfoy family motto is, "purity will always conquer." Malfoy's are less strict because they have the mindset that they'll come out on top no matter what. Narcissa is brought to a strange intersection: continue to survive or begin to live. You can see that in her bedroom.

The room is always filled with flowers/candy because Lucius's love language is gift giving.

She keeps Draco's baby pictures in golden, floral frames on her vanity. It embarreses him terribly.

She has a piano in her room. The pine organ in the drawing room is actually for her. She's a very skilled musician and loves to play.

Sirius took the enchanted, communication mirror idea from his cousins. It makes sense the Black Sisters would find a way to speak to one another when Bella went to Hogwarts. Narcissa has a compact mirror (with a narcissus flower on it) that used to be a communication device. She keeps it in her nightstand drawers. On harsh days, she opens it and hopes she'll catch a glance of Andromeda.

Lucius's bedroom

I'll save my Lucius/bird metaphor ramble for another post, but his room is filled with bird motifs.

His room is surprisingly simple compared to the rest of the Manor. He has a smaller bed, coffee mugs/shot glasses laying about, and books falling off their shelves.

Part of it is rebellion and another part of it is entitlement. His room is simple as a stark rebellion against his forefathers. He's not brave enough to give up all his riches, but those riches bar him from individuality. Lucius will never be his own person: just another blonde snake. So, his room abstains from the typical Malfoy luxury. Then, it's always a wreck because he assumes someone will clean up behind him (poor Dobby).

Contrary to popular belief, I do think Lucius was a loving father. He definitely wasn't a perfect father, but he did love Draco. So, I think his room is filled with presents from Draco and pictures of him.

He's also the type of parent who keeps all of Draco's achievements in files. Best junior seeker certificate from summer camp? Yeah he's got it on standby.

His windows are open- no matter the weather. Closed windows make him feel claustrophobic. He only closes the windows when he sleeps.

He also closes the curtains when he sleeps. He's a bit paranoid. He's got a lot of enemies.

Boring ministry paperwork is everywhere. Not only do his superiors pay him to commit shady crimes, they also pay him to do their paperwork. He hates it. He'd rather be black mailing a political figure.

Draco's bedroom

Draco's bedroom has really cool dragon wallpaper. Get it? Draco is latin for dragon (under-rated symbol for him).

I do think his favorite color is green. His room is covered in dark greens. He thinks it makes him look more refined.

That's also why there are no posters on his wall. He used to have quidditch posters all over his room, but Pansy made fun of them. Now, if he puts something on his walls, it's displayed on a shelf or it's framed. It's also always something he can brag about too- like a trophy or signed quaffle.

Malfoy Manor is the hangout house, so Draco keeps food in his room. There's a bowl of apples on his dresser, a jar of sweets on his nightstand, and an enchanted cabinet that acts as a mini fridge for butterbeer. All of this storage becomes handy when the death eaters take over the manor. He doesn't have to leave his room as much.

Additionally there is a bathroom connected to his room.

You're telling me this rich kid came out this dramatically and doesn't have a balcony to sit at? You're wrong. The balcony is also where he and Pansy gossip. Many rumors were planned up there.

SImilar to Narcissa, his room is also filled with presents. His lean more towards clothes and colognes though. Lucius just loves buying stuff.

I want to emphasize how spoiled he is, so Draco has a fireplace. However; he didn't originally have a fireplace. He wanted one when he was twelve. He mentioned it during winter break. By summer break, there was a fully functional fireplace in his bedroom. He adored it, by the way.

the gardens

Alright, headcanons are over. Kinda? We know there is a large garden surrounding Malfoy Manor, but we don't know a lot about its contents.

We can assume this is where the peacocks reside. There is probably a small barn/coop for them.

To go into full imagination territory, I also think there are more birds in this garden. I mean beautiful quails and swans- just to exaggerate their wealth.

I am going to say there is a small apple orchard in the gardens. I mean Draco always has one in the films, so I'm guessing they have some significance to the family. Maybe a fruit of knowledge situation? Regardless, I think Draco always has a full supply, because he gets sent apples from the garden.

The Malfoys clearly have a thing for collecting artifacts. I don't think the garden is excluded from that. Perhaps a lot of statues of former Malfoys (particularly the women/children, which I'll explain in a later post).

This is a headcanon I will not budge on. The Malfoys have a family cemetery deep in the garden. I mean it's a while away, and it's hidden. It is a very off-putting place and a breeding ground for dark magic.

Okay, time for my favorite fun fact. Are you ready? There was going to be a scene of Draco and Theodore Nott talking in the Malfoy gardens, but it got cut.

This is from a post on JK's old website (It's okay! She can't hurt you on this blog! It's just a source!): "However, in this scene Theodore's father (the same Nott who was badly injured in the closing chapters of 'Order of the Phoenix') goes to visit Lucius Malfoy to discuss Voldemort-related business and we see Draco and Theodore alone in the garden having a talk of their own. I really liked the scene, firstly because it showed the Malfoys' home, and the difference between the place where Draco has grown up and number four, Privet Drive; then because we rarely see Draco talking to anybody he considers a real equal, and he is forced to see Theodore as such, because Theodore is just as pure-blooded as he is, and somewhat cleverer. Together these two Death Eaters' sons discuss Dumbledore's regime at Hogwarts and Harry Potter, with all sorts of stories that the Death Eaters tell about how this baby boy survived the Dark Lord's attack."

That is really interesting to me. There's just this whole other side of the story that happened, but we don't get to witness it. I might write it out one day.

This took forever to make. If you read all the way through, thank you. I did cut a few rooms, so I might make a part two. I was just ready to get this out into the world. Please, please reblog/comment your thoughts or headcanons. This is my favorite topic in the whole world. I am so interested in the Malfoys. Thank you again for reading!!

[stone-stars]

Transcript:

Jake, as Emily and Murph laugh: --really quick perception check. Murph: Go ahead and give me a perception check. [Dice rolls.] Jake: I-- no fucking lie I crit again. Murph: You crit? [Emily and Caldwell cackle.] Caldwell: Why is it here? Jake: (laughing) So… Murph: Hank, um. You think back on that jean jacket. [Growing Pains begins playing] And… you remember that you were also remembering it with rose colored glasses. Jake (Henry voice): You're not gonna tell me it wasn't cool. You're not gonna tell me it wasn't cool. [Emily laughs.] Caldwell: No, Murph, no! Emily (Fia voice): How could you do this! Caldwell: Murph! Emily: It has to be so rad! Murph! How could you do this! [Jake laughs] Caldwell: How could you! Emily: This is taking a crit away! This is taking a crit away! [Emily and Caldwell laugh as Jake and Murph talk.] Murph: You bought it because it looked cool, but there was a-- Jake: I'm being punished for a natural 20. Murph: There was a small-- Jake: This is crazy. Murph: There was a small Miami Dolphins patch on it. Jake: In campaign 1 they found Werther's Originals! They found Werther's Originals! I just want-- let the record show! Let's-- Emily: Murph, this is the cruelest thing you've ever done as a DM. [Jake laughs.] This is the cruelest thing I've ever witnessed. Caldwell: This is worse than Gemma! This is worse than Gemma! Jake: Worse than Gemma. Wow. Yeah. Murph: Um, no, you don't see your fucking-- [The others laugh.] jean jacket. You fucking maniacs. Jake (Henry voice): Alright. Well, with that fuckin' investigate then at least we know that it isn't here. It's not like I'll-- I left no stone unturned. I'll get a new one. Murph: With your percep-- nat 20 perception check, you see that the goddamn doors to the cellar are open. [The others laugh.] Caldwell: Okay. Murph: That they're not chained up. They're closed, but they're-- Caldwell: I'm sure there's one at the Crux. I'm sure there's one at the Crux we can get you, it'll look real good. Emily: Murph, that was… really really funny. Jake: Yeah. [Emily laughs.]

[sweetercalypso]

Watch Party || Joel Miller

word count: 1.5k

summary: renting a Halloween movie turns into a nightmare when poltergeist!Joel Miller crawls out of your TV

notes: part two in my week of horror series! minors dni; female mast., male mast., voyeurism, facial, afab reader, better tags on a03 because tumblr hates this post

It’d started as a joke.

The dusty VHS tape sitting on your coffee table was a relic, an obsolete piece of lewd cinema recorded and forgotten by time. ‘Night of the Lustful Undead’ is clearly an outdated work, but you doubt that the twenty-first century has produced anything that rivals the corny obscenity featured in this parody of a classic horror film.

Static from the TV flickers in a black and white trance, casting a strange light over your living room, dancing across the furniture with an eerie glow.

You grab the tape and slide it into the VHS player that you’d pulled from storage just for this occasion, and settle onto the couch with the remote in hand. This started as a joke, but you’re in too deep to back out now.

When your Halloween plans had been cancelled for the third time in a row, you’d assumed it was a sign that you were meant to spend the holiday weekend at home. You’d told your friend about your dilemma over brunch one morning, and she’d said that time alone could be just as fun, as long as you knew how to spend it.

You’d blushed at the implication and laughed off her suggestive tone, but the idea had planted a seed in your mind, and by the end of the month, it’d grown into something more.

­­­­If you were going to spend the holiday by yourself, you decided that you wanted to stay on theme with your choice of celebration. A movie rental company on the other side of town had exactly the entertainment you were looking for.

You’d been grateful for the anonymity of the empty, dated storefront, though you’d struggled to make eye contact with the cashier as he’d stuffed your purchase into an inconspicuously plain plastic bag.

Now, as the opening credits roll across the screen, you’re still telling yourself that this is just an ironic charade. You’re not actually interested in the passionate plot you’d read on the back of the cover; you’re not secretly glad that your friends hadn’t invited you out at the last minute; you’re not vaguely aware of the heat simmering in your belly at the thought of what’s to come.

The scene opens with a grainy shot of a scantily dressed woman barricaded in the cellar of an old farmhouse – a reference to the film’s inspiration.

She’s toying with a radio to call for help when the reanimated “zombie” bursts through the door, mangled shirt barely covering his tan chest. He lunges towards her and she gives an exaggerated gasp before zealously attempting to wrangle herself free.

“Oh, that’s so fake,” you scoff, though your hands twitch absentmindedly at your sides.

Their stilted performances makes the movie seem more gaudy than you’d anticipated, but you’re too distracted by their heated struggle to worry about bad acting.

The performer in the scene is handsome enough – a burly, broad-shouldered man with dark eyes and a stony expression. The undead part of his character had been implied solely in his tattered clothes and the baritone warble of his voice, and now that he’s stripped down to his popped-open jeans, you can’t remember much else about his role.

Your hands inch into your lap as the two actors tangle themselves together, almost entirely abandoning the storyline they’d spent the first ten minutes building up. He lays the woman down on a conveniently placed blanket and moves between her thighs with the promise to ‘give her what she needs’.

The camera changes angles and you shift in your seat as the expanse of his back fills the screen. His muscles flex in time with his first experimental thrust, spine bent at an awkward angle as he leans down to groan against the woman’s throat. You barely notice the sound of her high-pitched moans over the guttural noises he sings against her skin.

When the point of view changes again and you’re met with a close up of his side profile, you’re immediately entranced by the sight. His nose is pressed against the woman’s cheek, brows pinching together as they share greedy breaths between their open mouths.

You gasp as he glances over at the camera. For a split second, it felt like he was looking directly into your eyes.

The thought is enough to bring you to your breaking point, finally caving in and slipping your fingers beneath the waistband of your sweats. You’re soaked between your thighs and the sound of the actor’s heady pants fuels the urgency in your touch.

Your fingers swipe messily at your clit as the man on the screen picks up pace, grunting a breathless command of ‘don’t come without me’ into the small room.

The camera switches to a more scenic shot of the pair and you mourn the loss of his close-up features. The woman seems to have forgotten her character’s earlier reservations, thighs wrapped snugly around his waist, one hand knitted into his dark, tussled hair. You silently envy the way she gets to explore his form.  

She throws her head back in pleasure and you imitate the act, almost like you’re trying to envision yourself in her place. Your eyes squint shut and you picture his face again, dipping your fingers into your core.

Light from the TV flashes behind your closed eyes, a wild display of vivid colors that doesn’t fit the setting of the movie. The sounds of their affair are replaced with a jarring static that makes you groan and slump down into the couch. The tape must be jammed.

You peel your eyes open with a disappointed sigh, already feeling the tightly-wound coil in your gut beginning to unravel. So much for enjoying your alone time.

From the flicker of the screen, you notice a tall silhouette looming beside the TV. The color drains from your face when it begins to move closer and you realize that it’s taken the shape of a man.

You’re frozen in fear, too scared to move and too dazed to consider whether your heart is hammering out of panic or eager anticipation.

The figure stops just a few feet away and you’re able to piece together his identity. The mused hair, the stubble on his cheeks, the hills and valleys of his exposed shoulders and chest – the man from the screen is here in front of you.

You look towards the TV in disbelief. Everything seems to be exactly the same, minus the empty space that he had once filled.

His scene partner is still plastered on the screen, blurred by the digital lines running across her image. Without his presence, the movie seems much more like the unserious spoof film you thought you’d purchased.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” his gruff baritone breaks the monotonous white noise coming from the speakers.

“How did you…” your question trails off before you can finish it. What could he say that would make you understand?

He nods towards where your hand disappears beneath the waist of your bottoms. “Keep going. I want to watch.”

His own hand is wrapped around the length of his cock, moving slowly to keep his interest limited to your assent. He’s close enough that you can see the pearl of precum dripping from his ruddy tip, glinting in the light of the flickering screen.

Your fingers move of their own volition, circling your clit with a gentle pressure, matching the leisure pace of his hand gliding over his length. Small chirps and sounds of pleasure fill the air, turning into little hums and choked sobs as your shared tempo becomes faster.

“Y’like my cock?” He spits, thighs flexing as he bucks into his palm. “Dirty girl, getting off on watching other people fuck.”

You whimper and stretch your free hand out to motion him to come closer, but he shakes his head and bats it away. “No – you’re gonna finish what you started.”

He takes another step closer and rubs his thumb over the underside of his cock, laughing to himself as your jaw hangs open in awe.

“Make yourself come, and then I’ll touch you however you want.”

A few more swipes over your clit is all it takes for you to reach your peak, crumpling forward and shuddering through your release. You’re still catching your breath when a warm hand meets your cheek, pulling your attention up to the man towering above you.

His cock stands just inches from your face, and he twists over the shaft once, twice, before he comes, striping the evidence of his arousal over your glazed features. He hisses out a blissful noise and taps the weeping head against your parted lips, leaving a salty taste in your mouth that makes your walls clench.

He tips his head to the side, admiring the opaque lines streaked across your face. When he takes a step back and glances at the TV over his shoulder, you’re afraid for a moment that he might disappear. He turns his focus back towards you with a grin, and the look in his eyes says he’s not leaving anytime soon.

[mi---amor]

Tipsy-Turvy

A//N: Chef Saltbaker x Self Insert OC

Although Amor's shown to speak/think in English for reading convenience, she's actually doing so in Spanish.

Saltbaker will also sometimes be referred to by the hc name I gave him. Not too much in this one because this is set within the early days of them working together.

°•°•°•°•°

Amor followed a peculiar sound. Rich singing occasionally interrupted by hiccups and giggling. 

It was early. Too early for the dimly lit, sweetly-scented bakery to be occupied by anyone other than herself for the weekly anticipated order of produce. A 4:00 AM delivery, to be exact. 

Amor had no complaints. It was part of the job, one she enjoyed no less and had plenty of prior experience for. Being a chef’s baking assistant, she was readily willing to get up at what most people considered to be the butt crack of dawn, cleaning, going over stock, and arranging the deliveries to be as presentable as possible for when her boss arrived.

Strangely, she didn’t recall being told he would be coming in earlier than usual today, if her ears did not deceive her. The only reason might be to help with unloading the truck, but that was hardly a challenge for either of them. 

Poking through the kitchen door, Amor was met with several oddities right away. To start, the lights were not on. Instead, a procession of candles lined one of the countertops, illuminating a portion of the area in a surreal, seance-like way. 

Beside a wall adorned with plates, utensils, and frames, a gramophone filled the scene with lively orchestral music and an operatic singer- two of them, technically. Dueting over the recorded voice was another that was much lower, much louder, and directly at Amor's feet. 

“Sir?” she wondered as Chef Saltbaker merrily belted out the next chorus in unhinged, staccato Italian. He lay sprawled and surrounded by four hefty jugs most likely retrieved from the cellar, his uniform rumpled and undone. To complete his apparent desire to resemble a castaway sailor, his ascot was tied around his disheveled salt-and-pepper hair.

Underneath his coat was an undershirt that, during the events of whatever the hell transpired, had bunched up like a raised curtain. Inside his glass window of a stomach was a tinted, bubbling view of whatever he had sucked dry from the jugs, as well as the pounds of salt his mysterious innards were made out of. 

Probably not the best combination. 

Amor kept her gaze on her superior’s upside-down face shining in the abnormal ambience. She crouched nearer to his level to yell out a very confused, “Hello? Chef?”

Saltbaker’s half-lidded eyes rolled upward and lit with some semblance of recognition. 

“Oh-ho-hoh! Cia-*hic* - ah, scusami. Ciao, bellissima!"

Well, that confirmed it. Chef Saltbaker was plastered out the wazoo, a sight Amor hadn't had the privilege of witnessing before. 

Sure, she'd seen him sip daintily at a wine glass after a particularly busy day. She'd accepted a cup or two herself and could admit she looked forward to them and the friendly chats that ensued. The bottle would get finished by him most of the time, but evidently, it wasn't enough to affect him whatsoever. 

Not like this. The level of drunk the chef had achieved in secret was astounding and not at all something he seemed capable of doing. Not outside of his own home anyway.

Had he even gone home? 

Amor hurried over to the gramophone and stopped the record. Saltbaker held a warbling note until he gave a puzzled grunt. He groggily looked over, whining petulantly at his baking assistant.

“Why’d’y’do that?”

“Chef Saltbaker, sir, you’re uh. Very drunk.”

The chef dropped his head back with a clink. He waved the allegation away, looking as if he were being puppeteered by a sleepy toddler. 

“Jus' a-*hic*- glass or five. Not too much, n' if it was,” he gave a boastful slap to his middle, “it’s nothing this ol’ tank can’t handle, ha ha!”

“Sir, it’s 4:00 in the morning,” Amor insisted. “Have you gone home and slept? At all?”

Saltbaker slurred the question in his language, mockingly falsetto, and made himself laugh, shaking up the party’s worth of booze inside him. “Ehhh. Who has time t'do that anymore?”

“Right, okay.” Trying to think of how to go about the situation, Amor set her fists on her hips and stared at a mounted clock in the shape of a frying pan. The deliveries were going to arrive any minute now. She could handle them herself just fine, but she needed space in the kitchen to sort and count the items out. Not to mention figure out how to get started on everything else single-staffed.

Frowning, she returned to the lump of a salt man. “I have a feeling you’re not going to be able to sleep all this off before 8:00.”

“Why yes, I can! See? S-S-Sleeping!” Accepting the challenge, Saltbaker rolled over, sloshing audibly like a whiskey keg. He had basically become one and was not fit to do anything else for the day- or however long it took saltshaker people to reach a hangover. That much Amor knew and resented to be her problem to deal with. 

The chef she had begun to befriend and admire was supposed to be the opposite of whatever this was. She would have even gone as far as to say he wouldn’t ever put himself in such a predicament. Not when he had a business he seemed to care intensely for.

Did he have something else on his mind lately? Something…. troubling? 

Amor went over to his side where his cheek was smushed against the tile floor. He was doing a terrible job pretending to be asleep, blinking out of sync and mumbling along to the musical number he had been robbed of in his head.

Frustrated as she was, Amor had to admit… it was hard not to find the situation a tiny bit amusing. Out of all the types of drunks to be, Saltbaker luckily landed on jolly dialed up to a hundred. If it was on any other occasion, Amor would have no doubt been laughing at how ridiculous he was being. But this was not the place, not the time, and certainly not the type of boss she could work with. 

“Can you stand up?” she asked, although the answer was probably not going to shock her in the least.

“Yes, of course!” Saltbaker declared, flopping back into his previous starfish position. 

Amor waited, but after a minute he remained where he was, seemingly pleased with the zero amount of progress he made. 

“Sir?” 

“Mmm?”

“Can you stand, please?”

“Oh. Ohhh! You mean now?”

“Yes,” Amor said through one very tired rush of air. “Please. Right now.”

At his assistant’s command, the chef lifted his arms like an awaking zombie, gave a smidgen of effort, and then dropped them. 

“I think I- *hic* -like it down here. Heh heh, you should join me, gattina.”

Amor flushed pink at the pet name honeyed with flirtatiousness. No, she had to have misinterpreted that. Chef Saltbaker liked to tease and throw around nicknames for everyone… one difference being strictly in English. Maybe that quirk in his naturally charming tone had just been her imagination, which betrayed her yet again as she pictured herself cuddling in the big man’s arm and performing karaoke to Italian opera. 

A certainly ideal evening outside of work hours. 

Right now, he needed to move his ass out the goddamn way and maybe sober up at a table or broom closet. Seeing how he definitely couldn’t tell the difference between up and down and no one else was coming to punch in and lend a hand, Amor was the one stuck with having to deal with him- plus get everything else done for the day. 

She was not getting paid enough for this. 

“Sir, can you try to sit up one more time?” Amor asked. She nudged his shoulder with the tip of her shoe. “I’ll help you.”

Through a seesawing grin, Chef Saltbaker hummed at his assistant bathed in candlelight. “Amore mio, have I ever told you your ey- *hic* -excuse me, oh dear. Your eyes… they are sapphires shining bright…ly… no- yes- bright… they make th’morning… uh…” He trailed off and scrunched his brow. “Fiddlesticks. I had learned that jus’ for you. From a picture about cats. You like cats. I remember that abou- *hic* - you.”

Gosh, he was beyond ridiculous. And yet, Amor couldn’t keep a half smile from appearing on her lips. Never mind that her eyes were actually brown; he was right about the cat fact. It felt nice that he cared to remember that insignificant detail from one of their previous unwinding talks. She decided she’d let him have that one. 

“Yes, I do. And I liked whatever that was too. Very sweet.”

“Aw, really?” The chef beamed and fumbled a translucent, surprisingly soft finger to boop her nose. “Well, good! I have man-n-ny more. I'll think of ‘em.” 

“You can tell me all about it while you get up, okay?”

Chef Saltbaker watched with interest as his smaller assistant planted her feet firmly between his legs. She bent over with her hands out toward him, but he pulled his up to his chest like a scared puppy.

“Oh my… Miss Leches, that’s quite forward.”

As politely as she could, Amor told him to shut up and grab hold. Once she got a grip on him, she yanked with strength befitting someone more his size.

Jerking forward with a yelp, the chef stayed vertical for a full second. Before he could rush back to the floor’s embrace, Amor scurried and braced herself against his back. 

She didn't know what lifting a waterbed strictly with her spinal cord felt like, but this had to be it. 

“Unf-! Come on, Chef, work with me.”

“I do work with you, yes. And I- *hic*- enjoy your company very much! Too much, probably.”

Amor huffed and puffed and dug an elbow in, hoping the pain would at least register somewhere in his body and get him to move. With a sturdy little support digging into his shoulder blades, Saltbaker seemed to sense his limbs needed to create useful movement. He lurched over onto an elbow and took the long, sloshy journey to his feet.

“Whooo, so much spinning! I believe I'm going to regret this later.” 

“Yep, probably. Good job not falling on me.”

“Not a problem. Thank you-u-u for being so…. ever so helpful.”

Amor more or less let him lean on her like an armrest before he dropped anchor against a blessedly nearby counter. Believing the worst to be over, she went to gather her hair out of her face- only to catch the chef chuckling as he started sinking to his knees like a melting ice cream.

“No, no, no! Up, stay up.” Amor righted him with another elbow jab to the squishy source of all her wasted energy and time. 

“Oof-!” Saltbaker stuck out his bottom lip and, finally noticing he wasn't decently dressed, decided a little too late to cover up his exposed target. “That wasn't very nice,” he admonished, waggling a finger parentally at his assistant.

“Neither was any of this,” Amor grumbled, patience well spent. “What happened? Why didn't you go home?”

“I have… *hrp*- a much better question. Do you?”

“What.”

Thinking she hadn’t heard him in the otherwise completely silent room, Chef Saltbaker folded in on himself to close the several feet of distance that separated them height-wise. His nose nearly gouged Amor’s eye out, and by his breath alone she feared secondhand intoxication. 

“Do you drink?” the chef clarified, bouncing a little on his toes for emphasis. 

“Chef, I do. But like this?” Amor gestured at his everything. “No. And my advice is that you shouldn’t either. Would you like me to call you a cab or something?”

Saltbaker didn't really seem to understand, which was entirely expected. He had no idea where he was going with his initial question anyway as the world grew increasingly disorienting the longer he stood.

He rocked in place and rambled on. “I asked this, why? Because I dunno if you do. And 'f you do, you knew, who know… knew do. And I do. Knew. Mmmm-hm.” 

Convinced he'd spoken gospel truth, Chef Saltbaker set a fist on his hip, his other going for the counter. He missed completely and his center of gravity gladly took over. 

Amor nonchalantly sidestepped as her boss face-planted into the ground, rattling everything within a five-mile radius. He didn't move or say much else and she decided that was for the best. She continued with the morning duties after a brief checkup confirmed the chef was more than okay. He was snoring. 

Amor shook her head and wished him well once he woke up.

He was going to have a massive headache, and she wasn’t going to make it any better by asking him for a raise. 

[indefinite-pitch]

Pattrn - Reflets Suspendus

Buy & Support: Pattrn - Histoires d'Eau

[multi-kpop-fanfics]

half past five high - interlude: sexcapades

pairing: supermodel!Mingyu x foreigner!girls

genre: smut. minors dni.

warnings: rough sex, unprotected sex (stay safe), manhandling, mingyu has a god complex, blowjob, deepthroating, creampie, threesome, degradation, alcohol consumption, body worship, hair pulling, daddy kink, objectification, squirting

word count: 1.6k

summary: bad decisions lead to more bad decisions and actions.

series taglist: @delicatewerewolfsoul @aliceu @husbandhoshi @wonwoosthetic @boowanie @billboard-singer @gaebestie  @aurumness​ @dkakapizzaboy

unable to tag: @chwebychew @jaeyux

© multi-kpop-fanfics, 2023. no reposting or translating without permission.

“Here we are, ladies - make yourselves comfortable” Mingyu opens the door to his apartment, letting the girls go in the space, gasping in awe and giggling when they plop on the velvet couch, touching the soft material.

“Wow, your apartment is so cool!”

“What did you expect, Mia? He’s a supermodel, he’s obviously loaded with money” the blonde girl giggles, looking at Mingyu with naughty eyes.

“I see you’re aware of who I am - and trust me, money isn’t the only thing I’m loaded with” he slides his coat and red blazer, staying only in his vest and dress pants. 

He makes his way to the kitchen, opening the glamorous cellar where he keeps all of his alcohol, pulling out three glasses and a bottle of Bourbon, setting them down on the table in front of the couch, filling them halfway with the golden liquid.

“Cheers, ladies” he raises his glasses and they share the enthusiasm, clinking their glasses together, taking a few sips of the alcohol.

“Sheesh, that’s so tasty” the brunette slurs with a laugh and she grabs the bottle from the neck, trying to read the label, “Too bad I can’t read what it says haha!”

“Oh God, you’re so wasted, Mia”

“You’re no better, Kay!” 

“Ladies, please don’t fight” Mingyu sits between them, bringing them close to his body, “We can do so many fun things instead, right?” he slowly manspreads, a wicked smirk spreading on his lips when he sees Mia’s eyes fixated on his lap.

“Something caught your eye, love?”

“Yeah, your cock” she giggles drunkenly, climbing on his lap and taking off her dress, her mesh lingerie barely covering her breasts and pussy, snatching the bottle from her friend’s hands, trying to dance on Mingyu’s lap.

“Slay, girl!” Kay hollers, taking out her phone to record the scene, laughing sneakily when she notices his hands holding her friend’s waist.

Mingyu leans back, his hands caressing her skin, groaning when she grazes his bulge, his judgment getting clouded with each passing second. 

“Babe I need you to get off my lap, right now” he taps her ass, snatching the Bourbon bottle out of her hands.

“But whyyyyy” she whines in protest.

“Because I don’t want to bust a nut in these pants, love” 

"And where do you wanna bust it, big boy?" Kay starts unbuttoning his vest, her lithe hands sliding it off his shoulders and caresses his chest, her dress long discarded.

"Depends on whether you're clean, baby"

"We're both clean and on the pill, Mingyu!" the brunette slurs, putting down the Bourbon bottle and sliding down on her knees in front of Mingyu's spread thighs, fumbling with his pants.

"Well then, that changes a lot" he grabs the blonde's face, kissing her greedily and sliding his tongue down her throat, almost making her gag.

The brunette drags the red pants down to Mingyu's ankles, pressing open mouthed kisses over his clothed cock, fingertips slyly tugging the waistband of his Celine boxers.

"Fuck, just take his cock out already!" Kay breaks the kiss and gets next to her friend, ripping off his boxers and gasping when they see his sheer size, their hands already playing with his shaft and balls.

"Greedy little things" Mingyu laughs condescendingly, laying back with his arms resting on the back cushions, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he watches the girls enjoy themselves, moaning and whimpering between his legs.

Their plush lips are glued on his cock, tongues coating the entire shaft with their spit, the blonde’s mouth sucking the tip slowly, while the brunette plays with his balls, licking and sucking them greedily, none of them breaking eye contact with Mingyu.

“Come on, you can do better than that, dolls” he clicks his tongue in annoyance and that seems to spur the girls on, as they speed up their movements, the noises coming out of their mouth louder, sloppier and needier, their lips now touching as they slide them up and down his cock, their wet muscles making a mess all over the thick shaft.

He watches over them, playing with his cock, holding it with their tiny hands and slapping it on their tongues and cheeks, like they’re serving their sanity and self respect on a silver platter for him.

They are worshipping him like a God - and Mingyu is thriving in it.

“Mmm fuck, your cock is sooo fucking big” Mia moans and pushes her mouth down his cock, deepthroating him and bobbing her head rhythmically, until Kay pulls her friend’s head by her hair, her turn to deepthroat Mingyu.

“Enough fighting, ladies” he pulls Kay off his cock, “I want you both on the couch, ass up in the air and hands on the back cushions” he gets up, kicking away the pooled pants and boxers away, drinking the rest of his Bourbon and drunkenly throwing the glass away, crashing down on the floor into tiny pieces.

“Oops”

“Daddy is angry” Mia giggles, climbing on the couch. 

“Daddy will get angry if you don’t do as I say in the next three seconds” Mingyu stares down at them and they both scramble to bend their asses up in the air, panties digging in their flesh.

“Fuckin’ whores” he scoffs, ripping their thongs away, the thin fabric snapping against their skins, making them whine and yelp.

“Please fuck me like a whore, Daddy” Kay shakes her ass in an attempt to entice Mingyu, but she only gets two harsh slaps on her ass, his hand roughly gripping her hair.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to talk” he presses his lips on the shell of her ear, “Now stay down like a good little bitch and watch me fuck your friend to oblivion” he orders her and the girl stays there, jealousy invading her head.

Mingyu positions himself behind Mia, running his hands over her ass, lining his cock with her pussy before sliding in with one swift thrust, a loud moan echoing in the luxurious apartment.

He sets a brutal pace, one hand gripping her waist and the other buried in her hair, pulling it back and using it as leverage to fuck her cunt without mercy.

"Fuck, you're so- big!" the brunette gasps, her manicured nails digging into the velvet cushions of the couch, eyes rolling in the back of her skull from the repeated ramming of her sweet spot.

"I know, baby, I know - Fuck, such a tight lil' cunt you have, huh?" he groans, side-eyeing the blonde girl, who is watching with lust-blown eyes, her hand between her legs, rubbing her pussy in an attempt to feel some kind of stimulation.

"Look at your friend-" Mingyu turns Mia's head towards Kay, forcing her to look at the blonde girl, "She's so desperate for my cock that she's trying to rub herself while she watches us party together" he chuckles like the devil, his gaze piercing the other girl.

"Do you think she deserves to get fucked once I'm done with you? Do you think she deserves my cock?"

"Yes, Daddy, please!" Mia whines, "Please fuck us full, we're such good girls for you" she draws out the last sentence, her body growing more sensitive.

"Hmm, since you insist" he hums, speeding up his thrusts and snaking his hand in front of her legs to rub the rough pads on his fingers on her clit to push closer to the edge.

"Shitshitshit I'm cumming Gyu, I'm cumming!" she screams and falls limp on the couch as she topples off the edge, Mingyu cumming right after with a sharp jut of his hips, his thick seed painting the walls of her cunt white.

He pulls out of her without hesitation, leaving her empty all of a sudden, hastily switching to Kay and slamming his cock in her cunt, knocking her breathless on the lavish couch.

"Fuuuuck….." the blonde girl cries out, thighs already starting to shake.

"Baby you nearly came from this? I haven't even started fucking you" Mingyu mocks her and begins ramming his dick in her pussy, harder than he did to the brunette, his large hands grabbing her small waist with an iron grip.

Her cut-off moans and short breaths, paired with her soaked cunt are enough to send him into a spiral, thrusting into her tight heat as if he’s a rabid dog gone into heat. 

“Such a tight little wet hole, fuck, perfect to blow my load in it” Mingyu moans, pulling her ass back and slamming it on his pelvis with full force, sweat starting to form on his chiseled body. 

Kay’s noises almost remind him of the noises you make when he fucks you to oblivion and you scream his name, letting him use your body for his own pleasure. Almost.

Mingyu gets mad at himself for letting his mind slip to you again, after doing his best to not think about you after the fiasco at the exhibition. He ends up digging his nails into the girl’s skin, leaving small crescent moons in their way.

“G-Gyu, you’re too rough, s-slow down” the girl begs, her voice barely audible.

“Just a little more” he groans, before slamming his cock in her cunt with one last strong thrust, flooding her with his cum, forcing her orgasm to crash upon her, squirting without warning all over the velvet couch.

“Shit, you made a mess” he scoffs while pulling out of her pussy, his load dripping on the cushions and the floor.

“Me? Or…fuck, you?” Kay sighs, collapsing next to her friend, completely spent and weak.

Mingyu gets up, standing on his full height, towering over the now completely wrecked girls, his cum seeping out of them slowly in pearly globs.

Just for tonight, he truly feels like a God.

[fancypantsrecords]

A Shell In The Pit & Tettix - Rogue Legacy | Fangamer | 2022 | Red Translucent

[flyingwargle]

flufftober day 13: attic, cellar, hidden room

kita is greeted with a serene breeze at the top of the stone steps, verdant leaves rustling with the wind's chorus. the shrine grounds are well-kept as always, grounds recently swept, bells chiming. he passes the central pavilion that shelters twin kitsune statues, facing each other with stern eyes that watch over the town of inarizaki below.

after greeting miya, the shrine maiden, he continues to the temple at the back of the property, where visitors can offer incense and ring the bell for the gods. kita skirts around the altar to the side, where a sliding door blends into the structure, and slides it open. "hello, twins."

"ah, kita-san!" on the other side of the altar are living quarters for the shrine keeper, but since miya has a home in town, it's been overtaken by the kitsune that the town worship, two spirits who present themselves as human-like in white kimono with red markings beneath their eyes, fox ears at the top of their heads, and tails that swish with the wind.

youkai.

atsumu approaches first, a grin on his face. osamu peers behind him, wary of the human who can see them, giving him a nod of greeting, nonetheless. "yer just in time, we were gonna head up. let's go!"

kita has a policy to not involve himself with youkai, but ever since coming to town, he's overstepped the boundaries that kept him safe in the city. perhaps it's because of the countryside's friendly atmosphere. perhaps it's because of the youkai themselves, who want nothing more than to protect the town. perhaps it's because the kitsune act like teenagers most of the time, despite their long lives.

he climbs the ladder to the attic after them, sneezing from the lingering dust. there are boxes upon boxes around them, nondescript and old. kita opens one of them, blinking at various decorations stuffed inside. “how exactly will looking through these boxes help?”

"yer grandpapa was a shrine keeper, so i dunno, i thought ya might find some o' his stuff," atsumu says, swinging open the window. "like papers or whatever."

"i thought ya asked 'im ta help clean up," osamu points out, heading to a different corner of the attic.

"shh! don't ruin it, 'samu!"

kita moves the box aside for another. "for almighty youkai, you sure are timid to ask for help. surely you could enchant me to do your bidding?"

atsumu pouts. "we ain't like that! we're nice youkai, unlike those scrubs in sunarin's part o' the forest. right, 'samu?"

"and yet, i don't need to rely on humans to do work for me."

suna is perched on the windowsill, presenting himself as humanoid in a red kimono with koi fish on the sleeves, face hidden behind a kitsune mask, pointed ears at the top of his head. he sighs. "what dumb shit are you up to now?"

"watch yer tongue. ya call yerself a deity?" atsumu snorts, waving a hand toward the labyrinth of boxes. "doin' some cleanin', obviously. didja know that kita-san's grandpapa was a shrine keeper? he could see youkai, too."

his hum is muffled behind his mask. “i think i remember some traveling shrine keepers stop by, but i don’t remember their names or faces.”

"yer memory is ass."

"you're an ass."

osamu rolls his eyes, bringing a box to kita. "i think ya might find somethin' in here. it's full o' administrative stuff."

said stuff includes old receipts, certificates, records, and other books, all handwritten in nearly indecipherable kanji. kita recognizes his surname, however, on a few of them, although he can barely read any of it. "thanks. could i bring some back to my granny? she might be able to read it."

"can yer granny see youkai?" atsumu asks, now perched on a stack of boxes, tails swishing behind him.

"i don't know. i never asked." he didn't know about his grandpa until another youkai mistook him for the late kita shinji. who passed down their ability to see youkai, he wonders, and could his parents see them, too?

no. they didn't see the youkai behind kita that night. or maybe they did and chose not to comment. either way, he'd rather not speak to them unless needed, not until they visit again, if they do. "thank you," he adds, turning to the kitsune twins. "is there anything that i can help you with?"

that's how he spends the rest of the afternoon moving boxes around. suna watches from his perch and makes unnecessary comments or quips about the twins, who respond in earnest. by the time they’re finished, all the boxes are arranged in organized stacks, sunlight pooling on the dusted floor.

they climb the ladder down, and kita collapses onto the couch, covered in sweat and dust. osamu makes a beeline to the kitchen, offering him a plate of onigiri. kita has no idea how youkai produce food, knows better than to ask, and accepts one with thanks. with only furikake as seasoning, the onigiri is still flavorful and delicious. “i’d offer ya tea, but we ran out,” atsumu says apologetically. “we’re hopin’ that some o’ the mid-tier ayakashi will have some at tonight’s banquet.”

“it’s all right. i should head home, soon.” he finishes his last mouthful and wipes his hands clean with his handkerchief. “thank you for the food.”

“come by soon, yeah? it’s fun with ya ‘round.” atsumu smiles, golden eyes gleaming. “the forest’s been livelier ever since ya came here. ya should join us fer one o’ our banquets!”

suna shakes his head. “some of them won’t take too kindly to humans. the fact that he’s here at all is a surprise.” kita doesn’t comment, quite aware of how the minor deity feels about him. he simply bows his head and exits, the twins calling out after him.

“if ya ever need us, call fer us!”

he says goodbye to the shrine maiden on his way out, climbing the stairs down. the trail is decorated with lanterns, unlit in the fading light, until he emerges from the forest and onto the road, where rice fields greet him. he’s about to head toward home when the familiar sound of bicycle wheels squeak to a halt behind him. “shin?”

aran rests his arms on his handlebars. “aran.” kita nods in greeting. “coming back from the supermarket?” the front basket on his bike is filled with groceries.

“ah, yeah. pa an’ i are gonna have curry. do ya wanna join us?”

kita thinks for a moment, eyes pointed toward home. “can my granny join? i’m sure she’d love to come.”

“of course! pa’s vegetable curry is somethin’ else. i better head back first, so he can get started – see ya later!” with a wave, his friend pedals off, and kita continues in the opposite direction.

life has certainly become brighter, ever since he moved here. friends were difficult in the city, especially with his ability to see youkai, so now that he made a friend to share his secret with, his shoulders are no longer heavy, especially when the youkai that he’s befriended are far from the malicious types that followed his shadow for so long.

a smile touches upon his lips. he’s looking forward to tonight, and many more nights to come.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hey!! I love ur loc fics!! I was wondering if you could do the black circle x innocent!fem!reader?? She has body piercings and tattoos though. Also, could dead be alive?? (lol) Thxx!!<33

A pierced flower

warning : fluff, mentioning of needle

Info : Hey thanks for the praise enjoy the story and everyone else too ;)

masterlist

Disclaimer : I don't want to glorify abything, it's about teh actors who play a role, not the real events

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn't quite morning when a pink car approached the music store. The town was still a little sleepy, only some people ventured out of their houses to go to the bakery, to meet in the front gardens to pick up the newspaper.

Only the sound of music coming from the bright car seemed to wake everyone up. The blonde's scream from the cassette recorder was better than any alarm clock. The young woman behind the wheel jerked the steering wheel around and turned sharply into the next street.

Behind the actually soft natural make-up was a big, cheerful grin. The bright car aimed at her normal almost shco innocent look. But ever since she had met her, her friends and so much more, inside her was a mix of sweet innocent pink and the black of the hell she kept happily walking into.

She hadn't quite forgotten the sting of the needle on her body as her lipstick-stained lips curled into a larger smile. ,,Here at last," she murmured, feeling her heart beating with joy and adrenaline.

Before she stopped in front of the store with her tires rolling. ,,Boys, open up!" she shouted over the music, pulled out the key and almost flew out of the car.

Only a few hours had passed since she returned from the larger neighboring town. This small town had neither a piercer nor a tattoo artist, so she only had to go to the next larger town, which was a few hours away. But for what they got, it was worth it to hell and back.

Tearing open the door to the store and storming in, Euronymous knew one of her friends would never lock the store, not when they'd all had a big party in the basement just hours before and might get new followers as well as further ruin the good public image.

A public image that she still had and she was also the only connection to the "normal" world for the boys. ,,Guys! Wake up look!" she shouted into the store and turned on the music and picked up her favorite record before walking through the alden.

She saw a few of her friends lying on the bed and the beanbag before the group gradually staggered up from the cellar. ,,What's-What's wrong?" asked Dead, who looked even bluer and more tired than usual, but who was immediately drawn into the crowd when he saw the piercing on her nose and the tattoo on her arm. When the two pink stones on her upper body also intervened, even if it was slightly painful, it made her happy.

Everything about it had made her happy. ,,I'm dying for this," the blonde mumbled and seemed completely fascinated and artistically inspired by the whole picture as he grabbed his drawing things and started to draw a little.  ,,Now that's devilish," joked Faust, rising from the beanbag with Occoltus, who grinned broadly and let his fingers wander carefully over the pentagram.

She saw the astonishment of the black-haired man whose own pentagram chain was still hanging around his neck, his protector and bringer of strength and now on her skin. ,,Yes, I know even the metal is black," she said proudly and smiled as she carefully tapped her nose, the septum of which had a spider's head as a clasp, making the leader and founder of the band smile.

She knew that Euronymous had been thinking about a sign for a while too. Since she had gotten to know the band and her friends, they had not only listened to music together, laughed and written songs together, but they had also all lost themselves in this idea of the devil. The pentagram was the most appropriate thing to do.

,,Shit... guys, I think we need to get something pierced too...as a band, how about a pentagram?" Euronymous suggested and the others nodded and joined in.

The music was turned up, the beers were brought out and there would be a little concert before they all got into the cars with a little alcohol in them, feeling less pain was the group's dew as they all drove to the tattoo artist without an appointment, knowing that when they finally had it Stan would come to greet them in person. For the most diabolical group in the world.

Even if things went a little differently Occultus had to wipe away a tear at the needle, Faust thought for a few minutes about where he wanted the motif, Euronymous, on the other hand, wanted to push the needle through his nose himself and Dead, Dead actually seemed dead calm for the first time and almost enjoyed the needles on his skin.

When the group walked out at the end, proud and still slightly bloody on their skin, it was the best thing they had ever done.

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