#chilling with the boys in spiritual realm

[frogo-star11]

i feel like even though Kal and the other herald's minds are Chilling fr fr, their bodies on Braize are gonna be fucked up.

Like... people with trauma can overcome it mentally, but still flinch when someone raises their hand near them. Even if they know mentally that nothing bad will happen, bodies are weird and can cause panic attacks for no reason.

[baizhoobies]

𝐎𝐧𝐢 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐀𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐲…?

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕

Synopsis: f!Reader somehow finds herself trapped in the spirit realm. Whoops. She entrusts the help of a Yokai Detective Agency to get her back to the mortal realm where she belongs. Wait? A detective agency? In the spirit realm? And the only way of escape is to work with a disgruntled and hot headed Oni who is somehow spiritually bound to her? Sheesh.

A multichapter, Kamisama Kiss inspired story with your favourite Bungo man. Or at least, my favourite ~

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, violence, swearing, blood mention, monsterfucking, knotting, ruts, omegaverse vibes, breeding

A/N: ooh boy. The big one. Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

Chapter Warnings: 18+!!!!!! Smut, swearing, monsterfucking, knotting, ruts, omegaverse vibes, breeding kink, scent kink? Cunnilingus, talks of pregnancy, wrap it up!

Masterlist

The days trickled by with an agonizing slowness. You could feel the weight of the ticking clock - 15 more days until you could return to the mortal realm. You reminded yourself often that this was what you wanted, what you needed. As much as you had enjoyed your time in the spirit realm, you felt a sense of duty, an obligation to return back to the mortal realm; your family and friends were there, your old life, everything.

Despite going over things logically, the pang of belonging tugged at you. Only 15 days in the spirit realm and you felt right at home. From the culture, the sights, the food the…company, everything seemed better to you. Perhaps it was the fact you didn’t have to do much work, getting three meals a day, heck, you started to no longer miss the sun. All that, coupled with Kunikida, the Oni who has helped you throughout your time here, the one who (despite having a piss poor attitude) was always by your side; you almost got used to it.

But the thought felt heavier than it should, especially when Kunikida was being so... distant.

He wasn’t being cold in the traditional sense. Kunikida still made your meals, ensured that you were safe, and stuck to his annoyingly rigid routines. But there was a chill in his interactions, a deliberate avoidance that gnawed at you. Especially when he started wearing a face mask, claiming he was ‘feeling under the weather’.

It was like this for a fair few days, although Kunikida had to stay by your side, he tried to keep as much distance between you as possible. Leaving breakfast at the foot of the futon, making sure he walks several steps in front or behind you, he even managed to get you doing a few jobs at the office as to stay away from you as much as possible. Whenever you tried to talk to him, he would face away, covering his hand over his mask and said some shit like ‘I don’t want you to catch this’ - not that you actually thought it was possible, considering he was an Oni, and you, a human.

Today, though, Kunikida seemed worse. His movements were stiff, his breathing shallow, and sweat beaded on his forehead. Even with the mask, his complexion looked pale, a sharp contrast to his usual robust energy.

“Kunikida, you look awful” you said bluntly as you watched him attempt to prepare your breakfast.

“I’m fine” he snapped, though his voice lacked its usual bite. “This is nothing.”

“Right,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “Because sweating buckets and wobbling on your feet is just a regular Wednesday for you.”

He ignored you, though you caught the way his hands trembled as he poured tea.

“Kunikida” you said again, softer this time. “You’re not okay. You should stay home today and rest.”

“I can’t,” he replied tightly. “There’s work to be done. We can’t afford to waste time.”

At this point, your frustration boiled over. “You’re not even human! You don’t get sick like humans do, I think, so what’s actually going on with you? And don’t say it’s nothing.”

His grip tightened on the teapot, the muscles in his jaw clenching visibly. “Drop it, Y/N.”

“No,” you spoke firmly, standing tall in attempts to look authoritative towards the pesky Oni. “If you won’t listen to reason, then I’ll just have to make you.” You took a step closer, locking eyes with him. “I order you to stay home and take a sick day. Rest.”

Kunikida froze, the weight of the spirit bond making your command impossible to ignore. He glared at you, his hazel eyes burning with frustration.

“You’re abusing that bond” he spoke through gritted teeth.

“I’m keeping you from collapsing in the middle of the street,” you shoot back. “Big difference.”

He sighed heavily, setting the teapot down with more force than necessary. “Fine. One day. But don’t expect me to enjoy this.”

-

Later that morning, true to your word, you made sure Kunikida stayed in his room, much to his irritation. You had him lying down, which he insisted he lay on his yoga mat, his default - you couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable he looked. His tall frame didn’t fit well on the narrow mat, and he shifted restlessly.

“You know, you could use the bed” you offered as you placed a damp cloth on his forehead.

“I’m fine here” he spat, his voice muffled slightly by the mask.

“Right. Because the image of you passed out on the floor is so reassuring” you replied sarcastically.

Kunikida didn’t respond, but you caught the flicker of a frown beneath the mask. All you could do was sigh and sit back on your heels as you looked down at the pitiful Oni. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Better than being reckless” he muttered.

“Reckless?” You repeated, raising an eyebrow. “How is asking you to take care of yourself reckless?”

“It’s not about me,” he said, his voice strained. “I have responsibilities, to the agency, to you. I can’t afford to be weak.”

You frowned at this, your frustration softening into something more sympathetic. “Kunikida, even superheroes take sick days. You’re not a machine.”

He closed his eyes, his breathing uneven. For a moment, you thought he might argue again, but instead, he simply lay still.

As the morning wore on, you busied yourself with small tasks such as tidying up the already meticulous room, bringing him water, and checking his temperature. All the while you would notice his occasional glances in your direction, though he quickly looked away whenever you caught him.

-

By the time lunch rolled around, Kunikida seemed marginally better, though his fever hadn’t completely broken. You brought him a bowl of rice porridge, your attempts at cooking in the spirit realm improving slightly under his earlier tutelage.

“Eat” you instructed, handing him the bowl.

He sat up slowly, taking the bowl with a reluctant nod. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome” you said, sitting down across from him. You notice that his hands were still shaky and he would avert his gaze; at least he was eating though.

You ate in silence for a while, the tension between you less sharp than usual. You watched him carefully, noting the faint lines of fatigue around his eyes.

“Can I ask you something?” You ventured.

He looked up, wary. “What?”

“Why are you so hard on yourself?”

He stiffened, his grip on the bowl tightening. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do,” you said gently. “You push yourself so much, and for what? You can’t save everyone, Kunikida. No one can.”

His expression darkened, and for a moment, you thought he might shut you out again. But then he sighed, setting the bowl aside.

“It’s not about saving everyone,” he said quietly. “It’s about living up to the ideals I’ve set for myself. If I can’t even do that, then what’s the point?”

You frown again, feeling your heart aching at the weight he carried. “You’re allowed to falter, you know. It doesn’t make you any less worthy.”

He didn’t respond, his gaze distant.

“Just... think about it,” you said softly, reaching out a hand to touch his. He welcomed it, only momentarily until his instincts swiftly pulled away. You put it down to the sickness, he puts it down to restraint. Which all of this is. Having you here in his home whilst he enters a rut is dangerous, and micro-dosing you seems to be helping, but being an Oni deep in a rut, it won’t last.

Whilst you helped him, he was figuring out ways on how to remove you from his home whilst he gets through this rut. Maybe next door? Maybe just hold out until you have to go to the mortal realm where you belong? But 15 days is such a long time away.

‘The mortal realm’ he recalls in his mind, in 15 days you’ll be gone. Thats a good thing. Can’t attach himself to you, regardless of being able to pass to and from the spirit and mortal realm. It would be selfish to keep you, especially when the both of you are so deep in denial, it’s almost comical.

No matter how strong his urges are, he has to be distant, he has to uphold his ideals he has to.

-

Lunch had passed in a rare atmosphere of peace. Kunikida lay slumped back against the wall, his golden eyes half-lidded from exhaustion. You sat cross-legged on the floor, tidying up the tray you’d brought in earlier.

Your gaze drifted to him, watching how his broad shoulders heaved with labored breaths. The yoga mat beneath him was woefully inadequate - thin and rumpled, hardly suitable for someone of his size.

“You know” you started casually, “you’re going to wake up with a bad back if you keep lying on that thing.”

“I’m fine” he muttered, his voice still hoarse.

You rolled your eyes. “You keep saying that, but it’s painfully obvious that you’re not.”

“It’s not your concern” he replied gruffly, turning his head away, a bead of sweat rolls down his forehead. The rut is getting worse by the second.

“Oh, but it is my concern” you said with a mischievous glint in your eye. “Thanks to this lovely spirit bond, remember?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.

You stood, dusting off your hands before pointing to the bed. “Alright, that’s it. I order you to get on the bed. Now.”

His head snapped toward you, eyes narrowing. “What?”

“You heard me,” you said, crossing your arms. “Get on the bed. You’re supposed to be resting, not punishing yourself on that glorified piece of cardboard.”

His expression darkened, though the bond had already begun to work its magic. Begrudgingly, he pushed himself up, his movements slow and deliberate as he made his way to the futon.

“This is ridiculous” he grumbled under his breath, sitting stiffly on the edge of the mattress.

“You’re welcome” you quipped, sitting beside him. “See? Much better.”

He huffed, glaring at the wall and edging away from you. He covers his mouth, even with the mask. You think he’d cough but he didn’t. It was your intoxicating smell again. Oh your scent, soft and unmistakably yours, was intoxicating, his Alpha instincts clamoring for more; coupled with the fact you are both sitting on his bed. He could just pounce on you, how he would…

Instead, he shuffled under the covers and hid his face, this great and powerful Oni was acting like a wounded dog.

You put it down to him being dramatic like he usually is.

“Alright, mister grumpy” you say in a sing-song way, standing up and reaching for the damp cloth you’d set aside earlier. “Let’s cool you down again.”

“I don’t need-”

“Shh.” You placed the cloth gently against his forehead, ignoring his protests.

His body tensed under your touch, the warmth of your proximity making his fevered state even harder to bear.

“Why are you so stubborn?” You asked, breaking the silence, sitting on the edge of his futon.

“Why are you so insistent?” he shot back, though his tone lacked its usual bite.

“Because someone has to be,” you replied with a smirk. “You’re hopeless when it comes to taking care of yourself.”

Kunikida frowned, his gaze shifting to the floor. “I’m not used to this” he admitted quietly.

You blinked, surprised by the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his voice. “Used to what?”

“Being taken care of,” he said, his hands clenching into fists. “I’ve always been the one responsible. The one who... fixes things. It’s not my place to burden others.”

Your heart softened at his words, whats with him today? You’ve never seen him so vulnerable. After days of him pushing you out, putting up those walls, he is being so... open?

“Kunikida, that’s not how this works. Taking care of someone doesn’t mean they’re a burden. It just means... you care.”

He turned to look at you, his hazel eyes searching yours. For a moment, the tension between you shifted, something unspoken passing in the space between.

As the silence stretched, Kunikida found his hand moving almost of its own accord, reaching toward yours. The sight of you sitting so close, your gentle expression, your warmth - it was all too much. He wanted to feel the comfort of your touch, to anchor himself to something real amidst the chaos of his instincts.

But as his fingers hovered above yours, his Alpha senses flared. The thought of holding your hand - of touching you - was too tempting, too dangerous. His rut was already simmering beneath the surface, threatening to overtake him.

He pulled back sharply, clenching his fist to steady himself.

“Is something wrong?” You asked, your voice tinged with concern. This isn’t the first time you noticed him staring, threatening to touch you but to no avail.

“No” he said quickly, his tone harsher than intended. “Nothing’s wrong.”

You furrowed a brow, studying him. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m fine” he said, though the words sounded hollow even to him.

You sighed, leaning back slightly. “You know, for someone who claims to have everything under control, you’re kind of a mess.”

“Excuse me?” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“You heard me” you said with a teasing grin. “A mess. But don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.”

Despite himself, Kunikida felt the corner of his mouth twitch, hidden under his mask. You had a way of disarming him, of making him feel seen in a way that was both terrifying and... grounding.

As you busied yourself tidying the room from lunch, you couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of your eye. Despite your constant bickering, there was something undeniably endearing about him - the way he carried himself, the weight of his ideals, the quiet strength beneath his gruff exterior.

And as you watched him, lying there with his golden hair tousled and his usual composure stripped away, a thought began to creep into your mind.

Were you falling for him?

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, your heart skipping a beat. Shaking your head, you pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the task at hand.

Kunikida lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes. The fever had ebbed slightly after lunch, but the pressure in his chest, the searing heat in his veins, remained relentless.

His body screamed for something he couldn’t allow himself to take, something forbidden and dangerous. And you were right there, *right there*, separated from him by nothing more than a flimsy curtain.

Through the thin fabric, he could see your curvy silhouette in the kitchen, busy washing up the dishes from lunch. You hummed softly, a sound that inexplicably sent warmth spiraling through him. Kunikida clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms as he tried to quell the rush of primal instincts clawing at his resolve. Minute by minute he could feel the blood rush to his cock, it was maddening.

‘You can’t do this’ he told himself. ‘She’s human. She’s temporary. And you’re supposed to have self-control.’

But that control was slipping fast. The air between you was saturated with your essence, stirring his Alpha instincts into a frenzy. He turned his face into the pillow, willing himself to sleep it off, only to be met with more of your scent from when you slept in the bed the night before. Maybe he could subtly get himself off to your smell on his pillow.

Kunikida self indulgently bucked his hips into the duvet, nose pressed into your pillow as he slowly pulled the mask off the bridge of his nose all the way down until it came completely off, his defences broken, and all he is, is a whimpering mess sniffing your pillow.

However, this momentary bliss was cut short as a sudden sound jolted him upright - a clatter of something hitting the floor, followed by a soft curse. Through the curtain, he saw you reach for a towel, clearly having spilled water on yourself.

“Great,” you muttered, lifting the damp hem of your shirt. “Nice going, Y/N. Real smooth.”

He should have looked away. He knew he should have, but his body refused to listen. Instead, he found himself transfixed as you - thinking no one was watching - pulled the shirt over your head, revealing smooth, glistening skin beneath. The moment his eyes gazed upon your plump breasts hidden under a wet bra, that was it. That was the moment his restraint snapped.

Before you could even process the cool air against your skin, you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist, pulling you back against a solid, searing heat.

“Kunikida-?!” You gasped, your voice faltering as his breath ghosted against the nape of your neck.

He buried his face there, inhaling deeply, his grip tightening as his hand find and cup your breasts, groping and kneading them like fresh dough. “Stop” he murmured, though it sounded more like a plea than a command. “Ask me to stop, command me to stop.”

“I-I don’t?” You asked, voice trembling.

“Please,” he growled lowly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I can’t hold back any longer.” His fingers snaked into your bra, pulling free your pillowy tits as he marvelled at both size and weight of them. You didn’t pull away, not try to stop him. For whatever reason, his possessiveness and his rawness has you weak at the knees, whimpering as the pads of his thumbs meet and draw circles over your nipples.

“Kunikida, I can’t… I…what’s going on? I thought you were sick.”

“I’m not sick,” he said, his voice a mix of control and desperation. “It’s my rut.”

Your eyes widened, mind racing as pieces fell into place. The fever, the tension, the odd behaviour - it all made sense now. Oh lord, it reminded you of all those fan fictions you’d read before, but now happening to you.

He lifted his head slightly, hazel eyes dark and clouded with something primal. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his tone steadier now but no less intense as he gives your breasts another harsh squeeze, eliciting a louder moan from you. “It’s dangerous.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” You whimpered.

“Because,” he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, “you’re already too tempting as it is. Use your spirit bond, order me away and I can deal with it alone. Tell me to stop touching you…”

Your pulse quickened, the weight of his words sinking in. You felt the warmth of his breath against her ear, the strength of his hold, his cock pressed against your ass - he was a tall ass Oni with equipment that matched the size of him, and more. The throb between your legs gets stronger as you can feel him rut into you, needy and desperate - he was too far gone, and so were you.

“No...” you started, your voice hesitant and filled with arousal. “I can help.”

His grip on your waist faltered for a split second before tightening again. “Y/N…” he warned, his voice thick with conflicted emotion “Master…”

You turned your head slightly to see his eyes, his pupils fully dilated as he succumbs to his instincts. “I mean it” you said, your voice steadier now, a mix of curiosity and determination.

Kunikida’s eyes darkened further, his inner battle clearly visible in the tense line of his jaw. For a moment, he looked like he might say something, but instead, he closed his eyes, exhaling sharply.

“I want- no, need you. But don’t offer things you don’t understand” he said, his tone laced with warning, though his grip didn’t loosen as his restraint teeters on the edge of control.

“But I do,” you challenged softly, your own heart thundering in your chest. “This is an order. Let me help you through your rut”

The room was thick with tension, your words hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

And then, silence.

-

It took a good while to register what happens next. One moment you were standing in the kitchen, half naked and slightly soaked from washing up, the next you are laying on your back on his futon, the weight of a 7ft Oni pressed against you with your legs wrapped around his waist; the past few minutes a total blur.

You’ve never seen Kunikida act in such a way, from a refined perfectionist to a feral creature that can only be compared to a true Yokai; aggressive, powerful and unyielding. Whatever clothes you had on had all but disappeared aside from your bra and underwear, but even then your breasts were uncupped, free for this Oni to devour; and devour he did.

Kunikida spoke no words other than whisper in an ancient language to himself like a prayer as he nipped, tugged and worshipped your breasts with great need, squishing the flesh against his face like he had to survive.

“Kunikida…” you could only moan his name as he ravaged your mounds, pinching and rolling a nipple between his fingers and teeth, drunk on your body already; and he wasn’t even inside yet.

“Doppo. Call me Doppo, master” he rumbled a correction, ever since you granted your body to him, the spirit bond and the primal need to mate combined had made you his master, his little goddess in the sheets. And like a goddess, he praised. Every whisper, every low grumble, in the common tongue or the language of yokai, it was all praise. Finally, you were in his grasp, finally after what seemed to him like an eternity.

“You have no idea…” Kunikida began, moving his face away from your tits to bury it into the nook of your neck. “What you do to me. How dare you stumble into this world and into my bed” he curses you finally, after such blissful praise.

He pulls up to look at you, meeting his angry, horny and possessed eyes. His face is glowing from the heat of his rut, and you could swear his features had shifted, more Oni like. Kunikida was on the cusp of madness, unsure whether to lash out or cry from the intensity.

With his eyes never leaving yours, his hand then travels down your body and smooths two fingers over your quivering pussy, conceived behind some pitifully wet panties. You don’t know who shuddered more, you or him at the sensation. His hand dwarfing yours, as he savoured the feeling on the pads of his fingers, bringing them up to his lips and sucking on his digits.

“Fuck you. All my life planned out and you just had to go and fuck it up”

“Kunikida I’m s-“

Kunikida interrupts you by ramming his fingers he was sucking just a few moments ago into your mouth, watching you gag and whimper from his roughness.

“Let me fucking finish” he commanded, his angry cock smoothing over the wetness of your panties, frictionless, and begging for entry. As an Oni deep in a rut, his cock was almost inhuman, larger than a human with bumps and ridgets that rubbed sinfuly, you wondered however it will fit. Not that you could really think about it, with him pinned hard against his bed, his fingers in your mouth. “Fucking brat. I had my life planned, had my spouse planned but oh no, 15 fucking days and I am hooked, fucking hooked. And for the last time, its Doppo to you, understand?”

You could only nod as Kunikida rambled on, removing his fingers from your mouth as he places either leg on his shoulders so that your pussy was in his face. For a moment he breaths, eyes closed and engraving this scent into his very being. God you were the worst, this must be what the humans call hell, but how delicious this hell was.

“You undo me” he spoke, licking a stripe over your clothed folds and moaning deeply, allowing himself some sort of control in the moment to enjoy the sensations he craved ever since meeting you. “And now, I will undo you”

And with that, his sharp nails rip away your panties leaving you totally exposed to his tongue, which was also inhumanly large. As if by Oni magic, his prehensile tongue dives into you with an unrelenting force, starved a man he is as he stretches your tight hole. You could only cover your face, looking through your fingers as the Oni grips your hips, pulling him closer and deeper into your pussy. Not only all of this, you could feel something within you change, something warm like a soft buzz that radiated all the way into your womb.

“Fuck! Doppo, what is that?”

“Oni magic. Its to make sure you are prepared to take me” he spoke as his tongue moved from clit to hole to clit again, much like Kunikida, his movements were precise, almost practiced to ensure your pleasure. It must be his Alpha, instincts, or Oni instincts, whatever it was, he was working your abused pussy to the brink. “I cannot have my mate in pain”

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck!” You slurred out through babbled moans and whimpers, not exactly hearing what he has to say when his tongue is working your pussy this good. Through your hands, you watched him like a man possessed, praising you with his eyes and his mouth as you neared your impending orgasm.

Feeling you twitch around his tongue which had curled and massaged a particular spot, an arrogant grin crept to his face as he remained there, feeling you edge, edge edge…

“Doppo! Fuck!” You scrunched your eyes as your legs twitch and tremble violently until a single flick of his tongue to your clit had sent you over that dreaded edge. Your juices had squirted right on his tongue, into his mouth and covering his chin.

Lowering your legs, he lets you have a moments respite as you covered your face with pure drunken bliss, panting like a dog. He admired his craft, smoothing two hands over your torso, cupping your breasts and giving them a squeeze.

“What is it? Your bratty mouth ain’t got nothing to say?” He teased, squeezing you again.

“Fuck you”

“No, fuck you” he chuckled darkly, spreading your legs as if opening a holy scroll, eyes watching at each sensitive twitch of your cunt, knowing whats going to happen. “I don’t know if I can hold back any longer, knowing what you taste like” he warned.

For a brief moment, the madness in his eyes softened, almost caring despite being in the thick of it. You took advantage and reached up, needing him closer to you, to take you, but you’d want it your way.

“Then don’t, thats an order”

And as swift as he was before when you made the order, Kunikida’s hands grabbed at your hips and pressed the fat tip of his cock against your entrance; oh how he wanted to savour it, how he wanted to do this slowly so he could truly enjoy the moment, but he can’t, not in this rut.

Lunging forward, every thick, veiny inch stretched your hole open as he bottomed out balls deep inside of you. His bulbous head crushing your cervix, and in normal circumstances, this would hurt like a mother fucker, but whatever Oni magic he used, it felt like pure, unadulterated bliss.

“Fu-uck” the Oni moans out, strangled as he feels the pain of restraint fizzle away. He wasn’t expecting such an easy entry, and yet, there you were, the perfect girl opened wide and speared on his cock.

You reached forward and pulled at his horns, bringing him in for a messy kiss as his hips gyrate slightly so you could get used to his size. Kunikida obliged, tongue twining with yours as his thrusts become more confident, more needy.

The obscene noises made from each push, every wet slap of skin had both your minds hazy and desperate for more. Once again, his rut took hold and his hips were no longer this own, driven by the insanity that is his instincts to mate, to breed.

“Gunna breed this pussy, this -fuck- mine, all fucking mine” he growls under his breath in between kisses, slamming into you with purpose. You heard him, but you couldn’t process his words, too lost in your own pleasure as he fills you up continuously with his red Oni cock. Luckily, his bed was a futon, because he knows if this were a bed with legs, the two of you would have broken it.

“Y’feel that, master?” He hums, pulling away so that he can take a good look at your fucked out face, he gestures to bulge forming at the base of his cock; his knot. “I’m gunna fucking knot you, y’hear?”

Your eyes widen as if breaking the spell of ascension, you are grounded by his boating, by his knot forming, stretching you even wider. Your only response was moans and various curse words, which didn’t satisfy him at all.

“I said,” Kunikida pulls out momentarily and flips you onto your front before filling you once again and again. The new position allowed him to reach deeper, granting his knot entrance into you, and of course, the source of your bonding; the back of your neck. “I’m gunna fuckin’ knot you, knock you up. You’d like that pretty human?”

At this angle, he is able to lean forward, arching your back almost painfully as he thud thud thuds against your cervix, his mouth finally making its way to the nape of your neck, licking the salty sweat that beads down, tempting him, inviting him to bite.

“Y-yes! Fuck pleasepleaseplease” you begged, the knot inflating more and more inside you so that each pull out was becoming more and more impossible. It didn’t stop him though, slamming into you with all his might, with his black nails digging into the fat of your ass as if you would escape him. Every time he pulled out, the tightness of your walls only sucked him back in, the pleasure almost nauseating.

“Is that an order?” He whispered in your ear, hitting that same spot over and over.

“Yes” you babbled out, barely able to speak from the pillow you had buried your face in. Kunikida reaches forward and clasps a hand around your throat to lift your face, hearing more and more of those beautiful moans he had so wished to hear.

“I can’t hear you, master”

“Fuck!! Please, Doppo, thats an order!! Please please knot me, knock me up!” you cried, tears running down your face as you tried your best to speak. Your pussy gripped him tightly and he cursed out, ramming into you one last time as his knot locks you in place. He finds that delicious spot on your neck, biting down with feral need and piercing your skin with his fangs.

“Fuck!” You cried once more, from both pleasure and pain as your womb is pumped full of copious amounts of thick, Oni seed. Kunikida was driven beyond insanity, never letting your neck go as he could feel ropes upon ropes spill into you, hot and full of him.

This lasted a full 2 minutes.

-

After a little while, Kunikida finally let go of your neck, licking the droplets of blood from your wound and kissed them like you were precious. The post nut clarity kicking in as he realised what he’s just done; you are now his, he now yours, beyond the spirit bond contract.

He held you for a little eternity before rolling to his side, his knot taking you with him as he laid with you, burying his face where he had bit you and continuously kissing the spot as a silent apology.

The world cleared in your mind as you regained conscious thought. What the fuck did you just do? You allowed an Oni to mark you, just as you thought you would be rid of him in a fortnight, you had given your entire being to him.

As much as it frightened you, all of his tender kisses and affections eased any worry; even just a little. You were warm, you were safe, you were…happy.

The room was heavy with the aftermath of your union, the air thick with a new, undeniable bond.

Your fingers brushed the faint wound on your neck as your mind swirled with everything that had just happened. You tilted your head slightly, wincing at the sting on your neck.

“Does it hurt?” Kunikida’s voice was softer now, but there was an edge of concern as his hazel eyes flickered down to where you brushed at your wound.

“A little,” you admitted, running your fingers absently over the spot. “You have sharp teeth, you know.”

Kunikida huffed, his lips twitching into a rare smile. “I wasn’t exactly in full control of myself.”

“Understatement of the century” you teased, your voice light despite the lingering tension in your chest.

“You’re hardly innocent in this” he retorted, but there was no venom in his words, just the usual bickering that now felt more like home than annoyance.

You turn your face slightly to him, your gaze locking with his. “I suppose that makes us even.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Kunikida’s hand rested on your stomach which had bulged with the sheer size of his cock and knot, his thumb drawing slow, deliberate circles against your skin. The contact was grounding, comforting in a way that surprised you both.

“You realize,” he began, his voice quieter now, “we barely know each other.”

“And yet here we are,” you said softly, your lips quirking up into a small smile. “You’re stuck with me now, Oni-boy.”

Kunikida chuckled lowly, a sound so rare it made your heart skip a beat. “Don’t remind me. I was just starting to enjoy the thought of getting rid of you.”

“Charming” you raised your brows. “Though I am surprised, you spent the last two weeks lecturing me about rules, traditions, and how annoying I am. And yet you choose me as your mate?”

“You are annoying,” he muttered, though the faintest blush spread across his cheeks. “But… I suppose you’re also tolerable. Occasionally.”

“Tolerable?!” You feigned annoyance, “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. Be still, my heart.”

Kunikida groaned, covering his face into your neck. “This is exactly why I preferred you asleep.”

Your laughter rang through the room, warm and bright. You reached for his arm and brought his hand to your lips for a quick kiss. “You’re not so bad yourself” you murmured.

After a moment of silence, Kunikida spoke again. “I meant what I said,” he said quietly, his usual stern tone softened. “You’re mine now, Y/N. Not because of the spirit bond, but because of this.” His fingers brushed the fresh mark on your neck, reverence in his touch.

“And you’re mine” you replied, your voice steady despite the weight of your words.

His hazel eyes darkened, and for a moment. “Do you regret it?”

You paused, considering. You thought of your family, the mortal realm, everything you’d left behind - and then you thought of him. The way he held you, the way his guarded nature softened just enough to let you in. And it wasn’t exactly like you couldn’t visit the mortal realm and see your family and friends again, but it would just be different.

“No,” you said finally, your voice resolute. “Do you?”

Kunikida didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled you closer, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of your head. “No,” he murmured against your hair. “It feels… right. You feel right.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you. For the first time since you fell into the well, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

“I guess we’ll figure the rest out,” you said, your tone light but laced with meaning.

“We will” he agreed, his voice firm.

A content silence fell again, your bodies still locked into place. You didn’t bother asking how long the two of you were going to be like this for, mostly because you didn’t care. You relished this feeling, this warmth and this comfort.

As the quiet stretched on, Kunikida’s voice broke the comfortable stillness. “Just one other thing,” he said, his tone carrying that familiar weight of seriousness, “that after what we’ve done, raising our young will be a priority.”

You, who had been trailing your fingers lazily along his forearm, froze. You lifted your head to look at him, your mouth opening and closing as if trying to find the right words. “Our… young?”

“Yes.” His eyes met yours, completely earnest. “It’s only natural. Ensuring their future would be the next logical step. I’ve always envisioned how I’d raise them - structured, disciplined, with proper values and-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” you interrupted, holding up a hand. Your lips twitched, caught somewhere between laughter and sheer panic. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Oni-boy.”

Kunikida frowned, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

You sighed, lifting up your arm. You tapped the small, barely noticeable bump beneath your skin with a sheepish grin. “This little miracle of modern medicine? Contraceptive implant. So… no young. Not anytime soon, anyway.”

For a moment, Kunikida just stared, his expression unreadable. Then, with a deep exhale, his entire being relaxed. Relief flashed across his face, but it was quickly replaced by something else - mild disappointment, tinged with the faintest hue of frustration.

“Well,” he muttered, his voice gruff, “I suppose that simplifies things for now.”

You bit back a laugh at his conflicted tone. “I’m flattered, really. But maybe let’s take it one step at a time? I just became an honorary Oni, after all.”

Kunikida shot you a pointed look. “The moment you return to the mortal realm,” he said, his tone firm but laced with exasperation, “we are getting that thing removed.”

“Sure thing,” you teased, grinning as you wiggled your hips slightly to get comfortable in his embrace. “Right after I make an appointment for a vasectomy for you.”

His groan of exasperation was drowned out by your teasing laughter. Though you bickered like usual, the bond between you was stronger than ever - unshakable, undeniable, and all yours.

[drunkdumbfucker]

Yearly reminder that yes, Jushiro is still enjoying his quiet days in the countryside as a retired Gotei 13 captain™.

he still lives in Ugendo because after all he was the one who built these quarters and there's enough room for all his family to chill at his side on random days now that they can barge in at any moment without any care about any third seat's wrath

and it's far away enough from the thirteen squad barracks that he doesn't feel like intruding, but if anyone ever has any need of his advice they can knock at his door or leave a note, even dozens of years after he retired

he's learned to bake pies.

tons of pies, tons of flavors, but tooooo many pies.

I'd like to imagine Jushiro with tons of nieces and nephews at his side, they're his most fervent listeners even though their parents have all warned them that he's full of shit. they won't believe anyone, Jushiro's the most serious and nicest of adults. (they're all at least 500+ years old but boy oh boy are they naive when it comes to Jushiro's quiet wrinkled smile and serene walk around the pond) and most of all he's the most generous of all (he gives so much food and stuff because the nieces and nephews all have kids of their own and oh my god those are the most spoiled)

if anyone visits Jushiro in Ugendo on any given day, there'll always be a kid bouncing on his knee, enamoured with the beautiful white braid resting on Jushiro's shoulder.

then somehow Shunsui will appear

"no no no I don't have any meeting my dearest!!!! what do you mean you have read my schedule?? haahaha it's a fake schedule anyhoo let me hold this wonderful face of a papoopeepoobaby!!!"

and yes Shunsui WILL appear at any given time! because Jushiro's grand-nephews/nieces are his own too and

Shunsui is Captain Commander but everyone knows he's been wanting to retire for years too, and it's always been about temporarily filling the spot Yama-ji left empty

and he's been more and more less here, slowly preparing everyone for the moment he'll step down. Everyone understands the situation. Who gives a shit about responsibility, nobility, logic? Shunsui's payed his debt to a thousand, and he shall pay it to the end of his days because one does not step down from being Captain Commander just like that. He'll always be there for the Gotei.

But all in all, everyone knows, it's all about Jushiro, and how even Jushiro pays away his debt by attending captain meetings or helping out squads in need of urgent back up or even holding classes at the Shin'o Academy. It seems everyone understands deeply how their origin can't even be found etched in stone, the first tales of their deeds have disappeared around drunken murmurs and apologetic rumors. Time set it all on fire, bits by bits. So much knowledge dusted away, and only the mirth in their glances will hold witness of such existence.

So of course, if any newcomer dares comment on the way the 13 Squad's former captain has no place in the current affairs of doing, because it's none of their business now that he's retired, of course they'll receive an informal spanking and will instantly be taught respect.

AND of course if anyone dares criticize Shunsui's laziness, they'll be laughed at because haha hahahahaha the Captain Commander's the least lazy person in the world so who the fuck are you to even say that??

I need the entire shinigami population to finally recognize that these two bitches are old and deserve some rest. They deserve to enjoy quiet days in the sun, eating juicy strawberries stolen from a sibling's garden, shutting off the entire spiritual realm's pressure so they can cloudgaze and pick at each other's perfect lips.

Jushiro's retirement's just an excuse for Shunsui to join retirement too.

I need them to spend so much fucking time babysitting everybody's kids because they are the best and they enjoy kids so much, it's not even a chore gosh oh my good look at this fucker Jushiro she's walking look look LOOOOK!!!!!!

and "ah I'm sorry my love you're feeling a bit tired let me hold her, is everything alright?" and yes of course everything's perfect because they're together and they're still alive and they can finally rest easy now that the Seireitei's safe and in good hands so no worries if Jushiro's a bit tired and will nap all afternoon because now there's no obligation for him to stretch himself thin. It's all good.

the kid will fall asleep too and that's it

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

Trapped Inside A Scapegoat: Astral Traveling & The Truth About Certain Demons & Entities

So I wanted to bring up some things about demons, lower entities and the dream states that we fall into when we are asleep in the night. I will never forget my first encounter of seeing the unseen, but one particular story I have in mind puts me back into a spell.. Its like a hazy feeling, I never knew how to explain the things that happened but it scared me to the point that I could never sleep past 2:30, and if I was still awake I stayed awake until dawn. Boy, high school was a drag.

Just an fyi, if you dont believe in spirits or the spiritual realm then this isnt for you. k? k. <3

On these nights I couldn't sleep, it would be because of the sleep paralysis that would happen and the weird energy I would be forced to recognize during these hours. As well as seeing things that just did not make sense, I would look at the clock to see it was either 2 am to 4 am. Never an in between.

So, I wanted to go in with a little story time, maybe this will help me unbox some things that happened. Because after a long ole while, after this event, my life changed... seemingly more depressive, and anxiety would be in the forefront of my reality for a long while.

Back when I was a teen, I remember cakin' on the phone with this one guy I had the biggest crush on, and it was around 2:30 at the time. At about 3:00 I told him I was tired and quickly laid down to rest.

So let me give you guys some details. I normally like to rest on one side of my body, typically on the right side and in my room I face the window. So from my memory, our conversation lasted til 3:08. I NEVER forgot the time. Sometimes Im a quick dreamer, so I go to bed pretty easily. Anywho, I remember the dream started where I was in my room. It was really interesting, me and a few people that I knew from high school (and my old school that I had just recently moved away from) were practicing some cheers because we were training to be on the cheer team. It was weird. In the dream some of them had on cheerleader gear, and some of them we're outside the front of my room where I could see them thru the window. The girls told me they would be right back as they we're going to get their things for the cheerleading competition/training, they run out the room and the next thing you here is a bunch of rumbling... theirs voices speaking from around the room but i don't see nobody. next thing you know everything goes black. the blacker it gets the louder the voices... i realize from this point their speaking in an unfamiliar language... latin almost. or whatever they were saying was backwards... at this point i was able to open my eyes and i see a dark figure standing right in front of me. What took me off guard was that its eyes, they we're like stars and had this intriguing shine to it. It was 'bald' but had a human-like body but no mouth ears and barely even a nose... I could feel it touching me, the back of my neck had chills as you can tell thats where it was touching on me. I grew scared but remembered I could get up.

And then boom. I woke up.

But this is what i thought was weird. Remember when I said I was sleeping on my side? I woke up on my back, facing the mirror. I looked at the time and it was 3:16 am.

What. The. Fuck.

I had barely slept? How could that be? All of this happened within a matter of minutes. I was exhausted. I said, 'Was this the devil?'

Quickly I ran into my grandparents room, lmao, yeah I know. I was scareeeeeeeed. My room felt cold after that. I had to go.

And for a while, that wouldn't be my last encounter. I mean, the thing went away, but there was more to come. At this point, I had to face the mirror. I mean literally face the mirror because its the center of the room and my bed faces it. But I had to sleep... This would go on for many months until one day it just.. sorta stopped. I began my journey of law of attraction, numerology, and metaphysics at this point and grew a little happier. So maybe it was destiny.

So let me get into a few things about this dark shadow being and some tips about whats going on:

Mirrors are shapeshifting portals. Their portals to other dimensions. And 'entities' can & will come through here in the access of dreams/illusions/nightmares etc.

3 am is considered the 'devil-hour' - this is when the veil to the spirit realm is unlocked and you can see more outside of the veil.

Fear and lower energies can 'attract' these beings to your door step. They can smell it on you.

That 'shadow' being could be insight to whats deep inside of yourself. Your power. Your Energy. Your light. Even on the other side it's noticed.

So when I seen this being, I was shook out of my mind. But wait.. after moments and time of introspection. I've learned that it's mirroring back at me something I never thought I would ever thought was me.

Months later I digged into astrology, numerology, found some things about angel numbers, started trying to process the spiritual realm much more clearly. Because the thing kept happening to me, and I was always an anxious & yet fearful girl, I knew there was a bit more strength in me.

When the thing came, I was trying to get out a depression when I was at my old school and once I had finally returned back to my hometown I was little happy. But at night, our darkest feelings, our inner shadow shows its weight, and also our potential.

I've tried tapping into that 'fear', and have learned there is so much more about me due to the dreams I've had of my future. It takes me back to the shadow figure from that night. Because why we're you there?

Also, what stuck to me the most was that a friend at the time told me that if you see something like that and it touches you, some sort of witchcraft might be on you... another topic, for another day I suppose.

But it always stuck with me, because... how so?

At the time when I was in high school and seen these weird entities because again, this went on for MONTHS. Every other day and night. I noticed before then I had a fear complex, thats what I'll call it. Always anxious, always sad, always depressed, been that way since a young girl. So now we get to the part where we talked about a trapped consciousness.

Because immediately when that happened, I went straight to church with my grandma ! Lol. No jokes. And later found out it was not the answer I needed. It wasn't working. Not to say going to church can't help or save someone, it just didn't have the answer I thought I needed. I went looking for some time when I would go.

What I want to say is, when you see things you cannot explain. You cannot run to the church, religion, or even a 'savior', because at the end of the day YOU have to learn it. You have to come to terms with it. And I've been learning. So so very hard, and its begin to giving me the dream & insight of what was truly around the corner.

My ancestors dream. Metaphysics, Clairvoyance, My dreams where trying to come thru in the astrals and when you are at your lowest these 'things' can come in and try to warp your mind/gifts/talents/ etc.

The final thing I will say here is that they feed off our spirits because in the lower realms they need 'fuel' to get to 'heaven' and you are the source of that. We the human are 'heaven' and some entities are parasitical and need life force to move to the other side.

So fear, guilt, shame, anxiety, depression etc is one of the lowest frequencies to be on because it is denser and its harder to move 'up'.

And when you live in those vibrations, your blocking your own destiny. Your truth, your light, your power all is unlocked once you move past it.

Another thing I will say is that not all 'lower entities' are evil. But for the sake of talking about demons and entities, I will save that for another post, to leave out any confusion.

[cheerful-sixears]

Sooni is my original Fictionself/Self insert. More often than not, I'm a creechur and not a hooman. So, Sooni has always been that creechur when not a pweeple. full traditional piece by @starscrumpt who wanted to draw Sooni again, for me. Sooni is mine. I might indulge our DreadBeast stuff here, over time, or I'll create a page manned by Scrumpy and me for this kind of world building.

His Transformers design || [Link]

•🪶•

•Name: Sooniper Wesley Brickenden

•”Sooniper” came to light as a result of his deadname, “Juniper” which resulted in a hybridized variant of “Sooni” plus “Juniper” is where "Sooniper" came to be.

•Commonly Known As…: Sooni or Syn…“WraithHeart”

•Nickname(s): Sooni, Syn, Poe, “Swiss”

•Species: Dreadbeast™ [with chimeric qualities of other animals]

• ©  @megatrxnic  + © @starscrumpt

•…A Winged Nuisance™��a Wraith’s Conduit™...Devil's Advocate™...Your Choice, Really…

•Age: 29 years, ages slowly; [Creator is 29 years]

•Gender: Demiflux (Trans-Masculine; demiboy) 

•Pronouns: he/him/his & dread/dreadself

**Documented Pronouns: He/Him/His

•Sexual Preference: Demi-??? (Masculine/Femme-Leaning)

•Generally fluid, but very timid about even considering an established acquaintance with someone, unless he feels a spiritual or strong attachment to anyone in the first place.

•Occupation: Paranormal Investigator & Cryptid Protector 

•Height: 5’3”

•Weight: 300+ lbs

•Common Phrases: “Yes’sir’”, “Lordy..”, “That’s so weird” [affectionately], “YOH, Bro..”, 

•Accent: vague, yet lazy southern accent

•Years spent masking resulted in his relaxation and stress levels depending on his overall show of vernacular. 

•He has a natural mimicry, in part with bird genetics, that allow him to mimic voices and vocal patterns/accents. 

•🪶•

••Abilities:••

•Necromancy

•Clairvoyance Magic [Early-Advanced]

•Spectral Alchemy

•Summoning Sorcery

•🎨•

•MBTI: INFP-T (Mediator)

•Moral Alignment: Neutral Good

•Personality: 

(+) -Courageous, Respectful, Caring, Humble, Protective, Faithful, Gentle, Insightful, Modest, Friendly…

(-) -Blunt, Reclusive, Childish, Hostile, Self-Centered, Meddlesome, Overly Dependent, Oblivious, Temperamental, Attention Deficit…

•Hobbies: Necromancy, Writing, Drawing, Deep-Dive Research, Reading, Cooking, cryptozoology, obscure trivia, early decade horror flicks, Jaws/shark horror, Eldritch horror, dark, moody poetry, gothic themes, soft pastel grunge, especially pink, 

•✨•

••Sooni’s Theme Songs:••

•Dead By April-My Tomorrow

•Dustin Lynch-Small Town Boy

•LifeHouse-Unknown

•Pogo-Living Island

•Echo 3-Peek-A-Boo [cover]

•✨•

•Quote: "Self-acceptance with a gentle calmness is the key to inner peace within a mind of tumultuous uncertainty."-Sooni (usually spoken in an encouraging tone to those in need.)

••Random Facts:••

•Sooni cannot rest or sleep without some stuffed animal in his arms or within close scent-range.

•Sooni has scars littering his forearms and a few scattered here and there upon his upper arms and shoulders. This is due to severe anxiety-driven scratching and digging at sores.

•The scars on his right elbow are from a Dread-child accident (five Years old). Some say-those who knew him then-that on that very day is when he discovered his clairvoyance and ability to bridge gaps between an existing spiritual realm and the material plain. It was a terrifying discovery for him. Dreadbeast don't normally become aware of their clairvoyance and spiritual connection until they are much older and pass through a rite to do so. 

•He always acts childish when not getting his way and becoming temperamental as a result. Sometimes, he may also end up mute for minutes to hours in a day. On worse occasions, these episodes may last for days.

•One of Sooni’s quirky developmental facts is that his humor and spontaneity can be relatable to that of Jim Carry’s role of Ace Ventura.

•Sooni’s personality also carries similar, chill traits from Gregg, the fox character in Night in the Woods.

•He also carries some unhinged aspects of the character of the same movie title, Donnie Darko (2001).

•🪶•

••Random Facts(From Creator):••

•Sooni (previously referred to as, “Katy or Suni-Kat”...) *winces* was originally, physically designed back in 2006, although his visual was concrete in mind three years before, back in 2002. I spent a long time switching his visuals over the years to greener tones and scales, back to the bat/canine-esque visuals he has today. I mean, as a young one, who doesn't spend most of the time changing little aspects of a character with every single detail somehow changing?

•He was originally designed after watching Jeepers Creepers, and then seeing the sequel a couple years later kept his visual appearance ever-changing and…yeah.

•Today he’s turned back around to square one, with his oldest concept I managed to scrounge up from around 2006-’08. (I cannot completely confirm the ACTUAL date this was drawn…as it is literally that old, and years of moving from home to home, bad situation after horrid ones, nothing was really ever saved.)

•The DreadBeast™ species was an early concept that was floating around in my headspace for years until we decided to utilize it again-with Sooni and Milo, funnily enough-after years of dormancy on the concepts. Originally brought into fruition back in 2013-2014, we are determined to keep it alive somehow, and we realize-what better time than now?

[musicupdates]

Cultural Fusion and the Future of Music

In an era defined by unprecedented cultural exchange and global connectivity, the future of music is being shaped by a constant blending of genres, sounds, and artistic influences. The traditional boundaries that once separated styles and scenes have now become porous, allowing for a rich, ongoing dialogue between different musical communities. This evolution is particularly evident in the rise of K-pop, where South Korean groups have attained levels of global recognition once thought unimaginable. Consider how Korean superstars like BTS have transformed the industry—by listening closely to the bts biggest hits of all time, one can detect a seamless fusion of hip-hop rhythms, pop melodies, R&B harmonies, and electronic textures. These carefully curated sonic palettes capture not only the group’s willingness to experiment but also their ability to tap into universal emotions and aspirations.

This kind of unprecedented crossover appeal has solidified BTS’s place as the biggest boy band in the world, a title underscored by their remarkable ability to mobilize millions of fans across continents—fans who may not share a common language but find common ground in the collective experience of music. The group’s success showcases the power of music as a unifying force. It also foreshadows what we can expect as other emerging talents from various corners of the globe find their footing. We’re entering an age where a hit song from one region can inspire an artist halfway around the world to incorporate a similar rhythm, lyrical motif, or instrumentation, resulting in an ever-evolving musical mosaic.

Beyond K-pop, there are countless other niches and subcultures evolving at the speed of streaming platforms and social media chatter. Take, for example, the realm of downtempo, ambient, reggae, and hip-hop influenced tracks that often find their way into “chill” playlists. Within these curated soundscapes, listeners discover the best weed songs—tracks that set a laid-back mood, encouraging introspection, relaxation, and sometimes even healing. These songs are often reflective of a lifestyle or personal philosophy, bridging cultural gaps through a shared desire for mellow vibes and spiritual calmness. They can connect people who may have vastly different backgrounds but appreciate a certain feel, a certain tempo, or a particular state of mind that the music evokes.

Similarly, the act of closely examining song lyrics has never been more culturally significant. Lyrics frequently address universal themes—love, loss, hope, longing, resilience—that transcend borders and languages. Consider the intimacy and shared understanding that comes from closely reading sunflower song lyrics. The imagery of a sunflower itself can evoke positivity, warmth, and growth. Songwriters often use such symbols to express universal emotions that resonate whether you live in Seoul, São Paulo, or San Francisco. In this manner, the content of a song becomes a cultural ambassador, sparking dialogue among listeners who interpret and internalize the message in their own, unique ways.

At the same time, we’re witnessing an evolution in the role that music plays in daily life. Instead of relying solely on traditional radio broadcasts or major record labels, listeners are empowered to curate personal playlists that reflect their ever-shifting moods. Within these playlists, you might find a song that provides a jolt of energy akin to your morning caffeine fix—an effect captured brilliantly by the espresso song. The track’s rhythm and tonal qualities might be engineered to emulate the invigorating punch of a strong espresso shot, turning listening into a sensory experience. In doing so, it exemplifies the idea that music can serve a functional role: waking you up, helping you focus, or providing the soundtrack to a specific moment in time.

As the future of music continues to unfold, we can anticipate an ever-growing tapestry of sounds, influences, and narratives. The rapid exchange of ideas means that artists from one part of the world can be inspired by a style cultivated halfway across the globe. Listeners, in turn, develop more eclectic tastes, embracing new genres and creative expressions as they emerge. From the hybridity and globalized fandom of the world’s biggest boy bands to the introspective grooves of weed-inspired anthems and the lyrical subtleties found in songs about nature’s beauty, every element of music is becoming more interconnected and reflective of our shared human experience.

The future of music, therefore, lies not in isolation but in collaboration, not in walls but in bridges. By celebrating the fusion of cultures, genres, and voices, we enrich our musical landscapes—and in doing so, learn more about ourselves, one another, and the possibilities that lie in the melodies, rhythms, and verses yet to be written.

[tahomawhisperingwind]

**The Heartbeat of Apache Stories: Navigating the Sacred and the Everyday**

Imagine a flickering campfire, its flames dancing in the cool night air, illuminating the faces of eager listeners. The crackling of wood merges with the soft rustle of the wind, creating a symphony that beckons the ancient tales of the Apache people. Here, surrounded by the vast silence of the desert, a storyteller weaves narratives that transcend time, wrapping the audience in a warm embrace of culture and identity. Each word is steeped in symbolism, each tale a thread in the intricate tapestry of Apache life. This is not merely entertainment; it is a sacred rite, a passage through the dimensions of Diyin and Ilkashn, two forces that illuminate the very essence of Apache spirituality.

The Importance of Storytelling

For the Apache, storytelling is more than an art; it is a vital practice that anchors their community and nurtures their collective identity. As the sun dips below the horizon, casting shadows that flicker like memories, the elders gather to impart their wisdom. Each story serves as a vessel carrying the values and beliefs that have shaped Apache existence for generations. It is in these moments, under the celestial canopy, that listeners find connections to their ancestors, to the land, and to the intricate dance of life itself.

The Apache narrative tradition is rich with lessons and morals, often conveyed through allegorical tales that resonate deeply with the listener. A coyote might embody cleverness, while a majestic eagle could symbolize spiritual elevation. These characters are not just figures of folklore; they are embodiments of the traits necessary for survival in a world that constantly shifts and challenges.

Understanding Diyin and Ilkashn

At the heart of Apache stories lies the interplay between Diyin and Ilkashn. Diyin represents the sacred, the spiritual forces that govern the universe, while Ilkashn pertains to the earthly, the practical aspects of daily life. Imagine standing at the confluence of two rivers—one flowing with the richness of divine wisdom and the other with the grit of human experience. Together, they create a fertile landscape for understanding existence.

Diyin is often associated with the divine, the ethereal, and the unseen forces that guide the Apache people. It is where the sacred resides, a realm filled with spiritual beings and ancestral wisdom. In contrast, Ilkashn speaks to the tangible world—the land, the food, the relationships that ground the Apache community in everyday life. The essence of survival is painted vividly through these narratives, offering insights into ethical frameworks that guide actions, from hunting practices to communal living.

The duality of Diyin and Ilkashn invites us to reflect on our own lives. How often do we find ourselves caught in a similar tension? The relentless demands of the daily grind can obscure our connection to the sacred, yet they coexist, each enriching the other. Apache storytelling urges us to embrace both realms, reminding us that spiritual insight and practical wisdom are not at odds but are essential partners in the dance of life.

Cultural Identity and Survival

Apache narratives are a mirror reflecting the community’s cultural identity, showcasing resilience and adaptability through trials and triumphs. These stories are imbued with lessons on survival, both physically and spiritually. For instance, tales of the Great Spirit or the Earth Mother often reveal how the Apache people have forged an enduring relationship with their environment, respecting the land's rhythms and learning from its wisdom.

Consider the story of a young Apache boy tasked with a quest to find the rarest herb, known for its healing properties. His journey through rugged terrain, where the sun scorches and the night chills, becomes a rite of passage. Along the way, he encounters challenges that test his resolve and deepen his understanding of both the land and his spirit. This narrative not only illustrates the importance of ecological knowledge but also emphasizes the necessity of perseverance, courage, and respect for nature—a mantra that resonates with contemporary discussions on conservation and environmental stewardship.

In this way, Apache stories serve as both historical record and ethical framework, guiding the community in navigating modern challenges while remaining connected to their roots. They exemplify a way of life that is intricately woven into the fabric of the earth, urging us to consider how our own cultural narratives shape our identities and actions today.

Broader Themes and Contemporary Relevance

As we delve deeper into the teachings of Apache wisdom, we encounter broader themes that resonate with contemporary society. How do we integrate the lessons of the past into our present and future? What role do cultural traditions play in fostering mindfulness and connection in a fast-paced world?

These inquiries invite exploration into the integration of traditional ecological knowledge within modern conservation efforts. The Apache people have long understood the delicate balance of ecosystems, and their stories are a reservoir of insights that can inform sustainable practices. By listening to these narratives, we can glean important lessons about respect for nature, the importance of biodiversity, and the interconnectedness of all living beings.

Moreover, the concept of earth-based spirituality, so prevalent in Apache traditions, speaks to a growing desire for reconnection with nature in a world increasingly dominated by technology. The act of immersing oneself in the natural world can serve as a powerful antidote to the chaos of modern life, fostering personal growth and a renewed appreciation for the sacredness of our surroundings.

A Call to Action

As we conclude this exploration of Apache storytelling, we are reminded of the profound power that lies in these narratives. They are not just tales to be told around a fire; they are living embodiments of cultural identity, survival, and sacredness. They urge us to reflect on our own lives, to seek the balance between the spiritual and the practical, and to recognize the wisdom that can be gleaned from the past.

In a world that often feels disconnected from nature, let us take a moment to ponder the Apache teachings. How can we reconnect with our own cultural heritage? How can we honor the earth and its rhythms in our daily lives?

To delve deeper into these themes, consider subscribing to "Nature's Pulse," a newsletter dedicated to exploring the intersections of traditional wisdom and contemporary life. As a token of gratitude, you’ll receive a free book titled Reconnecting with Nature's Wisdom, a guide to fostering a deeper understanding of the natural world and our place within it.

Conclusion: The Echoes of Apache Wisdom

As the embers of the campfire fade, the stories of Diyin and Ilkashn linger in the air, whispering truths that transcend time and space. They remind us of the sacredness of life, the strength of community, and the importance of honoring both our spiritual and earthly journeys. The Apache people teach us that we are all part of a larger narrative, one that intertwines our individual stories with the fabric of existence. As we move forward, let us carry these lessons with us, allowing the echoes of Apache wisdom to guide our paths and inspire our actions.

AI Disclosure: AI was used for content ideation, spelling and grammar checks, and some modification of this article.

About Black Hawk Visions: We preserve and share timeless Apache wisdom through digital media. Explore nature connection, survival skills, and inner growth at Black Hawk Visions.

[fanfictales]

Guardian Angels Dinner in Heaven

My child (the new girl)

My cousin (the mean girl) and his wife

My best friend (curly)

My dad (rude boy)

Me (ghost *not the lamb bc in this story their in heaven)

My ideal birthday dinner (literally, not w/e massacre you're making birthdays in this hellhole)

In heaven (literally heaven, not the last supper heaven but one of many great dinners in heaven): the five of us went to dinner and this is what happened:

Everybody sat down at My favorite Chinese restaurant. It's not the kind where they cook in front of you and it's not a buffet. It's a regular dinner, just Chinese food. So we all sat down and my child was the first to speak up.

In heaven, you have the best case scenario problems and this particular problem involves being so blessed in all aspects the worst thing you have to worry about are the people who you are guardian angels for and my child was finally introduced to the world of guardian angels.

To learn about being a guardian angel, child angels practice with a game. "Guys please don't delete my video this time because I'm learning to be a guardian angel and I'm trying to have an open discussion about what mystical magic will help this guy tomorrow." My child was recording the entire dinner so that she could show the video and mystical discussion to her clan tomorrow.

"Was this the other idea for the clan tomorrow?" My cousin asked the group as he pointed to a water glass that was filled to the brim with shimmery liquid. What made this glass different, was it was glowing with holographic vibrancy. Most holographic stuff doesn't look good with shimmers, but the way the glass was molded when it was created by the lorks in the west wing of heaven - made the glass iredescently beautiful. The reason why my cousin asked if the glass would help the clan tomorrow, is because my child's guardian angel simulation was helping a person in a black-and-white multiverse, where everyone had forgotten a world with colour. Ironically his wife chimed in "Now I can't remember".

That's when Curly stepped in, throwing off the entire seriousness of the conversation. This was well received because he reminded everyone it was just a simulation because after all - they were in heaven. My child broke out laughing because in heaven Curly was blessed with a special gift and so he could at any time change into the head of any animal. "Is this why you keep deleting her videos?" He asked with the head of a penguin. I laughed too and at this he said "Are you worried I'm going to make you look bad or something?"

My dad was good at keeping everyone on the same page and also on track "It's definitely the-oracle for the clan tomorrow" He said while also placing a food order for everybody. "Not literally" He said to the ever-being taking the order. "This is a guardian angel meeting so don't take it literally".

"I mean you should definitely take guardian angel-ship seriously." I said to the ever-being. I was just concerned that guardian angel-ship was just not receiving enough attention. "You should probably take oracle-sight gaurdian-ship seriously too, honestly too many of you guys aren't doing that". I said to the ever-being taking our order. I could do that because I too used to serve as an ever-being.

In heaven, the hot food is always hot, the cold beverages are always chilled and the food is pretty much endless. The downside, is that the ever-beings also get to join in the party and relaxation and as the ghost in the group, it was my job to keep everyone spiritually sound.

My ideal birthday dinner continued and while everyone had differing opinions about the simulation tomorrow, we were mostly just happy to see that the new girl actually showed up. Guardian angels are still well sought after even in heaven. The children are especially vulnerable and so beings from other gates of other realms can sometimes get the better of them. I for-one was concerned with making a name for ourselves. Nobody knew about our clan but I wanted to change that. My child was obviously my strongest motivation because if we were well-known as a whole then we would be well-protected as well, and then we could protect the innocent among us even better.

It doesn't make sense, to have nervousness in heaven, but for guardian angels, we care about the people we protect. Really, we care about all beings we protect, including child angels.

Alright guys that's all I got for this week's Fan Fic Tales. If you liked it, maybe I will write more from this specific lense. Just let me know and I will check back with you guys Tomorrow. Stay safe in *heaven's gates* and I'll see you soon.

[mystickinds]

It's spooky time baby! And what better way to celebrate but to treat yourself with some candy readings? And boy, do I have a variety to choose from, just like choosing your favourite snack from your trick or treat bag ❤️

Readings available;

SQUID GAMES- What led you here? Shall we examine it, the positive and negative. What are you lucky at? Let's see what you're unlucky at and see what you can do to change.it. (specify or general)

BLOODY MARY - paranormal, creatures , ghosts and cryptids. Reading on the supernatural being that best represents your energy and why. What’s your haunting style? Who is your target? How do people summon you? Mood board available. +$15

OR option 2: what do people say about you (general or specific)

THE MATRIX - What legacy do you leave behind after this realm/the matrix? The impact you have made and importance. In people's life and as a whole.

THE GIRL FROM NOWHERE - lies, secrets, and hypocrisy. Time to expose these people who have been dishonest.

AU YOU - You uncover a device which lets looks into the nearest alternative universe.  Your personality, relationships, career and so much more will be exposed. You realize you have a lot in common with YOU than you thought. Mood board available +$15

MIRROR- You face a mirror and feel a hand grab you, dragging you inside. Inside the mirror are your worse nightmares. Let's look at your life: What are you scared of? How to survive and get out (of the situation)? general or specific

NIGHT CALLER- You answer the phone. Hello? The voice on the other line answers. They have your voice. They warn you of the future. The good, the bad and the very ugly. What’s coming? Can you change your future?

DOLL - You receive a creepy but pretty looking porcelain doll. You stare at them  and they start to move. What does your inner child what to tell you? They might just send a shiver down your spine

HAUNTED HOUSE- This home doesn’t feel like your own. Your skin itches constantly. The shadow people visit you. Now you need to befriend them so you can feel at home again. How to acknowledge and make peace with your shadow self. Some ways you can heal your mind, body & soul.

YOU- a glass box may be your new home. Careful, he's watching you. Things you need to avoid, people you need to be weary off, habits that need to be stopped.

NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET- For those who have specific nightmares or dreams that are constant or stuck in your mind.. I'll tell you what they mean.

WITCHCRAFT - You’re attractive and magical you know that? A look into any secret admirers, what makes you so amazing, spiritual gifts, hidden talents to uncover.

URBAN LEGEND - People gather around the campfire to say a spooky tale that chills them to the bone. The story is about you. Are you another cautionary tale or a spirit of the night? Find out.

DEADLY SINS - Comprehensive reading with the 7 deadly sins

Lust - How to bring more pleasure and satisfaction into your life. What is it that you truly desire?

Greed - How to free your financial blocks and bring abundance into your life.

Wrath- What repressed anger are you keeping in and how to release them.

Gluttony - What would it take to nourish your mind, body and soul?

Envy - Looking into past & present jealousy and getting to the root of the deeper reasons why and how to stop the pattern.

Pride - You’re amazing so lets celebrate that! Positive message of who you are and how far you’ve come

Sloth - We all want to grow and expand, being our best and this is a reading on things you need to do to glow up and be even more badass.

PRICES: $15 - half page

$25 - full page

*per reading*

Deadly sins - $50 for all or $25 for 3.

Paypal: paypal.me/limunette

Contact me for questions.

Please consider supporting me by reblogging this and share this so others may see. Thank you.

[mistandshcdow]

horrorween film reviews

horrorween, or, where i, a horror fan, review horror films i’ve seen. today’s spine chilling installment:

INSIDIOUS.

insidious is a pretty popular horror movie, so when i realized i hadn’t ever seen it, i thought i had. (turns out the actor who plays ed warren in the conjuringverse is also the lead here, which makes the two horror universes way too similar for my tiny brain) the film has some unconventional horror beats, using astral projection and spiritual planes as a method for ghost stories, which is fun.

follow bland white mom and bland white dad as they realize their house—or wait, their son—is haunted. their son’s soul is trapped in the astral realm, and they have to save him before the demons flock to his empty vessel and possess him. as the film went on, i kept waiting for the scares to pick up or the plot to thicken somehow, but this film is pretty short, and that never happened. it wasn’t even an all out onslaught of scares to fill the short run either, which made it pretty uninteresting. the characters have nothing interesting about them, i do not care, and i am not scared shitless. you had one job, movie! creep me out!

horror tropes

white people

new house

possessed little boy

child laughter

call in the big ghostbusters

seance

spooky song

spooky photographs

fake out

is it scary?

no. the image of the demon itself is pretty creepy, but we get a look at him too early and he doesn’t even get any big powerful scares. the other ghosts are pretty by the books, and i didn’t get jump-scared at all, and i’m JUMPY BITCH. it is not hard to make me jump. but this film did not do it for me. it’s very much baby’s first real horror film.

should you watch?

nah, i wouldn’t. skip to the conjuring. it’s just better, and you’ll get the same lead actor.

[morihaus]

Dragons

Emperor Belharza stands in the plaza of the Imperial City, his old bones aching with the chilled air of the dreary day. It has not been a long day- indeed, it is the shortest day of the year, hence the festivities that surround him- he is only weary with thought.

He stands with his family, his children, his grandchildren, and his great-grandchildren, who in turn speak with cousins and relatives of their own, from within and without the Imperial court. The youngest circle around the group, chatting away and enjoying themselves among the other children at the festival, the adults catch up with one another, sharing word from throughout the distant realms of Cyrod and of the disparate lives they've grown to lead. The old emperor smiles, listening and speaking to them in turn, and in his own time looks to his surroundings.

The Imperial Isle is bustling as ever on this occasion. The customary Festival of the Dragon has been a tradition since he was a boy-calf, apparently drawn from some old Atmoran traditions, a ceremony of appeasement for the world-eating dragon of the Nordic faith. It, as many things in Cyrodiilic society, was a compromise reached by his mother, the one time of the year that all would come to acknowledge and honor Akatosh for his patronage of the Nedes in the years of revolt. It is equally a relic of traditional Ayleid worship of Auri-El, which White-Gold had not seen for centuries at the time of her ascension to the throne. Many Nedes wished to honor Akatosh as the Aedra worshiping Ayleids had honored Auri-El as their sovereign patron, but such a thing would invoke outrage from those who leaned closer to Nordic spirituality, the honoring of Kyne and Shezarr. So this festival began in the Atmoran style, an acknowledgement of the passage of time as controlled by Akatosh, an acknowledgement of his power, an offering of appeasement, and little more. A scant thanks from an emperor with much more to say about the dragon behind closed doors.

And yet, over Belharza's long life, he had seen the somber ceremony become more and more lively, quiet reflections on the passage of time and the great cosmic acts of the divine gave way to banquets and songs to the dragon's glory, gallant tales of knight Pelinal and his liege, the so-called Saint Alessia, and the emperor began to hear old stories he'd heard from his mother as a boy; some small things changed, minor details, names and places, but what perplexed him most was the way they were told: painted in triumph, in glory, without darkness or shame.

A tug at his sleeve rouses him from his recollection, and he turns his horned head to see a lengthy procession of robed figures, swept in silken robes, white with red diamond patterns. The Brothers of Marukh, a relatively recent sect of Akatoshic worshipers, but quite the popular one. They and their forerunners have had much to do with the evolution of this festival. Belharza looks at the crowd of them, lined like a legion, stretching all the way down the street and out of site. There are more of them than last year, he remarks to himself. More than the year before, too, and the year before that as well. At the head of their procession is a woman adorned with golden jewelry, holding a lead wrapped around an old white bull. Her head is hairless, and around her scalp and face lays the dyed markings of a serpent, spiraling around her fair skin, looping over an eye and cheek, snaking down her neck and disappearing toward her breast, now hidden by her ceremonial silks. Ketra is a high priestess of the Brothers, taught by the Prophet Marukh himself. She wears a serious face, peaceful and purposeful, as she leads the bull up to a ceremonial platform, lying before a great carving of an endless serpent.

Emperor Belharza regards the animal, an old sire of many young calves, an animal chosen for this honor with great respect. Its face is noble, graying, and weary, like his own, but he, like many minotaur, sees himself as far different from everyday cattle, despite some visual similarity. And though part of him, descended from Morihaus, who is descended from Kyne, feels almost that the old thing should be given more of a fighting chance. Should a proud beast as he be offered up so placidly, without any say in the matter? Does the buck dive onto the hunter's spear? But Belharza simply shakes his head. He's grown more distanced from these Kynarethi worldviews as he's matured- he's never lost his appreciation for the wilds, for freedom and expression, but nearly a century in the Imperial Court has forced him to take on a more materialistic mindset, to belong to the world of men, of cities, of towers.

As is customary, the sacrificial bull is led onto the altar, spits of wood over a fire pit, and sorcerers of the Brothers cast calming spells on it, leaving it to stand still and somberly atop its final resting place, as though aware of the solemnity of its duty. The high priestess then moved to take a torch from her torchbearer, raising it aloft and saying her piece. She sings praise to the One Akatosh- an increasingly popular epithet- to his glorious patronage of mankind, to his divine-crafted knight, and to his anointed emperor. Many make a show of cheering and smiling in his direction, for he bears her anointed blood in his veins, and the blood of Akatosh in the jewel hung around his neck. Looking at Ketra, he cannot help but notice that she does not look to him, nor do any in the inner circle around the pit. She only turns to the bull and grips the ceremonial dagger. The weathered old sire doesn't flinch as she moves forward, reaching an arm around his neck to force him to kneel to the ground, and finally, sinks the dagger into his throat.

The old bull does not cry out, it is calm even in its death. Its blood pools out from the wound as she pulls away, dripping down into the pit below. It is joined quickly by fire from her torch, and the scent of searing flesh fills the streets, along with some jubilation.

Even so, as the smoke rises up, Belharza's eye tracks it to see the clouds, which had skirted around the edge of the horizon thus far, gather overhead. He looks down to the wall carving of the dragon, jaws open and hungry. The amulet around his neck feels heavy- it always has, but in this moment, he wonders at it.

---

An hour or so on, Belharza kneels in the gardens of the dragonfire, head bowed under cloudy skies. The brazier burns silently, its flame lit by divine magic, not mundane fire. It has remained burning without rest, through day, night, winds, and rain, ever since he lit them when his reign began, nearly a century ago. All the while, he's paid the fires little mind- not ungrateful for their protection, but content to leave them be- he's put more of his attention into the greenery surrounding them; wild grasses and flowers, fruit-bearing trees and bushes, he's cultivated much of these in a plethora of wild gardens over his lengthy reign, for they've always brought him comfort and closeness with his mother. As the empire has grown more complicated and in need of greater administration, he's been afforded less opportunities to wander freely as she used to, and as he used to along with her. It is a melancholy feeling, but he has made peace with it.

He is not worried about getting caught in the rain, even as the clouds grow darker and heavier. Any time with the sky over his horns, fresh air in his lungs, he'll savor it, even if he gets drenched or stormed on in the process. His ear perks to the sound of footsteps down the cobbled path. Many footsteps, an entire procession. He casts his gaze over his shoulder, only to see robed priests, the Brothers of Marukh, fronted by their head priestess. She clutches the ceremonial dagger at her hip, freshly cleaned. Belharza cannot help from noticing the lack of any guards- he sees only men, Nede-men, nowhere does he find family nor even his minotaur kin, who have been the most loyal soldiers of his legions, and most devoted of his honor guard.

Blowing air out against his nose-hoop, he grunts as he wills himself up to his feet, turning to look down at the procession. "Brother Ketra," He says, voice deep and subtle, like distant thunder. "To what do I owe this visit?" The priestess is cold and serious, her brow set like stone above her dark eyes. "Admiring the dragonfires, Emperor?" She asks, dismissing his own question. "It is a good day to wonder at the power of Akatosh."

Belharza stares silently for a moment. He counts 20 of them, rings and amulets of enchanted glows signified them as members of her inner circle, the closest to the mouth of the prophet, his most attentive students. He recognizes some from the council, his lip turns with distaste to recall the legislature they pushed, the discriminatory reputation many sects have made for themselves.

"I suppose." He lets out a sigh, hunched down yet still towering feet taller than the Nedic woman. "This has been the one-hundredth-and-twelfth festival I have seen. It's been ninety while these fires have burned." He raises a hand to brush the stone of his amulet, the red ruby is dull in the darkness, the light of its pyre burning behind his back. "I suppose I am thinking of Akatosh, in that I am thinking about time, and its passage." Ketra takes a step forward, slyly, as though he might not notice. "Which of the One's mysteries unravels in your mind, sire?" He gives her a long look. He turns around, staring into the silent god-fire. "...I've lived a very long life. Longer than most men or minotaur. Some have made jokes of it, perhaps I'll next outlive an elf? Who can say if I'll ever die, divine blood in my veins?" He pauses, unsure of Ketra's reaction. "I've considered it more seriously. I am very old, and very tired... I do not feel as though my end draws near, I only feel weary, weary with the responsibilities of my station, the needs of my people. One man was not meant to bear it for so long, I think."

Ketra and her procession are silent, only watching with rapt attention at the voice of the emperor. "I believe I will relinquish my throne," Belharza says, suddenly. "Bequeath it to a chosen heir." "You think you can bestow such a thing upon another?" She doesn't sound accusatory, she doesn't seem to doubt him. She seems curious. "I do not see why not. We do not know all the mysteries of this artifact... it is worth attempting, I think. I've spoken with my granddaughter, Varlesh- she is wise and gentle, yet firm, like my mother." Belharza turns back to face Ketra, who stands right before him now. The knife is still in her hand.

They look at one another for a moment. Thunder rumbles overhead.

Belharza snorts out a sigh. He looks down at her; a beleaguered old bull, a priestess with a sacrificial dagger, a fire burning beside them. "You think," Ketra starts, her tone and timbre certain, reliable, like a ticking clock. "You can bestow such a thing? To anyone you choose?"

"Yes." He says.

Then, Ketra surges forth, plunges her dagger into Belharza's chest. He might have kept his footing if two more knives hadn't entered at his flanks, the force of the assailants sending him careening back against the steps to the brazier. Lightning flashes. Ketra is poised atop him, knee against his sternum, dagger raised overhead. The burning fires reflect in her eyes. She screams, shouts as she drives the knife into his throat. Blood spurts, breath leaves his body, he finds no strength, not even to tremble. Rain begins to fall, mixing with his blood. It is coincidence that the fires ebb with the rain, for in truth, they ebb with his death.

Ketra reaches her hands down, collecting the ichor from his wound, lifting it above her head and letting it fall down her face. She chants hymns to the blessed Saint Alessia, to the Prophet Most Simian, and to Akatosh, and to Shezarr, and to the One. Finally, she rips the amulet from his neck, yanking roughly as she works it around his horns. Around her own neck it is oversized, the chain is too long, letting the red diamond hang nearly to her navel. She steps over the old emperors corpse, his blood covering her face, and she kneels to the brazier as the last embers flicker out. She takes the stone in hand and lights the spark in her name, in Alessia's blood, in Akatosh's blood, she honors the covenant.

Under the torrent of falling rain, the brazier lights.

[aurabird]

Guidance for Guilt

How does one deal with the guilt and regret they feel when they see the way people look at them? You seek out another that has been in the same situation before.

Also on Ao3

Despite the title, this doesn’t actually have angst in it.

-----------

Sausage went by horseback as he left Mythland, too afraid to even touch the corrupted elytra he once wore for longer than a few seconds let alone wear it again.

The ride through the desert was slow despite the well-worn paths from trade routes, the unrelenting heat miserable for both him and his stead and briefly he debated turning back and borrowing an elytra from someone.

Night fell as the moon took the place of the sun. It was a respite from the heat sure, but out here, night brought a chilling cold. The Mythland king would never understand why anyone would want to live in the desert, and yet one of the largest and most powerful empires was nestled at the heart the said biome.

The Vigil of Pixandria shone like a beacon in the night as if to lead those weary and lost among the dunes to shelter from the elements. Sausage grimaced briefly at the fact that the last time he was there, he’d built a fake embassy and trapped it, the aim to kill the empire’s king. He had been struggling to fight off the corruption then and even though he had the self-awareness to know what he was doing was wrong, he did it anyway.

To be fair, his mind argued, Pix HAD issued a challenge to all that wished to prank him to make sure their attempts were more than a pathetic pitfall trap... so was it really Sausage’s fault if the oracle had asked for something so explosive in the first place?

Sand began to transition granite and brick as Sausage entered the oasis of an empire. The streets weren’t empty, but the citizens of Pixandria that were around spoke in hushed whispers of intrigue at him. They didn’t know who he was, he’d worn his assassins guild attire strictly so that he could hide his face.

After all, he was still technically enemy number one in pretty much every single empire. If the Pixandrians had known who had entered their city, then their reactions probably wouldn’t have been the most welcoming.

He found an inn in the center of this residential area and paid the stable boy the money required to leave his horse there before continuing to the capitol of the empire.

As he entered the familiar area he found it mostly empty, understandably so given how late it was, and took time to look at the Vigil; the colorful candles and lanterns that decorated the are around it just as stunning as the last time he’d been here.

Pix had told him once that the Vigil was for the twelve empires alone since in Pixandrian beleif they all had to exist regardless of what terms they were all on lest the balance of the universe be upset. He shuddered at the realization that if his journey in the spirit realm had ended in failure that he could have caused something far more catastrophic than whatever Xornoth would bring to occur.

Then came sadness at the thought of how many of the recorded deaths were by his own hand? He’d been told of the arena fight, how he’d gone on a murder spree when the corruption took control over him entirely...

"I had a feeling you’d show up eventually.” Came a familiar voice, snapping him out of his thoughts. Sausage turned to face the speaker and found the Copper King himself casually leaning against the wall of a building that looked like a shop of sorts.

Sausage wasn’t surprised that he’d been expected, Pix was a unique individual in the fact that he was an oracle not only with the ability to see deaths seconds before they happened, but he would sometimes get prophetic visions every now and again. He was a wise and kind ruler, albeit with a streak of mischief at times as well. The man no doubt had questions about Sausage’s recent death by Gem’s hand and his delayed respawn, but that’s not why the Mythland king had come to see him.

After the death of the enderdragon, the Copper King had exiled himself in his guilt and regret, heading into the harshness of the desert with almost nothing but the clothes on his back. Signs of his struggle could be seen in the form of scars and burns. This, is why Sausage had come.

“I’m...probably not at the top of your list of people to see right now...but I...I need guidance, Pix. I don’t know how to cope with what I’m feeling.”

Pix gave him a gentle smile, “Come, we’ll discuss it inside.”

The interior of Pix’s abode was something Sausage had only seen once and, at the time, he’d not been in complete control of his body and actions. Now that the haze in his mind was gone, the place was stunning. Sandstone and striped birch made up walls accented with copper. The sandstone and glazed terracotta floor accented with dried honeycomb, desert plants filling pots nestled into corners and on shelves. It was a humble place as opposed to the massive castles and towers of the other empires.

He sat down at an oak table while Pix went off to grab something, returning with a glass of water which Sausage graciously accepted. Pix then sat down opposite of him and spoke "So, since you sit here now, I assume your trip to the spirit realm was successful?“

Of course Pix would know about that, “I think so? I don’t feel corrupted anymore and the haze that used to cloud my mind is gone so...maybe? I...still don’t understand how going there cured me.”

“In Pixandrian beleif, those with damaged souls go there to heal or pass on. Xornoth corrupted yours entirely and when Gem killed you, that’s where you ended up. You were dead to the world for a week, Sausage; the only sign that you were going to come back was because that spirit tether of yours was glowing.”

Sausage pulled the strange object he’d been given by Sir Carlos out and looked at it, “That’s what this thing is called?”

Pix nodded in response, “Most souls that end up in the spirit realm pass on while others get lost and eventually fade away over time. A spirit tether ensures that a soul will find its way back to its body. They are extremely rare so I was surprised to find you had one.”

“A friend gave it to me...I guess I quite literally owe him my life. But my spiritual journey is not why I came here; I see the way everyone looks at me, to them I’m still the servant of evil, Xornoth’s corrupted Champion. I have nightmares of what I’ve done and who I’ve hurt, I have permanent scars to remind me of my mistakes...there’s so much guilt and regret, Pix...I don’t know what to do.”

"Guilt and regret are hard wounds to heal; even now, I still cannot forgive myself for what I did to the enderdragon and, honestly, I don’t think I ever will. Speak with those you wronged, even if they don’t believe you at first. It will take time and effort to fix what has been broken and there will be scarring that remains once the wound heals, but I know you, Sausage, and you’re pretty hard to stay mad at for very long.”

A pained smile crossed Sausage’s mouth at those words, “Even though I’ve caused so much greif and pain?”

"I don’t speak for the others, but the way I see it, if we’re going to stop Xornoth, we need to be united. The sooner we put our quarrels aside, the sooner we can deal with him.”

“Joey is still drunk with power and praise and I’m pretty sure that crown of his is messing with his mind somehow. We need to save him first, Pix, before he’s too far gone for us to do anything.”

Pix nodded, “Agreed. But, for now, you’ve traveled a long way to get here. Why don’t you stay in Pixandria for the night and head off to Mythland to make amends with the others in the morning?”

As if in agreement Sausage yawned, “Alright, thank you Pix, for everything. And...I’m sorry for the embassy trap but you did kinda ask for us to do better pranks.”

A laugh escaped the Copper King at the comment, his brown eyes glinting with mischief, "I did, didn’t I? Well, you know me, my retaliation will be tenfold so I hope you’re ready, Sausage.”

Sausage let out a chuckle and a sly smirk, “Bring it on, Copper King.”

[faerociousbeast]

you mentioned a naruto ghost hunter au thing a while ago and i'm curious? describe it a bit :)

OKAY WACK umm its been AGES since i read it and again, we were. BARELY into the show so my memory is probably more than a little vague. But

it's summertime, and the protagonist is our dear pal, sasuke uchiha. his lovely, heartwarming parents dip on him at the last second and decide to send him to this random town in the middle of nowhere. however, one secret of the uchiha clan, as well as their partner clan, the hyugas, as this is a modern/non ninja au thing, is that they are Ghost Hunters. they go around and Hunt Ghosts. well, basically just.. send them to the spirit realm.

they have Special Eyeballs with different abilities (sharingan/byakugan, respectively), as well as just a general natural affinity for interacting with Ghosts. there was some sort of.. system? in place?

uhh the lowest category of Ghosts was the... SPECTER! yes! specters are generally weak, and can pretty much only do the action they were doing before dying, and nothing else. they haunt their place of work or home, for the most part.

the next were the.... figures!! slightly more of an issue, they can sometimes have some powers of like.. telekinesis, iirc? theyre usually chill though unless you bother their burial/resting place.

FINALLY. the RAREST, most DANGEROUS of them all: DRAUGRS!!! these haunt the actual place of their death, and tend to be incredibly hostile as theyre.... usually. murder victims and stuff. theyve got some INTENSE powers, which vary as there are just so few of them in the world. scary tho

and so sasuke gets sent to this country town, hes a city boy soo... Yeah. but after a certain annoying blonde wouldnt stop following him around, he ends up realizing- "konoha" has an INTENSE amount of spiritual activity. like record level.

pairings were...sasuke and naruto obviously; and the second major one was actually shikamaru/neji. they got a sequel expanding on their story. background pairs were kiba and shino, gaara and lee, kakashi and iruka, choji and ino and.... kisame and itachi, which isnt my MOST favourite thing in the world now that i actually have met them and know their.. ages, but again i hadnt. met them so 😭😭 i think theyre closer in age in the thing but its still kind of. eh now that i am aware of all that.

i wont spoil too much after that, but there are a LOT of characters yeah!! including itachi being a taboo topic as per usual, and all the konoha 12, as well as gaara, kakashi, iruka, i think thats it? for main cast, anyways. the akatsuki also make an appearance, eventually. as well as some other. side characters. there was a LOT it was so long

actually i'm pretty sure this was when i first got introduced to deidara 😐 probably when he hopped into our head. most likely. Wild tbh.

STILL it had SUPER interesting world building, a lot of fun character interactions, as well as mystery oo ooo. one of my favourite things to do in my own writing, is take scenes from the original series and translate it into my fics- such as like.. ah this is hard to explain um like. a character who dies from a hit to the head in the og dying bc of a hit to the head w what makes sense in my story. but yes this one has that and its very fascinating

god i can talk so SO MUCH i apologize profusely but i.. suppose you DID ask 💀💀 please dont let my tendency to ramble deter you from speaking to me again in the future.. i can be less annoying sometimes i promise :}} but thank you again!!

[maggiec70]

The Fictional Take on Jean-Claude

As I've said before, fiction often presents the opportunity to write really nest things and in an engaging way that non-fiction, especially the historical type, rarely allows. So here is yet another scene from the Longest-Running WIP, this one about Jean-Claude, and what Jean-Boy thinks of this entire mess for which he was responsible:

Mariana sat opposite Jean in a small paneled study tucked away at the rear of the house. The two south-facing windows stood open, midmorning sunlight falling across the country pine table, a faint breeze stirring the edges of papers spread out in front of him. While she went to Mass, Jean spent his Sunday mornings with account books and other documents. She knew how little his extravagant properties in Paris and Saint-Germain-en-Laye meant to him, and he cared nothing about their management. He’d bought them both at Louise’s insistence and the emperor’s decree, as he’d often reminded her. Yet his acres, vineyards, farms, and other properties here mattered very much. She had felt his deep-rooted attachment from the first day she’d come to Lectoure and walked into this house. For a long, peaceful moment broken only by the scratching of his pen and a dove cooing on the window ledge, she pictured Louise living luxuriously in Paris. In contrast, she and Jean lived here in simple bucolic harmony. A perfect dream—she and the seigneur of this lovely hill town, the lord of a small realm who didn’t care if he got dirt on his hands and his breeches and who could—and did—pick grapes with the best of his tenant farmers.

“I waited for you before having coffee,” Jean said, and her sweet fantasy popped like champagne bubbles. “How was Mass?”

“Spiritually refreshing, as always. You should go,” Mariana replied and rose to fetch the coffee. She returned a few moments later and set a tray on one end of the table, away from the inkpot and the account books. “I saw a young boy, perhaps a year or two older than Augie, after Mass,” she said, pouring the coffee from an earthenware pot and sliding a cup over to Jean. “He must live in that house across from the cathedral, the one with the three iron balls over the gate. He was playing with an enormous fluffy white dog in the courtyard.”

Jean set his cup aside, untouched, and gazed out the window. His face was suddenly as featureless as a frozen plain scoured by a cruel winter wind. “Nothing unusual about that. There are plenty of children from one end of town to the other. Plenty of dogs, too.” He spoke to the windows, not to her, and his tone was flat.

Mariana swallowed half her coffee and leaned forward, the cup cradled in her hands. “This boy looked so much like you that I stopped where I was and stared at him. He saw me and grinned back, as you sometimes do, with a little wave more like a salute. Who is he? Do you know him?”

Jean stood in a single fluid motion and strode to the windows, his back to her. The silence spun out, no longer peaceful but heavy with something she couldn’t identify. Dread, perhaps, or anger, even fear. She could almost see a dark aura settle around him despite the bright summer sun, and leaned back in her chair, coffee forgotten, everything forgotten. He turned from the windows and crossed to the door, shutting it so hard with his fist that the wood rattled in its solid frame. Dragging a chair around, he sat opposite her, very close, almost touching. She didn’t move, waiting for whatever he chose to tell her, the chill of unease growing in her breast.

“We won’t speak of this again, ever. Do you understand?”

She gazed back at him. The blank expression and flat, unemotional tone had gone. Now his eyes were dark, as stormy as the Irish Sea when she had crossed it eight years ago. The lines on his face cut deep and stark, his voice harsh. Suddenly she wanted her coffee, but the cup was out of reach, and she dared not move.

“I understand.” Her voice was no more than a dry whisper, the best she could manage.

“I told you once that Polette, my first wife, was a flirt and liked anyone in a uniform. Do you remember?”

“I remember.”

“She married me because of my rank, the amount of gold braid on my uniform, and because I told her a good story. She told good stories too, and so did her mother, as it turned out. Afterward, all Polette wanted was money, status, and a big house, the biggest in town. Our marriage was already in ruins when I met you. I told you that, but not in any detail. It didn’t improve later that summer, when she insisted on coming to Lombardy—” Her gasp interrupted him, but only for a second or so. “She got nothing from me then, Mariana, other than some jewelry and a gown or two to wear to Bonaparte’s festivities at Mombello. Nothing—do you understand that?”

When she nodded, past the ability to speak, he continued. “It ended in Egypt, or rather because of the Egyptian campaign. We didn’t get much news in the desert, but we got enough. Some member of Bonaparte’s family cheerfully wrote him of his wife’s presumed infidelity, and my brother Bernard wrote me that Polette had given birth. Bernard was cagy about the date, but he swore it wasn’t my child, that she’d been carrying on with someone even before I’d left. Several nights later, Bonaparte drank too much wine—he rarely did, then or now—and told me women were worthless, faithless sluts, and we both would do well to cut ourselves loose the moment we returned to France.”

Jean glanced away from her to the earthenware pot beside their abandoned cups, and reached for it. He poured quickly, his hand steady, and slid her cup toward her. He did not touch his. “This isn’t Bonaparte’s story, though. It’s mine. By the time I reached Toulon in October, I was outraged, and I hated Polette, truly despised her. I’d gotten another letter from Bernard, this one telling me my mother had died. He wrote that she’d been distraught over the erroneous report that I’d been killed at Saint-Jean d’Acre, and very upset with Polette’s behavior. So I went straight to Paris with Bonaparte and left the matter of the divorce to Bernard and Dominique Montbrun, an attorney here I’d known all my life. Montbrun was a snake, utterly ruthless and doubtless unethical, but he succeeded, and that’s all I cared about. He beat Polette down at every turn, playing on her naiveté, producing witnesses who swore they’d seen her at one time or another with every male in town over the age of sixteen. No one would believe a thing she said, even when she fought back and told the truth.”

He stopped and picked up his cup, draining it in two quick gulps. Mariana was surprised he didn’t choke. When he set the empty cup down, his hand shook badly. She didn’t move and didn’t speak. It was not the time to say anything. That much was evident in his eyes, still stormy, but something else hovered there too, something she didn’t recognize. Hands clasped in her lap, tighter now, she waited for him to tell her the rest of what was already a sordid story.

“I divorced her for adultery. That was easy, and I never regretted it for a moment. I still don’t, although I often wonder if the divorce was even legal. But I never took the final, separate action that would have declared her child a bastard, deprived him of my name, and any rights to whatever I owned or would own. Montbrun hounded me about that, so did Bernard and everyone else I knew. I didn’t listen to them, and I didn’t do it. I couldn’t do it.”

She understood in a flash of painful clarity why he had not taken that final legal step. And now she recognized what had been swirling and growing stronger in his eyes—guilt, and shame. She clenched her hands tighter still and said nothing.

“Polette had traveled to Toulon before I left for Egypt, not because I wanted to see her but because she was her usual willful self. So there she was, saying she wanted to see me, be with me, before I left for what she described as the ends of the earth. I suppose the empty-headed daughter of a minor bank official from Perpignan did think Egypt was the end of the world.” He looked down, but there was nothing to see but their knees nearly touching and the tips of their shoes touching. Her nails, clipped short, dug into her palms, and every finger ached. She had no idea how she managed to breathe quietly, steadily, while at the same time, her heart lurched from side to side, and her mind raced in frantic circles.

“I slept with her, Mariana, somewhere north of Toulon, in a nondescript posthouse I don’t recall to this day. And not just once. I admit that to you now just as I admitted it to myself then. Yes, I could count. For selfish purposes, for wounded Gascon pride, for whatever pointless reasons you can imagine, I refused to acknowledge that child publicly because I hated his mother so much that I wanted to get rid of her at any cost. Because I knew the real possibility—the real probability—that the child was mine, I couldn’t sever that last legal tie. Now it’s too late.”

She forced herself to tamp down the emotions roiling up and clamoring to spill out in a loud and messy pile in her lap or his. She breathed steadily, certain that her nostrils were flaring like Odysseus’s did after a hard gallop, and struggled to keep her face calm, expressionless. Surely he could see what must be flashing in her eyes. If he did, he should run from it.

“Polette remarried a year or so later to a respectable and prosperous man who treats them both well. Jean-Claude has a step-father, two step-sisters, a step-brother, and a mother who dotes on him. He’s happy and cared for. He always has been, I believe.”

Mariana stood so quickly that her wooden chair rocked on its back legs and crashed to the floor. Stepping around it, she moved to the windows, where the warm breeze cooled the heat rising from her breast and up her neck to her cheeks. She unclenched her hands and flexed her fingers, not caring that her breath came in short, audible puffs.

“I was afraid you’d be upset—”

“Upset? Oh, yes, upset, and furious,” she replied, whirling around to face him. “Not for the reasons you think, you and your stupid male pride. I’m not angry because you had sex with your wife after you’d made all sorts of promises to me. I’m infuriated because you allowed Bonaparte to influence you—again—and poison your mind. You never stopped to think for yourself. You didn’t weigh what your brother said or what your lawyer did and come to your own conclusions. You let other people make intensely personal decisions for you. Worse, you never thought about how your dreadfully cavalier actions might affect other people, especially that little boy. That’s what makes me so furious with you. Sweet Mother of God, has Louise ever seen him?”

“She doesn’t know about Jean-Claude, and she’s never seen him.”

“That’s something to be grateful for, I suppose.” Mariana remained by the window, thumbs hooked in her sash. Even from this distance, she saw that shame was writ large on his face and was glad. She had many things she wanted to say, all of them sharp and hurtful, and none of them serving any useful purpose.

“How do you think Louise would handle a challenge to your estate from this young boy if anything happened to you?”

“I’d hate to think of what she’d do to protect Augie and the boys, even little Joséphine, from anyone challenging what she believes belongs to them and to her. She’d be lethal, like a lioness with new cubs.”

“So, Jean, because of your pride and pigheadedness, six children and two women may well find themselves in an impossible legal situation at some point. Of course, you won’t be around to see what a disaster you’ve created. Did this never occur to you? It’s not as if they would be squabbling over a ten-acre vineyard, either. People unused to wealth, status, and possessions often lose their reason when those things become part of a vast inheritance.” She picked up the chair and collapsed onto it, hands on her knees, and concentrated on catching her breath from the last outburst before beginning the next. Judging from Jean’s expression, she would have ample time to recover. Beneath the guilt and shame, a slight glint of hope swam to the surface of his eyes. She had seen this before, not often, but enough to know he wanted her to make it right and patch up—or clean up—whatever mess he’d made of something. Not this time, though, and not the way he wanted.

“I can’t help you with this. It’s a matter for lawyers, a roomful of them. It’s also up to you, and only you, to decide if you will acknowledge him as your son, perhaps not in the legal sense, but in the most elemental, personal way. But it might be too late now for even that.” She rubbed her forehead, over her right eye, where a headache had taken hold. “What would you do, Jean, if I had your child, unlikely as that may be?”

“Take care of you and of the child. You know I would, so why ask?”

She stood, her anger spiking along with the persistent throbbing in her temple. “Polette might have thought you’d do the same for her and Jean-Claude. She was wrong, as it turned out. I asked because we’ve spent the past half-hour discussing a child you didn’t take care of. You’ll do it, now, though, by all the saints, you will! Somewhere in these books and papers you care so much about is a tidy inheritance for Jean-Claude. You probably can’t touch what the emperor’s given you, and it wouldn’t be fair to Louise and Augie. But these lands and properties are yours to give. So do it, and do it now. I want to see what you’ve drawn up, ready for a lawyer’s finishing touches, when I get back. I will choose the lawyer for this task, however. No more unethical snakes.”

“Where are you going?”

“To light a candle for your son and an even bigger one for you.”

[cosplaydude637]

Chapter 09: Better together,

Now all the Shadowhunters stood in the center of the room with their weapons drawn. Jace and Alec were back to back as demon dogs rashed them. Jace cute down any that got close and Alec was putting demons down left and right with is Arrows. Clary and Simon Were battling side by side. Clary with her Short Sword morning breaker That Jace got for her. Simon with his Bow and Arrow, As a demon dog attacked Clary cut it and half and then dropped to her knees as Simon Shuts a leaping demon dog came at them, His arrow landed right between the dogs eyes. Even the newbies Angelique and Mekyle were holding their own. Angelique spin quickly swing her bow staff right into one demon dogs head sending it flying to Mekyle who dissed it up with his claws.

As the last demon dog falls by a swing of Jace swords all the team of Parabtai stand back to back. “Wall that was fun.” Mekyle smirks.

“We need to have a long talk on what you think is fun.” Angelique says.

“It's like they always say Parabatai are always better together.” Clary smiles Sheathing her sword.

“Where to Stringbean?” Jace asked looking over at Simon.

“Umm there are only two doorways and we just came down that one so i say that way.” Simon smarts off. Jace slowly walks over to him and punches him in the arm. “Ok Oww.” He adds.

The group made their way down the hall way back in the order that Alec commanded them in when they first came down. Jace was in the lead Then Clary, Simon, Mekyle, Angelque and Alec was at the rear. As they keep going down the hallway this is a blinding purple light and the hall is empty…

When the light lifts Jace, Simon and Mekyle are standing side by side in a small round room. “What just happened?” Jase asks.

“Batter question where is everyone else.” Simon asks, taking in his surroundings.

“Here is one who is that?” Mekyle points to a man coming out of the wall. He was dressed in black robes with gold ruine all over it. He must have stood about 6'feet. His face was covered in shadows by the hood he wore.

“He must be a keeper.” Simon declares.

“Wise beyond years Hunter,” the Keeper says in a low bear tune voice. The man snaps his fingers and doors with strange markings appear around the room. ”The test is simple: find your parabatai, but a warning I give to they you may only choose one door.”

”there must be like 20 doors here!” Mekyle screams. The keeper says nothing and melts back into the wall vanishing.

”This must be the gate test.” Simon lets out.

”the what?” Jace inquires.

“Every Gate has a test before you can get to the real gate.” Simon says. “With this test we must find our Parabati behind one of the doors.”

“There are so many doors how do we pick?” Mekyle asked looking around the room.

He was right, the room had all kinds of doors. There were Paneled doors, Dutch doors, Battened and Ledged door, Wood Door, and Hinged doors. Even more odd was on every door there was all kinds of different stuff. On one door There were words written in warlock. Another head all the house name of the New York Shadowhunters family. One door had pictograms on it. Then there was a door with a judges gavel on it.

“We should be able to do this with ease.” Jace says.

“How can you say this there are so mean doors and we have no clue on what one they would be behind.” Mekyle groweld.

“He did not say they were together.” Simon chims in.

“What?!?!” Mekyle snapped.

“The test side we head to pick one door meaning all of us.” Simon replayed.

“And they are our Parabatai. We should be able to find them with ease.” Jace Add.

“That's right, a bond is a holy one so where do we start?” Mekyle says starting to calm down a little.

“Wall, what do you know about Angelique.” Simon asks.

“She is a skilled fighter, loves Texas, her home land.”

Jace rolls his eyes. “Your naming off stuff that would be on a profile. Being a Parabatai is a special bond you should know her inside and out.”

“If it was so easy then what door are you Parabatai behind?!?” Mekyle snapped in frustration. Jace pontins to the door with the warlock writhing on it and Simon to the one with the names of all the Shadowhunter families of New york. “Now could you know that?” Mekyle asked dumfound.

“Two reasons. Once Clary loves the families of our instate like they are her own.” Simon says camly.

“The word on that door reads the Husband of Magnus Bane. Alec showed it to me.” Jace adds.

“And what is the Sacent reason?” Mekyle asks.

“We can fill them.” Jace and Simon say together.

“Like I said, bond is a spiritual one. You should be able to know where you Parabatai is at all times and be able to find them. You fill their pain and you know when something is wrong.” Jace says and looks at Mekyle with a stern look. “Stop thinking like a Mundane you're not one anymore kid it's time you walked the life of a shadowhunter.”

Mekyle closed his eyes and let his breathing calm. Jace nods at Simon and walks over placing his hand on Mekyle shoulder.

“Why did you choses Angelique as your Parabatai?” Jace asks.

“She is strong,clever and she keeps her cool no matter what. We’re I tend to rush in. She is there to help me control my temper. She makes me want to be a better person. She is like the sister I never had.”

Jace taps Mekyle on your shoulder and she Mekyle opens his eyes he is standing in front of an old barn door with a Gavel on it. “She is here. I can feel her.” Mekyle eyes go wide as racution comes over him. “Her Horse..”

“What do you mean?” Simon asks as he and Jace move in front of the doors they choose.

”Ange has a Horse back in Texas named judge. She misses him like crazy; it's one of the few things she wishes she could have brought with her.” Mekyle explained.

The three boys nod at each other and at the same time open their doors. Once they do this all the other doors disappear and on the other side of the doors stand their Parabatai holding open doors on their sides.

”guess we all picked the right door.” Clary smirks.

The room vanishes and now they are all standing in a single room with a huge Golden Gateway on one end on the wall next to the gate was a statue of the Angel Raziel.

”We made it!” Mekyle shouts and jumps in to use air.

”Thank you for bringing me here.” Sinira voice says coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

The shadowhunters all draw their weapons and stude ready for a fight. A cold chill fell over them and they all glance at each other.

”Can anyone move?” Alec asks.

”I can't, ” Mekyle and Angelique say.

”same” Clary says.

”It's like I am a toy and saw that Andy was coming and I froze in place.” Simon adds

”Dude a simple no would have worked!” Jace snaps.

One of the dragon patterns on Angelique’s staff starts to move and fly off the staff and turns into Sinira. She smiles and winks at them.

Sinira claps her hands together and purple flames come for her hands. As she starts to chant in Celtic. Within a few seconds, a huge lock can be hard clicking open.

The gate flys open and darkness spills out as does a cold burst of air. Out of the shadows walks a 7-foot tall man-like being with a ram’s skull covered his head, a green cloak, staff, and a leather loincloth hanging off his hips

“Lord Belphegor,” Sinira says as she bows down at his feet.

“Who?” Angelique asks.

“Belphegor the prince of sloth, tricksters, and charletons. One of the Princes of Hell.” Alec Explains.

“Nephilim” Belphegor hisses.

“Master as much as I love to see you kill them. You're not used to this realm.” Sinira says keeping her head low. Belphegor lets out A bloodcurdling scream and in a blast of cold black smock, he and Sinira are gone.

The Shadowhunters fall to their knees able to move again.

“That did not go as planned” Simon states looking over at the others.

[yellowmagicalgirl]

memories for when morning comes

An average afternoon and morning for Claire after ae stopped the Eternal Night.

This fic was, for the most part, written to spite an asshole on FFN who was complaining about how I use ae/aer pronouns for when I decide to specify that Claire is nonbinary in a fic, as opposed to they/them or she/her pronouns. Guess what? Ae/aer pronouns were first used in 1920, and even if they weren’t that old then one should still respect pronouns (especially for real people, though if this person is complaining about my pronoun choice for a fictional wizard I worry about how they’d treat real people who use neopronouns). (The other reasons I had for writing this were my own personal gender frustrations as well as just how it’s been a while since I wrote Claire.)

Title comes from “Welcome to Wonderland” by Anson Seabra, aka a song I found on a nonbinary pride playlist ;)

This fic isn’t Wizards compliant

Content/Spoiler Warning: Isolation, hopelessness, implied/referenced self harm, and introspection on misgendering and death

AO3

FFN

Claire wrapped aer arms around aerself and winced as even through the fabric ae could feel just how frozen aer hands were. That was the problem with having small, thin fingers. Aer circulation was pretty bad in aer hands. Sometimes, when aer nail polish was chipped, Claire’s could see how the natural color of aer nails changed to a pastel blue-violet tone, as opposed to the healthy pink that aer nails were supposed to be.

Speaking of supposed to be, where was Jim? He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. Claire fought the urge to check aer phone again. He would be here any minute now, and if he had gotten caught up in some sort of trollhunting business, he wouldn’t be able to tell aer at the time. But, ae was tempted to go find a bench and pull out aer homework. That way, ae could at least do something useful instead of just waste aer energy shivering and feeling anxious.

Ae shouldn’t be so anxious. They had saved the world years ago, and aside from the occasional goblin nest or gnome uprising there hadn’t been any problems. Jim had retrieved the stone that allowed him to walk in the daylight, and had found out that he didn’t have to actually change as much about his diet as he had planned. It was small things, like coating his salad in dressing and eating his steak rare. The supernatural world was at peace. Morgana was dead and would never be able to hurt anyone ever again. But, sadly, Claire had been diagnosed with anxiety long before ae had learned the truth about the creatures that lurked in the shadows. Ae sighed before walking over to the nearest bench. It was warm underneath the late January sunbeam. Ae pulled out aer phone, but ae didn’t check the time. Ae placed an earbud in each of aer ears, reaching up at the same time to run one of aer hands through the fade of aer hair before reaching the curly faux hawk at the top and curling aer fingers into it. Perhaps it couldn’t be considered a proper fade, not anymore, not when Claire had decided to let it grow out for the winter months so the chill wouldn’t permeate so directly into aer skull.

Claire let aerself become pulled into the loud rock music blasting from their earbuds as ae pulled out a textbook from aer backpack and began to read. Ae didn’t notice anyone approach aer until a blue, four-fingered hand stopped aer from turning the page.

“Oh,” Claire said, pulling out aer earbuds. Aer boyfriend stood in front of aer, one hand behind his back. “There you are.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Jim said. “Mom was trying to cook and, well, it was going well until the kitchen towel started catching fire. But, I have something to make up for it!” He thrust his arm out from behind his back, revealing the bouquet of violets.

“Jim, I, thank you,” Claire said, tracing the softness of the flowers.

He smiled down at aer. “Of course, anything for my handsome Juliet.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a vase or anything, would you?”

Jim scratched the base of his horns sheepishly and opened his mouth, probably to say that no, he hadn’t planned that far ahead for their date.

And ae woke up.

All of Claire’s dreams were bad dreams. Some of them were memories, and they happened more often if Claire fell asleep in front of the haunted TV that showed all of the times that ae had been scared. Some of them were an amalgamation of horrible things that ae had heard about and things that Morgana had done or intended to do to her victims.

The worst type of dream, though, was neither of those two. No, the worst type of dream wasn’t bad when it was happening. It was a wonderful, beautiful, pleasant escape from the horrible reality that Claire had doomed aerself to. Ae would wake up in the Shadow Realm and know that Jim was dead and everyone assumed that Claire was dead as well. That their beloved friend had died to save the world. Or worse, their beloved daughter or sister.

Claire had died before ae had come out to anyone except for Enrique. It was after Jim had rescued aer brother from the Darklands, but before Morgana had taken a hold on Claire’s body and mind. Well, a stronger hold than Claire merely just using the Shadow Staff.

Ae had been alone, and ae had started talking to him. Practicing how ae’d come out to aer friends and family and boyfriend, even though ae hadn’t been ready. Enrique was the only one who knew who Claire really was, and he was a baby. He wouldn’t understand, and he wouldn’t remember Claire talking to him, and he would grow up hearing about the sister he once had who never actually existed in the way everyone thought Claire had.

(There was a possibility that there was one other person who knew the truth about Claire, but ae didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to think about how the woman who called Claire Child instead of Daughter might be doing so as a sign of some horrible mimicry of respect. Really, Claire would have rather have had aer bodily and spiritual autonomy respected and be misgendered than for Morgana to respect that Claire wasn’t a girl but then turn around and treat aer like ae wasn’t a person, just a weapon.)

Enrique wouldn’t remember his older sibling’s monologues about aer gender frustration. Perhaps it was for the best. Claire hadn’t been meaning to actually tell aer brother, or else ae would have gone to NotEnrique instead, because out of the two brothers ae had the changeling was the one who actually knew more than ten words. It was just easier to talk to a listening ear than aer stuffed animals or a mirror (and that was before mirrors were a reminder of aer trauma). It had been practice for something terrifying that Claire would never have to do. Never get to do. Hadn’t been ready to do. Ae had never gotten around to deciding upon a more specific label than nonbinary. Between the dread that came with the possibility of someone finding aer trying to do research, and all of aer responsibilities, ae had never really had the time. And of course, ae knew that their were plenty of people who didn’t want a more specific label, but ae wanted one. Ae wanted a more specific label, if only so ae could list out all the reasons and point to something that explained that Claire wasn’t the only one. And instead, ae had waited too long and no one would know.

The trolls would have probably reacted well, since trollish gender was rather different than human gender. Jim and Toby probably would have been okay with aer as well, since they had reacted well to aer being bi and they were respectively bi and pan themselves.

Mary and Darci? Back in middle school, Darci had followed Claire to a few GSA meetings but as far as Claire knew she was there as an ally. And while Claire had seen the way that Mary sometimes looked at Shannon, Mary had never done anything else to indicate that she was anything other than straight and cis.

Aer parents? Claire knew that they loved aer. Besides, they wouldn’t have thrown aer out, if only because Ophelia was a politician on the left end of the political spectrum. But, aer family was Catholic, and ae wasn’t even out to them as bisexual, and that was at least something they might believe aer on. Aer dad might even be more relaxed if Claire had a (cis) girlfriend than with any boy ae could date, trollhunter or otherwise. And if aer dad was on aer side, then maybe he could convince aer mom to accept that their child was bisexual. Maybe, considering just how many arguments Claire had had with aer mom about how Claire couldn’t be her perfect daughter. How could Claire possibly convince aer parents that ae wasn’t their daughter at all? Granted, there was the possibility that they’d be to ecstatic to care about the gender binary when Claire escaped -

No. Ae was never going to escape the Shadow Realm.

Ae slipped out of bed, undoing one of aer long white braids. It had always had the tendency to get horrifically tangled, and that was before aer magic made it so aer hair moved in an otherwise imaginary hurricane. It would tangle enough to make aer cry. Braids were easier. Braids, or short enough hair that Claire wouldn’t have to worry about it tangling, but ae didn’t trust aerself with blades so close to aer own skin.

Ae had mastered walking around aer house as silently as possible. Perhaps ae had become a shadow of aerself here. Silent, and trying not to cause a stir, not to draw attention to aerself.

Claire gazed out aer window to the dark landscape of the Shadow Realm. Morgana was out there.

Or, maybe, ae had become more of aerself here. The shadows obeyed aer will, after all. So had the Shadow Staff. Aer will, and not Morgana’s. It had been so surprisingly easy to steal away the scepter of the Eldritch Queen. Perhaps it had been seeking a monarch as shadowy as itself.

Ae hadn’t had the time for researching and trying to find the perfect label to describe their gender. Now, ae had nothing but time to think and solitude to not worry about someone walking in on aer research. Now, ae had no access to anything that could give aer answers. Ae had tried, but there wasn’t a WiFi connection in the Shadow Realm. Ae couldn’t look anything up online, and it wasn’t like there were any books in the Nuñez household to help aer find the perfect word to describe aer gender.

And yet, Claire felt that ae could call their gender a shadowy void and ae would be incredibly accurate.

A/N: Is Jim actually dead in this? Probably not; Claire is probably just making an assumption because the last time ae saw aer boyfriend he had just jumped in the way of a magical blast that had been meant to take out Claire and aer friends.