#even if it's the bundled soft cover version

[paskariu]

i may not be able to get my grubby hands on the comics as comics but the soft cover bundle is available HELL YEA

[harryslittlefreakk]

the one

summary: y/n runs into the last person she ever expected to see in the last place she ever expected to see him, bringing old feelings & hurt to the surface. based on the prompt: childhood friends to lovers

warnings: light angst, made up town, CHEESY writing, smut that’s more making love than fucking

wordcount: 4.7k

a/n: hi guys 💘 long time no see!!! GO EASY on me im rusty!!!

masterlist

The heavy wooden door creaked as it swung shut behind you, sealing out the bitter November wind with a low groan. Inside, the warm glow of amber lights bathed the room, casting long shadows over the oak bar and a few worn leather stools scattered around it. The air was thick with the scent of aged whiskey and a faint hint of wood smoke. A couple of locals sat quietly at a table near the back, their low voices blending with the soft hum of an old jukebox playing a slow, bluesy tune.

“Thank God,” you muttered, the day’s tension melting from your face as the warm air settled around you. You let your head roll back, savoring the first reprieve from the cold. The chill that had reddened your cheeks and numbed your fingers slowly eased, the warmth brushing over your skin.

Winter was settling into Windermere, and you’d never gotten used to it. Your parents found a strange charm in the grey skies and biting winds, bundling up and going about their routines. But for you, it felt suffocating. Each year, November swept in like an unwelcome guest, forcing the town to become even smaller, with people huddled indoors, glancing suspiciously at anyone passing by.

The town seemed cloaked in silence, broken only by the crackle of fires and the crunch of frozen leaves underfoot. It was a season that left no room for secrets, not when every movement was magnified in the stillness. With everyone tucked away, the chances of slipping by unnoticed were slim, forcing your teenage rebellion to thrive in only the rarest pockets of solitude, under the cover of long, dark nights.

“Please, just something hot,” you said, voice weary as you rubbed your hands together, trying to coax warmth back into them.

The bartender eyed you for a moment, one eyebrow raised in amusement as he planted his hands on the bar.

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you,” he mused, reaching down to grab another glass.

Your head snapped up so quickly that your neck clicked, and you rubbed the sore spot as a frown knit your brow. You’d recognize that voice anywhere. He was older, scruffier, and somehow more devastatingly handsome than the last time you’d seen him. You blinked a few times, half-expecting him to be some kind of apparition conjured by the cold. But he was real. Your Harry was really standing in front of you, in the last place you’d ever thought you’d find him.

“I didn’t- I tried to find you,” you stammered, your voice catching as your gaze drifted over him.

He was taller now, his once-wild curls a little more tamed. Those same green eyes that seemed to cut straight through into your soul. His sweater clung just enough to his arms to hint at the strength beneath, and tattoos traced up both arms in intricate, dark patterns, curling from his wrists to disappear under the fabric, each one telling a story of the years he'd spent without you.

The decade you’d missed was written across him in lines and ink, yet somehow, seeing him now made you feel like that eighteen-year-old again, waiting for her best friend to realize he loved her too.

“If you’d looked hard enough, you would have,” Harry muttered, his eyes trailing over your face, taking in the flush of cold still lingering on your cheeks. Your lips pressed into a tight line as you dropped your gaze to the worn wood of the bar. You couldn’t tell him that you hadn’t found him because you hadn’t wanted to.

He was a reminder of a version of yourself you’d left behind - a girl who thought she had to earn love instead of knowing she deserved it.

He stood there, still holding the empty glass, his gaze traveling over every inch of you he could see. His eyes lingered on your hands for a moment, his expression hardening before he turned away.

Even through his sweater, you could see his back muscles tense, a reminder of just how much had changed. The unmistakable clink of ice hitting glass sent an involuntary chill down your spine, though you blamed it on the cold draft from the door. But deep down, you knew it was Harry’s presence that stirred something old and haunting within you.

He turned back to you after a few minutes, setting a mug of hot cocoa down in front of you. His hand was steady, but there was an unmistakable tension in his shoulders as he slid the glass toward you.

"Exactly how we used to have it. On the house," he said, voice low, eyes flicking briefly to meet yours before returning to a spot just over your shoulder. You hesitated, your fingers wrapping around the glass, the warmth dancing across your skin.

“Christ. Thanks,” you murmured, taking a sip. The burn of whiskey flooded your throat, a welcome contrast to the chill that had settled deep in your bones.

He still didn’t say anything, didn’t ask what you’d been doing all these years. Didn’t ask why you’d come back. There was a time when you were sure he’d have asked, a time when he would have read every expression, every flicker in your eyes as easily as a page in a book. But now, the silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, woven from years of things left unsaid.

"Heard you were getting married,” Harry said finally, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear. The words were hesitant, almost vulnerable, but his eyes had a guarded edge, as if they were holding back an ocean of questions. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, almost as if to steady himself.

“Not anymore,” you told him with a soft shake of your head, your voice barely carrying over the soft hum of the jukebox. You couldn’t help the way your eyes drifted over him, noting the subtle lines at the corners of his eyes, the quiet weight he seemed to carry now, like shadows that hadn’t been there before. He was still Harry - but this version of him was one you didn’t know. Or maybe it was you who didn’t know herself anymore.

“Sorry.”

“I didn’t know you stayed here, Harry.”

It was true. You didn’t know anything about him. You’d never asked your parents, though they would definitely be privy to what was going on in his life. They knew that whatever had or hadn’t happened between the two of you had contributed to the way you left, so they had made no attempt to keep you updated.

“I didn’t. Came back for my grandma’s funeral and the pub was about to be sold to a chain but no one could afford to take it on. So I did,” he shrugged, his eyes dropping to his feet as he spoke.

You sat back a little, memories of afternoons spent at this very pub flooding your mind. Trying to sneak notes out of the tip jar, Harry coercing his grandma to pass you both shots. “She loved it here,” you whispered, a soft smile on your lips as you traced a finger along the bar. “I had no idea she passed Harry. I’m so sorry.”

“Forty years of her life behind this bar,” Harry nodded solemnly, his jaw tense. “I couldn’t let it go.”

There was a glimmer of the Harry you knew when he said that. It was the part of him that first drew you in. He was cheeky, stubborn, but his loyalty to his family was unmatched. Beneath the external rebellion, he was sentimental and kind, the first to fiercely defend any of his loved ones, the last to leave one behind.

You had no idea how you’d ended up so disconnected from him. You’d only spent five minutes in his presence, but it felt like the first five minutes you’d ever spent with him.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The silence was loaded, more meaningful than any small talk you could have tried to fill it with. It felt as though one wrong word would break whatever fragile truce had settled between you.

Finally, Harry sighed, leaning his forearms against the bar, hands fidgeting with a bottle cap, rolling it over and over between his fingers.

“You left,” he said softly, as if the words themselves had been weighing him down. “And I waited, you know? For a while. I thought you’d come back. And then, when you didn’t…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

There was a long pause, each word sinking heavily in the quiet room, reverberating through you. You felt a pang of guilt - maybe shame - at hearing his side of it laid bare, the rawness in his voice making it hard to breathe.

“I didn’t know how to exist here,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt flimsy, inadequate, but they were all you had. “I needed to figure out how to do it on my own.”

“And did you?” he asked, something sharp and almost accusing in his tone.

You hesitated, because you weren’t sure how to answer that. Had you? The years had passed, but you weren’t sure you’d changed as much as you thought you would. You’d found your independence, learned to stand on your own - but there was still a part of you that had never let him go, that had held onto the version of Harry you’d left behind.

“I don’t know,” you said finally, the words tasting bitter. “I thought being back here would answer that for me.”

You turned away from him, your heart pounding as you glanced around the pub, taking it in. “It’s changed a lot in here,” you mumbled, never feeling less at home than you did in that moment.

“The whole town has changed.” Harry shrugged, his jaw tense as his eyes followed yours.

The atmosphere had shifted when you turned back to face him, an unmistakable tension settling between you. Harry’s gaze was hard, guarded and defensive, like he was bracing himself against something.

“That’s not a good reason to leave.”

“What?”

“That’s not a good reason to leave,” he repeated, arms folding over his chest. “Are you staying?”

“For now.”

“You hurt a lot of people,” he continued, his tone harsh, bitterness dripping from each word.

“I spent my entire teenage years thinking about everyone else. Selfishness isn’t a crime,” you shot back, pushing your empty mug towards him.

“It’s not. But that doesn’t stop it hurting people.”

You narrowed your eyes, leaning your forearms against the bar. “People, or you?”

Harry looked past you at the last patrons filing out, circling around the bar to see them out and lock the door behind them. The silence was thick, stretching through the distance between you.

“People,” he answered finally, those green eyes not quite meeting yours. How had it gotten to a point where you openly lied to each other? A tiny part of you thought that if you ever crossed paths again, you’d fall into your old routine, Harry with the cheeky grin and bad ideas, you with the doe eyes and willingness to follow his every move.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” you mumbled, pushing yourself off the stool.

“No.”

“What?”

“No.” Harry stalked back to the bar, a heavy hand slamming a bottle of whiskey down in front of you. “Have a drink with me, and tell me the truth. You owe me that much.”

You swallowed hard, your body tensing as he sat down next to you. “The truth?”

“Whatever was so bad that you had to leave without even saying goodbye.” His eyes were dark as you looked up at him, his fingers drumming against the bar.

“It’s not even important anymore,” you sighed, feeling the lie settle heavy in your chest. You took a swig of the whiskey, shivering as the heat slipped down your throat, trying to steady yourself. But he was watching you too closely, reading you like an open book. Before you could react, he tugged the bottle from your hands, his chin dropping to his chest.

"Pull the other one," he said, voice low. "Whatever happened kept you away for a decade. Did someone hurt you?"

You almost laughed, bitter and tired. He was looking at you now, his gaze sharp and searching, like he was ready to drag the truth out of you no matter what it cost. But you were lost in your own head, your eyes tracing the tattoos winding down his forearms, lingering on the familiar lines and symbols. He was exactly the man you had always imagined he’d become - steady, solid, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. But you had never expected to see it like this, up close, with your own eyes.

You reached for the whiskey, snatching it back from him and knocking it back with a grimace. “It was you, Harry.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, raw and unguarded. “Fuck. I realized I’d put my whole life on hold, waiting for you to notice me.”

He froze, his hand suspended in the air, and for a second, there was no sound but the creak of the barstool as he shifted, the slow tick of the clock on the wall. He scratched his head, his eyes falling shut as your words sank in. You could see him wrestling with it, with everything that had been left unsaid all these years.

“And running away was better than just telling me?” His voice was softer now, hurt creeping into the edges, and it made something twist painfully in your chest.

You shook your head, feeling a thousand things you could never say. “How was I supposed to tell you? Hi, Harry, my good friend, I love you, and I’m about to devote my life to you.”

“Something like that,” he muttered, a faint, bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He ran a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping as he finally met your eyes. The silence stretched again, thick with years of missed chances and the weight of what could’ve been.

You both sat there, lost in the quiet. It felt fragile, this moment, like the whole world could split open with one wrong word.

“It wasn’t just that,” you muttered, watching your feet swinging under the stool. “I couldn’t exist here anymore. It gets to a point where it’s suffocating.”

“But you really couldn’t just tell me?”

You met his gaze, feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks, your face hot with the blush that spread across your skin. His dark eyes held you, unblinking, and the weight of everything unspoken made your heart pound. He leaned forward, the faintest crease appearing between his brows, as if he was bracing himself for something he’d waited too long to hear. You tried to look away, tried to hide the vulnerability in your expression, but his gaze was unrelenting, drawing the words out of you.

“I don’t wanna talk about it anymore,” you said, voice tight with restraint. You tried to keep your tone casual, but you could feel the way it trembled, betraying you.

“Why?” he asked, leaning closer, his face serious. His jaw clenched, a flicker of frustration in his eyes that he tried to temper. It was like he already knew what you were going to say, yet he needed to hear it from you, needed confirmation for the ache that had been buried under years of silence.

You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself. “It’s embarrassing, H.” Your eyes darted away, unable to face the intensity of his gaze. “I changed my whole life because of a crush. I moved somewhere where no one knew me because I was scared of everyone here knowing me too well. I got engaged to the first man I properly loved, and he still didn’t match up to you.”

Harry’s face softened, but he looked pained, his lips parting as though to speak. The vulnerability in his expression was raw, his shoulders stiffened with all the things he had wanted to say, to ask. But when he reached for you, you placed a hand over his, silencing him for a little while longer.

“I thought about you every day for ten years,” you said, feeling the words tear from your throat, your eyes bright with unspilled tears. “And now we’re just sitting here like strangers. Do you get that?”

He let out a bitter laugh, a rough, quiet sound that cut through the stillness. He leaned forward, elbows braced against the bar as if he needed the support to hold himself together. “Do I get it?” he repeated, his voice low and raw, his brows drawn in with years of buried pain. “I’ve lived the same ten years as you, except I didn’t get the privilege of knowing where the fuck you went or why.”

He looked down at your hand over his, and his fingers slowly closed around yours, his grip warm and strong. He was still, tension held tight in the curve of his shoulders, in the soft way his thumb brushed against the back of your hand, as if afraid the moment might slip away. He shifted closer, the space between you shrinking, and his other hand rose slowly to your face, cupping your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin.

“What the hell are you doing?” you whispered, breath catching in your throat. You could feel your pulse quicken, every nerve alight with the nearness of him, with the intensity in his eyes, softening into something tender, something hesitant and aching.

“What I should’ve done years ago,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in, his eyes searching yours until the last second, like he was giving you a chance to pull away, to stop him. But you didn’t. His lips met yours, hesitant and gentle, as though he were savoring every second, every taste. You could feel him melt into the kiss, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. The moment you kissed him back, he exhaled against you, letting go of some tightly held breath, and the kiss deepened, grew more urgent. His hands moved down to your waist, strong and steady, pulling you closer against him. You could feel the heat between you, the years of longing pouring into this single kiss.

When he finally pulled away, his breaths came rough and shallow. Without a word, he tugged his sweater over his head, baring his skin, the tattoos winding over his chest and arms like stories you’d never gotten to read. Your fingers traced along them, the tip of your nail gliding over the ink, and you could feel his pulse quicken under your touch.

He smiled faintly, but his expression grew serious again as he leaned down, brushing his lips along the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. His arms wrapped around you, his hands sliding down to your hips, lifting you up onto the bar with ease. You gasped softly, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist as he tugged your skirt up, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

In that moment, you were no longer strangers. His face softened, his eyes warm and almost reverent as he looked at you, a quiet promise in his touch that maybe, finally, there was nothing left between you but the truth.

Harry’s mouth found your inner thigh, his teeth clamping down on the sensitive skin. “That’s for leaving me behind,” he murmured, his breath warm against the sting. He moved to the other one, his teeth nipping at you for a second time. “And that’s for making me wait a fucking decade.”

Your breath comes out in shallow moans, your hands planted on his shoulders. That damn butterfly tattoo, the one he’d always told you he would get, almost taking flight as he pants against you, his eyes darkened with lust.

He leaned in closer to your core as you widened your legs, his nose nudging against the wet spot on your panties.

“Ten fucking years,” he repeated, his voice husky. He looked up at you with a plea in his eyes, waiting for you to allow or deny his next move.

“Please,” you whispered, your hips bucking against him as he reached out, pulling your panties aside with a quick hand.

Your gaze landed on the window, the dim lights practically inviting passers-by to peep inside and catch you in the act. But when Harry’s mouth found your slick, you couldn’t bring yourself to care, for the first time in your life - whether you became the town gossip or not.

His movements were rough and unrelenting, his fingers spreading you open as his tongue flicked against your clit, appreciative murmurs vibrating against your skin.

As if he could read your mind, his thumb took over the pressure on your clit, rubbing circles against the nerves as you writhed. His tongue licked at your slick with an intensity you’d never know before, his free hand slipping under your jumper to grip at the curve of your waist. Tingles spread from his touch, the lust taking over your body as pressure built in your core.

Without warning, Harry pulled away, pulling your legs around his waist as he stood up. A needy whine fell from your lips as your high dissipated, the soft skin of his abs rubbing against your entrance.

“You made me wait. You can’t handle it now?” he murmured, his lips warm against your neck, the whiskey still hot on his breath.

He took the stairs two at a time, the ancient wood creaking under his feet. You looked around the apartment as Harry weaved through the dark, brushing against tables and knocking over a stray glass, too focused to care. The room smelled faintly of him - whiskey, smoke, and that earthy, familiar scent you couldn’t place. It was messy, cluttered with books and clothes, but your heart warmed with an odd sense of belonging the moment you crossed the threshold. Your clothes came off at some point during the journey, a trail of knits and underwear reminiscent of Hansel and Gretel’s, but one that would only lead you to the person you were before you knew how it felt to be fucked by Harry Styles.

He stumbled slightly, caught himself, and half-laughed, his hands steady on you as he dropped you onto the bed. You landed with a gentle bounce, your heart racing, heat building in your chest. You needed to pinch yourself in case it was all a sick dream. All those days of stolen glances and lingering touches that meant nothing and everything, all those years wondering where he was and what lucky woman hadn’t run away from him.

For all those years, you’d told yourself he was stuck in your head because of the what ifs. What if you stayed, what if you’d forged a life together, what if you hadn’t acted on hormone-driven impulses.

Harry was intense, magnetic in a way that made it impossible to look away, but the idea of actually being with him had always felt like a distant dream. And yet, there he was, breathing ragged and close, his weight settling beside you, hands resting on either side of your head as he held you in place with a gaze that felt as if it could unravel you.

“You really want this, don’t you?” he asked, voice low and edged with that same maddening confidence that had drawn you to him in the first place. His tone was challenging, almost taunting, but there was something vulnerable lurking in his eyes.

You took a breath, feeling a knot in your chest loosen as you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Always have.”

His smirk softened for a moment, something unreadable flickering across his face, and you could sense the weight of all the things he’d never said hanging thick in the air. He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours, and this time, there was nothing held back - no restraint, no hesitation. Just an undeniable pull between you, finally given permission to break free.

“One condition,” Harry rasped, leaning down to press kisses across your bare chest. “When you leave, you keep in contact this time.”

“I will, Harry. I swear. If I leave,” you grinned up at him, your nails scratching at the base of his head.

A low chuckle escaped his lips as he traced a path down to your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin. “If?” he murmured, his voice thick with a mix of amusement and disbelief. He pulled back slightly, catching your gaze with a look that was both playful and deadly serious. “I’m not planning on giving you a reason to run.”

You felt the weight of his words, the lost time between you settling heavy in the air. He wasn’t going to make it easy.

“I won’t this time, I promise,” you whispered, fingers tightening around his neck, pulling his lips to yours, praying your kiss would convey how deeply sure you were.

Harry looked at you for a long moment when he pulled away, studying your face as if trying to memorize every detail, as though he wasn’t sure you’d really stay.

His eyes dropped to your tits as he reached down to stroke his cock, pulling his lower lip into his mouth as his thumb grazed over the wet slit.

You pawed at him impatiently, biting back the whimpers that threatened to spill out of you as he lined himself up at your entrance with one last look into your eyes.

You felt your life altering in front of you, your trajectory changing to what it could’ve been a decade before, fate pulling you and Harry back onto the same path, the one your should’ve always been on.

But when he pushed himself into you, that familiar pressure tinged with pain, the feeling of being filled like his cock was the missing fucking piece - your mind was clear. You wrapped yourself around him, your body fighting to be as close to him as possible, your moans syncing to his thrusts.

“Harry,” you whimpered, mouth falling open as his free hand found your clit again, drawing your body back to how close it had been to climax.

“I know, baby girl. I know,” he rasped, his voice strained as he fucked into you, his thumb unrelenting as it worked at your bud, his strong body overpowering yours.

Your hips bucked into him, your legs starting to quiver around his waist as you writhed and jerked, your moans mixing with the deafening slaps of skin-on-skin contact.

“It’s mine, this is mine,” Harry growled, his possession tipping you over the edge. His. That was all you’d ever wanted to be.

Your orgasm came on strong, your body tingling and tensing from your head to your toes, your fingers clamping around his shoulders, your back arched into his chest.

Your walls were fluttering around him, your pussy desperate to milk him for all he had.

His thrusts grew sloppier, his control slipping as he stared down at you, committing the image of your high to memory, the first thing he’d want his mind to see when he woke, the last thing he’d see before sleeping. His hand slipped under you to the curve of your ass, angling your hips to allow him deeper, his cock hitting spaces you didn’t even know you had.

“This is just the warm up,” he grunted, pulling his cock from you at the last minute, his come spilling onto your chest, your lips curling into a smirk.

“I think there’ll be plenty more of that,” you whispered, pulling his lips back onto yours, barely unable to kiss him with the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

mehhh i don’t know about this one … but ive been itching to post something 👉🏼👈🏼🥹

taglist: : @angeldavis777 @softestqueeen @jerseygirlinca @palmettogal508 @drewsephrry @austiebuttbutt @indigo24hughes @peterparkerbae @im-an-overthinker r @daphnesutton @loveableidioticweirdo @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swag13r @ashleighsss @tswiftsgf @chesthairrry @nikkisimps @hannah9921 @lilfreakjez @prettygurl-2009 @s-h-e-l-b-e-e @indierockgirrl @cicicavill7 @cohnfusedarling @ell0ra-br3kk3r @stylesfever @stylesbrock @harry-nialllover @triski73 @meetmeintheemeraldpool @harryshousewitnessprotection @danaehldy @fairytale07 @storyschanging @wannaliveinparadise @mrs-anna-styles211994 @mema10 @fangirl509east @devilsqueen722 @harrrrystylesslut

[cute-sucker]

note: more for liona!! (inspiration) <3 send me some requests if you'd like some of diner!jj

short masterlist: part one here, part two here, part three here, part five here, part six here !

˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.

diner!jj learned early on that you hated loud noises. he watched you carefully the first time you were invited to the kitchen when the two of you had to curate the perfect version of the chocolate milk. he watched you cower at the noise, skittish as you tried to give him a smile.

all he did was place a soothing hand on your waist and pull you closer, and it was as if that worked. your body seemed to soften at his touch, and he bit back a smile.

but somehow you continued coming back into the kitchen, sitting on one of the counters and eating chocolate-covered strawberries. he could tell you loved chocolate. today you had come alone, leaving your baby with some granny near your apartment complex.

he watched you blush when you asked to come into the kitchen, expectantly looking up at him. he felt like a schoolboy stammering out sentences, hands in his pockets as he murmured out soft, 'yea's."

you were wearing jeans and a cute flowery top. there was something about the glow in your eyes when you walked in that made him want to bundle you up and kiss your forehead, but instead he found himself gruffly making muffins.

he could feel your eyes on him, keenly watching his every move, the ripple of his muscles, and one time when his white shirt rode up his back- you were watching. he turned back slowly to see you flushing, eying you a magazine that you had brought with you.

but that whole sweet moment is ruined by his staff, ernesto moves in quickly, "chef?"

jj clenches his jaw, eyes still on your figure as you go through pages of the magazine. "what's up?"

ernesto winces, running a hand through his hair, "chef, we fucked up the pancakes. burnt. all of them," and then he sees the way jj closes his eyes, and quickly moves in front of him, "but we're on it! we're fixing it, man."

at another moment he would yell. how the hell could well-seasoned cooks mess up something as simple as pancakes? it was one of their staple foods. but then his eyes travelled to you.

you sat there, blinking owlishly as if you could tell something had gone wrong. when jj catches your eye, you seem to bite your lip to stop a grin. there was something about that sight that softened his heart.

no, he could not yell.

god, you had such a hold on him, and you weren't even dating him. but knowing the way he felt for you, if the two of you started to he would worship the floor you walked on. he would make sure nothing made you scared again.

goddamn it.

he clenches his jaw, "just fucking fix it," and he walks off eye twitching.

you would be the bane of his existence.

taglist: @yourmumstoym @lionasvault @saturnrings77 @rainbowpiss34@wowza31419 @tcddszn@maraudersmyloves@stxr-slut@redhead1180@dinnodallas

[honestly-mad-person]

DADDY'S TIME

A/n: Get ready for your heart to melt from the level of cuteness and sweetness with L&D boys as daddies!

Synopsys: You decide to take a nap because you are tired of taking care of your three-year-old child and ask your husband to take over while you rest.

Characters: Xavier / Zayne (Sorry Rafayel’s stands)

Genre: Fluff

XAVIER VERSION

You woke up in the afternoon and rubbed your eyes sleepily and left the bedroom. You slept a little, tired from the sleepless night, because your daughter often woke up in the middle of the night, waking you and Xavier with her crying. You loved this little bundle of cuteness who looked just like his daddy, but tiredness got the better of you.

You listened to the noises in the apartment and the only thing you could hear was a soft melody coming from the children's room. You followed the sound and opened the door and froze. The whole room was covered in holographic stars and nebulae (Thank you, Xavier, for this gift for our daughter).

The stars were on the walls, on the ceiling, they were floating in the air, passing each other. They shone softly, being the only light in the dark room. Looking at the window, you saw that the curtains were tightly closed and the sunlight barely made it through. This pleasant atmosphere was enhanced by a music box that played a soothing melody. Feeling like you were in outer space, you couldn't help but wonder how sweet Xavier was.

Finding the two most precious people in your life in your eyes, you smiled warmly. Xavier was lying in the beanbag chair, holding your baby to his chest. Both were sleeping, drooling. Your daughter was curled up on her daddy, holding her thumb in her mouth while his caring arms gently held her back. The more you looked at this picture, the more your heart melted. You felt proud that the two of you were able to make another incredible beauty.

You walked quietly on the floor, avoiding the scattered toys and coming up to them and sitting down on the floor next to them. Your gaze could not be torn from these sleeping faces. They looked so peaceful that you couldn't help but rest your head on Xavier's shoulder. He mumbled a little as he stirred, but continued to sleep as your hand lay on top of his on your daughter's back. You had loved Xavier madly, but now he had made you fall in love with him again without realizing it.

ZAYNE VERSION

Opening your eyes, you tried to banish the remnants of the day's sleep by stretching in bed. You could hear incomprehensible mumbling coming from behind the door. Getting up, you left the room and rubbed your sleepy eyes. Looking around the living room, you didn't find your husband and son, but you smelled a pleasant odor coming from the kitchen and went there.

— What are you doing here? – you asked as you entered the room.

— Mommy! – the black-haired boy exclaimed happily and jumped out of his father's arms and ran to you.

— My cupcake! – You melted, catching him in your arms and covering his sweet face with kisses. – What were you doing here with your daddy?

You glanced over at Zayne, who was standing by the kitchen counter, and you felt your heart skip a beat. As always, Zayne looked gorgeous, even in his home clothes. He was leaning on the kitchen counter with his hands, never taking his eyes off you. You caught little flashes of something dirty in his eyes and, barely holding back a smile, you looked at your son. Your and Zayne's son.

— Daddy and me made breakfast for mommy – his arms wrapped around your neck and he kissed you on the cheek.

— It was supposed to be a surprise, snowflake, – Zayne shook his head as he walked over to you and his hand gently rested on the child's head, ruffling his hair.

— Sorry, daddy, – answered, he looking into your eyes and murmured softly, taking your face in his small hands. – Mommy, we've made you breakfast, but it's a surprise, so don't tell anyone, okay?

Looking into his bright green eyes, you couldn't help but laugh.

— Okay, my good man, I won't tell anyone, – you hugged him tightly, holding him to your chest.

[iceman-soup]

masc!reader x roach

Fuck's sake, you're thinking, laying in bed, wide awake and somehow still feeling like you have done all day - ready to fall asleep at the first opportunity. And now it's here, the room in darkness aside from the moonlight through the open blinds just the way you like it, and yet your exhausted body refuses to shut off. Typical.

If it weren't for how damn quickly your lips got cracked and dry, you'd be breathing through your mouth. Thankfully, you're not forced to do so quite yet - although the way your stuffy nose is sounding at every inhale, you might be soon, and that would be the equivalent of admitting defeat. So far, you'd been ignoring your earache, headache, every ache you had; you'd put aside how your eyes hurt and your legs and arms were tired from more than just training exercises with the rookies.

Now, though, you couldn't quite dismiss it, and it was catching up to you. Damn fast. Tossing and turning in the too-warm blankets (despite it being 2°C in the barracks, due to the inconveniently-timed broken heating), you let out a frustrated sigh, pulling on your comfy military socks and a hoodie and padding out from your tiny room, shoulders hunched against the chill.

Trodding through the corridors, wishing you'd bothered to put on shoes, you soon found yourself in the mess hall, quiet and dark and empty. You hated how eerie it was at night, but did appreciate the little coffee and tea machines at the sides, however cheap they tasted. Grabbing a chipped mug and pressing the breakfast tea option, you let your tired head fall to your chest, closing your eyes and swaying a little where you stand.

As the tea finishes making itself, you pick up the mug, grateful for its warmth, and sit yourself down at a nearby table, blowing your nose with a scratchy napkin but glad it was there anyway. More mulling over the tea than drinking it, you lay your head down, foggy mind drifting from thought to thought and not noticing the other man enter the mess hall.

A gentle tap on the shoulder jolts you upright, and you realise how you're sitting in almost complete darkness as your eyes adjust to make out the figure of Roach standing in front of you. He's wearing a set of matching pyjamas - one of those soft, chequered ones with a button-up shirt and drawstring trousers tied in a floppy bow - and fluffy socks, and is missing his usual helmet, goggles and gloves. Which you suppose is expected seeing as it's probably early hours of the morning. That being said, he's got on a smaller version of his normal mask, covering only the bottom half of his face.

"Are you okay?" he asks, tapping his fingers to his chest then doing a double thumbs-up to sign it. You smile tiredly, trying to be polite and say you're fine but your voice is raspy and painful when you speak. Roach tilts his head slightly at you, then points at the tea and signs for you to drink it. Too ill to argue, you do as he says and watch as he picks up your now-empty mug, putting it to the side apparently for someone else to clean up, then holding his hand out expectantly.

"What're'y' doing?" you mumble, taking his hand and entwining your fingers as you stand up, leaning into his body almost instinctively. He tries to sign something, but with only one hand free and your groggy brain, the message doesn't really get across. You follow him blindly anyway, not really caring so long as you can nab his warmth for as long as possible.

He leads you along the corridors of the barracks to a room that definitely isn't your own, going by the completely different layout and the fact that there's a knocked out Lieutenant in one of the bunks. You don't bother to question it when you're bundled into the bed opposite and followed by Roach, who wraps the seemingly infinite blankets around the both of you and presses a firm kiss to your forehead through his mask, despite the fact you're not at all dating or even close to this being normal.

He doesn't give you time to argue (not that you have the brain power to anyway), instead pushing you to lie down and quickly cuddling into your side, resting his head on your shoulder and tracing absent-minded patterns into your chest. You curl your arms around him, letting your mind catch up.

"Did you just kidnap me to snuggle with?" you process after a moment, glancing down to see him nod. "You share a room with Ghost." Another nod. "And you couldn't've gone the three metres over to his bed?" Roach hesitates; thinks. Then shakes his head stubbornly, legs tangling with yours.

Maybe that scratchy napkin was just brilliant, but you're certainly not feeling as ill and uncomfortable as before when you finally drift off to sleep, the Sergeant in your arms as your own little personal weighted warming blanket.

[cvlutos]

"Early Morning"

| Repost: 01.24.23 | 1.1K | Mature |

Dire Crowley X AFAB!Reader

All Involved are 18+ | Smut | Staff x Staff | F!Oral | Relationship | Consensual Somnophilia | Established Relationship | Pussy Drunk Crowley | Porn w/ No Plot | Etc | Proceed with Caution, Dearest.

| AMAB!Version |

He wakes up early, hours before the rise of the sun, hours before the singing of the birds. Mask discarded upon his nightstand, hair disheveled, and black blankets jumbled. He lets out a soft groan. Shifting in his bed and rolling onto his side. You lay with your back to him, still peacefully sleeping.

Dire shifts around, scooting closer to you, arm sliding over your form, lips connecting to the nape of your neck. Nails grazing against the skin of your stomach, eyes sliding close, as his warm palm drags downward, gliding over your thigh, thumb running along the band of your underwear. His eyes drift open, moving to sit up properly, laying you on your back. He presses a subdued kiss upon your lips, before shimming underneath the blankets. Hands sliding over your legs, pressing chaste peeks against your thighs, sliding one leg over his shoulder, nose nudging against your clothed clit.

He lets out a pleased hum, fingers fidgeting with the elastic band, lazily dragging his fingers until they reached your inner thighs, pulling aside the fabric covering your cunt. He drags his tongue along your folds, gathering your slick and humming. You tasted absolutely divine. He dives in blindly, sucking at your sensitive bud, nails digging into your flesh, forcing himself closer. His hips rutting against the bedsheets. You react even as you sleep, soft moans slipping past your lips, your legs subconsciously moving and gently squeezing his head. Pure absolute bliss. That has him groaning against your wet clit. His tongue drawing figure eights.

Over and Over again.

You shift, hips grinding against his face, as his tongue slipped into your dripping cunt, his nose rubbing against your bundle of nerves, sending waves of electricity that made your back arch beautifully. He groans against your lips, his right hand dragging from your thigh as he pulls away, his hot breath fanning across your twitching pussy, his two fingers sinking into your clenching cunt. He looks at you, watching your face contort. He watches your juices coat his fingers, squeezing them, sucking him in. You’re just so good to him, even in your sleep, so welcoming as he leans down, sucking your bud, using his fingers to graze along your gummy walls.

You call his name, confused, yet breathless, watching golden eyes flicker up to you, pulling away, his chin and lips coated in your slick. Yet his fingers don’t stop moving, causing you to choke on your breath. He greets you. Eyes flutter over your form as you move your legs from his shoulders, urging him towards you.

His kiss tastes like you, and you shudder, hands clinging to his shoulders. He whispers against your lips, one hand cupping your face, with the other slips out of you, moving to slip his harden cock from his briefs. He begs, pleading for your to allow him to fuck you, just so so good. He deserves it, doesn’t he? He’s just been so so good this morning. So good in pleasuring you, in eating your slobbering cunt so so good. He drags his leaking head against your clit, teasing his cock against your entrance. He peppers kisses along your face and neck, shifting to where your knees resting against his hips.

He’s gentle at first, nearly gasping for air, a whine mixed with a groaning slipping past his lips, feeling you stretch so deliciously for him. He fumbles with his words, forehead against your neck, you just feel so divine. Pulling him in so desperately, it’s just so good. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. He whines, feeling you breathe into his ear, arms wrapped around his neck. He’s gentle at first. As his hips meet yours, his length fully nestled deep within you. He waits, waits until you ask him to move. His thrusts are shallow, listening to the sound of your gushing pussy. He moves to where he’s further away from you, your hands moving to grip the bedsheets beneath you. Your body on full display for him. Just for him.

He just can’t get enough. His teeth dig into his bottom lips, hands gripping your waist, quickening his paces. Ignoring the saliva that dripped past his lips, his eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head every time you squeeze. You want him. Truly want him. His mind goes blank, watching you greedily take him. Your hips move to match his pace, eyes struggling to stay open. He just loves you, loves you so much.

His next thrust is hard, one that has you choking in such lovely surprise. Fumbles of ‘yes’ slip past your lips, ‘Just right there’. ‘Don’t stop’. ‘Please’. Like a record on repeat, eyes rolling into the back of your skull, feeling his cock hit the one-stop that has you unraveling. Your voice rises in pitch, your grip tightening on the sheets. He wants everyone to hear you, to know how good you feel on his dick, that he is whom you wake up to every single morning, that has you walking with a slight limp.

His pace is almost bruising, sending your body jolting, and back arching off your bed. A burning, painful knot forming in the pit of your stomach, tightening after each thrust, has you begging. Desperate for it to snap. Dire sucks in a heavy breath. He’s close, so close. His thrusts slowly turning sloppy and his voice turning into incoherent words and whispers, confessions of his everlasting love. Everlasting. You come together, searing hot waves of pleasure, forcing yourself to become utterly speechless, short huffs of air exiting your lungs, feeling Crowley come inside, filling you with his seed, painting your dripping walls, as you gushed around him, squeezing him dry.

He nearly falls over, pupils dilated and locked onto the scene as your cum slipping past his cock and dribbling down onto the bedsheets. It’s just too much. His cock twitches, and he lets out a hot sigh, his chest shuddering as he looks at you. You look fulfilled. He can’t help but smile, running a hand over your face, leaning forward, and gently kissing your lips. He watches as a ray of sunshine through the open curtains, framing your beautiful face perfectly.

His eyes drink in the scene, etching it into memory. You are just so lovely.

ⓒ 2023 love-thanatopsis — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited.

[fortheloveofarchons]

Let’s wear Xianzhou outfits and not tell Caelus

Special mention to @uniqua-2273 on tumblr for giving me a puff of motivation to finish this chapter!

Inspired by @b02owo on Twitter (X) and also @not_update_2.0 on Instagram go and check out their amazing Dancae artworks!!!!

C.W.

Chapter is written before version 2.4 of H:SR update

Fluff and humour

Caelus being a menace

Dan Heng being a softie

March 7th appears

Pom-Pom and Welt Yang mentioned

.

.

.

“You are the worst best friend ever, March 7th! I hate you!!” 

Caelus cries out loud, completely cocooned in March 7th’s large, soft blanket, covering his entire body on her bed. The weight of his emotions presses heavily on him, and he pulls the blanket tighter around himself, seeking solace in its warmth and security. His body was curled into a tight ball beneath the layers, his face completely hidden from view, only the faint sound of his loud, muffled sobs breaking the silence. 

“For the love of Aeons– Caelus! Get out of my bed!!” March 7th shouts at the large, pink cocoon, where Caelus hides himself in there. March tightly grips the fabric of the blanket, and immediately tries to pull it out of Caelus’s grasp. 

But Caelus didn’t budge. Instead, he clutches the blanket even more tightly, his fingers gripping the fabric as if it were a lifeline.

“LET GO CAELUS!!!” 

“YOU KNOW WHAT RHYMES WITH THE WORD ‘BETRAYER’?!?! NEVERRRRRR!!!!!” 

Such a clear sign that the trailblazer wasn’t ready to emerge from his makeshift fortress. 

With Caelus’s strength besting her, March 7th could only stop pulling the blanket as a sign of defeat, feeling her arms and fingers sore from all of the pulling. An archer and swordswoman can only go so far as to obtain agility, but not strength. 

Yunli would digress, but Yanqing would agree. 

Getting the train conductor Pom-Pom angry would be a huge risk if the blanket was ripped off. 

Puffing out large breaths, all March 7th could do was to walk out of the room in resignation, the door sliding open for her. 

Coincidentally, she finds someone outside waiting for them. 

“Dan Heng?” March 7th asks. “What are you doing over here?” 

“I heard screaming.” Dan Heng answers, his eyebrows drop low over his eyes as he tries to understand the situation. “While Pom-Pom was busy fixing up the omni-synthesiser with Mr. Yang, I decided to come and find what the ruckus is all about. Best not to enrage Pom-Pom with your loud noises and settle this as soon as possible, after all.” 

Dan Heng tilts his head a bit to the right, seeing through the wide, open gap of the door is a large pink cocoon. 

“...I’m assuming that’s Caelus on the bed?” 

“Uhh… you mean my bed!” March 7th corrects him, puffing her cheeks in frustration. “Ever since I’ve been wearing this outfit that Master Yunli brought for me, Caelus has been giving me the bombastic side-eye whenever we go out! When I confronted him about it, all he did was just whine and cry and complain– and then proceed to jump onto my bed and wrap his whole body with my blanket! Now, he won’t even get out of my room!” 

The bells that hang around March’s double bun bows ring and clink in response to her frustration. 

Dan Heng could only let out a sigh so long that March thought that his soul was going to get extracted. Truly a normal day in the Astral Express. 

“I’ll go and talk to him.” 

Dan Heng presses the button, and the door slides completely open, revealing Caelus tightly bundled up in a thick, cocoon-like blanket. Only a tuft of dishevelled silver hair peeks out from the bottom. The rest of the blanket is pulled up over his head, leaving his face hidden. 

Without a word, all Dan Heng could do was to sit at the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He reaches out, his hand hovering just above the blanket, unsure if his touch will be welcomed or rejected. He’s being careful to not attack the beast, but to tame it. 

“Caelus?” He gently pats the blanket. 

All Dan Heng gets is a soft sniff in response. 

“Are you okay? You haven’t eaten breakfast since this morning, and I heard the commotion so…” 

Caelus shifts slightly, but he doesn’t turn or speak. The air in the room is thick with frustration and sadness. Dan Heng could see the outline of Caelus’s hands clutching tightly under the blanket, white-knuckled and tense. 

“Go away.” Caelus finally speaks out. “Get out of my room.”

“...You know that this is March’s room, right?” 

“If you’re here to convince me to come out, I won’t. You and March 7th… are all betrayers to me!!” 

“Betray?” Dan Heng’s eyes glared at this information before him, frustration evident in his eyes. “Caelus, please elaborate on that. Just what exactly do you mean by this?” 

“You are March both have customised Xianzhou outfits!” Caelus finally explains, his mind trying to block out the images of his friends in their Xianzhou outfits, and how the comparison gnaws at him. “You guys didn’t tell me that! Do you know how left out and inadequate I felt?!”  

Imaginary crows caw at the distance upon hearing Caelus’s reasons. 

“...That’s it? Just because you didn’t get to wear a special Xianzhou outfit?” Dan Heng clarifies the situation once more. 

“Uh, duh!!” Caelus replies, rolling his eyes under the blanket. “It's not my fault you've been travelling longer than I have. Same goes for March! Of course you two would be this close to the point of wearing matching Xianzhou outfits… I feel as lonely and left out as Mr. Yang.” 

Dan Heng could’ve sworn he heard a loud sneeze in the distance. 

Dan Heng combs the back of his hair with his hand, half-relieved that he could finally know what Caelus’s motives are, but also half-frustrated that Caelus would cause such a ruckus because of something like this. Still, Dan Heng could understand how it feels to be left out. From the moment he chose to not join them in Penacony, most of his life was spent covering his body with his blanket, the faint glow of his phone screen casting a soft light in the dimly lit archives room. He remembers how as hours ticked by, his eyes would always flicker over to the messages on his phone, filled with photos and videos captured by his friends from places in Penacony. 

He remembers how the pang of loneliness would often hit him, sharp and unexpected. Like the crimson sword that Blade stabbed him right in the chest. 

Seeing Caelus like this… only made Dan Heng understand where he’s coming from. 

“Caelus, how about you borrow one of my outfits?”

Immediately, the sniffling stops.  

“R– Really…?” Caelus enquiries, hiccupping his words. “Could I really wear them?” 

“Well, yeah.” Unexpectedly, the idea of Caelus wearing his clothes feels oddly intimate. He did not notice how his cheeks flushed a light pink as he continued his sentences. 

Dan Heng clears his throat, trying to muster a casual tone. “I don’t have a lot of Xianzhou clothes, so you can either pick my usual outfit, or the outfit I’d wear as Imbibitor Lunae–”

“Give me your Imbibitor Lunae skin!!” Caelus exclaims, already popping out from under the blanket, his face breaking into a wide, cheeky grin. 

Dan Heng almost jumped from the bed, his body tensing due to Caelus’s unexpected enthusiasm. One of March’s plushies was pushed away by Dan Heng’s surprise, landing on the floor with a small thud. 

But that moment immediately simmers down when Dan Heng notices that there are no red lines under Caelus’s eyes. 

“I… Weren’t you crying just a few minutes ago?”

“Doesn’t matter!” Caelus reaches out to Dan Heng with his hand, gesturing for him to hand him that outfit. “Give me that skin right now!” 

“...Please don’t call my outfit as a ‘skin’.” 

[enchantedchocolatebars]

A Winsome Witch And A Happy Human Chapter 4 : Original Spinet Theme

Written by 💕 enchantedchocolatebars 🍫 (me, lol).

Ao3 version.

Previous Chapter 4.

Commission cover art.

Cover art poll.

Chapter titles.

Fic playlist 🎵 💕 🎶 ✨️ <3

Cover redraw.

Enjoy!

Heavy rainfall pelted down from the darkened skies on a Sunday in the Connecticut town of Gravesfield as a husband and wife were inside their home, enjoying each other's company, their love untouched by the storm brewing outside.

"Hello, little gentleman," Cadman said in a gentle tone, greeting and accepting the little blonde bundle that his wife placed in his arms.

"Look at that little face of yours," the brunette man commented with a chuckle, brushing aside the tiny, developing lock of hair growing above his son's forehead.

"You're already maturing into a handsome young man." Cadman soon pressed a kiss on Caleb's brow.

Even though Caleb was a bit of a handful, he was still a welcomed addition to the Wittebane family.

Cadman was content with holding and singing small songs to Caleb when he wasn't too exhausted, even if Caleb sometimes fussed.

After a significant amount of trial and error, the father found that carving small gifts or taking his son outside to observe the cardinals perched on tree branches were the most effective methods of soothing him.

Patience, who was about to give birth to another child in eight months, smiled at the two and kissed both of their cheeks before gazing down at Caleb.

"You're going to have a little brother to love, play with, and take care of when you're older, Caleb. Isn't that going to be so much fun?" the blonde mother asked.

Caleb gurgled excited baby noises at that news, causing both of his parents to laugh.

The blonde was already a very lively and cheerful boy at only 5 months old.

...

Small, dotted eyes that are cornflower blue slowly begin to open as Baby Philip witnesses the faces of his father and brother for the first time while being held gently by his mother as she sat up in bed, her back against her pillow.

As all three members of his family cast their warm, sunny smiles down on him, Philip reacts to the love he's receiving like a flower.

His small smile grows immensely as his little baby hands reach up without hurry to touch his parents and brother, which causes them to roar with hearty laughter.

A montage commences as the laughter in the room transitions to the start of this song.

...

As Kid Philip bolts into his shared bedroom, Caleb follows behind him at a slower speed, wielding a quill in his left hand.

The brunette proceeded to press his back against the wall behind his room door as he stood up straight, smiling fondly at his brother as he looked forward, sweet blue eyes gazing into warm brown ones.

Caleb, smiling back at his younger sibling, placed the pen horizontally above Philip's head, its tip facing the wall.

Moving the tip across the wall, the blonde creates a short, straight mark over Philip's head.

After Philip steps away from the wall, Caleb begins to record both his brother's height and age on it, with his height being written on the left side of the mark while his age is written on the right.

4. 5 feet - five-years-old

…

The early summer sun shone brightly in the afternoon sky, casting warmth across the atmosphere as Caleb cheerfully assisted his mother in churning butter on their farm, her hands over his as they cranked away at the churner.

Chirp-chirp-chee!

As Caleb gazes at the trees on the other side of the farm, believing that's where the chirps came from, the short, soft trills continue as a bird with vibrant red plumage flutters down and finds a comfortable spot to perch on.

Chirp!

Looking to his collarbone, Caleb spots a small male cardinal on his shoulder as he beams, brown eyes filled with excitement and wonder at the northern bird.

Patience gave a small, sweet laugh at her son's excitement, smiling fondly at both him and the cute little cardinal that he had.

She moves her hand over to gently pat the bird's head with her finger, being careful not to mess up his smashing hairdo.

…

The churned butter is quickly incorporated into a combination of wet and dry ingredients to create a cake topped with strawberries for Philip's 6th birthday, which is quietly celebrated in secret among the family.

…

Philip and his father exited a shop on All Hallows' Eve as the full moon illuminated the dark night sky.

The new carving knife Cadman had purchased to carve pumpkins at home with his boys was put in his pocket.

The two then heard a chorus of slow, lifeless moans coming from behind them and stopped in their tracks.

Cadman and Philip felt danger approaching as they slowly turned around and saw dozens of deceased "witches" who had emerged from the dead, clearly seeking vengeance for their unjustified killings.

They were lumbering forward toward, in their eyes, two living sacks of human flesh that they planned to bite and have join in on their revenge crusade.

With wide eyes and a pounding heart, Cadman's instincts to protect his child quickly kicked in as he grabbed Philip's hand and soon bolted away from the pale green fiends.

Seconds later, Philip charges back at the death-dealing savages with his wooden sword, ready to send them all back to Heck where they belong, only for Cadman to bolt back after him.

Hurriedly snatching his son back with his right arm, Cadman takes off out of town, carrying Philip under his arm to prevent him from fleeing again.

…

With his boots and farm attire on, Cadman was ready to harvest his November crops.

His wife pulled out his brown leather hat from behind her back, placed it on his head, and planted a gentle kiss above his brow.

…

Cadman started cutting his crop stalks at a faster pace with his sickle as dark clouds surrounded the sky, not paying close attention to the sharp metal blade of his tool.

While working, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his abdomen, and the agonizing scream he exclaimed pierced the air.

As he slowly raised the hand he used to clutch his stomach, he noticed a dark crimson stain on his hand and quickly went wide-eyed.

He had a horrific look on his face as lightning flashed across the sky.

It was clear to him that his accidental cut could lead to more serious complications if he didn't return home promptly and have his wife take care of it.

As he stood, he made an effort to move quickly, but his injury was causing him to stumble while hobbling.

…

The furious storm continued into the night as Patience rested back in her rocking chair, reading a Bible story to her boys as they both listened keenly, sitting criss-crossed on the rug.

An urgent and loud bang on the door startled the three as Patience set her husband's Bible down and went to answer it.

The shrill scream from their mother caught Philip and Caleb off guard as she quickly rushed past them.

She directed the two to remain where they were while she went to retrieve a dampened cloth.

Although the boys had no idea what was happening, the sound of their father moaning in pain made their fret visible on their faces.

…

The dark, dreary skies matched the sadness that was brewing in the air as an undertaker laid Cadman's body to rest.

Patience sobbed heavily into her hands, unable to watch her beloved being buried as she and her sons stood on the side.

During her crying, her boys begin to shed tears.

They both clutch the lower half of their mother's dress, tightly holding onto the fabric as she wraps her arms around them for comfort.

…

Patience found it difficult to adapt to widowhood and life as an independent mother, but it was something she had to endure.

She frequently blamed herself for the death of her husband.

However, the presence of her boys made things less dreadful for her.

Caleb and Philip consistently assisted Patience with household tasks and always knew how to make her smile.

…

When Patience fell ill to an unknown sickness, it was up to Caleb to take care of her since he was the oldest child, with Philip occasionally doing what he could to help.

With the house's finances becoming more scarce, Caleb struggled to bring down his mother's fever, only with a wet rag at his disposal as Patience became more and more ill with every passing day.

…

One day, when Philip arrived home with a sack of apples that Caleb had instructed him to buy, he heard a faint echo of crying.

The reverberation spread throughout the hallway.

When Philip neared the dining room, he saw his brother with his head down on the table, wailing almost grievingly.

As Caleb slowly raised his head, he saw Philip and felt the weight of everything weighing heavily on him.

He stood up and ran to hug his brother tightly.

Philip was able to quickly understand what had occurred based on Caleb's emotions and was unable to move.

When the sack fell from his grasp and hit the ground, apples tumbled onto the floor.

Caleb was embraced with the same level of tightness by Philip, who quietly cried in his brother's arms.

…

At least Cadman and Patience were now buried side by side, as both Philip and Caleb couldn't imagine the two being apart even in death.

…

The death of their parents made neither boy want to remain in the house, as it was not the same without Cadman and Patience present.

Not only did the atmosphere lack the love of their parents, but the house's structure was starting to break down as well.

They needed a new house to live in.

…

Before they set off on their search for a new home, Caleb went into the chicken coop and said goodbye to all the birds that came into contact with him while Philip went into the stables.

Approaching his favorite brown stallion, the two proceeded to have a heart-to-heart as Philip reached up and gently ran his hand through the horse's mane while the horse pushed his nose into his palm.

A hug was soon given by Philip as he wrapped one arm around the horse's neck.

…

While the two brothers were walking hand in hand through the woods, they came across a brown wooden cottage at the end of the woods.

The wood was slightly worn, and shutters were dangling from their hinges on the two front windows, as observed by both of them.

As Caleb contemplated whether or not he and Philip should enter the house, an enthusiastic Philip ran toward the cottage.

Surprised by the sudden action, Caleb followed after, catching up with his brother as they entered the house.

Based on its current weathered condition, the wooden house seemed to belong to no one.

Well, no one except for the Wittebanes now.

…

At night, Philip had trouble falling asleep in his shared room as he heard Caleb's muffled cries, the blonde quietly sobbing into his pillow.

Caleb's current state left Philip feeling sad and sympathetic, prompting him to turn his gaze to the ceiling, fold his hands, and silently pray for God to bring his brother joy again.

Subsequently, he thanks God for taking care of the souls of his parents while they are in heaven.

…

Caleb awakens Philip the next day with a smile and eagerly urges him to get out of bed.

He wants to mark his height on their wall.

4. 6 feet - eight-years-old

Philip's growth excites both him and his brother as they cheer.

Caleb lifts Philip up and spins him around with joy, while the brunette giggles in delight as the music and montage come to a satisfying end.

...

"It looks like you're getting taller and taller every day, Pip," Caleb remarked with a sunny smile as he finished cooking breakfast for his brother on the black cast iron skillet.

He used the remaining flour, eggs, milk, and sugar to make it.

"Mm-hm!" Philip happily hummed in agreement with Caleb while seated at the dining room table with a wooden plate in front of him.

"Someday, I may even grow taller than you, Caleb," the brunette claimed with a great deal of confidence as he casted a playful grin, and his eyes immediately lit up at the the pancake being slipped onto his plate.

The cake was lumpy, as Caleb's always were, but Philip still enjoyed them nonetheless.

The blonde began to chuckle as he walked over to the water bucket and placed the used skillet inside it.

Returning to the table with a small glass bottle of maple syrup from the cabinet, Caleb poured the remaining amount onto Philip's pancakes.

Upon seeing the sweet, golden syrup flowing down on his food, the youngest's lips started curling up.

However, he noticed two empty chairs at the table, which were the seats his parents could have been sitting in alongside him if they were still alive.

His head began to swell with memories of them making the mornings more lively as he sighed, gazing down at his lap.

Caleb quickly noticed his fading smile and stopped pouring.

Philip soon felt a comforting hand gently make contact with his shoulder and slowly looked up to see his brother shining a small, reassuring smile at him.

Philip attempted to generate a smile of his own to reciprocate but was unable to do so.

"What's wrong?" Caleb asked, setting the syrup bottle down and taking a seat next to Philip.

Philip was quiet.

"Is it about... them?"

Caleb was aware that the loss of both of their parents was a sensitive topic.

Philip nodded slowly.

"Yes, and also...," he softly said before pausing, tears welling up in the corner of his eyes.

"It's school," he admitted with a soft sniffle before continuing. "It's not the same without you, Caleb. Without you there, the other children don't seem to be fond of or interested in being around me."

The news he heard made the elder feel terrible as he looked at Philip's sad face.

Caleb's role as the household's breadwinner forced him to stop attending school and start working various jobs around town.

Working excessively made him feel fatigued, but it was for the benefit of Philip.

Caleb did his best to take care of his younger brother.

"I see...," the blonde said solemnly as he sighed but then managed to smile again.

"Hey, Philip," he began, wiping away his brother's fallen tears with his thumb.

"When you get back from school, let's play some of our favorite games together. I might even make you a surprise when I get back from working."

"Really?!" Philip gasped loudly as he sniffled, his smile reappearing on his face. "You promise?"

"I do," Caleb pledged, keeping his tone soft, as he and Philip proceeded to link their pinkies together.

...

"Are you all packed and ready for school, Pip?" Caleb asked Philip while standing at the front door with him.

Philip responded to the question with an energetic head nod while wearing his brown neck satchel.

He patted the bag twice with his left hand to indicate that everything he needed was inside it.

Caleb then quirked a brow and smirked with playful suspicion as he continued.

"You didn't include any dead birds or live snakes in your satchel, did you?"

Philip gave a simple smile before shaking his head.

"Philip..."

"I didn't!"

Behind his back, the brunette concealed his crossed fingers.

"I promise!"

Caleb smiled at his trustworthy little brother before opening the door, not feeling the need to check his satchel. "Good!"

He proceeded to embrace Philip tightly with love.

"Have a good day at school then," he whispered. "We'll see each other later."

The brunette hugged his brother back. "Okay, Caleb."

He hoped their hug would last forever, but as with all good things, it had to come to an end.

Once it did, Philip began his journey to school and turned to wave at Caleb.

"Bye, Caleb!"

Upon returning the wave, Caleb smiled. "Bye, Pip!"

Following Philip's departure, Caleb closed the door and headed for the stairs, needing to prepare for the busy day he knew he was going to have.

Knock, knock!

"Oh?"

Caleb proceeded to return to the door and opened it once again, believing that Philip must have forgotten something and came back to retrieve it.

On the opposite side, an older, familiar figure stood, gently holding a hen against his body.

He exhibited a lengthy white beard, tattered brown overalls, no shoes, and a brown hat that covered his bald head.

"Good morning!" Mr. Kookman chirped in a crackly and friendly tone, raising a hand up to greet Caleb while still maintaining a firm hold on his wife, Henrietta.

Yes, his wife.

She was a wonderful hen.

Mr. Kookman was the local kook and a neighbor to Caleb and Philip.

He resided inside the woods.

The man would frequently visit their doorstep to request essentials, such as...

"Could I borrow some spare breeches?" he politely asked as Henrietta clucked.

"Henrietta said good morning as well," Mr. Kookman informed Caleb with a chuckle.

"... Uh..." The blonde shifted awkwardly and rubbed the back of his head, shining a nervous smile.

He aspired to be polite, but at the same time, he was unsure about what to say.

...

Jesus Christ and one of his disciples, a name who went by the title 'The Witch Hunter Emperor', were casually ambling through a market.

The Emperor wore a large cape with white, brown, and gold trim under his Puritan attire, representing strength, righteousness, and purity.

As the two observed the fresh fruits and vegetables on display, the ground began to make slight movements, which soon became violent.

Citizens and sellers began to flee as panicked screams filled the air.

The shaking suddenly stopped, resulting in the appearance of a massive green serpent with small demon wings emerging from the ground.

The snake's menacing gaze is directed at Jesus and the Emperor, and it suddenly lunges at them.

...

"... And after they defeated the serpent with the power of prayer, Gravesfield is saved thanks to Jesus and his disciple, The Witch Hunter Emperor!"

Philip's smile beamed with sinless pride as he stood before his entire class, displaying his childlike journal illustration of Jesus and The Witch Hunter Emperor being tossed in the air by the cheering citizens for defeating the serpent.

"..."

The brunette was expecting a more boisterous reaction from his classmates rather than blank stares.

"Philip, can you explain what any of that has to do with the Ten Commandments?" his teacher asked with a tired sigh while sitting at her desk.

"Uh..." As Philip's smile slowly faded, his cheeks and ears blushed pink, and he turned away from the teacher's gaze and looked at the floor.

His tired teacher signed once more. "Go take your seat."

Philip quickly looked up. "But--,"

His teacher's sharp, sour expression instructed him to refrain from speaking back and immediately take his seat, which he did.

Despite some of his peers still choosing to look at him, Philip attempted to pay attention as another student was called up to the front.

...

After the teacher rang her handheld bell, the class was dismissed as students started to leave and go to the door.

As Madison was beginning to walk out of the school door...

"Hello, Madison!" A cheerful Philip did not hesitate to greet his crush as he popped his head up from the bush that grew on the left side of the school entrance.

He was intentionally waiting for her to come out after him so that he could ask her a question.

"Eee!" Madison's surprise was palpable as she quickly turned her attention to the bush on her left.

The redhead with her hair in a bun bonnet saw Philip.

"Philip?" she asked as she blinked a few times, wondering what the brunette was doing in the bush.

Philip nodded. "May I smell your hair?" he requested kindly with a smile.

His brother instilled in him the importance of using good manners.

"Uh... sure?" Madison told him tentatively as she leaned the side of her face forward, allowing Philip to get a whiff of her hair, despite his question to do so being odd.

Once he did, his face instantly lit up. "Madison, your hair! It smells so pretty!"

"Oh!" The compliment caused a bit of blush to appear on her cheeks as she smiled. "Thank you, Phil--"

"Did you take a bath?" Philip gave a smile as he thought his question was a flattering remark.

However, Madison didn't take it that way.

She let out an offended gasp, giving Philip a glare as she started to walk away, clearly upset by his choice of words.

"W-Wait!" Philip stammered as he stretched out his hand, not wanting Madison to go.

The redhead came to a stop on her leather shoes and turned around.

"What?" she growled with flushed cheeks, attempting to suppress her tears.

Philip opened his satchel and reached inside, grabbing the dead bird and living snake that were inside.

"L-Look! I have presents for you!" he shyly squeaked out as he smiled a nervous smile.

Madison's eyes widened at the two animals in his hands as she admitted a terrified shriek and quickly took off.

"You're weird!" she shouted while running.

Hearing those words echo in his head, Philip felt his heart split in two.

"Oh...," he softly said as he felt his shoulders and head drop, slowly letting go of the bird and snake.

...

Caleb walked along the path in the woods that would lead him to town.

'Alright then, Caleb,' he began to tell himself in his mind, his tone commanding and determined. 'Your first duty when you arrive in town is to help Mr. Town Minister.'

Caleb acknowledges what he mentally instructed himself to do with a nod.

Caleb's arrival in town triggers a montage of him working at his various jobs.

...

With buckets of soapy water and soaked sponges, Caleb and Mr. Town Minister started to remove the vandalism that was written all over the meeting house by an unknown witch.

The minister scrunched his brows and grumbled under his breath as he scrubbed away the impertinent insults that were written about him.

Meanwhile, Caleb had to bite his tongue to avoid laughing at the sentence that said, 'Mr. Town Minister is a doo-doo head'.

It could have all been inside Caleb's head, but he swore he could hear someone cackling a witch-like cackle in the distance, but he couldn't see them.

...

After the vandalism was removed, Mr. Town Minister thanked Caleb and presented him with his payment, which consisted of a basket containing a small pouch of coins.

...

An image of Caleb's basket slides down the scene, transitioning it to the town bakery.

Inside, Mrs. Doughberry hands Caleb a brown sack filled with expired baked goods and orders him to take them behind her shop to bury them.

Once that task is completed, his payment, a small slice of mildly sweet vanilla cake, is added to his basket as the scene transitions to Mr. Bartlett's horse barn.

Opening the stable doors while holding a pitchfork and bucket, Caleb's nose is immediately hit with the foul stench of horse manure.

He scrunches up his nose and grimaces, staying close to the wide, barn doors.

Although he didn't want to go inside, he knew he had to in order to continue sustaining his brother and himself, so he slowly entered and closed the doors behind him.

After the stables were free of manure and smelled a lot better, Mr. Bartlett dropped a small pouch stuffed with coins into Caleb's basket.

...

Caleb is seen resting his back against a tall tree in the center of the woods, using a scrub to gently brush the feathers of a calm Henrietta as she sat on his lap as if sitting on an egg.

Each brush stroke results in her releasing a soft cluck as she settles more into Caleb.

After the final scrub, Caleb walks over to Mr. Kookman and hands his wife over to him.

He beams and spins her with joy, taking note of her well-brushed feathers.

Tucking Henrietta under his arm, Mr. Kookman begins to take Caleb's payment out of his pocket.

Pulling out his basket from behind his back, the blonde receives a half-bitten woolen sock as his neighbor gives him a genuine smile.

Caleb smiles awkwardly at him, choosing to remain polite while thanking Mr. Kookman as the montage ends.

...

"Oh, Philip!"

Caleb was cheerful and upbeat as he opened the cottage door and stepped inside, holding his basket filled with earnings from a day of hard work as he closed the door.

Silence persisted in the air as the elder didn't receive a response.

'Hmm, perhaps he hasn't arrived home yet?' Caleb pondered to himself as he headed toward the dining area.

As the blonde arrived in the room, he suddenly gasped as he froze at the entrance, staring at the dejected sight.

The air was still with silence and sorrow.

"Philip?" A concerned Caleb called out quietly to his brother as he hurried over to the table, taking a seat beside him.

He placed his basket down before placing a comforting hand on his back, rubbing the area with great gentleness.

"What's wrong?"

No answer.

"Did something happen at school?"

No reply from the brunette.

After another brief pause, Caleb chose to ask another question, this one more well-considered.

"Would you like to have a discussion about it once you're ready to talk?"

Philip didn't respond right away, but when he did, he replied with a small sigh and nodded his head, which was down on the table.

"Very well then, Pip," Caleb whispered, managing to shine a small smile down on his brother.

"Take your time. There's no rush. Do you recall the surprise I promised to make for you when I came home?"

"Yes?" A silent Philip finally spoke, his tone soft and tearful.

"Well, how about you watch me work on it. As it's being crafted, you can make guesses on what it is. How does that sound?"

As Philip slowly looked up at his brother, his lips perked into a soft, bittersweet smile.

"That sounds like fun," he said, still thinking a bit about what happened between him and his crush.

...

With a bright smile and hands placed politely on his knees while sitting criss-crossed, Philip keenly watched his brother begin to add an eye hole to the wooden surprise he was carving for him.

"Oh, oh! I already know what you're making me, Caleb!" Philip excitedly exclaimed with a small bounce as he directed his finger at the progressing work.

"You're making me a mask!"

Caleb chuckled as he confirmed Philip's answer with a nod while seated on the sitting room stump, carefully sinking his knife into the second eye hole he was creating.

"That's right, Pip, I am," Caleb said, carving holes in the top part of the mask. "And I'm almost finished, too!"

"You are? Hooray!" Philip cheered, clapping his hands excitedly.

The elder gestured for the younger to hand him the two antler-shaped branches that were lying nearby on the floor, and once he did so with a giggle, Caleb attached them inside the holes like horns.

"Ooo, they look like mandibles!" Philip beamed out with a wide smile.

Caleb gave a chuckle. "Mandi-what, Pip?" he asked, puzzled by the new word.

"They're the mouthpart of an insect," Philip explained. "Beetles have them!"

Beetles were his favorite insects.

"Ooooh!" Caleb went in realization. "Hmm... I thought they looked more like deer antlers."

After a short-lived thought, he shrugged his shoulders. "I guess they can be both."

...

After affixing a string onto the mask, Caleb was finally done.

He smiled fondly at his creation, then at Philip.

"Look, Pip, I've finished your mask!" Caleb said, showing it to Philip. "Come try it on!"

Philip gasped.

"Oh, boy!" Springing toward Caleb, Philip took his new mask and placed it on his face.

"How is it?" Caleb inquired while watching blue eyes blink inside the rounded eye holes.

"It's..."

A shaky smile started to spread on Caleb's face as he watched Philip slowly direct his gaze to the ground in an almost eerie manner.

He didn't even notice his eye holes growing hollow.

Caleb silently prayed that his brother liked the mask.

"... Awesome!" Philip looked up to Caleb with a big smile, his eyes visible once more, which made the blonde breathe out a sigh of relief and wipe his brow.

"How do I look?"

"So cool!" Caleb complimented as he continued. "If a witch came across you, they would certainly perceive you as one of them."

Knowing that got Philip pumped, imagining himself as a great Witch Hunter General who managed to trick every witch he met wearing his mask before leading them to their deaths.

"Yay!" Philip beamed before speedily wrapping Caleb in a hug.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, so much, Caleb! Now we can play..."

"Witch Hunters!"

Both boys beam at the same time as they enthusiastically emerge behind a shiny pastel background filled with shimmering skulls and severed witch heads, with the words "Witch Hunters!" above them in rainbow glitter letters.

With Philip's wooden sword raised triumphantly in the air and Caleb, wearing his witch hat and cape during this moment, now raising his clenched fist, the scene transitions to the woods.

...

"Get back here, you speedy little witch hunter!"

"You'll never catch me, you fowl witch!"

Caleb, the wildest and most cunning witch in Gravesfield, was quite fast, but not as fast as Philip, the greatest and most feared witch hunter who ever lived.

A small, stealthy smile crept across Caleb's lips as he continued his mission to catch Philip, sharp brown eyes trying to pick out any sign of the hunter.

Caleb became more vigilant with every rustle of the leaves and trees, every crunch and snap of the twigs he stepped on, and every shadow that seemed to move independently.

Upon hearing a rustle behind a nearby bush, Caleb sprinted and was prepared to jump on it.

While running, he heard Philip taunt him from a distance and stopped, keenly listening.

"I'm not there, you silly witch. If you want to see me, you must go further," Philip advised, his daring voice echoing through the woods.

Caleb let out a giggle as he walked toward where he heard the echo.

This was by far his and Philip's most fun game of Witch Hunters yet.

"There you are, witch hunter!" Caleb approached Philip, who he saw standing on a small, rocky hill.

"So, this is where you chose to hide from me," he cackled, not paying much attention to the brown rope end that Philip was holding.

Philip shook his fist. "I wouldn't come closer if I were you, witch!" he warned, which only made Caleb cackle once more as he took another step.

"Oh, yeah?" the blonde hummed in a playful tone, holding up both of his hands as he was ready to cast a witchy spell.

Ominously wiggling his fingers, he asked, "And why's that?"

Caleb was standing precisely in the spot where Philip desired him to be.

The witch was oblivious to the fact that he had fallen into his trap with such ease.

Pulling tightly onto the rope end, the noose that was spread on the ground entraps Caleb as he loses balance and falls.

"That's why, witch!" Hopping down from the hill, Philip pulls out his wooden sword and raises it up over Caleb.

"Now DIE!" Philip roars, his eye holes hollow as he repeatedly plunges his weapon into Caleb's stomach.

The elder smiles broadly and closes his eyes, hanging his tongue out.

The "witch" was now "dead".

Placing his foot on the now "deceased demon", Philip takes on a heroic stance and wholeheartedly states, "Gravesfield is once again safe thanks to Witch Hunter General Philip!"

"Alright, Witch Hunter General," Caleb began as he broke character and opened his eyes.

"Time for us to play a different game," he chuckled with a smile.

...

A trio consisting of a woman in a coif and two men, one with dark hair and one with blonde hair, strolled smoothly through the town market.

As they began passing by a large wooden crate that was situated between two empty vendor booths...

PBBBT!!!

The horrendous sound immediately caused the three to stop, and they awkwardly shifted glances at one another, wondering who broke wind.

The woman, offended by the fact that the two gentlemen who were accompanying her would even assume that she would do such a sinful thing in public, begins to glare daggers at the two.

Tap, tap, tap, went her foot as she awaited for one or both of them to confess and repent.

When they didn't, the men both received sharp slaps to the faces from the woman as she huffed and walked away.

PBBBT!!!

Both men stared awkwardly at one another as they slowly backed away from each other.

Behind the crate, the faintest of giggles could be heard.

"I can't believe you convinced me to play such a game, Pip," whispered a giggly Caleb, who had just witnessed his brother blow the loudest raspberry. "It's so silly. If we get caught, we'll get into so much trouble."

"We won't," a giggly Philip whispered in a hushed tone as he pointed a finger at upcoming people. "Oh look, more people are coming, Caleb!"

Both boys began to form playful smiles.

A montage begins as various people pass by the crate that Philip and Caleb are hiding behind.

They hear a sharp and sudden raspberry, which they mistakenly believe is flatulence.

Their reactions, which were either confusion, shock, disgust, or embarrassment, cause the boys to chuckle quietly every time.

Caleb's chuckle attack is a result of Philip imitating a few of their reaction faces.

The boys continued to blow raspberries and softly laugh until the sky turned purple-black and was filled with stars, leading to the end of the montage.

...

"The sky sure is pretty, isn't it, Pip?" Caleb asked Philip.

The blonde found himself getting lost in the beauty of the night sky as he gazed upward, him and his brother still seated behind the large wooden crate.

"Mm-hm," Philip hummed listlessly in agreement, sitting with his knees drawn up as he gazed downward at the dirt, dragging his pointer finger across it.

Suddenly, a shooting star streaked brightly across the night sky.

Upon recalling his mother's words about shooting stars, Caleb gave a small gasp.

"Pip, look, look!" The blonde beamed, pointing a finger at the sky while gently tugging on his brother's yoke.

"Did you see that shooting star? It flew by so fast! We have to make a..."

As his brother sighed, Caleb gazed down at him, and all the enthusiasm in his voice slowly disappeared.

"... wish," he whispered, a look of concern crossing his face. "What's wrong, Pip?"

Philip sighed once more. "Do you remember when you asked me if something happened at school while we were at the table?"

Caleb nodded. "I do." The elder wrapped his arm around Philip's shoulder, pulling him close.

"Well," Philip softly continued, resting his head on Caleb's shoulder. "There's this girl that I really..."

Philip paused, not ready to reveal his feelings for Madison to Caleb.

"She... I tried to give her gifts, but she ran away and said that... I was weird."

"I see," Caleb said, softly rubbing his brother's back. "And what were the gifts you attempted to give her?"

"A dead bird and a snake," Philip revealed calmly. "They were really nice."

"O-Oh..." Caleb tried to conceal his shock by curling his lips into a small, caring smile.

"Well, you really like to write, Pip. Maybe you can write her an apology letter. I'll even try to help you with it. In addition to the letter, you can also give her gifts that are more... suitable for girls."

"Like what?" Philip asked innocently, looking up at his brother.

"Like... flowers!" Caleb answered. "Girls really like flowers. It's possible that if you gave this girl some flowers, she would really start to like you."

"Really?" The brunette started to perk up, knowing that they had flour at home.

Caleb nodded.

"Well, she did seem to really like it when I told her that her hair smelled pretty," Philip said, reminiscing on the moment as slight blush dusted his cheeks.

"I then asked her if she took a bath, but that's only because there's no way your hair could smell that good if you hadn't bathed, right Caleb?"

Before Caleb could react and respond to his brother's statement and question, both boys fell silent to the sound of upcoming footsteps.

Slowly poking their heads up, they both proceeded to see the shadow of a cloaked figure about Caleb's height, but slightly shorter, dawdling down the walkway.

The figure appeared feminine and had fluffy hair under their hood.

"Who is that?" Philip whispered, in which Caleb shrugged in response.

When the cloaked figure abruptly stopped between the crate and a booth on the right, they turned their head to the left, and Caleb and Philip quickly sunk down.

The mysterious figure's footsteps approached, causing both boys to feel their hearts race.

As the figure slowly attempts to peer behind the crate to determine who is present...

"THERE YOU ARE, WITCH!"

The figure, alarmed by the shouting, raises their head to see Mr. Town Minister running toward them.

Without delay, they start taking off immediately.

"STOP RIGHT THERE!" the minister shouted once more as the cat and mouse chase between him and the figure continued.

A loud, witchy cackle was heard by the figure due to their speed advantage over the minister.

'There's that same laugh from earlier today...' thought Caleb as he and Philip snuck off in the direction that led them out of town.

...

"... Did you see the way the minister was chasing that witch?"

As Philip asked his question, his blue eyes were big and bright with admiration while Caleb nodded with a smile and a yawn as both boys entered their home.

After the front door was closed, Caleb continued to follow Philip.

"He's so brave!" the brunette beamed with cheer as he and his brother were nearing the dining room.

"I hope that when I become a Witch Hunter General, I'll be just as good at hunting witches as he is."

"Yeah, me too!" Caleb said, his smile still present as he yawned out a second yawn.

As soon as they entered the dining area, both boys gasped and widened their eyes at the unwelcome guest in the room.

"Hey!" Philip's shout seems to attract the attention of the white-tailed deer near the table.

It froze for a moment before lifting its head out of Caleb's basket, fixing its gaze on the two children.

The boys and the deer's stares were short-lived as the woodland animal used its teeth to grab hold of the basket handle before making a beeline for the sitting room, which caused Philip and Caleb to gasp and quickly give chase after it.

Chaos and commotion dominated the atmosphere as rambunctious footsteps rang out from the running.

...

The Wittebane household was now in tune with the quietness of the night as faint and gentle snores could be heard in the sitting room.

Philip, Caleb, and the deer were sleeping in a cluster on the rug in the room, under a large blanket that was draped over them.

Meanwhile, the basket was atop the sitting room's stump.

[sweet-n-s4lty]

Winter's Warmer With You.

The coming winter season was always well welcomed, at least by you. Nothing compared to the content that came with the chilled gales and the childish giddiness that followed the first snowfall of the season, each ivory petal that danced through the sky acting as your own bundle of joy wrapped in icy comfort.

The ashen blankets that swept over the suburban streets of your town seemingly brought comfort with the inevitable nights by the fireplace, curled in jumpers much too big for you,  the knitted wool swallowing you whole— or the walks home from school, where the snow crunching under your boots was audible despite the soft melodies that lulled you into a comfortable stroll. 

But not everyone enjoyed winter. You knew that because your best friend didn’t.

Ino Takuma was a sucker for the milder seasons. The only cold he was able to handle was the soft whistles of chill delivered every Autumn. And Spring was, if anything, perfect. Despite spending most of it sneezing, the tip of his nose hilariously dusted a familiar shade of pink, he enjoyed the gentle rays of sunshine that melted away the ghastly icicles and brought forth the beautiful site of fresh blooms. 

He hated Summer too, make no mistake, but he could handle the sweltering hell. And at least summer was fun. 

But Winter? It was dull, gloomy, his days were filled with less time to get everything done as if the cold nights he hated so much grew greedier, swallowing the already short hours whole. 

Ino Takuma was, if anything, an avid winter hater.

“How cold is it, damn!” He chattered. He was wrapped in a huge jacket, engulfed by the black material. His mask that usually lay graciously on his head was replaced by a thick woolly hat, a courtesy of you. Thick gloves engulfed his fingers, ones that previously were around your own hands. For someone who hated Winter so much, you’d assume that he’d perhaps ready himself for the harsh climate well before the first snowfall had even started, but you’d learnt quickly that Ino hated planning maybe more than he did winter. 

“Forecast said 2 degrees. C’mon, it isn’t that bad, usually, it's worse, much much worse.” You hummed, smiling behind the scarf wrapped around your neck, the fabric coming up to cover your lips slightly.

“I hate December.” He grumbled.

“If you think about it, this is like our own version of the olive theory.” You hummed in thought, lending him an earphone. He took it gingerly and scooted closer to you, seeking a warmth you weren’t sure you could provide. 

“...We must have a lot of olive theories then, we disagree on a lot.”

“That coz you hate everything.” You laughed, resting your head on top of his as you felt a welcomed weight on your shoulder. He scoffed at that. 

He stayed with you after that. Refusing to leave the comfort of your home, situating himself snugly by the fireplace. You smiled as you walked over with a cup of hot chocolate which he graciously accepted with a wobbly “What would I do without you?” and a lopsided grin. You smiled and took a seat on the armchair, curling into a small bundle of warmth yourself.

“Thank you again for letting me stay, {Name}. I think I would’ve been pronounced dead if i stayed at my place— this is good cocoa too.” He added the last part with a boyish grin.

“What, heating doesn’t work?” 

“Nope. Shitty Landlord won’t do anything about it either— stingy pig.” He scoffed. Ino was always welcome at your home. Frankly, he was such a frequent visitor that your parents dubbed him their son, your mother fed him whenever he stopped by, and your father constantly gave advice to him, whether it was requested or not. It was sweet how his presence had wormed its way into your life, how every family photo had a little feature of him in it, whether it be him smiling alongside you, arm around your shoulder, or his skateboard in the background, aimlessly blending into the scene, or even you smiling wide, wearing a shirt he’d left during his last stay, so him here to seek refuge from the cruel sweeping gales wasn’t out of the ordinary, in fact, it was welcomed.

“You could stay with us—”

“Outta the question, ya Ma and Pa are already so welcoming, I don’t wanna intrude.” You shook your head,.

“No, stupid, they love it when you’re over, I think they like you more than me—” You chided, laughing slightly.

“ I still feel bad…” He sighed, taking a sip from his mug. You rolled your eyes, a little annoyed about how much he viewed himself as a burden than anything else. 

So now you were at his house, it was late at night and tonight, Ino declined invitation to your cosy abode— His work piling up so much, he was sure it’d take him a decade to finish it. So an unexpected visit was maybe a little more welcome than he let on. 

“Thought we could stay warm together.” 

“Wha— huh?” He chuckled through chattering teeth. You set down the many many bags you had held in your hands on the living room floor, setting down blanket after blanket, plushie after plushie, and brought a small mini heater, struggling to pull it out of your backpack. How you even fit it in there, he didn’t know, but he wanted to hug you close, so thigh you’d pop, just for even considering his hatred of the cold. “All o’ this for me?”

“Yep–” You smiled. “Thought warmth and company would be appreciated on this cold winter evening.”  He sat carefully next to you, his laptop tucked under his arm. His body was thick with the multitude of layers, it was like he’d morphed into a human pillow. You wrapped him in a particularly fuzzy blanket before covering yourself in one and resting your head, watching him work. In the next few minutes, the apartment was shrouded in snugness it lacked before.

taglist: @stillnotherapy

Lwk, not tewww proud of this one, but we move

[trashytoastboi]

Day of Faith - Simeon

~Spicy Sin-Ario F! Version~

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

> Female Version

> Word count: 1,181 words

> Warning: NSFW (Teasing, hand job, grinding)

Simeon and {Name} had been spending the day together, a little stay at home date. Not feeling for the hustle and bustle of the Devildom right now especially when there was a music festival currently ongoing and an onslaught of tourists that came in droves and made the place way busier than usual. So Simeon and {Name} opted for something more private and quiet. They watched movies, horrors that got suggested to them while bundled up together, entwined in each other's arms. Simeon would get the occasional fright, felt by his arms tightening around her whenever the jumpscares got to him. Simeon did use it as an excuse to pull her closer, he stroked her hair to comfort her even though it was more for himself. Simeon placed a kiss atop {Name’s} head asking if she was still liking the movie. She smiled up at him and turned to return all of Simeon’s sweet affections. Pressing a soft kiss to his lips, another, and another…The angel blushed and one upped her with a chuckle. His lips drifted over her jaw, her neck and down her chest. All soft and unsuspecting kisses. It was innocent. Was.

 {Name} sighs with the gentle touch of his lips against her neck, Simeon’s hands pulled her a little closer. He got a little more needy with his kisses, they got a little deeper and didn’t feel quite as chaste anymore. Simeon pulls away “Sorry was that too much?” He brushes the hair from her face. {Name} takes the step closer this time round, deepening the kiss and slowly working her tongue into his mouth, his clumsy tongue tries to keep up with her teasing getting more tangled than anything. The angel moans low into the kiss, growing more aware of her body against his. The heat of it, so nice and pleasant. It’s comforting. Their positions keep moving, shifting and evolving until Simeon is on top of {Name}, his weight resting between her legs while a hand steadies himself on her waist. Down, a little more, an anxious hand squeezes her thigh earning a soft giggle from her. It’s cute to see how heated Simeon is getting without realizing how easily worked up he is. His movements show their clumsiness, still persisting with a boldness {Name} could appreciate. {Name} covers his hand with her own, keeping it in place and silently encouraging him to continue. It’s permission and guidance. 

Simeon only riles himself up more, he holds her close. Desperate to feel more, Simeon slowly begins to rut against her without thinking too much about it until it feels good. {Name} lets out a soft moan as Simeon grinds against her. His small whines and moans are music to her ears, the movie in the background seems to become just that- background noise. She wraps her legs around his waist, accommodating him getting harder with his rutting against her. Simeon kisses her hungrily, not rough, demanding and yearning. Simeon bites his lip and squeezes his eyes closed. He buries his face into her neck, whining and only getting more antsy with all the rutting. “Mm…{Name}...” he moans her name. His kisses get sloppy and inconsistent against her neck, {Name} can hear his voice getting higher and more strained. His body trembles against hers, whimpering all the while cumming in his pants as he nuzzles into her. 

Simeon finally comes back to his senses, apologizing profusely for getting so carried away and embarrassed by the stains on his pants when he made himself finish like that. {Name} peppered his face in kisses, reassuring Simeon to calm down and stop with the constant flow of apology. Simeon looked more sheepish than apologetic, prompting a look of inquiry from {Name}. The angel leaned over, “I want more…” He murmured sweetly, taking advantage of {Name’s} desire to put him at ease. {Name} decides she may as well do the same, if he wanted more then she would provide while helping herself at the same time. She instructed Simeon to sit up, bringing his legs up a bit when she straddled one of his thighs.

{Name} wrapped her arms around his shoulders, keeping him close and his eyes on her. She brought Simeon into a gentle embrace with soft kisses while grinding down against his thigh, soft breaths and moans spilled into the kiss when Simeon pulled away she’d softly tut “Focus here” He paused, to look down at where she was moving her hips, wishing it was something else she was moving so skillfully on. His eyes went back to her face, {Name’s} eyes shut in concentration as she slowly inched closer to her release, the angel moved his hands to her hips in the hopes of assisting and helping her move. He wondered if this is what he looked like when losing himself- no, he couldn’t be as pretty as {Name} he thinks. {Name’s} pace faltered for a brief moment, regaining its rhythm with more urgency when she softly muttered the words “I’m close…” Simeon nodded, wanting to watch her expression closely, he lifted his leg a little to have his thigh provide a little more pressure. “There…there…” She whispered to herself when her brows knitted and {Name} bit her lip as the shuddering feeling crept and washed over her as she came on his thigh. {Name} caught her breath and opened her glossy eyes to look at Simeon who stared at her flustered appearance, “Simeon? What’s wrong?” {Name} asked gently, watching the angel squirm a little in his seat and a prominent bulge jutting from his pants told her everything she needed to know. Simeon bit back a small moan when her hands made quick work of his pants, enough to free his aching cock. {Name} saw his cum covered cock already dripping and begging for more, it twitched in her hand when she lazily stroked it. Simeon’s body jolts every time she moves her hand, “Gonna cum again?” {Name} asked softly and nipped his earlobe. Simeon frantically nodded. {Name} smiled and teased as her hand slipped off his cock “It’s so wet, hard for me to stay on” she chuckled, sliding her hand all the way down and squeezing the base. Simeon groaned, shutting his eyes as his breath got heavier, the small repeated pleas begged for her hand to move again. {Name} slid her hands up again, slipped off again. Simeon whined “Please?”It's not fair when he makes a face like that. Her hand tightened its grip as she moved faster in small shallow pumps, Simeon’s moans went in time with every quick pump. His head was thrown back and mouth hanging open as he tried to stop her. Simeon’s cum came out in quick, violent ropes that coated both him and {Name}. He looked defeated, out of breath and floating in bliss all at the same time. {Name} kissed Simeon softly telling him how cute he is. Simeon pouted slightly at the constant teasing, he looked up at her. “I’ll make you feel good too…” he mumbled before having {Name} positioned beneath him.

Taglist: @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @roninfromtheops

[edupunkn00b]

The Vulture, Chapter 2: The Hermit

Photo of a vulture sitting on a dead tree branch by Abhishek Singh via Unsplash, colored by edupunkn00b

Prev - The Hermit - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ] Special shout out to @anxious-mess19 who read an early version of this story and provided some much-needed encouragement. Thank you!! - The Hermit guides Death to someone who can help. As does Virgil. -

Bones’ hooves clattered against the bare stone as she broke through the snow and soil-covered trail. The sharp echo announced their arrival to anyone still awake in the village. An owl hissed and a well-fed barn cat stirred at their approach. She eyed them for a moment but quickly dismissed them and resumed her pose stalking the mice hidden around the granary. 

The inn was quiet and still, a single lantern hung next to the bell for any nighttime arrivals. Warmed by blood seeping through the cloak he’d wrapped around the Musician, Death shook his head. The innkeepers would be ill-equipped to deal with injuries like this. He needed more help than they could lend.

But there was one other villager who might still be awake.

A shadow moved three buildings down. “Just a bit further,” he whispered. To Bones, to the Musician. To himself.

“Hermit!” he called, louder, as the shadow retreated. Soft leather soles scraped on the alley’s stones and a slouched, hooded form emerged from the darkness. 

“Come for me at last, old friend?” he asked, meeting his eyes like few else would. Head held high and voice clear, there was still fear in his gaze.

“Not yet.” Death shook his head. “He needs help,” he said, peeling back enough of the cloak to reveal the Musician’s paled face.

The Hermit swore and hobbled closer, the grip on his walking stick steadier than his feet. “What’s happened to him?” he asked, eyes narrowed as he peered up at Death. “And why are you trying to heal him?”

“Not his time,” Death muttered, using the cloak to dry the cooled sweat from the Musician’s brow and face. “Will you help?”

The Hermit wrapped bony fingers around the Musician’s wrist and frowned. “There’s no-one here with the power to help him,” he said after a long while. “You must take him to the Kingdom of Light, to the Star’s glade.

Gently releasing the Musician’s wrist, he tucked the cloak back around his form. “He needs time and the Star can give it to him.”

Death tightened his grip on the Musician. “Unless I am taking a soul, I am unwelcome in the Kingdom of Light.”

The Hermit tilted his head and patted the bundled form in Death’s arms. “Perhaps they will see differently when you are bringing back a soul instead.” Without waiting for Death’s assent, he turned and started down the far path out of the village. “Come,” the Hermit called back. “Unless you are afraid.”

“Never.” He loosened the reins and clucked his tongue, urging Bones on to follow.

Plucking up the lantern by the inn, the Hermit led them down a narrow path between some of the oldest buildings in the village. As the lantern’s beam swayed with the Hermit’s steps, thin golden light caught on score marks from the original stone wall along the lowest joints. “Building’s even older than I am,” he muttered, sending an almost smile over his shoulder.

“Nothing’s older than I am,” Death replied.

Though his visits to Kingdom of Light were rare, Death had believed he’d found every path between the village and the surrounding kingdoms. He’d been wrong.

The moon still peeked out over the horizon by the time they reached a quartz archway, sparkling gold veins glowing in the lantern light. 

He shivered as they passed beneath and Bones’ foot sank quietly into soft, green clover. She knickered, ears twitching happily, and trotted after the Hermit as he moved faster through the field than Death had ever seen him move.

Well, faster than he’d seen him move in a long, long time.

The sky seemed brighter on this side of the imagined border between the kingdoms, stars twinkling in tandem with their footsteps. Owls hooted protectively, and gone were the constant quiet skitters Death had stopped hearing on the other side of the archway. Even the Vulture kept his distance here, heavy wings beating the air as he circled near the northern border.

As they moved deeper into the Kingdom of Light, biting frost gave way to sweet, warm air. Free of snow, the clover didn’t crunch beneath their feet. Instead it bounced back and a fresh earthen scent wafted up as they made their way closer to the Star’s glade.

“I see him,” the Hermit whispered, raising his walking stick in greeting at a flash of bright blue and gold light behind a thicket of evening primrose and moonflowers. The susurration of the nearby falls filled the air, a bubbling rush moving closer before disappearing in the surrounding glade. “We come to ask for your help,” he called, louder.

The Hermit, too, was different on this side of the border, his ashen grey cloak taking on a purple cast in the moonlight. He stood taller, too, his movements smoother and stronger. Death tugged his cloak away from the Musician’s face.

His skin had lost some of its waxy sheen and his lips had pinkened. Deadweight still in his arms, Death imagined he breathed easier.

He was surprised when Bones stopped short and tore his gaze away from the Musician. A figure wrapped in gossamer blue stood before them with tousled, flaxen waves falling over eyes the color of the woods. The figure smiled.

~

“I dunno what happened. I dunno, I dunno, I dunno…” Remus shook his head, fingers twisted in Roman’s blood-soaked sash. He stared at his brother’s pale face, beads of sweat broken out over both their foreheads. “I found him like this on my side.”

“Okay, alright…” Virgil blew out a sharp breath, shaking hands dragging through his hair when Roman groaned. “Okay, we need Patton.” He started to turn toward the stairs, beckoning Remus closer when he didn’t move. His voice started to double. “And his room. Nostalgia’s bad for me but it’ll help him feel better.”

Remus shook his head, eyes wide. “Pat… Pat doesn’t like me in his room. I…” The last time he’d been in there, he’d made all the stuffed bears walk, climbing up the four-postered bed and dive bombing the photo frames. He hadn’t meant to. It was an old game Tommy-gun had played with his brothers when they’d snuck into their parents’ bedroom. It had just… happened. Combined with the nostalgic power of Patton’s room, Remus’ recreation of the memory had shifted. The frames had shattered and the bears had dropped to the floor, howling in pain as shards of glass stuck out from their fluffy bodies. Sticky pink blood spilled all over the floor, matting the plush carpet and soaking through Patton’s cat-slipper socks.

Fists full of his brother’s torn and blood stained tunic he shook his head. No fucking way he’d let Ro go where he couldn’t follow. Not again. Not if it meant—

“Dammit, Re! He needs—” He cut himself off when his voice went full Tempest. The lights in the common room flickered then blared, Virgil’s insistence and Remus’ refusal colliding in harsh white light spilling out from the tiny nightlights.

Remus wouldn’t budge. Virge was strong but he was getting panicked and more in the run-away-and-hide way and not the oh-this-18-wheeler’s-in-my-way-better-move-it kinda way. He couldn’t carry Roman up on his own and he couldn’t make Remus do it, either. Not by force anyway, and they both knew it.

“That’s not—” Scowling, he stepped closer and tugged at the frills on Remus’ sleeve, his voice quieter. “Pat will want you there him.”

Virgil met his eyes, and a spark of his old energy broke Remus out of his spiral. “Okay,” he whispered, sliding his arms under Roman’s shoulders and knees and lifting him up and off the couch. “Let’s go.”

They blipped upstairs, standing side-by-side in front of the sky blue door covered in sparkly stickers and photos of the Sides. All the Sides, with a couple of Remus and Janus from the Christmas gift exchange and even one from the first day Remus tried out his air fryer with him and Lucas. He swallowed hard, frozen with Roman in his arms.

It was Virgil who knocked, and the door quickly swung open. “Hey, Kiddos, everything ok—” Sleepy brown eyes grew wide at the sight of Roman’s blood. “Ohmygod, Ro!” he cried and pulled them all inside his room.

[kittttycakes]

passing strange

summary: Being human is something new. Morpheus struggles; how strange it is to be anything at all.

relationship(s): Morpheus x OC (Grace Talbot) x Hob Gadling

rating: G

contents: 1.8k, established relationship, post-The Kindly Ones, light angst, hurt/comfort, hopeful ending

note: This can be considered an alternate version of what could, but likely will not, happen in the “as heart for heart” universe in the future.

Grace stood in the dark of the bedroom, trying to make out the shape of Morpheus under the duvet cover. The curtains had been drawn, and the entire room felt like a cocoon, dim and warm. Hob had said to give him time, and they had, they both had, but he couldn’t live in their bed for the rest of his life, being intermittently coaxed into eating some dry toast or gently bundled into the shower in the hopes that being clean would help, in some ineffable way.

“I know you’re awake,” she said softly. “Come on. Put your trousers on. We’re going out.”

“I do not wish to go out,” Morpheus replied after a long moment, his voice muffled.

“I know that, too. Come anyway.”

To her surprise, he did sit up, the duvet sliding off of him to puddle in his lap. Under other, better circumstances, she would have teased him for his dandelion hair, the inky black strands sticking up haphazardly in all directions.

He was surprised as well, she thought. She had not, since it happened, pushed him too hard on anything at all. This was the first time she had tried.

“We aren’t going anywhere far,” Grace continued, conciliatory. “You don’t even have to put on proper shoes if you’d rather not.”

That was what did it. Morpheus stood, pulling on the pair of jeans that Hob had laid at the foot of the bed for him, had he wanted to get dressed that day. They were Hob’s, and did not exactly fit, but were at least something. He could tolerate denim, had worn it before, and seemed to prefer the familiarity of it to the unknown of something new and bought expressly for him.

“Here,” she said, picking up a sweater that lay, discarded, over the door of the wardrobe. Hob had worn it ages ago, it felt like, their bedroom trapped in amber, preserved, to the day before it had happened, but the cashmere still smelt slightly of his cologne.

Morpheus pulled it over his head, further rumpling his hair. The weather was warm enough, then, for slippers instead of proper shoes, soft breeze and sunshine, an unexpected gift in the middle of the newly awakened spring, but Morpheus grew cold so easily that she didn’t dare risk bare arms, too. Grace watched as he dressed, both so like and unlike himself that it made her heart ache.

She took his hand, as she had a hundred times before, leading him down the back stairs, behind the public face of the New Inn, out to the garden.

-

Morpheus moved without thinking, tilting his face, eyes closed, towards the sun. He had felt one thousand different suns before, but never this sun on this skin. It was the first time he had even considered leaving the flat since it had happened. It was something in her voice; this, too, was care, albeit of a different kind.

Grace pulled at him gently, moving them both to sit on the bench. They sat in silence for what felt to Morpheus like quite some time, Grace a warm and familiar presence beside him. After having spent some time there, his breathing falling into sync with hers, he asked, “Why have you brought us here?”

“I thought you might like a change of scenery from the bedroom,” she said, glancing over at him before looking back out at the newly budding and blooming flowers. Her tone was light, but not entirely sincere. Even as he was, he knew her well enough to know this.

“You might have opened the curtains,” he replied. He had not let go of her hand.

She smiled slightly. “I could have. But this is better, isn’t it?”

Morpheus hummed softly, which was not an answer.

There was another pause, less comfortable than the first, and then: “I’m going to say something, and when I’m finished, if you’d like to go back inside, we can.”

He swallowed, an uncomfortable gesture that he became increasingly aware was simply a fact of his new existence. So this, then, was what apprehension felt like in the body.

“There is so much that I owe to your sister, you know,” she began, which was not at all what Morpheus could have even begun to guess that she would say. “For what she did for Hob. For you. For me, even, in a way. I’ll spend the rest of my life thanking her every chance I get and it won’t be enough.”

There was little doubt who Grace referred to. Was she still his sister, he wondered, even like this?

“But I also know—I know she didn’t ask you. I know he didn’t either, your brother. They couldn’t, exactly, I suppose, under the circumstances. And I can’t pretend to know what you would have wanted, if you’d been asked. I don’t know if you know now what you would have said, not really.”

She would not look at him. Something painful twisted itself in a knot around his heart; that she would think that he would have given them both up, even in his current state, was unthinkable. He could not find the words to tell her this. Perhaps someday he would.

Grace took a deep breath, her grip on his hand tightening almost painfully. “What I’m trying to say is—you have to want this, too. Not us, not me and Hob, but all of it. Being alive. Being human. And I wanted to show you just a tiny part of it that isn’t so bad, and that’s quite nice, actually. I’d like to keep showing you those things.”

For a moment, Morpheus imagined what it would be like, to allow her to show him. What did she consider the things that made life worth living? He could guess, but he did not know, he realized. He knew the bigger picture, her curiosity, the shape of her love, the instability of her mind, but what drew her out of bed when the weight of it all felt too great? Did it feel that way to her, that muffling of emotion, that he struggled to find his way out of? Had she ever felt what he felt?

“I know you don’t go in much, for human things,” she continued. “Or—you didn’t, for yourself, even if I think you did like some of them.” Grace paused, looking out over the flower beds. She and Hob had planted them together; Morpheus remembered. The Dreaming had styled itself accordingly.

“I can’t know what you’re feeling. I’ve never been anything more than this. And I won’t ask you to tell me what you’re feeling, either, not yet. Not if you don’t want to. But I hope you know that you can. To me, or to Hob.”

Morpheus thought, but did not say, that the trouble was not that he did not wish to speak to them. He did, quite desperately. It was only that the words seemed to have left him, and he did not know how to bring them back.

“I do know,” he said, at last. Grace would have let them sit in silence on that bench, he knew, until the last of the sun faded, until Hob came to find them, to drag them both inside. “Perhaps you might show me something, now.”

Grace smiled at him, as warm as the sun.

-

Hob found them in the garden, having exhausted all other possible locations in the flat. Upon finding the bed empty, he had looked in the bathtub, and having quickly rejected the idea that Morpheus would set foot in the pub any time soon, he proceeded outside. He would not panic, he told himself, although the rising tide of it lapped at him, threatening to pull him under. If they were not there, he would call for help, but surely Grace would have said if they were going anywhere at all.

He and Grace had been a bit overambitious when it came to the planting of the garden. But it would be their last year there, at least for some time, and he had wanted it to be beautiful for her, a lovely memory of the place they had lived first. He had hardly thought about it in weeks.

Grace, he saw, had knelt beside one of the slightly overgrown beds. It was a wonder that it hadn’t all died; neither of them had been in any fit state to tend it, but there it was, green and healthy, with the first flowers beginning to bud in whites and pinks, yellows and purples. He was briefly grateful that neither of them had chosen red. He didn’t think he could bear the sight of it.

Morpheus stood behind her, peering over her shoulder, to look where she was pointing. There, half hidden but still thriving, the first daffodils raised their heads. He would have given them time—had, in fact, been considering how best to make a quiet exit without alerting either of them to his presence in the first place, when Grace looked over, caught his eye, and smiled. She inclined her head just slightly, an invitation that he was powerless to resist.

“Good day?” he asked as neutrally as he could as he approached, his hands in his pockets. Grace didn’t answer, looking up at Morpheus, her eyes searching his face for something Hob wasn’t sure she would find.

“I believe that it may be,” Morpheus said at last, and did not quite smile, but it was really very nearly there. Hob felt something in his heart relax. It would all be well, he thought, and this time, he believed it.

-

It was terribly strange, Morpheus thought, to have a body. He climbed the stairs back up to the flat, between Grace above him and Hob below. He could feel everything, had been able to feel it all, ever since the intervention of his sister. It was strange and new; he had been so used to only feeling what he liked, that he had stopped considering any sensation that did not serve him. Dream of the Endless only needed a body insofar as it served his current purpose, but Morpheus was no longer Dream. The concept of it would have brought him low, before, and had, in the days and weeks prior. What was he, without that purpose that he had lived millennia for? In the very back of his mind, he was beginning to want to find out.

For the first time in a month, he sat on the sofa while Hob and Grace prepared dinner, half able to see them from his vantage point, listening to the sound of plates being taken down, the rise and fall of their voices. He was surprised to find that he was hungry, another sensation that he had only ever felt rarely, in what he was now forced to think of as his past life.

How strange, he thought again, and unbidden, a second thought followed: how wonderful.

[faroreskiss]

The Power of Understanding / Part 4 (v2)

Read on Ao3

Cheat Sheet

Rewritten version posted on: 2023/09/10

Chapters: Pilot, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

This chapter can be also read as a stand-alone, it is only here to provide more information about the relationship between Wild & You & Flora. This SFW chapter also serves as an Epilogue to "Unnatural Coincidences" (NSFW)

In this chapter: Learn more about what happened between you, Wild and Flora prior to meeting the Chain. What happened the night after you... shared each other?

Summary: You have been with the Chain for a while now, as their "scholar" and translator. You know everything about them, because you are from our world. But do they know the truth about how you can understand everyone? Loosely based on the same reader in my NSFW fic, which has some info about the Reader here. You don't have to read it. Warnings: Rated teen, slightly spicy but SFW. VERY FLUFFY! Flora x Fem!Reader x Wild (Zelda x Fem!Reader x Wild)

The day the Chain first dropped into your life for the first time, it was… odd timing, to say the least.

It was the day right after the night you, Zelda, and Link, well… enjoyed each other’s company in a very specific way. Without clothes. Very, very closely.

The morning of that day was mostly quiet, sunlight gently shining through the curtains as you opened your eyes; it was still too early for you. The first thing you noticed was the ceiling; this was not YOUR ceiling. You blushed to yourself, as glimpses of what happened last night randomly assaulted your brain cells.

Then you realized the body, nay, two bodies that were also in the bed with you. Zelda was in a fetal position, her face turned towards you, her body rising and falling with the rhythm of her breaths. Link was a bit spread over in a starfish position, spreading over to a side, his mouth slightly gaping open.

You wanted to stretch a bit but didn’t want to wake anyone up.

The blanket was surprisingly still covering all of you, though most of it was on you and Zelda, barely covering Link between high legs and belly.

Right. You thought to yourself again, nobody had any clothes on. You couldn’t help yourself but gazed sleepily at Link’s torso, full of scars, yet his face was one of peace at this moment. Damn, he was attractive.

You started to shiver a bit, realizing the blanket wasn’t actually covering you completely, you adjusted it on Link, your hands coming close to dangerous places, it was wrapped and bundled in funny ways. You fixed it, this time covering yourself and turning on your side, coming face to face with Zelda’s cute sleeping face. A stray hair was dangling from the side. It just made something swell up in you, as the corners of your mouth lifted a bit. Risking waking her up, you gently put the hair up. There. All good now.

You felt Wild shift behind you, suddenly you felt warmer as he sneakily made you into the little spoon and whispered into your left ear.

“Isn’t she so… adorable?” he said lovingly.

“Shush, you are gonna wake her up,”

Link's voice was a soft murmur against your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “I can’t help it. She looks divine when she sleeps.”

You couldn't help but smile, your heart fluttering at the way he spoke about Zelda. His affection for her was evident in every word, and as you stole a glance at her peaceful sleeping face, you couldn't help but agree. She truly was a vision of beauty, even in the early morning light. The blood of Hylia wasn't anything to underestimate.

“Don't you think we should let her sleep a little longer?” you whispered back, your voice carrying a hint of playfulness.

Link's arms tightened around you, pulling you closer to him. “Maybe you're right. We should let our angel rest.”

The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, your heart pounding in your chest as you lay there, sandwiched between Link and Zelda. It was a moment you hadn't expected, a situation that had unfolded unexpectedly, yet you couldn't bring yourself to regret it. There was comfort in being surrounded by their warmth, a sense of belonging that you had never felt before.

As the morning light continued to fill the room, you felt a sense of contentment settle over you. The events of the previous night had brought the three of you closer together in ways you hadn't imagined, and even though the reality of the situation was still sinking in, there was an unspoken understanding that seemed to bridge the gaps between you.

As the time felt like it was stretching, you found yourself lost in the tranquility of the morning, the soft rise and fall of her breaths, the steady heartbeat against your back. It was a moment frozen in time, a moment you wished could last forever.

Eventually, you felt Link’s lips press a gentle kiss to the nape of your neck, his affectionate gesture sending a shiver through you. “We should probably get up soon. Breakfast won't cook itself, and I have a feeling you're in for a treat.”

You chuckled softly, a mix of anticipation and curiosity bubbling within you. Link's cooking was legendary, and the idea of sharing a meal together felt like the perfect way to start the day.

"Sounds like a plan," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Zelda stirred beside you, her eyes fluttering open as she yawned softly. She blinked up at the two of you, her gaze shifting from Wild to you with a sleepy smile. "Morning, you two."

"Morning, Zelda," Link greeted, his voice warm and affectionate.

"Good morning," you chimed in, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of her. Even in the midst of morning dishevelment, she was radiant.

Zelda stretched and sat up, her gaze moving between the two of you. There was a brief moment of hesitation in her eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the situation you all found yourselves in. But then, a soft smile formed on her lips.

"I don't know about you, but I could really use some breakfast right now," she said, her tone casual as if it was any other morning. Good call.

Link grinned, the tension in the air dissipating. "Well, you're in luck. I happen to be an excellent cook."

She laughed, her laughter like music to your ears. "Oh really?" she feigned ignorance. Well, I'll be the judge of that."

As you all climbed out of bed, the morning seemed to hold a sense of promise. The events of the night before lingered in the air, unspoken yet ever-present.

Little did you know, all of it was about to come undone.

[ryhmus]

Can the real world friends pick up their dream counterparts? And what consistency they have.

Sunny could pick OMORI up...if he wasn't in a stasis tube asleep. OMORI is very light and weighs very little. You could throw him if you want. OMORI'S RED HANDS can lift almost anything with enough of them.

The monochrome boy's body feels perpetually cold to the touch and his skin actually feels like paper. Careful of sharp edges. RED HANDS have an almost liquid like texture.

KEL can absolutely be held up by his real counterpart. It's likely going to be the other way around, not cause just because he's strong enough but because he just wants to show off...

KEL feels like the surface of an orange when touched. He's always vibrating with all that stored up kid energy, just be careful to wash your hands after handling, you don't know where he's been.

HERO is a little big to be picked up by his real self. If anything, I could probably see him being carried bridal style...and blushing when it happens...

HERO has silk smooth skin that matches that irresistibly smooth charm of his. He doesn't use skin care products at all to maintain his shine, it's just naturally pristine. Even when wet or dirty, it keeps it's impeccable sheen.

Aubrey can hold AUBREY no problem, though her dream self is fairly heavy compared to the others and takes a small bit of effort to lift up off the ground. (Don't call AUBREY fat, you'll either hurt her feelings and feel bad, or she'll smash you and you'll feel REAL bad) And on top of that she can EASILY lift anyone by herself.

AUBREY is very soft and squishy like a giant plushie, she's warm and huggable and everything you could ask for in this bundle of bubbly cuteness...

MARI...uh...probably not...

Her dream self feels pretty normal. Nothing out of the ordinary.

It's a good thing Basil's a gardener cause he's got four other versions of himself to choose from...either it will be super easy or he'll break his back.

STRANGER, even in his physical form weighs next to nothing, his surface always feels slightly damp, like flower petals on a damp morning.

BASIL is tied with AUBREY for how soft he is to touch and hold, about average weight for his age. Skin feels like flower petals

FLOWER is pretty tall but is light enough to be held. Feels just like BASIL. Cute pinchable cheeks and warm as his personality.

No one is able to pick up ROWAN, way too big and heavy for anyone to hold...As for touch, coarse, rough and hard, his skin is also consistently covered in dirt and grime.

FACECLUSTER-

DO. NOT. TOUCH.

[the-anime-idiot]

qsmp as songs (synesthesia things)

((with some commentary?)) (((it might get long soooo keep reading below!)))

when the QSMP is wholesome/getting love from the community: golden hour - Cello Version

This song popped into my head about half an hour ago when watching one of Forever's new videos on his clips channel. The love you can just *feel* radiating from all the creators when they talk about how much the QSMP has united people from different walks of life. I get this very warm, gold (like the album cover of this song!) and pink vibe from even just thinking about how amazing the QSMP is.

Guapoduo/Spiderbit - The Reason (Acoustic version here)

Yeah, this is the song q!Cellbit and q!Roier sang together at their wedding, but listening to it fully, it's the PERFECT love letter to each other. Apologising for past mistakes, and stating that they are each other's reason to be in love and happy. I especially relate it to Cellbit, with the whole Abueloier situation.

Sidenote: We just found the acoustic version while making this, started playing it, then Cellbit (/sys) and I started crying because it's so Soft.

Cellbit - Tudo que eu sempre sonhei

I don't know much Portuguese, but I did a tonne of digging into the lyrics after loving the style of the song. It basically tells a story of growing up with older people telling you what will happen, what to do, and influencing the speaker. It's a battle between who someone is and what is expected of them in any capacity. It just feels kinda right.

Roier - Sunflower

I hear you: "Spider-Man is basically his brand!" yeahyeahyeahyeah. Hear me out. Roier is like modern rap, defying rules, and flipping people off while sticking his tongue out and having his middle finger pull down on one of his lower eyelids. He doesn't dress it like most, but he is punk. Plus, a little goofy and loving and sappy on the side.

Wilbur - Remember Me (Lullaby)

A travelling musician with a daughter at home, left to be cared for by someone else? Need I say more? cc Wilbur has mentioned how q!Wilbur canonically wrote more letters to Lulah, and we know q!Wilbur loves Lulah unconditionally, and very deeply cares for her. He (q!Wil) would be back if it weren't for all he (cc Wil) goddamn shows.

Baghera - Le long du large

It's Canadian French but I was obsessed with Cœur de pirate in middle school, and learned the lyrics to many of the songs in her self-titled album. Baghs just radiated Cœur de pirate energy, y'know? Love and compassion and fierceness wrapped into a bundle of green leaves and tied with twine.

I wish I had more to write about, but those are the songs I know of at the moment. Nothing has stuck out to me for Forever or Quackity (both of whom I have an idea of what kind of song they sound like) or anyone else. If anyone has good song suggestions, please share.

[arecaceae175]

ZeldApril Day 8: Honeysuckles: Sweet treats (Sky)

(477 words, hurt/comfort)

Rain pounded against the leaves of the trees outside their small cave. The storm darkened the sky, obscuring even the smallest sliver of light from the moon. The strong winds ensured the cave wasn't quite dry or warm enough to be comfortable, but Hyrule insisted it was the best they were going to get.

Sky sighed deeply as he plopped down and begun to dig through his bag. His back ached, his head throbbed, and the humidity was making his chest tight and his breaths short. He had dry clothes in there somewhere, he knew he did, and he would take any small mercy of comfort.

He could feel the weight of someone's gaze on his back as he searched. Sky figured it was Time, maybe, or Hyrule deciding if he should try to convince Sky to let him use his magic. Sky wouldn't let him, of course. Hyrule had already tried with Wild and Legend, who refused then promptly drank some strange smelling tea and passed out. The storm was making Legend's joints and Wild's scars act up as much as it was making Sky's head and lungs hurt.

Sky's thoughts stopped as his hand hit something soft and crinkly. He paused in confusion, then pulled it out. It was a cloth bag with a note sewn to the side.

Energizing Honey Candy

4x courser bee honey

Sky cocked his head to the side as he pulled the string and opened the bag. It was filled with small bundles of crinkly paper. He pulled one out and twisted it open, and a small orange candy fell into his hand.

Sky smiled and a warm feeling filled his heart. Wild made these candies a few nights ago at Wind's request; they were one of his favorite sweets. However, Sky knew for a fact Wild made the version of the candies with only one courser bee honey for Wind. That was at Warriors' secret request, who didn't want to deal with a hyped-up teenager for the rest of the day.

Wild must have made a batch just for him. Sky popped one into his mouth and felt his smile widen as the taste of the candy covered his tongue. In only a few moments, he felt his headache fade and his chest loosen. The fog in his mind cleared and was replaced by gratitude.

Sky glanced over to Wild. He was curled up next to Twilight, who had an arm resting over Wild's shoulders. Wild's back was pressed up against Legend's and they had a mound of blankets covering them. Wild's face was smooth, at least, so Sky hoped his sleep was restful.

Time caught Sky's eye from across camp. Time opened both eyes to wink as he put a honey candy in his mouth. Sky chuckled; no wonder the old man didn't seem affected by the storm.