#so here's some helpless Morph

[allwillbecomeclear]

... 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥...

[fairyofshampgyu]

☆ Lost !

genre: smut, fairy au

pairing: sub fairy ! gyu x gn ! dom human ! reader

synopsis: in essence, eating out the mischievous and immensely pretty fairy beomgyu as a bargain when you find yourself lost in the forest.

warnings: boy pussy gyu !!! sub! gyu, dom! reader, beomgyu’s kinda a brat, degrading, squirting, overstim, eating out, fingering, hair pulling, pussy slapping, dacryphilia

word count: 1.5k

You wandered aimlessly through the forest at wits end. You’d been here for hours trying to find your way back out but the forest was much like an ever changing maze. As soon as you thought you’d found a way out, the trees and plants would shift and morph into completely different pathways, rendering you hopeless and frustrated.

It was only getting darker as well, much to your distress. And you didn’t want to stick around to know what the place would be like at night. You knew of the stories.

Just when despair threatened to overwhelm you, you stumbled upon a small clearing bathed in soft light, the ground carpeted with lush moss, and delicate flowers blooming in vibrant hues, mushrooms clustered around the perimeter.

In the centre, sat a figure amidst a bed of wildflowers, weaving intricate crowns with his hands—a fairy. He was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen. Flower crown sitting on his long, silky, soft hair cascaded across his ethereally sculpted face. Face and body all glittery and shimmery and his cheeks were so naturally pink and blushed like the pink tulips that sat around him. You were quite in awe honestly.

His gaze lingers on you with a mix of curiosity and amusement, eyes sparkling with mischief and an impish grin playing upon his lips as he regarded you with some sort of knowing gaze, still continuing to make his flower crowns.

“Lost, are we?” He raises a brow, seemingly finding your predicament humorous.

“Yes.” You stand tall, trying to appear more confident to the fairy. You also didn’t think it was funny at all. When he doesn’t say anything but chuckle in response and directs his attention to his flower crowns again, you speak up, irritated with his behaviour. “You’re a fairy aren’t you? You’d know the way out?”

“…Yes” He looks up at you again, still smiling annoyingly.

“So…Show me then?.”

“Hmm…” He faux ponders, finger to his lips and grinning, “I don’t think i will.”

Your eyebrows furrow, patience wearing thin. “Why not?”

“Because it’s funny seeing humans so helpless.” The fairy’s laughter fills the air as he shakes his head, eyes dancing with amusement.

You just stand in disbelief. The sun had already set now! Fear and desperation already starting to kick in that you find yourself begging and pleading the fairy instead of blowing up in pure anger at him. “Just show me the way. Please! I’d do anything.”

His ears perk at that. “Kiss me.”

“What?!”

“If you kiss me good enough, I’ll help you.” He lays back, propped on his elbows, lips curled in a grin and trying to stifle his laugh. You really want to slap it off his face.

You scoff incredulously.

“What? Don’t want to kiss me?” Brow raised as if testing you. Like he didn’t think you actually would. It pissed you off even more. You’d heard fairies loved to make stupid deals for absolutely no reason with humans and other creatures. This must be one.

He still stares up at you, completely delighted, waiting. You roll your eyes, reluctantly approaching him on the ground of moss, grabbing a fistful of his shirt rather roughly and tugging him closer to you. He seems to like it though, getting excited.

Looking down at his lips, you can’t even deny how enticing they looked. Pretty and plump and round and glossy. You’d heard of the fairies being pretty seducing. You can’t say you’re not completely entranced by the pretty boy right now.

You’ll just put him in his place.

So you smash your lips with his, making out with him fervently, both your mouths moving and smacking against each other and the pretty boy is so into it, already getting worked up by how aggressively you kiss him and with no regard. You bite at his bottom lip and he gasps, you continuing to suck harshly and bite at them.

It practically feels like you’re melting kissing the fairy boy, you don’t what it is but his lips were so soft and…everything.

You begin the attack on his pretty neck instead, trailing rough kisses down and leaving purple and pink marks in return, hand entangling in the strands of his long hair, tugging and pulling that makes him whine into your mouth even louder, pulling on his hair roughly and leaving hickeys on his sensitive neck. You don’t even know how long it goes on for.

Suddenly, your pulling away and it makes him pout and huff, eyes dazed but frows burrowing and trying to pull you back into him but you hold onto his dainty wrists and stop him, shoving him down on the ground again.

Instead, you move down on the grass and grip his pretty little thighs concerningly tight, spreading his legs, met with his panties that don’t do much to cover anything what with the wet patch on them now. You chuckle and he tries to close his legs in embarrassment but you open them wider, lightly tracing your fingers on his clothed pussy that makes him positively squirm and squeal. So sensitive…

You continue to tease him, lightly brushing and thumbing over his panties until he’s fully drenched and whimpering over the light contact. He can’t take it anymore.

“Take them off… actually touch mee” Beomgyu whines brattily, groaning and panting.

“Beg for it. Then I’ll see.”

It shuts him up instantly, pouting and furrowing his brows again, as if contemplating whether it was worth it, “Don’t want to.”

“Brat.” You stop all contact and he’s quick to blurt his pleads out instantly in distress. It’s entertaining seeing the fairy like this now.

Roughly tugging his cute panties to the side, you stop in your tracks momentarily. It’s the prettiest pussy you’ve ever seen in your life, puffy and pink and glistening, so wet already, practically dripping onto the ground it’s insane. It’s making you so insane.

You don’t waste any time, licking a long stripe of his pussy from his clit to his hole and it has him taking a sharp intake of breath, you can feel his thighs shake in your grip just from that and his eyes close shut, positively squealing and squirmy.

You bury your face in him after that, scent so sweet and you begin to practically make out with his pussy, flicking your tongue over his clit then wrapping your entire lips around them, sucking harshly and he’s shivering immensely, prettiest choked up moans coming out of him, head reeling back and mouth agape.

Still sucking on his pretty clit, you bring two of your other fingers to his hole, not giving him a second of reprieve, and shoving them inside his warm and tight pussy, fingering him at the same speed you suck on him, hammering them into him, his head lolled back and his eyes almost cross eyed, dumbly drooling.

It’s not long before you can feel him clamp down on your fingers so tight, and he’s cumming, legs and thighs shaking like a leaf, seeing starts he doesn’t even know what to do, prettiest most mellifluous sounds eliciting from his lips.

It was a sight to see, whole body completely flushed, hair all tousled and messed up and damp from the sweat, eyebrows creased and eyes closing open and shut, eyelashes fluttering sexily kissing the tops of his red cheeks, plump lips parted and jaw slack. He looked so slutty.

But you don’t break away, instead you grip on the sides of his hips probabaly bruising them and pulling him onto your face even further, tongue flat on his clit as he merely mewls and cries, way too sensitive. It hurts but it also feels too good, he shakes his head nonetheless, squeezing his eyes shut and whimpering.

“T-too muchhh” The fairy sniffles, trying so hard to shut his trembling legs.

“Slut. Stay still.” You forcefully keep his legs open, gripping even tighter onto the flesh of his thighs. You reach your hand up and lightly slap his abused cunt, he yelps almost instantly.

“Say it. Tell me how much of a slut you are.”

He can’t get the words out, can’t even think to get the words out of his mouth as you continuously slap his now even more swollen, absolutely pink puffy pussy.

“hah-! fffuu, m’ just a slut!” He cries and wails. “Just your slut.” There’s tears streaming down his face now, sobbing, doe eyed and glassy, so so, so, so pretty.

He trembles and shakes even more if it were possible, legs thrashing and thighs clenching when you feel his juices gush out and squirting, screaming and squirming, not expecting to squirt, eyes rolling straight to the back of his head.

You lap up all his juices and press a final little kiss to his pussy before you completely stop.

The pretty fairy boy goes limp, laying in the bed of flowers, panting and gasping heavily, so embarrassed from squirting, he attempts to hide face in his hands, face so incredibly pink and flushed. But you’re taking his hand away so you can cup his hot cheeks and coo at him, kissing at his forehead instead.

When he’s finally recovered, his mouth curls into a playful grin gazing at you as you both lay next to each other in the flowers, his eyes sparkling with mischief again.

“Good enough for you?” You sarcastically ask him, knowing how absolutely disheveled he looked right now, the sweat only making his glittery face and body even more shiny and ethereal.

He chuckles, still breathless and nods. “Too good even, I might not want to let you go. Kinda want to keep you forever…”

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys 😭 if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and irriating when fics have such little reblogs ☹️. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it make writers want to actually write :)

A/n: this is super messy and makes no sense I’m sorry 🤞 just wanted to experiment with boypussy gyu though I know it’s not many’s cup of tea !

[escapisttt]

make up sex

porter runs. he always runs, but he never comes back. what will happen now that he finally has?

cw: nsfw! smut with plot read the title lol, mentions of a previous argument, some hostile dialogue

authors note: was interesting writing gender neutral smut for the first time but it’s literally not hard so anyone who tells you it is is either selfish, lazy, or uncreative.

word count: 3.6k (also the exact length of my only other redacted fic okay)

steam billowed all around the bathroom, penetrating every surface with moisture and sticking to the large rectangular mirror. treasure began undressing themself with lumbering movements, constantly tipping over left and right. after trying to take their slippers off while standing up, they again became unsteady and caught themself on the sink basin. they chuffed. when was the last time they drank like this? every time they went to a bar, they had their friends to look after. nothing’s quite as lame as being the designated driver, they thought. to them, that was another indication of their plainness; they weren’t fun enough to party with. instead, they were left to scroll on their phone while sitting on a barstool, catching themself gazing wistfully up at the chalkboard drink menu. but tonight they had indulged. not at a bar, but alone on their armchair, sipping wine and watching their ceiling go in and out of focus. they knew they’d had enough when they watched the ceiling slowly bend, rise, and fall as if there were a pair of lungs under the plaster.

once they were fully bare, they carefully stepped under the scalding water. they flinched and then froze, willing themself to not back away. they weren’t the one to run. they wouldn’t run.

they closed their eyes and let the burning water hit their front. they could already feel their chest turning a darker, uglier color. but they wouldn’t step back. they wouldn’t turn the temperature down. it felt good, the heat. images of him flashed through their mind, causing their brow to furrow in helpless frustration. his hands, his fingertips, his breath, it was all so hot. they had never felt so much heat before him. now though, they had been left cold for days. just like the outings with their ‘friends.’ after he slammed the door and ran, they were back on a lonely barstool. cold. freezing. they’d never felt so much ice before him, either.

a figure hovered in front of the bathroom door. the smell of hair conditioner wafted to the creature’s senses, his red irises eclipsed by black need. the smell called to him, screamed his name. but he shouldn’t even be there in the first place. the instinct, the guilt, the aroma—what was the matter with him? he’d fed on some poor soul minutes ago and still couldn’t focus? he wrapped his hand around the doorknob and squeezed. they weren’t singing like they usually do. was that his fault? he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the door, focusing harder. a foul, shocking odor struck him. alcohol in their blood? was that his fault?

treasure heard the door creak open and yelped. before they could peek around the curtain…. “it’s me, darling. are you drunk?” they stayed silent and felt their fear morph into a melancholic frustration. any other well adjusted member of society would be full of terror and adrenaline if someone suddenly appeared in their home, but porter ripped away that sense of normalcy long ago. the mere sound of his voice caused an irritation, never mind him calling them ‘darling’ again. they rolled their eyes.

“what on earth are you doing here?! i thought you’d at least have the sense to throw away the key,” they spat coldly. porter’s shoulders shrank a little and he looked down at the tile. usually he would remark that he didn’t need a key anyway, but that attitude was exactly what had earned him this mess. his voice was low and small.

“you want rid of me that much?”

the rushing water dampened his sound a bit, but treasure could easily tell he was being wary and... something else. they pulled the curtain back just enough to reveal their head and took in the sight of him. a black blazer with a scarf, as usual, except his slacks were wrinkled. and his hair wasn’t even gelled. odd. they leaned against the shower wall as to not lose their footing and played off their disorientation by scoffing at him, ignoring his question. “did your king take away your wares too? you look shitty.” porter didn’t laugh, and he certainly didn’t miss the indignation behind the word ‘king.’ he approached and loomed over them, masking his annoyance.

“please, enough about him. you’re drunk.”

they scoffed again and went back to their shower routine, rinsing the rest of their hair. they didn’t close the curtain though. porter took the subtle invitation and leaned against the drywall, watching them through the gap in the curtain. he widened it a bit with his hand and started again. “i can fix that for you. give me your hand and you’ll be sober.” porter never knew them as one to indulge so heavily. he didn’t want to push as to why they had drank because he had a feeling it would only make them blow up at him, but he couldn’t deny there was a part of him that wanted to prod. the way they prodded him. but not this time.

treasure mulled over his words and extended their hand without looking back at him. they of all people knew how senseless drunk conversations can be. porter gently took their hand and tried not to linger on how whole it made him feel. using magic, he traced the excess amounts of alcohol in their bloodstream and dissipated it. he stood watchfully, trying not to overstep but wanting desperately to keep hold of them during the jarring sobering. they wobbled on their feet with their eyes closed for a moment before opening and snapping their gaze back at him. there was the alertness they were lacking. “clearer?” he asked, to which they gave him a curt nod.

now that they were in their right mind, they scanned over his form once more: he wasn't a drunken illusion. an awkward silence fell over the pair. treasure's eyes flitted back and forth between porter and the shower wall. when porter didn't take the hint, they eventually spoke up. “get in if you want. you just look stupid standing there,” they mumbled, yanking the curtain shut.

porter’s clothes instantly phased away as he yielded to the insult and stepped into the enclosed space. he stayed opposite of treasure and kept his back pressed against the wet tile, his arms wrapped around his middle. treasure threw him a look over their shoulder, snickering dryly. “you only have good manners after we fight?” the vampire let out an amused huff from his nostrils and hung his head.

“it seems it always takes something drastic to make me learn, yes.”

treasure turned around fully and reached for their body scrub, looking up at him as they bent down. their gaze was steely but their lips were tempting. “well i haven’t heard a ‘sorry,’ so do i have to beat one out of you?” they joked humorlessly.

those words caused the flame of guilt to lick at porter’s skin once more. ‘beat one out of him’—were they being sarcastic at their own expense? the inhuman strength in every muscle fiber in his body told him yes. god, he used that against them in their argument. he talked down to them, using ‘human’ as an insult, shoving in their face how much power he held over them. he didn’t start the fight, but he didn’t have to finish it like that. he’d never harm them, but he gave them such a strong implication that he could and made them feel bad about it. he called them stupid for even being with him, made himself out to be a monster they needed to run from. but they both knew porter was the one who was running. even so, in all of porter’s long existence, treasure was the first thing he’d ever ran back to. he could lose everything, but not them.

porter took a small step forward with his head still hanging and motioned for the container of body scrub. treasure gave him a puzzled look. the vampire sighed and took another step, gently taking the container from their hand and setting it down. “treasure, i….” he considered their choice of words again. he finally raised his head and looked into their eyes. “you can—you can do anything you want to me. i’m very sorry for what i said, but… whatever satisfies you. whatever gives you power.”

the vampire in front of treasure was not one they easily recognized. his eyes were nearly-black orbs and shone with desperate longing. porter solaire was a slighting creature, who was this? it was porter, just porter. treasure gave him a slow nod. “make it up to me.”

the vampire’s eyes lit up and he swiftly made his move. his lips attached to treasure’s neck, fangs firmly retracted. this wasn’t about him, nothing tonight was about him. his hands slid up the wet slopes of their hips and waist. a trapped moan escaped him when he felt them like that. he was touching god and it was burning, but he loved it. his kisses trailed across their neck and up their chin, aiming for their perfect lips. but when he tried to reach them, a resounding smack echoed in their steamy enclosure. porter blinked and his head was whipped around to the right, a red hot sting on his cheek. treasure’s hand returned to grip his jaw and pointed his head forward at them.

“i didn’t give you permission to kiss me. you think you deserve my lips?” porter could’ve cum right there. he shook his head.

“no, no i don’t. can i earn it?” his voice was like nothing they had heard before.

“you can. do what i said and make it up to me. you know what i like.”

porter nodded once more before sinking to his knees, his hands slipping down their body reverently. he groaned at the smell of their arousal, his eyes rolling back and then locking back onto theirs. he briefly recalled the night they first met. if only he had known how mad he would go for the taste of what was in front of him.

the vampire pressed light kisses around their groin with his eyes remaining trained on theirs. just how they like it. “i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm so sorry,” he repeated in between kisses. treasure's hand came down to muss up his hair and his erection twitched. they nodded at him with a pleased grin and gave him a tug as a reward. his precum dribbled onto the grout.

shortly, porter's efforts made it so treasure leaked more of their own arousal; that was porter’s cue. he licked a long stripe upward, collecting their slick on his flattened tongue and letting out a whine at their salty taste. he quickly dove in for more, moaning louder than treasure. his hands were planted firmly in his lap, not touching himself or the beauty before him; he knew he wasn’t deserving of doing either. treasure smiled and leaned their head back, their hips bucking in a smooth rhythm against his mouth. porter could cry at their movement—the gorgeous fluidity and the signal that he was giving it to them right.

nothing ever felt as right as when he was giving them pleasure. he couldn’t count how many nights he would spend god knows where, making god knows who disappear; it wasn’t in his nature to bring anything but pain. he was a sinner through and through, but that first night with treasure at skyside, he thinks, he began repenting. he found religion in every breath they took, every twitch of ecstasy he fed them. he felt holy at their feet.

“porter, i’m so close,” they gasped, causing the vampire’s dead heart to pound. he nodded emphatically, shaking his head side to side just to give them that extra stimulation. his desperate moans also sent vibrations to their sensitive flesh, setting their nerves alight. their grip on his hair was lethal and porter’s arousal was reaching a tipping point. he no longer had control over himself; treasure was pushing and pulling and holding his face flush against them until any normal human would’ve suffocated. porter’s mind was going hazy as if he was, his true feelings emerging from thoughtless bliss.

“i could die,” he panted as he gazed up at them, “let me die like this.” they climaxed only a second later.

ambrosia seeped onto porter’s tongue and he drank piously, catching every drop. treasure’s wanton whimpers and breaths filled the vampire’s ears and he couldn’t have been happier. he knew this is where he belonged, and he wouldn’t ever forgive himself for nearly forsaking it.

treasure finally let go of porter’s hair and he whined at the loss. they chuckled breathlessly and patted their chest, signaling that they wanted to be eye to eye. the vampire quickly stood, hissing quietly when his painful erection brushed up against their stomach. he swallowed at the closeup view of their blissed-out face; their eyes were in a lazy, seductive droop, but their grin was what ensnared him. he hadn’t seen one in days and now he’d earned one back, no matter the sadistic undertones behind it. they reached a hand out and cupped his cheek, smiling wider when his eyelids fluttered at the touch. porter didn’t notice their hand sneaking down to grip his base and his eyes shot open once he felt it.

“i’m assuming you want this taken care of?” they teased, tapping his cock against their stomach. he groaned pathetically, putting his hands on the wall behind them. he gripped at nothing, fingers clenching and unclenching around nothing and trying not to crack the tile. hovering over treasure was a beast of incomprehensible strength, holding himself back for one reason: forgiveness.

“treasure… i’m begging you.”

their wolfish grin slowly faded as they leaned in closer, squeezing his cock harshly. “and you’ll keep begging until i forgive you.” with that, they released him and shut off the water, promptly snatching their towel and stepping onto the floor mat without him. they left the bathroom before he could even process what they said.

the vampire blinked and hurried after them, bare and dripping wet. treasure was already laying on their back in bed, equally naked and damp. their towel was beneath them and they gazed at him expectantly. porter’s eyes widened as he realized what they wanted. he could hardly believe it. with vampiric speed, he was on his knees over them in a split second. their legs were spread and knees bent up, the sight making him look away and curse. god, he couldn’t take it. but treasure wasn’t having that. a smack to the thigh and his eyes were snapped open.

“you’ll look at me when you fuck me, or i’ll make you stop. don’t even fucking blink,” they threatened lowly. porter moaned but nodded, leaning down to be closer to them. without breaking eye contact, he spat on his fingers and rubbed it on their entrance, hoping to please them again. they sighed airily and reached down for his cock, unexpectedly prodding themself with it. porter gasped and almost lost his balance, catching himself on the pillow next to their head. they snickered and rolled their eyes, easing his length inside of them. it was still faster than porter ever started off, and he showed his unpreparedness by cursing and gripping their sheets. they swiftly got him fully seated and let them both settle into it, their gummy walls hugging porter’s cock snugly. he looked as if he was containing a scream.

“t-treasure you—gods, you could’ve hurt yourself doing that,” he heaved, his chest rising and falling as he tried not to cum. in response, they dug their nails into the small of his back and raked down to his ass, watching his head roll back and his mouth gape. always a sucker for pain, scratches were his favorite kryptonite. treasure had an unreadable look and gave the command he had been yearning for.

“i’m fine, just fuck me. don’t you dare go slow.”

porter was mildly concerned by their order, but he had to give them what they wanted. he would rather die than not. his hips pulled back until just his tip was inside before coming back down, thrusting smoothly into them. the sinful sound of his hips smacking into the back of their thighs drove them both wild. treasure’s nails only sank deeper into his skin, causing porter’s own wobbly grin to emerge. he fucked them faster, egged on by the delicious sting. he lowered himself more so their bodies were flush. their nipples rubbed against his chest and he panted in their ear, “like this, my love? tell me, please tell me i’m giving you what you want. fuck….”

in their own rapture, they nodded and turned their head to smile back at him. their words were mere breathy puffs of air. “uh-huh… yes, god yes. don’t stop ‘til i cum.” as if porter would’ve done otherwise.

treasure was making such a mess of themself it was audible. the vampire looked down and saw the telltale shiny slick, whining in their ear at the sight. they were so turned on for him. he put his weight on his left forearm which rested above their head and used his free hand to snake down their stomach, reaching their leaking essence. he put the pad of his thumb on their most sensitive spot and stroked up and down, up and down, earning strangled, surprised moans. his eyes bore into theirs as he continued his ministrations while fucking them, his expression one of a dog that just performed a trick for its owner: hopeful, eager, and aching for approval. “fuck, that’s how you like it…. i’ll make you cum, i’ll make you cum so fucking hard, treasure.”

the vampire was reaching speeds only his kind are able to, making treasure’s thighs ripple in ways they hadn’t felt before. porter never had a reason to fuck them this good before, and now that he was, they didn’t think they could ever go back. their body was bouncing as they lay down, mouth agape with licentious sounds pouring out. they hated that their hostility had crumbled under his hips, but they knew they’d have hated themself more if they pushed him away. right then, they just wanted to cum on his cock.

the bed frame squeaked and slid against the floor, banging against the wall. porter’s tempo was perfect, so fucking good against that sweet spongy spot inside them, his tip kissing it over and over. he didn’t know how he was holding it together. “i’m getting close, treasure. fuck, you have to cum, you have to,” he choked out in a frenzy. his thumb rubbed and stroked them faster, his hips losing rhythm but gaining speed. somehow through their pleasure-blinded haze, treasure looked porter in the eyes and raked their nails once more down his back. fuck, he wished he could scar.

“mm, beg me. beg for my cum,” they demanded with a groan. porter felt himself instantly melt under their authority and he whined in frustration, his knees almost buckling at their words. he fucked them faster and complied.

“fuck, please treasure! i need your cum, i fucking need it! i can’t—i can’t cum before you, i don’t deserve it. you have to cum for me, m-my love. i’ll never fucking raise my voice at you again, never. gods, oh my gods, please please please cum!”

he looked in their eyes the whole time, beggarly and despairing. treasure couldn’t help but succumb to all of the pleasure he was throwing at them. a few deep, swift thrusts later and they were creaming all over him. they went stiff and their mouth dropped open in a silent scream. porter felt their hole clench and pulse around him, effortlessly sending him down the same path. his cum pumped inside of them in thick ropes of ivory. he buried his head in their neck and let out a continuous string of groans and whimpers, hips shallowly bucking with each spurt of cum. his thumb never stopped stroking even as treasure reached the end of their climax. they enjoyed that slight bit of overstimulation, so they didn’t stop him. it was endearing how focused he was on making them feel good even in the throes of his own ecstasy.

porter eventually finished and collapsed beside them, eyes shut and breaths heavy. treasure remained on their back and stared up at the ceiling just as they were before he arrived. though, they were now drunk on him instead of wine. his cum steadily oozed out of them and they briefly thanked themself for having the foresight to put the towel underneath them.

“you’re cleaning this up,” they mumbled, breaking the silence. porter had practically rendered their shower useless, after all. the vampire cracked an eye open and wore a neutral expression.

“of course i am, my sweet, but in a moment. i missed this,” he replied evenly. treasure simply nodded and went back to staring upward. their gaze shifted to the ceiling fan and focused on a single fan blade, following it through each slow revolution. they felt a hand cautiously slide across their stomach, ending up cupping their side. porter scooted closer to them and held them like that, almost balling himself up in the fetal position beside them. they didn’t look over at him. they were afraid if they did, they would break. a part of them was still upset at him and knew they would confront him again, but the larger part told them that now was not the time. if they looked over at him now, they knew they would forget why they were even mad at him in the first place. for now, in this moment, they would let sleeping dogs lie and bask in the arms of a creature who would do anything for them, knowingly or not.

@vind3miat0r :)))

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Finding Refuge.

Chapter Three

Surviving a Zombie Apocalypse with Terry Richmond

I feel the darkness inside me like a creature curled up in my chest, breathing smoke and fire. It is always there. It weighs on me. It's not contained by anything but my own skin. Sometimes it sleeps. Sometimes it doesn't…

“How much longer?”

Terry paused within the dark and narrow underground tunnel. The luminance levels inside the tunnel are much lower than outside, making it difficult for his eyes to adjust.

“Nearly there…” Rae’s voice echoed.

Terry released a frustrated sigh before continuing along behind her.

“So, you sure you haven’t seen Mike around here at all?” Terry pestered.

“I’m certain. You sure you don’t have a picture?” Rae asked.

“Nothing. He took all his things. Including his ID…”

After what felt like an eternity, they finally reached their destination.

Terry’s hazel eyes took in the area filled with helpless people. They’d created an environment beneath the streets of Woodsbury to remain safe. Tents were pitched, canned goods and other food items were pilled high within a corner. Mothers coddled their children. It was a refuge.

“This way…”

Rae startled Terry by grabbing his hand to lead him along. His breath hitched and he dropped his hard gaze to stare down at their connected hands. The difference in size he took notice of. They stopped in front of an area with supplies and Rae crouched down to search. Terry could feel eyes burning holes into the back of his head. He looked around, taking note of the few who were curious about him. None of which looked pleased.

“Let me see your arm…Terry?”

He focused his attention back onto Rae.

“Your arm. Can I see it?”

She was holding up some gauze and saline.

Terry curled his arm, exposing the bloody abrasion. Rae went to work cleaning him off with saline. Terry didn’t take his eyes off of her for one second. Rae peeked up at him through her lashes with a sheepish smile.

“You from ‘round here?” Terry asked with steadfast eyes.

“No…I’m from Atlanta. Spent most of my youth in Decatur…”

“Hm…”

Terry staked out the area again with cautious eyes. He took note of people whispering and eyeing him down with curiosity. He didn’t like it. Hated it, actually.

“You?”

Terry brought his eyes that appeared golden down at her face.

“North Carolina.”

“Far way from home.”

“No choice.”

Rae applied some antibiotic ointment to his wound and wrapped him nice and tight with tube gauze. Terry admired her work and how professional it was.

“‘Ppreciate you. Were you a nurse?”

“No. My mother was.”

Terry’s eyes fluttered with interest. He quickly tamed those thoughts and created space between them.

“Thanks for patching me up, I’ll be on my way.”

The footsteps of someone approaching from behind put Terry on guard and he turned quickly to face them.

“Rae, who is this?”

An older woman with coarse, salt and pepper hair pulled back from her face approached them cautiously with a whisper. She had a kind face, but the stress lines on her forehead and the corners of her mouth told him that she worried often. Her dark brown eyes fell towards Terry, eyeing him up and down.

“Mildred…this is Terry.”

Mildred glanced over her shoulder.

“Where did you come from?” Mildred questioned sternly.

Terry took his time responding. He stared into Mildred’s eyes with an unwavering determination. He could feel Rae’s eyes on him, silently telling him to say something.

“He’s an outsider,” Mildred spoke with a low tone through clenched teeth, “The others will return, Rae. They’ll get violent—”

“Who are the others?” Terry asked, more so towards Rae.

“We consider them to be our watchers and hunters. They scout the area for potential threats and they gather supplies and food���”

“Like the one that tried to kill me?”

Mildred cut her eyes to Terry’s wounded forearm wrapped in bandages. She slowly shook her head before her face morphed into anger.

“Rae…what have you done? He could have been infected by the walkers!”

Others began to notice them. They started hovering closer, accusatory eyes glued to Terry. Terry placed one hand on his hip, ready to discharge his gun immediately if anyone so much as tried him. He had a shotgun and a crossbow too.

“He wasn’t infected,” Rae stepped closer to Mildred, “He’s here to find his cousin. That’s all. He came all this way to find him. I’m just trying to help. Isn’t that what we do? Help those in need of shelter?”

Mildred shook her head and pursed her lips in disapproval, “Through inspection FIRST. You know this. Do you not remember what happened the last time? You can’t be so ignorant, Rae. This is dangerous.”

Rae was ready to protest, but Terry placed his imposing frame in front of Mildred, staring down at the woman with an intense expression on his face. He was tired, frustrated, angry. He didn’t have time for this. Mike was his priority.

“I’m not here to cause problems. Rae offered to help me, so I came along. If your so called protectors keep a close eye on what the fuck is going on around here, then they should know about my cousin. His walkie was found by Rae. Somebody knows something, and I’m gon’ get to the bottom of it. Even if that means violence.”

Mildred’s eyelids fluttered as she looked Terry in the eyes.

“You get me?” Terry looked back at Rae, “Thank you for helping me. But I think it’s best I do this on my own. Too many innocent people here…”

Terry’s hazel eyes scanned the underground refugees with remorse. Women, children, elderly. He could feel their pain. He could sense their sadness and worry. He wondered if Mike had found this place while passing through. Did the protectors feel threatened? Did they cast him out and left him unguarded? The more his mind whirled, the more rage consumed him.

They were living in a post–apocalyptic world filled with zombies. You’d think that would bring people together to fight back against evil. No. Silly of him to think so.

“I’ll be on my way,” Terry gave Rae one final look before bowing his head, “Be safe out here.”

“Terry, wait—”

“Let him go, Rae. He can’t stay,” Mildred gripped Rae’s wrist firm, “It’s for the best.”

Rae turned and scowled at Mildred, “Let go of me.”

“If you leave, you can’t come back.” Mildred spoke with malice laced in her voice.

“Good. I’d rather leave then stay here surrounded by a bunch of people that would rather hurt someone than help them—”

“ENOUGH!”

Mildred’s grip on Rae’s hand tightened. Panicked, Rae went into fight mode, prying Mildred’s fingers from her tiny wrist. Others rushed over, trying their best to get between them.

“She’s going to sabotage what we’ve done! Don’t let her leave!”

Mildred’s nails sank painfully into Rae’s wrist. Rae pulled and pulled, knocking Mildred over. Arms laced around Rae’s body to bind her, and she began kicking and screaming. Distant cries from children filled the air as they witnessed the brewing chaos.

“Get off of me! LET ME GO! Get your hands OFF OF ME!”

Pop! Pop!

Frightened screams filled the air. Everyone went still after ducking for safety. Rae followed the sound of a gun and her wide eyes fell on Terry. He had a pistol in his left hand, aimed towards the stone roof of the tunnel. Debris and tiny pebbles fell from its place around him, staining his shirt with dust. Mothers held their children in protective embraces while others coward away. Terry’s no nonsense approach with sharp eyes took in the faces of those around him before his gaze locked in on Rae.

“Get away from her.” Terry spoke with an even yet threatening voice.

Rae wiggled her way out of whoever was holding her back and stared down at the scratches on her wrist that Mildred was responsible for. She glared at the older woman that stared back at her with a guilty expression.

“Rae, you okay?”

Terry lowered his weapon.

“…yeah.”

She looks around her before brushing past them to grab as much as she could.

“You won’t make it out of here alive, Rae.”

Rae paused, turning her attention to Mildred and the others who stood behind her, silently defending the woman Rae once felt safe with.

“Watch me.”

Rae made a beeline for her things and as she packed what she could, Terry stood watch with his gun at the ready. He didn’t take his eyes off of anyone. Rae took long strides towards Terry with a backpack and a carryon. She paused, giving everyone in that tunnel one final look. Her eyes shined with tears as she locked eyes with the children she helped tend to.

“Rae. Are you coming or not?”

She looked Terry in the eyes. He stared back unblinking.

“I am.”

——

Leaves and branches crunched beneath their feet as they made their way through the woods of Sedonia. Terry Richmond silently watched beyond the overgrown trees, keeping an eye out for any threats. A gently breeze swept through Rae’s braids as the sun began to set. Darkness was fast approaching. Rustling in the distance stilled his footsteps. Rae collided with Terry’s broad frame. He put out a large hand, touching her arm to stop her from moving. Rae’s heart skipped a beat when she’d heard a noise.

She glanced up at the back of Terry’s head. Her eyes descended to his arm and she stopped at his hand that had a tight squeeze on his crossbow. He looked down on her and pressed a finger to his lips for her to remain calm and silent. He steadied himself so that his movements wouldn’t create noise and began fixing his crossbow to strike. Rae watched with keen interest, wondering to herself what exactly Terry had seen.

His bow rose, the stock of the crossbow pressed against his shoulder. He adjusted the spring with his thick, skillful fingers before bringing one hazel eye to the scope. Finger on the trigger, he pressed down, the arrow releasing and whizzing through the trees.

Arrkkkkkkkk!

Rae’s breath hitched.

Terry slowly lowered his crossbow, jaw clenching and chest rapidly moving.

Rae could hardly see what Terry was looking at, but from the sound of his target, it was definitely a zombie. He wordlessly grabbed her hand and they quickly weaved through the trees. Rae’s chest burned as she sucked in air, feet pushing against the earth to keep up with Terry’s long legs. She was afraid to fall. Afraid to trip and slow them down.

Terry Richmond reminded her of a soldier. Everything about him. Physically and mentally tough. Proficient. Her grip tightened on his hand, afraid that if his hold on her slipped, he’d disappear and she’d be left alone to die. Despite being apart of the refuge within the tunnels, she’d always known that the protectors of their group weren’t to be trusted. Her suspicions were correct when she’d witnessed what they’d done to a friend of hers.

They fed him to the zombies.

All because he didn’t agree with their policies.

Rae knew that if she stood up for herself, she’d end up like them. Food for the flesh eating monsters. Terry’s entrance into her world gave her a beacon of hope.

“MOVE!”

Terry’s booming voice alerted Rae to the severity of their situation. Gunshots sounded off in the distance, drawing in closer and closer. Rae tried her best to focus in front of her, but the fear of a bullet piercing her back weighed heavy on her conscious.

“I’m trying!”

Her bags were heavy, her thighs burned, and she was in need of her inhaler.

“I ca–can hardly breathe!”

They were fast approaching a warehouse surrounded by a tall chain link fence. Rae’s vision blurred and her throat constricted as she tried her best to breathe in and out. She was going to collapse at this rate.

Pop! Pop! BANG! BANG!

Wood splintered from a bullet that zipped past her head as they ran. Shaky breaths escaped her and just then her foot caught on a root. Rae toppled over, almost bringing Terry to the ground with her if it wasn’t for his controlled balance. Her eyes were spooked as she looked up at Terry. He remained calm, which shocked her despite the threats of the protesters looming closer and the zombies.

“C’mon, I got you. Push up! Quickly!”

Pop! POW!

Terry ducked down and he reached over Rae’s smaller frame to uproot the branch that had trapped her foot. Dirt sprinkled her face as she kicked herself free. With one strong arm, Terry lifted Rae to her feet and without another pause he dragged her along.

“We have to climb! Can you climb?!”

They halted their efforts before the chain link fence. Terry yanked Rae’s bags from her body and strong arm tossed them over the tall fence like he was a Shot Put Thrower. It landed in a heap on the other side. He quickly removed his crossbow and shot gun, leaving a handgun in the waistband of his jeans. They went over the fence, colliding loudly with the ground.

With little time left, Terry urged Rae to climb. She’d climbed the fence before, but the thought of being minutes away from death had her clumsy. Terry stood behind her and with force he placed his hands on her butt, hiking her up the fence as she climbed.

“GO! Don’t stop, Rae! UGH!”

Her fingers pricked the sharp edges of the fence, drawing blood. As the wind picked up, the knowledge of the zombies making their way towards them petrified her. She made it to the top of the fence, swinging one leg over, her jeans ripping from the fence. As she made her way down to safety, she stared ahead, eyes wide as she watched them sprint towards them. Terry climbed with precision and speed.

“Terry!”

He flung himself over and dropped down, falling to his side. Rae joined him, helping him up to his feet.

“They’re coming…they…”

Rae clutched her chest. Terry grabbed their things and threw Rae over his shoulder. He ran for his life, sprinting through the dry grass towards the abandoned warehouse. Gunfire erupted and right before the made it inside, Terry lost his footing as a bullet pierced his shoulder blade.

“AH!”

He dropped to one knee. Rae tugged on his shirt, bringing him further inside as Terry pushed with his feet. He stood and watched as the protectors crowded the fence with their guns pointed at them. Terry released a huff, peeking at them through a broken window. Rae rummaged through her bag and grabbed hold of her inhaler. She wrapped her lips around it and pushed, her lungs filling with the medicine. Instantly, she felt relief.

Exhaling, she rose to her feet. Her eyes fell to the blood stain on the back of his shirt and the hole where the bullet had entered. Thankfully, she’d brought some medical supplies with her. She also has experience in treating wounds. Something she had to teach herself. Just in case she ended up in a situation such as this.

“You’re bleeding out…”

Terry glanced down at her over his shoulder, sweat trickling down his face and neck.

“I’ll handle it. Right now…we need to find a way out of here. Fast.”

Rae studied the old, abandoned industrial building they were inside of. A factory that had been shut down for many years. Long shadows gave an eerie feeling. The building had been waiting for demolition. It gave her a grunge vibe. A floating crane was suspended high above them, creaking from the old chains and iron beams keeping it steady.

“I found Mike’s walkie in this area, along the outer perimeter…”

Terry flexed his back. Pain decorated his face but he remained stoic throughout. He turned his face away to spit before licking his lush lips that were covered with an overgrown mustache.

“So…he must have been hiding here…I bet your protectors knew about it…”

Terry crouched down to grab his shotgun, looping it over his head to rest across his back.

“I guess they don’t plan to climb. Figured since we’re inside, they can keep us trapped.”

Terry retrieved his crossbow. Rae grabbed her bags and silently followed Terry as he walked further into the warehouse. Their movements echoed, broken glass cracking beneath their feet. Darkness blanketed them, and Rae wondered if Terry planned to stay for the evening.

“There’s a back exit. Look.”

Terry pointed to an exposed backway where automatic doors used to be long ago. Pure black stared back at her. She opened her backpack to retrieve a flashlight. Tapping it against her hand, it ignited. Terry looked down at her as she handed it to him.

“You need to keep behind me at all times. We have to keep moving…”

“Okay. Just…don’t get us killed.”

Terry elevated a brow at her but didn’t respond.

As they walked, Rae grabbed Terry’s hand. He cut his eyes at her before tightening his hold. Their fingers interlocked, the roughness of his palm against hers warm and steady. They made it out, flashlight quickly scanning the clearing. The fence stopped at a certain point because of a hill. Any one of them could be waiting to jump out at them. Even a zombie could be there, reaching out their decaying arms.

“Let’s go!”

Terry dashed and Rae was behind him at the same speed

Pop! Pop!

Terry yelled for Rae to duck when a few men came out of hiding. Terry got down on one knee and with his handgun he aimed, firing rounds at them at a speed they weren’t prepared for. Rae watched as each of their bodies fell beneath the moonlight.

“Almost there,” Terry helped Rae up and they continued running. She stepped over a dead body, glancing down into the face of someone she’d recognized. He was just a kid. His dead eyes scared her, causing her to look away.

They made it to the hill, and when they got there, Terry raised his gun again, the bullet entering a zombies chest but it didn’t subdue it. More filtered from the trees, dragging their undead bodies towards the scent of the three lifeless men Terry had killed.

——

Rae had done the unexpected.

Terry could feel himself being tugged on. Rae had pulled the shotgun from him and aimed it at the zombies that were showing themselves. She cocked the gun and blasted off chunks of their withered, grotesque bodies. Terry finished off the ones that weren’t completely dead with precise headshots.

The odor of their flesh permeated the air around them along with the smell of gunpowder. Terry watched as Rae’s arms shook from the shock of it all. He approached her, hands on her arms, guiding the shotgun down. He wrenched it from her grasp and flung it over him again. Rae was trying to process things, body rigid.

“Rae…it’s okay.”

Terry rubbed her back to calm her down. She slowly turned to face him. Her doe eyes blinked up at him as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I–I thought I was going to die…”

“…I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

They stared at each other for a beat longer. Terry was the first to break eye contact. Those were eyes to get swept away in. Now was not the time to feel anything. He wasn’t there for Rae. Or so he thought. Mike was his main priority.

“It’s late. We need to find a place to lay low until the morning.”

Terry’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten in hours.

“Somewhere concealed.”

Terry looked at Rae. She pondered his words.

“…there’s a watchtower…not far from here…but there may be protectors there.”

“Good,” Terry squared his shoulders, “Then I can get some answers.”

Terry started walking, Rae on his heels.

“They usually have the place surrounded. It’s a death trap.”

Terry chuckled, “if you haven’t noticed by now, everywhere’s a death trap.” He laughed sarcastically.

“The one that watches from the tower has a rifle. They could shoot us down before we even get to them.”

Terry climbed the dirt hill with a sense of urgency.

“And I have the skills to evade them.”

Terry turned, reaching out his hands. Rae stepped closer and Terry lifted her up and over a stone that was too high up for her to climb over. He sat her down and Rae took that moment to stare up at the giant before her.

“You were a soldier?”

“A Marine veteran.”

“Oh…that explains things.”

Terry tilted his head at Rae.

“Lead the way to the tower. You know this area better than I do.”

Rae looked from left to right with uncertainty.

“Rae, you gotta have more faith in me. We didn’t make it all this way for you to act like I ain’t capable.”

“Fair,” she released a sigh, “It’s this way.”

“Go head,” Terry motioned for her to step in front of him.

Rae accepted the flashlight and began walking westward. Terry had his crossbow aimed at the trees surrounding them. He would stop Rae every few steps, aiming the light at the surrounding area to see if any zombies were nearby. They were probably flooding the warehouse by now with those three dead bodies scattered.

After thirty minutes, a watch tower standing tall on beams with a staircase was up ahead.

Rae and Terry hid behind a tree. From their view, they couldn’t make out anyone on the steps, but there was someone within the tower. The constant movement of a light similar to that of a lighthouse moved around and aimed low.

“This will make it easy for us. We have to stay away from the light.”

Rae turned off her flashlight and Terry took the lead again.

“Gimme your hand.”

Hand in hand, they crouched as they moved. When the light made its way toward them, Terry would pick up speed, sprinting in the opposite direction. The light circled back and Terry charged forward until they were safely out of sight.

“It’s a long way up,” Terry studies the distance, “I want you to stay behind me at all times. Here,” Terry removed his shot gun, handing it to Rae, “Use this if you have to. You know how to handle that thing better than me.”

The teasing look in his eyes and the glimmer of a smile beneath his mustache and scruffy facial hair gave him a youthful look. Rae gave him a small smile that disappeared just as fast when he’d turned his back on her and started making his way up.

They climbed and climbed, Rae periodically turning to make sure she wasn’t being followed. Nearly at the top, Terry slowed his ascent, pausing to look down at Rae.

“Stay here.” He mouthed.

Rae nodded her head and held her place, afraid to look out over the railing because of her fear of heights. The darkness didn’t help make things easier. One false move and she could fall to her death. Rae shut her eyes tight and took calming breaths with the shotgun pressed firm against her chest.

Terry Richmond took measured steps up the last flight of stairs. Finally, he tiptoed forward until he was staring at the back of a man about his height but with a slimmer build. He wore a gray beanie with a heavy–duty utility jacket and dark brown cargos. His feet were covered in dirty Timberland boots. He had a rifle perched next to him while his left hand aimed the flashlight around and his right hand held a pair of binoculars over his eyes.

Terry slowly raised his handgun, aiming it at the back of his head. Too bad he miscalculated things. Another man was hiding in the shadows. He pushed the door shut and pounced, putting Terry in a headlock. The Watcher turned on his heels, dropping the binoculars and aiming the flashlight at a struggling Terry’s face.

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?”

The Watcher appeared to be a biracial male with a clean shaven face. His beady eyes stared daggers at Terry.

“Answer the question, asshole!” The man holding Terry hostage spoke.

Terry writhed before pushing backwards, the man colliding with the door. Terry’s elbow flew into his chest and he gripped the arm around his neck, using all his brunt strength to twist his arm in the opposite direction. The man shouted in pain so loud he could probably be heard from a distance. Free, Terry planted his fist against The Watchers nose, sending him flailing backwards against the railing.

“Come here!”

Terry put up his fist and started throwing blows, jabbing the burly man that grabbed him in the throat and then hooking him in the stomach. He bent over and Terry sent his knee into his face, cracking his front teeth.

The door flew open and Rae entered with the shotgun raised. She aimed it at the man against the railing, watching as he raised his hands.

“I thought I told you to wait for my signal?” Terry chastised Rae.

She ignored him, too focused on the man before her staring down the barrel of the shotgun.

“Don’t move!” She ordered.

“Rae?”

The Watcher squinted his eyes with a mixture of confusion and betrayal.

Terry was busy with his handgun pointed down at the man that tried to subdue him. He was rolling around on the floor of the tower, clutching onto his arm that was sure to be splintered. Terry glanced over and looked between Rae and The Watcher.

“What are you doing?” He questioned.

Rae hesitated to speak. She gave Terry a weary look.

“I’m leaving the refuge, Billy”

“Leaving? Where the fuck do you expect to go?”

Billy’s eyes landed on Terry with a glare.

“Him? He’s an outsider.”

Terry took slow steps toward Billy.

“Does the name Mike sound familiar to you?”

Billy sized Terry up with a curl of his lip.

“Answer the question.” Terry commanded with his hazel eyes threatening.

“How does he look?” Billy respond with frustration.

“About six feet, slim, black, hair similar to mine. He had on a grey shirt with long sleeves and black pants. Carried a camouflage backpack…”

Billy tried to picture Mike in his mind. His eyes scanned the floor. His eyes widened with recognition.

“…light voice? Goatee?”

Terry froze.

“…yeah. Where did you see him.”

Billy looked between Rae and Terry. Terry turned his attention to Rae. Her expression was hard to read. She could feel his eyes on her, and when she looked at him, he got a sense that she knew more than what she claimed. Terry’s stomach muscles tightened.

Agitated, Terry pointed his gun at Billy with a firm grip.

“Enough of this shit! Where the fuck is Mike?!!!”

“Why the fuck should I tell you anything!” Billy shouted.

Terry charged, hemming Billy up against a pole. Rae lowered the shotgun, watching Terry slam Billy repeatedly against the pole.

“TALK! I swear to god…”

Terry’s lips pulled back into a snarl as he dragged Billy over towards the railing. He tilted his upper body over the railing, one hand around his neck so tight Billy was turning purple in the face.

“IF I FINDO OUT YOU DID SOMETHING TO MY COUSIN! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

Rae jumped at the sound of Terry’s voice.

It scared her. Billy was choking on whatever breaths he had left.

“Terry! Let him up!” Rae pleaded.

Terry looked back at her.

“You know something. Don’t you?”

“I don’t know anything!” Rae shouted.

“BULLSHIT!”

Terry pressed the barrel of the gun against Billy’s temple. Billy shut his eyes, mouthing something that Terry couldn’t discern.

“I’m gon’ ask it one more time before I throw you off this bitch,” Terry clenched his jaw, “Where. Is. Mike.”

“Left for dead! Left for dead! Shit! That’s all I know! We caught him and left him for the walkers! That’s all I know!”

Terry flipped his gun around and placed it in his pants. He yoked Billy up and dragged him to the floor. He repeatedly punched him in the face, blood splattering his shirt and the sound of cartilage and bone crushing.

“Terry! Okay! Okay!”

Rae tried to pull him away but Terry was too strong. She fell back on her butt.

Billy was losing consciousness. Terry gave him one final blow, knocking Billy out cold. His fist dripped with blood and his knuckles were bruised and cut. Terry’s heavy breathing was the only sound. Rae turned her head to look at the other man on the floor.

Terry faced her, a distant look in his eyes as he approached the other man. Rae knew him as Duke. She didn’t interact with him much. Terry crouched down, staring Duke in the eye.

“Think you can tell me where you left my cousin to die, motherfucker?”

Duke’s sweaty face held no emotion as he parted his bloody lips to speak.

“We shot him in the leg and left him on the tracks. Don’t know nothing else. We just assumed he was dead.”

Terry held a slight frown, laugh lines in the corners of his mouth pronounced. He blinked slowly at Duke for a few more seconds before standing to his feet at a slow pace. Rae followed his movements, breath caught in her throat.

“So, you thought it was okay to drag an innocent man to his death and leave him instead of helping him?”

Terry stood over Duke, and Rae watched as his boot pressed against Duke’s throat. Duke began to squirm, veins protruding from his forehead as he fought against the pressure Terry applied. Rae covered her mouth with her hands, unable to look away as the life was sucked from Duke’s body. His eyes bulged and then suddenly he went limp. Terry’s boot remained for ten seconds longer, ensuring that he was dead.

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @blackerthings @deja-r @kanafunee @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @dremmmm @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @kokokonako @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @playgurlxoxo @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter

[lilacxquartz]

sleepy nostalgia;

yandere bill cipher x gn!reader

plot: bill could never let you go, not even in your dreams and this time, he gets you to crack — a/n: this fic is a follow up from a kinktober entry :) via request, hope you like it! thank you for giving me an excuse to write villains haha — themes: dubcon, yandere, gender neutral reader, smut, oral (receiving), bullying, manipulation, dreamscapes — w.c: ~3k • masterlist • < previous part • ao3 ✮⋆˙

Ever since that one dream had reminded you once again of his existence, you tried to avoid sleeping however much you could. On the worse-off nights, you’d drink yourself to sleep, so that you’d at least not remember the interactions or you would prioritise some old sleeping pills, knowing that they’d have you out like a light and off to an uneventful rest.

Try as you might, however, you couldn’t avoid dreaming forever and found yourself regrettably plunged into an unreal world. It was sudden and imposing too, quickly taking away what was just a moment of shut eye and sending you off into a deceptively calm meadow. Just as soon as you figured something was off though, it morphed into a shadowy hellscape, the once soft grass melting into a scalding black tar, pulling you down and fusing you into place.

The air around you shifted and the atmosphere changed into something univiting, yet dreadfully familiar. The realisation was clear; this was going to be a dream to remember and he was in control of it.

“Oh shit, shit, shit,” you frantically whispered, your eyes darting around to search for an out, knowing fully well that there couldn’t have realistically been one, not if he orchestrated this whole thing.

You knew this place—it was where you had first made that deal with him that trapped you in this whole mess to begin with—it was never a peaceful place in the field. Your dream tricked you. He tricked you. Confining you to a temporary prison where you lacked control, held down by an oppressive reality that wasn’t even your own; where the rules could be bent and broken per his every whim, and just as you were in the midst of losing yourself to your thoughts, he appeared.

“Well, well, well,” his voice cut into your ears, echoing sharply through the silence like an unwelcome symphony. You grimaced as you were forced to face Bill once more, watching him blink and fade into view.

You shook your head as he drifted closer, trying to move away as fast as you could react, but the tar kept you solidified in place. “No, no, no—”

“If it isn’t my favourite human,” he continued on, his voice bursting with arrogance, “did you miss me? Because I… sure… missed… you! I bet you have had so much fun avoiding me this whole time, keeping me in the dark like that, but I couldn’t let you get away with that forever. Oh, no, no.”

“N-not again,” you sighed, already anticipating the worst. “I thought that I could… I thought if… that…” you trailed off, trying to justify your attempted escape from him, knowing that that it was already fruitless.

“That you could what? Escape me in the real world?” Bill asked, completing your poor attempt to hold together a single sentence. He floated closer to you, slightly growing in size so that he could loom over you, making you feel small and helpless. “You should know by now that all these silly ‘attempts’ of you playing hard to get would never throw me off of you,” he added in a cold, venomous tone as if offended by your attempts to do such a thing, “and besides, look at you now, all you’ve done is tire yourself out. Good thing I’m here for you in such dire times, huh? I could help you truly relax, you know.”

“But… I don’t want you to be here, so get out of my head,” you replied, trying to hold your ground.

Bill could only scoff, twisting his voice to something playful, “Oh wow, somebody’s feeling feisty tonight. I love it!”

“Get out of my head,” you repeated.

Bill suddenly took off his hat, positioning it below him like some sort of makeshift seat, crossing his legs in the process and leaning his elbows on his knees as he silently studied you. “You know I can’t do that. The only reason that I’m in your head to begin with is because you’re thinking about me all the time. That’s how this whole affair of ours works, so why not admit… that you just… simply… miss me?”

“I guess I do think about how much I hate you,” you retorted in response.

“Ouch, ouch! My feelings!” he gasped dramatically, clutching at what might have been his chest, intentionally falling off of his hat chair, before sitting back up and snapping his fingers, bringing you back to the dream that set it all off to begin with. All of a sudden, you were back at home, in your dusty old bedroom, but everything was off. The room was empty expect for the bed, and a sickly sweet smell wafted through the air, like burnt sugar and the tar had since then melted away, leaving you free but with nowhere to go.

Bill then drifted off to your bed, slinking off into a lounging position, tracing the bedsheets with his fingertips and blinking once again directly at you. His voice sounded more menacing somehow as if underlying a real threat beyond his facade of exaggerated whimsy, “You know, you say you hate me, but hate is just a different form of passion, isn’t it? And let me tell you, I’m familiar with both. You wouldn’t be thinking of me or going as far as to letting me appear in your dreams if you didn’t care.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “You’re so fucking delusional.”

“And you’re adorable when you’re angry,” he laughed, his single eye glinting with such amused wonder, “but let’s cut to the chase, shall we? You’re going to give in to me tonight, or else I’m going to figure out a way to make every second of your waking life a living hell.”

Rightfully protesting, you backed away until your body hit the wall, your voice beginning to sound frantic as you remembered just what he put you through last time, “You can’t do that.”

Bill didn’t give you all that much time however to fret however, snapping his fingers once again, forcing the blankets from your bed to fly forward from the mattress and snake their way around your body, holding you in place. You thrashed around, trying to tear free from the makeshift bindings, but the material only tightened.

“Let me go, right now,” you whined.

“Now, now,” Bill purred, calmly floating closer, “why would I do that, huh? I already told you what it would take, so the choice is yours, really.”

“What do you even get out of this?” you fussed, still trying to break free from the duvet that constricted around you.

“A lot of things,” he admitted, “but namely you. You’re… mine, aren’t you? You don’t want to admit it, but you can’t escape the truth–at least not forever,” he loosened the grip on the blankets momentarily, teasing you with a false out, “the real world’s a messy place, oddly enough, too many rules and too many distractions holding us both back from being together. But here…? We can do whatever we’d like, whatever you’d like, even. Just you and me with endless possibilities.”

You listened to his words, feeling him start to get to you, but deep inside, all of your remaining logic and reasoning were still screaming for you to resist him, that he was leading you astray, that he was bad for you. “N-no way. No. I refuse. You don’t own me, so just stop.”

Bill laughed again, tilting your head up so you could face him. “Technically speaking, I actually own everything in this dimension. I can have everything I want, whenever I want it, except for one thing that is…” he trailed off, letting a hint of vulnerability slip through the cracks, although you couldn’t quite tell if it was genuine or not, knowing exactly how he could be.

“Really?” you scoffed again, refusing to give him any sort of satisfaction from seeing you break down for him, even if it all was starting to wane. “You’re wrong if you think that I’ll give in to you. You’re nothing to me.”

For a moment, Bill was silent, as if finally frustrated by your constant refusal but then he burst into a fit of deep laughter, his feet kicking below his form. “Oh, ho, ho! You’ve got quite the backbone in you. I like that – especially when you say such hurtful things. We’re quite alike, you know, and that’s exactly why you should give in, because I’m the only one in your life who knows exactly what you want and how you want it, and let me tell you—your… frustration, for a lack of better words is very apparent.”

Finally starting to break under the pressure, you took the bait like a fool. “W-what do you mean?”

“Oh? Isn’t it obvious?” Bill sang a little, seeming a touch more excited now that he was finally getting somewhere with you. “Tell me, when you try to get yourself off and inevitably fail to do so — do you really think I don’t know when you think of me? I can always tell. I know how easily embarrassed you get though, so I didn’t make a point of letting you know, just so that you wouldn’t turn into the bright red mess that you are turning into right now,” he gestured, referring to your flustered state, “but I know just how much you really ‘hate’ me, which is rich to me… all things considered.”

Unable to reply, you simply looked away, only tensing up when you felt him drift as close to you as possible, returning the cane to where it once was the second time you he touched you the way you wanted him to—pushing at the sex in between your legs, passively twisting and lazily rubbing the cane against your sensitive skin, his eye blank and somehow half-lidded.

“Let’s not forget who’s really in charge here,” he murmured, seemingly pleased by the hot-and-bothered state he quickly got you into, “you can hate me all you want, but by the end of the day, whether you want to admit it or not, you’re mine.”

“I-I’ll never accept it,” you spat back, starting to not quite believe yourself. Were you really this touch starved…?

Bill laughed darkly, dropping the cane to the floor, reaching into your trousers with his hand instead. To your surprise, given his unassuming form, his fingers felt like hard leather, pushing up against your aching arousal, stroking at it in a way that made your thighs clench with building anticipation, your mind screaming for you to not dare to give in.

“We’ve got all night,” he revealed, kneading on your form with almost aching slowness, feeling you grow crazy from such a teasing, yet never lingering touch, “and you’ll give in, I know you will. You can even tell me you hate me all you like but I’ll know what you really mean.”

“I do hate you though,” you replied, feeling yourself coiling within like a barely contained spring, packed and ready to burst forward. The pleasure rose within you humiliatingly fast, evident from your lack of touching—either from others that you refused to let get close to you, or at your own hand, lest you admit something you weren’t ready to think—the more that he rubbed away.

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismissed, working away in between your thighs, watching you begin to tremble only to pull away for a moment, pushing his hands against your legs to retreat a step or two away from you, “you hate me, I get it. You hate me so bad. Hate, hate, hate. It’s all you do.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to think or feel. You were about to fully come undone and just as that feeling was about to take you over, he stole that anticipated release away from you. You watched him watch you for a moment and in a surge of desperation, you heard words slip out of your mouth that you did everything within your mortal control to hold onto, and yet—!

“D-don’t stop,” you gasped out, immediately stilling, your eyes widening beyond what was humanely possible. Your hands pulled at the confining rags, with the blankets only tightening harder at your weak attempts, forcing you to face him with what you just said.

With what you just admitted.

For a moment, the room went somehow even more silent than it was before. You refused to breathe, even somehow within the shackles of your dream, and Bill’s floating form staring down at you with no hint as to what he could have been thinking.

Bill then, after a while without warning, suddenly clapped his hands once and laughed heartily for a good, long while, his one eye closing in sheer delight of your own admission. “Oh wow, now, this… this is rich,” he continued to cackle, wiping a tear away that he squeezed out, “after all of this time, all of that fighting and resistance, and even just you seconds ago insisting to me that you hate me, and look where you ended up! Finally, you’re being honest with yourself about something. ‘Don’t stop?’ Well, if you’re so sure!”

Immediately backtracking your words, you tried to fight back against him, only for him to cut you off. “W-wait, I mean, I didn’t, I—”

“Admit the three golden words and I’ll make it all better,” he cooed, promising you the release you so desperately craved.

“I-I… guess… I… I need you,” you sighed, drooping your head down in defeat.

You continued to glare at him as you felt tears threaten to spill over, but you couldn’t quite summon the strength to argue back nor deny his words for any longer. HIs eyes gleamed with some sort of sick and manic joy as he lowered himself down even further, settling in between your legs.

“Not to worry though,” he continued to purr, his words taking on a possessive tone as he used his two hands to further spread your thighs apart, “I’m not angry at you for taking your good, sweet time, because it just makes this whole moment all the much sweeter – and don’t worry, I’m going to have such fun taking care of you.”

Not giving you a chance to formulate a reply, he withdrew his hands for a moment, pulling at his bowtie so that it stretched wide across his triangular form. He made a few motions with it, leaving you momentarily confused as to what the hell he was doing, before a set of sharp teeth fell into place, leaving you dumbfounded as he seemed to have shaped himself a mouth.

You blinked, bewildered by the sight.

“I did say that I can do anything in this dimension, didn’t I?” he teased, finding it hilarious how you seemed to recoil in slight fear at the sight of his newly created mouth he talked, his words suddenly animated. “And now,” he said, his voice falling into something darker and much more controlled, “I’m going to show you my appreciation for a change.”

You remained frozen solid as you were pinned tight against the wall with your legs spread wide open, watching with some fear and reluctance as he moved his newly acquired features toward your lower form. Even if this was just a dream, you knew how he was, and he could make you feel excruciating pain if he wanted to and you didn’t want such a thing, even if you would feel better when you woke up again.

Pushing yourself back, you tried to fight back against him with your eyes closing off to seal away the potential unsightly horror, only for you to pause for a moment when you felt something warm and wet push around your sex. Propping one eye open, you paused for another moment, seeing that he was actually trying to give you real, actual pleasure for a change that didn’t feel mocking at all.

“Relax,” he murmured lazily, before returning his long lashing tongue to swirl around your arousal, feeling your stomach tighten and constrict again in that all too familiar way.

Your hands tightened into fists as they attempted to fight back against the now-loose bindings that wrapped around you in their blanketed form, feeling your chest rise and fall with each anticipated flicker of his tongue that whipped and wetly caressed at your tender flesh, before moving in even further and taking more of you into wherever he could reach. You shuddered against his infuriatingly linear form, feeling frustrated that you had nowhere to hold onto for comfort, before he gave you his hand once more—interlocking his soft leathery digits in between your fingers—weaving you into his embrace, squeezing you tight all the while he brought you towards a near-violent end.

You let it slip again as he brought you closer, your words sounding more confident that time—the evil he carried in his being be damned, you liked feeling wanted—you liked being craved, “I need you.”

Such a confession had only intensified his intricate little motions, amplifying the speed of how he made you ache, almost pushing you towards a near-scalding sensation of need as the bliss threatened to boil and spill over, and finally at last, giving way to complete and utter surrender.

With the final point of a peak being met, a hot, sweeping rush radiated throughout your body like crashing waves, ruining the floorboards below with your much-needed release, just about destroying you.

Bill pulled back after a moment, seeming a little different, but ultimately pleased that he finally got to you. He let you hold onto his hand for a moment more, before pulling you into his body that felt once again unwelcoming and linear, before softening it down a notch (as he could very likely read your thoughts), to feel comforting to the touch, letting you sink into him as much as you wanted.

For a while, everything seemed to fade away and then with a jolt, you woke up in a sudden rush in your bed—completely drenched in sweat. It was still dark outside and you were no longer in your old bedroom, but there was still that faint smell that lingered on your senses and it was so sickly sweet.

A bit like burnt sugar.

[moonsaver]

Spoilers/leaks? Im so normal about Sunday you guys.....

I've heard from a few theories/leaks that Sunday's main obsession and compulsions (hinted to be OCD) are due to him mainly being possessed by Ena. Everything, down to how he sits, presents himself, positions his hands, etc.. are in "praise" of Ena, who was absorbed by the Aeon of Harmony, Xipe. It is also further suggested that The Family exploits Sunday's ability to be possessed by her as a means of bringing her back.

Also the suggestion of Sunday being really lonely as a result of Robin pursuing her career in singing outside of Penacony and leaving only him to deal with the main duties, with no other direct family member for him to really rely upon, and as a result even harboring some sort of resentment between them because of it. I am so normal about this..

Anyways, that's the main theory part. Here are 2 of my brain conjurings;

1) being Ena's obsession, but not Sunday's.

It's extremely frustrating to have to be in forced proximity for him, to someone he has no interest in, to be forced to play this puppet in the grand scheme of things for Ena, and to be forced to abide by her and take you on as a lover. It's almost humiliating, and angering for Sunday. In an almost ironic turn of events, he starts despising you for the sole reason that you're Ena's lover, and could never be his.

This slowly morphs more and more into tiring vengefulness, which burns out into desperate need of companionship. He hates you. He hates everything about this large-scale performance he has to take part in, be forced to play as a role he never wanted, be possessed by something he could almost hope to understand and is beyond his power,leaving him so angrily helpless, but also so tired. Your ease is something Sunday manages to get wildly, unhealthily attached to, the more he seeks you out when he needs you, and not whenever Ena wants to. The comfort you unknowingly bring to him and not Ena, the burdens you seem to share and take off of him, not Ena, the softness of his true feelings that are brought by you, and not for Ena. At some point, this tandem of masks falls through, and Sunday ultimately looks forward to the day you become his, and solely his. Not of Ena's. Not of his Family's. No one else. Just his.

2) Being Sunday's obsession, but not Ena's.

It's heartbreaking. He can't have you. His flesh is tortured under the absolute strain of Ena's possession over his bones. His fingers twitch in disobedience. His eyes wander in longing. His head is bombarded and stuffed with agonizing cacophonies of reminders of his miserable role. And the backdrop of your silhouette only dares to be covered by it. You cannot come near. The orchestra of his Family will not let that happen. And neither is he willing to let you come in harm's way. To become a miserable puppet of his Family, of The Harmony; to bear the long-standing curse that weaves so thoroughly within their blood, only he alone is forced to redeem. He cannot possibly let Ena notice you. Their gazes are far too many, and far too much.

[websterss]

SEE YOU AT THE MEADOW — GUILDFORD DUDLEY

REQUEST: yeah julie I’m gonna need you to continue writing fics for Guilford cause i’m pretty sure you’re the only one atm. so just a small request (reader is an ethian maid for the dudley’s so her and guilford just grow a bond over the years. she could be a cat and sometimes she’ll shift to lay in his lap to get pats or she’ll walk with him in the morning when he’s a horse to keep him company for a bit. just some good friends to lovers type vibe) I LOVE YOU JULIEEEEEE💗💗💗💗💗💗💗@raggedyoldwitch

WARNING(S): fluff

WORD COUNT: 2,002

PAIRING: Guildford Dudley x Ethian!Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed!

MASTERLIST

You were only a child when Lord Dudley’s second son made his first transformation. The news was short-lived when you and your mother were made aware of Lady Dudley’s death. You hadn’t received much news on the matter but whispers amongst the kitchen maids settled on Guildford being at the cause of it. You were just as grave as he was, especially when all the whole servants were dismissed besides Bertie.

Your mother begged to stay but Lord Dudley was persistent on having you leave them. it wasn’t until you transformed yourself into a cat that he was swayed.

He even thought that if you had so easily controlled when you could shift between forms then perhaps you’d be able to help his son accomplish the same.

You didn’t though…

It was only the beginning of your friendship. A little girl trying to help a boy, who thought he was cursed. His only contrast to his curse was that he fully believed for you to be given a gift. That got him a pebble thrown at his head.

”You cannot hit me. I’m of importance!” Little Guildford protested, rubbing at the spot he was sure to receive a nasty bump.

“Really. I did not know.” You proceed to throw him another rock.

“Stop that!”

“You are not even trying!” You sighed. "It's easy. Look!" You bent at the waist as your body morphed. Your human form no more as a brown and black tabby cat. Your fur is a mixture of colors, brown and black as though someone ran out of paint and used what was left on your animal form. You meowed at him once and sat down as him saying 'see'. A second had only passed when you shifted back.

“I am trying. Am I not!?” He scowled.

He began throwing rocks back at you. Some of them land pretty much in your exact area, others missing you by a long shot. But after a while, he became distracted by a passing squirrel. A pebble hit him straight on causing him to topple over onto the grass. Your eyes widened as you rushed over to him.

”Oh dear…quick what is your name?”

“You fool!”

“Okay, what is my name?”

He shoved you away. The shove causes you to fall on your bottom.

”You little bastard!" You exclaimed, before shoving him back twice as hard. He stumbled and fell back into a rose bush.

You two tumbled around before you were pinned by him. His breathing stilling as he watched your own eyes widen.

Your eyes widened in fright at the position you’d landed yourselves in. It felt like both of you were holding your breath as you watched each other’s expression. He’d never been this close to you before, and he found himself studying the way your eyes seemed to glitter in the moonlight.

“Y/n, Guildford, supper is prepared!”

Both your eyes widened at the soft voice of your mother, but by the time you’d both looked around she was nowhere in sight. Guildford looked back down at you, his expression a mixture of nervousness and confusion as he tried to figure out what to do next. His father was expecting him for dinner but he didn’t want to leave you alone here in the forest. He opened his mouth to speak. But for some reason, he just couldn’t find the words.

“I’m…I’m never gonna get this.” He relented, sitting back to allow you up.

You sat up too, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You then looked as he sat down next to you, a look of helplessness on his face.

”…don’t worry.” You told him, noticing how dejected he looked. “We can try again the next day. Night will come again.”

He shook his head. “You repeat it over and over. It’s not working. It hasn’t worked and it will not! It’s an unavailing attempt. It’s no use in getting our hopes up!”

You reached out and lightly hit his arm. “Hey, what sort of defeatist attitude is that? There’s always a light at the end of the tunnel, right?” He didn’t answer for a moment before he turned his head away from you. You didn’t notice the blush on his face.

You sigh. You watched him silently for a moment, not wanting to speak and say something that would upset him further. After a moment though you spoke up anyway.

”…you should head inside.” You said quietly. “Your father will have your head if you’re not there soon enough.”

“Let me see you in at least. Your mother will have my head if you’re not there, soon enough.” He offered his arm and you grasped it.

You linked your arm with his and together he slowly began walking you back to your cottage. He tried to ignore the way your hair swayed with each step you took or the way your scent that of the poppies and lilacs in his mother’s garden you worked hard to revive again. But it was a hard task for a young growing boy who’d only just begun to notice these things.

When you reached the entrance, you both halted in your tracks at the sound of a raised voice coming from inside.

“My heavens, look at the lot of you. Filthy!” Your mother scorns you as she reaches forward to pull a leaf out of your hair. “Go…I’ve run you a warm bath already. Then dressed and down for supper.” You let go of Guildford bidding him a bye with a small grin. Then ran up the stairs.

“Guildford…” She eyed then sucked her teeth grabbing hold of his face. “Oh, that girl. Look at you! It will bruise!”

“If it lessens your worries, I got her back!”

”She's supposed to be helping you, not damaging your face.” She shakes her head.

His cheeks burned a deep red in embarrassment as she continued to fret at him. “I’ll be fine…it’s just a bump and a mark.” He mumbled.

She took her hands away, still in a disapproving mood as she crossed her arms. Before a smile cracked at her expression. ”You like her, don’t you?” He looked at her, his expression wide as she began to tease him. ”That’s how it starts. Yes! First, it’s just a bump and a mark, then it’s a broken bone, then you’ll be bedridden!” She then scolded.

"Well then Y/n will join my demise…" He shrunk in on himself.

Your mother laughed at his remark. “I believe she could just be my lord. That girl could be a little nightmare if she tried.” She then ruffled his hair before guiding him towards the stairs. "Go, clean yourself up before the food grows cold."

"I'm not a lord." He called over his shoulder.

"You will be." She chimed shaking her head as she watched him ascend to the second floor.

-

"And when that April with his showers soote-" Guildford had stopped reciting the poem from the book in his hands. His smirk grew as your animal form perched itself on his lap. He reached forward to scratch behind your right ear. "Shall I continue or are you simply here to be a distraction?"

The feline version of you closed its eyes at the sensation of his fingers scratching at the sweet spot behind its ear. You released a little noise that sounded a lot like a purr making it clear that you were enjoying the attention. You then used your front paw to paw at the pages of the book, as if telling him to go on.

"Very well then..." He emits a low chuckle.

Your little furry self settled down in his lap and listened to the dulcet tones of his voice as he continued with the lines.

His reading was like music to your ears. He made the words soar off the page and flutter around the room. You hadn't seen Guildford this calm in ages, not since the death of his mother.

The two of you remain in the library for hours, him continuing to read aloud to the little animal on his lap. But it's not till you release a sneeze that has him stopping, has him anticipating what would come next. He sighs moving the book onto the side table as he sits back. He holds his breath as he sees ripples of black and orange begin to transform your cat-like self. It's not long till you release another sneeze in your human form.

"Bless…" Guildford clears his throat. He keeps his hands and arms on the armsrest.

You get your bearings. Your hair is messy from when you slept on your side in cat form. And of course, you're only in a night dress. You look at Guildford, and he looks back at you.

He attempts to avoid looking at your nightie, but he's only a man, after all.

You palm down your hair, in hopes it doesn't appear untamed.

He watches you do this, his eyes darting over your face and down your body. He knows he should look away, but he can't. Not when you looked like this. It was just like in the forest all those years ago as children, the feeling of nerves and the rapid heartbeat.

"Sleep well?" He reached up caressing some of your locks behind your ear.

You nod your head as if his soft touch has you forgetting how to speak.

He can see the blush on your cheeks and he knows he's the reason why it's there. "You're adorable." He says, almost as if on autopilot.

You roll your eyes as you climb off his lap. "Fool..."

He watches you cross the room before stopping you at the door. Your hand holding onto the handle.

He lets out a sigh, his leg beginning to bounce. “You do know it is very uncouth for you to be wearing that in my presence.”

"It's my nightwear, Guildford. What do you expect me to wear?" You respond, half turning your head to look at him. "Besides, it's not the most inappropriate attire you've worn around me."

His face turns a few shades darker red as his mind drifts to that exact memory. The image of you in his thin white undershirt, with nothing else on…it hadn't been that many years when he convinced you to go with him to a lake. You had shifted into your cat form by accident leaving you rendered embarrassed and well without clothes. He doesn’t want to be having that sort of thought right now. Not when you were standing a little less than an arms-length away from him, in your very night clothes.

"Thought so…" You muse with a chuckle. "Good night Guildford." You bid him goodbye opening the door to make your way out.

He almost lets you walk out. But his mind has other plans. Before he could think better of it he bolts up and pauses at the door. You're only a few feet from the door before his voice catches your attention.

"Where are you going?" He softly chuckles.

"To bed. Some of us sleep before dawn Guildford."

"Care for a stroll through the meadow again…keep me company?" He looked down before he met your bemused gaze again.

"I'll ask Bertie to pack us fresh carrots."

He quirks an eyebrow at your words, but he can see how you consider it. After a moment, you let out a sigh. "I would never miss it." You bid him with that adorable contagious grin and go to your quarters for the evening. "Night, my lord." You were heavy with the emphasis of his title. Guildford let his weight fall against the threshold, knowing he had the morrow to look forward to. 

[ohimsummer]

BLOOD BANK

—vampire! suguru x reader, bloodsucking, predator/prey elements, light choking, kidnapping technically

wc 1.1k

there is a thrumming in the woods. a pair of hearts trying to out-beat each other, both for vastly different reasons.

the man—this dark-haired beast—savors his time in reaching you. his walk is a slow, menacing lumber, one he can afford to take when his prey is just some shivering little thing with their back literally to a wall. a lost lamb out in the woods, way out of their element and woefully easy to rip apart.

he looks amused. you imagine for someone like him, that you’re making quite the easy meal; fear cementing you to the spot, only part moving is the involuntary tremble in your limbs and those wide, frightful eyes looking for an escape route.

the tall, otherworldly man stops just several feet short of you. he waits, and when you make no sudden movements, he talks. “aren’t you going to run?”

it’s all a little…confusing. is he really giving you permission? he’s letting you go? or is this just another trick, granting you a sliver of hope before he promptly snatches you back into reality? there is only one way to find out.

you clamber up onto wobbly legs, using the large wall of rock behind you to help steady yourself. he only watches, hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, fascinated, amethyst eyes detailing your every clumsy move. staggered steps. the frantic turns of your head before you obviously pick a random direction to run, not even knowing where it goes, if it doesn’t lead to a dead end.

barely ten steps in, and you’re hitting the ground with a thud. your head makes a sharp collision with the ground, leaving you both stunned and confused. did you trip over your own feet again—

the heavy weight on top of you says otherwise.

as your captor manhandles you onto your back, a heap of whimpers worm their way up and out your throat. the helpless bleats of a caught animal. he pins your wrists with one hand before you can even fight back, legs on either side of you to straddle your waist. he turns his head to the side, moonlight catching on the sharp edge of his jawline, and he laughs at the weak flailing of your legs behind him. you’re so puny and vulnerable. he’s been having fun with you since the start.

your desperate mewl of ‘please’ is cut off with a shush, soft and low as if to console you. “no begging, my darling, none of that.”

he looms over your helpless form, leaning down to bury his nose in your neck and all you can do is cringe and cower further into the dirt. the man hesitates over the skin of your neck, and then you hear him, feel him take in a deep whiff of your scent.

“i hadn’t planned on hunting, tonight, “, he murmurs along your skin, lips tracing over the expanse of your throat, “but, you smelled too delightful for me to pass up, and i am dying to know if you taste just the same.”

he pulls back to admire you again, and long, feathery, raven locks form a curtain around you, isolating your vision to just him. him and those bewitching eyes that keep you so mesmerized, afraid to look away.

his other hand traces up the length of your arms, where the man laces fingers with you. he gives your hand a light squeeze, then presses it down hard enough to keep your other hand secure to the ground. the opposite hand comes to a rest on your throat, squeezing lightly as if he feels the blood racing through you.

never breaking his gaze gives you a first-hand view through the windows of his eyes, straight into his thoughts and you watch in horror as the veil of hunger in those violet shades morphs into pure, predatory greed. he doesn’t look like he wants to just play with you anymore. like he wants to maybe sink his teeth into you here and there. no, this is a look that says he yearns to devour you whole.

your captor can see the realization cross your features, and the look of sheer terror on your face makes him want to just go ahead and eat you right up.

“n—no, i—,” you begin writhing beneath him again, thrashing and pleading and crying for an out, but he doesn’t even have to adjust his strength to keep you in place. “i don’t taste good, i promise, i swear!”

the man only chuckles, amusing himself with your pitiful escape attempts. “let me be the judge of that.” and then he flashes you a wide, toothy grin.

a glimpse of those fangs turns your blood to ice, and your body goes numb. he laughs again as you grow still in an instant, long, forked tongue running over his glistening canines. they’re abnormally long, sharp as glass with a pointed tip. perfect for puncturing skin.

it happens faster than you can anticipate. his eyes narrow, and then a split-second later, there’s a light pressure on your neck, swiftly followed by stabbing pinpricks of pain. an abrupt gasp followed by a stuttered choke leaves your lips. your chest heaves. and then the man is looking at you again. there is red on his immaculate teeth, coating his lips, running down his chin to stain his once-pristine white shirt.

the side of your neck feels sore. a constant, throbbing pain just below your jawline, only soothed when he leans down again to run a warm tongue over the spot, feeding from you and, despite his courteous persona, it’s clear that he’s a messy eater. you can feel the smear of blood on your neck, jaw, dripping down to the dirt below and seeping into the earth.

“didn’t take you for a liar.” he is speaking again, working his snake-like tongue over his lips to poorly clean away the blood. “ i’m not usually one for sweets, but i can make an exception. just for you.”

a wave of nausea threatens to drown you entirely; birds swim in a halo around your head, eyesight blurry and faded. there are arms under your back and the bend in your knees, and then you are weightless.

“where….where are we…..”, you mumble out the incomplete inquiry.

“we’re going home.”, he says.

your head lolls to the side before resting on his chest. it’s firm, with the muted tone of his slowed heartbeat inside. his hair feels ticklish against your cheek. it makes your face scrunch up, and now there is the low rumble of his laughter at your expression. between that and the nausea, the exhaustion, it takes no time for you to drift off to sleep. and the last words you hear from the man is him calling you his new little blood bank.

🩸: @teddybeartoji @staryukis @babytoshiii @reiluvr @kentophilia @ohsuguru @risuola @soraya-daydreams @starlightanyaaa @luvvmae @domainexpansionmypants @apatauaia @b-b-b-my-b-f-f @getouolgy @sataraxia @leilalilox @sugu-love @akumicchi @sugojosgf @k-cris @triviahct @venzlenes @bubblez-blop @lovesickliyue

[bluecaitjinx]

caitjinx (canon-divergent) headcanon - chronic pain

here’s a short headcanon i did as a writing warm-up (and because i wanted to write some fluff).

1k under the cut ~

jinx experiences chronic pain as a result of the life-saving shimmer transfusion she received after the fateful skirmish on the bridge. it manifests as a constant, dull ache throughout her body accompanied by occasional migraines (made worse/triggered by her hallucinations and psychotic episodes).

when the pain gets to be unmanageable, jinx will stay in bed for most of the day, wrapped up in her and caitlyn’s plush duvet and surrounded by pillows. given how stubborn jinx usually is when it comes to taking care of herself, caitlyn knows that the pain must be particularly bad if she finds jinx burrowed under the covers midday.

caitlyn is always on the search for elixirs, holistic medicine - quite literally anything that isn’t magic to help alleviate jinx’s suffering. the only thing that has brought jinx some minor relief is an herbal supplement caitlyn had imported from ionia (her father’s suggestion). even so, it has become clear to both jinx and caitlyn that there is no “cure” or fix-all solution. the best thing they can do is focus on pain-management.

——

“darling?” caitlyn’s voice comes in the form of a low murmur inches away from jinx’s ear. she wasn’t aware that caitlyn had joined her in bed.

“hmm?” jinx hums groggily, followed by an unsatisfying yawn that cuts a little too short. when she cracks her eyes open, squinting in preparation for the bright afternoon light to assault her senses, she’s grateful to be met with darkness. caitlyn must have drawn the heavy drapes that work surprisingly well as blackout curtains.

the woman in question pulls back just enough to meet jinx’s questioning and disoriented gaze. jinx looks adorable nestled in the blankets that dwarf her petite frame, but the small smile that graces caitlyn’s lips at the sight softens sympathetically when jinx winces in pain.

“hey. i just wanted to come in and check on you,” caitlyn explains, continuing to speak quietly as to not cause jinx any more distress. she lifts her hand from where it rests in between them on the mattress to comb her fingers through jinx’s unruly bangs sticking up every which way. “have you taken your supplements, yet?”

at the mention of “supplements,” a soft whine of protest escapes the back of jinx’s throat. her bottom lip subsequently juts out in a pout as she leans into caitlyn’s touch, desperate for any modicum of comfort she can get. it’s difficult to see caitlyn’s face in the near pitch black of the other woman’s bedroom, but jinx still manages to detect a glint of amusement in caitlyn’s icy blue eye.

“no…” jinx admits with a reluctant mumble. she pulls the duvet up to her chin with a stilted movement and a hiss. “it hurts to move.”

caitlyn’s chest clenches at the thought jinx being in so much pain that she can’t so much as sit up to swallow a pill. after tucking jinx’s hair behind her ear, caitlyn tenderly caresses jinx’s cheek with her palm and a brush of her thumb against lightly freckled skin. the pit in caitlyn’s stomach shrinks when jinx’s pout morphs into less pitiful, unconscious frown. “that’s alright, my love. i can help you take it whenever you’re ready.”

jinx’s eyes slip closed once again as she slowly exhales through her nose and gives a resigned nod. the warm weight of caitlyn’s hand somewhat soothes (or rather distracts from) the persistent pain that has sunken its claws into the bluette. pain akin to the feeling of molten lava crawling through her veins and creeping into the confines of her skull. its intensity varies on any given day, but it’s currently just shy of boiling.

she hates feeling this helpless. this weak. this vulnerable.

jinx supposes, however, that if anyone is going to see her in such a state, she’d want it to be caitlyn. despite all that they’ve been through and all of the hurt they’ve inflicted upon one another, jinx has come to trust caitlyn like no other. aside from proving their loyalty to one another on countless occasions since the formation of their friendship-turned-relationship, jinx finds it remarkably easy to trust someone who has never knowingly lied to her.

like jinx, caitlyn is brutally honest, often to a fault. there is no beating around the bush with her. no chance of deception - jinx highly doubts caitlyn would be able to tell a convincing lie if she tried. when caitlyn hated jinx, she said as much. and now that caitlyn loves jinx, she says as much and means it.

jinx is shaken from her wallowing and momentary reflection by the feeling of pillowy lips pressed to her forehead. the corner of her mouth twitches up into a faint smirk, but she keeps her eyes shut, savoring the gentle affection. “gonna kiss it better?” jinx teases good-naturedly and snorts when she feels caitlyn begin to smile.

caitlyn breaks away briefly to hum in response, “it’s worth a shot.” as promised, she plants yet another kiss onto jinx’s face, this time on her girlfriend’s cheekbone (the one not covered by caitlyn’s thumb). then, a kiss on the apple of jinx’s cheek. then, on the tip of her nose. and the bridge. then, between her eyebrows before switching course to her temple.

instinctively scrunching her nose at the onslaught, jinx wriggles ever so slightly in her blanket-cocoon. each peppered kiss is softer than the last, leaving a trail of pleasant tingles in their wake. the ache felt deep in jinx’s bones is made tolerable by the puffs of caitlyn’s breath punctuating every peck, the quiet giggle caitlyn lets loose when she accidentally noses jinx’s eyelid, and the scent of caitlyn’s perfume that jinx bought her when traveling abroad.

jinx wishes caitlyn could scoot closer and hold her, but to be touched any more than this would be unbearable.

when caitlyn eventually concludes lavishing jinx with her love, jinx finally allows her eyes to flutter open. her heart thumps a little harder at caitlyn’s gap-toothed grin. “is that it?”

caitlyn knows jinx is only joking, but she releases an indignant huff regardless. under normal circumstances, caitlyn might have lightly poked or pinched jinx for being cheeky and ungrateful. instead, caitlyn simply moves her hand back up to the bluette’s hair, petting the tufts of cyan locks that have grown out since the buzzcut. “don’t tell me that i didn’t cure you of all your ailments,” caitlyn quips dryly.

“no, you’re right. i’m totally cured. actually, i think i’m gonna go do a backflip off of the roof and land in a split,” jinx deadpans without moving a muscle, which successfully elicits a chuckle from caitlyn.

“it’s remarkable how you still manage to pretend as though my affection is a nuisance,” caitlyn muses to herself, a knowing smile stealing across her lips. she props herself up on her elbow while continuing her ministrations and gazing down at her bed-ridden girlfriend. “but you’re a bad actress, darling.“

after a beat, her expression becomes sympathetic once more, and she adds in a whisper, “i do wish i could take your pain away, though, jinx. more than you know.”

unused to such heartfelt declarations, jinx’s knee-jerk reaction (and defense mechanism) is to make fun of caitlyn for being a sap. thankfully, jinx has enough presence of mind and impulse-control to not give into the urge. “i’m fine, cait,” she insists earnestly. “sure, it sucks ass, but it’s not the end of the world. we both know what that actually looks like.”

caitlyn’s smile turns rueful at the reminder of all of which, and all of whom, they have lost.

“that we do.”

[achaotichuman]

ACOTAR Rant

If you like Elain, don't read.

ACTUALLY, CAN WE START TALKING ABOUT HOW ELAIN HAS ALL THE FUCKING CHOICE, WHY ARE WE MAKING OUT LIKE SHES SOME HELPLESS LAMB??

I'm not gonna sit here and repeat the same tired lines of "I know she was traumatised from the Cauldron blah blah blah" You all know that, you know I know she's traumatised, I talk about this shit like every other day.

Lets talk mating bonds (again)

Elain and Lucien are equal in that they are entirely tied together. In fact, it hurts Lucien *more*. If anything, Elain has the most power in this situation compared to Lucien, she has the most autonomy, she is at risk of having the ghost of mating bond past™ haunt her if she rejects it. Lucien is at risk of actually losing his entire fucking mind.

And you people want to call that fair?????? People genuinely think that Elain is some victim of Lucien in this????

Everyone is so fucking obsessed with 'Elain having choice' ELAIN HAS ALL THE CHOICE, LUCIEN IS ENTIRELY AT HER MERCY

Let's compare Elain and Nesta's situations (AGAIN)

They both suffered the exact same terrifyingly, horrible physical, sexual, emotional and mental torture that the Cauldron inflicted on them. Morphing them against their will.

Now, Nesta immediately went to protect Elain. Her trauma response was to prioritise Elain (probably had to do with that being her ingrained instinct from their years in poverty, but that's another analysis for another day)

What was also Nesta's response? To bring up her walls and shut everyone out. She wanted to handle this on her own. She wanted space and time.

Elain softened. After months of being catatonic, she began a routine and made the best of her situation. Most importantly, her healing did not threaten anyone's egos, so the IC gave her the time, space and place to heal that she needed. They provided that for her.

Not to mention, Lucien is a person that the IC collectively hates, so combined with the fact that Elain is a walking housewife stereotype who doesn't threaten anyone's egos, and that her mate is someone her 'found family' doesn't like. She gets all the protection in the world.

Compare that to Nesta, who does threaten the IC's egos, and does bend their social rules, and doesn't bow down to them, they don't give her space, time or a place to heal. They threaten her, and lock her up. And combine that with the fact that her mate is Cassian, a member of the IC, they disrespect her wishes, and her bodily autonomy.

AND SO MANY PEOPLE ARE STILL TALKING ABOUT ELAIN'S CHOICE. OH MY LORD, "ELAIN DESERVES CHOICE" SHE HAS ALL THE CHOICE

She has so much power over Lucien, who is quite literally in exile from every home he has ever known, handling more work than most people could ever deal with. Dealing with indescribable trauma of his own, and on top of it, he is receiving no help for it. Sure, he has the band of exiles, wanna guess what? THEYRE HUMANS, HE IS A FAERY, THEY CAN ONLY DO SO MUCH FOR HIM

Elain has ignored Lucien, and actively pursued relationships with others (Azriel), she shits all over Nesta, slut shames and guilt trips her.

But she's the soft one™ so no one is allowed to give her a single consequence to her actions.

I see so many posts of people praising Elain because she's #notawarriorgirly and she's #feminine and she #doesn'twannacarryasword

I hate to break it to you, but SJM hasn't written the feminine rep you've been craving.

Elain is actively putting Lucien in pain, for no reason at all. She is actively hateful towards Nesta who has only ever helped her. She victimises herself if she doesn't get her way.

It's not Elain's story that should be about choice, because she has ALL OF THE FUCKING CHOICE IN THE ENTIRE WORLD. FEYRE HAS LESS CHOICE THAN HER

If you think for even two fucking seconds about this, it's pretty damn obvious that Lucien is the one who doesn't have choice in the mating bond. What if he had a romantic relationship with someone? Now, he *has* to give it up, because his 'choices' are:

1- Reject the bond and lose his mind and go mad

2- Don't accept or reject and spend the rest of his life pinning after a woman against his will.

3- Accept the bond and be chained to someone he doesn't want against his will

And on top of the creepy mating bond, this is a man who was being sexually abused by both Ianthe and Feyre! What a combo!

If I see one more 'Elain Deserves Choice' post, I am actually gonna implode I fear...

[berenwrites]

Better Half - Stranger Things - Steddie - PG

Summary: Henry targets Steve - this is a mistake!

A/N:  This started off as a different fic idea, but that morphed into something too long in my head, so this one took over. I hope you enjoy it. Reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated, thank you. Don’t forget to check out all the other great fics at @steddiemicrofic too💖.

Written for prompt: NEW | wc: 517 | Rating PG | cw: none

Tags: Steve has powers, pre-steddie, Vecna|Henry|One

Also on AO3 | ( My Other fic on Tumblr)

Better Half

“New experience, Henry? Must be terrifying to find yourself the helpless one. You chose the wrong victim this time.

“Don’t look so shocked, and give up struggling, you can’t win.

“My name’s Seven, we’ve met before. I’m one of the first batch, Brenner’s experiments he dosed with cocktails of drugs. Everyone thinks only Two survived, I made sure. Papa signed my death certificate himself. I was only five, but when your brain explodes with every thought in ten miles, you adapt or die. My mind fractured, became me and Steve. I took everything I learned from every mind and became unstoppable.

“The world is lucky my only purpose is to protect my better half.

“I took him out of the lab, found him parents and made him forget it all. Poor Steve never could understand why they didn’t seem to love him, but I can’t work miracles, only fabricate memories. We hid and he was safe.

“Until you touched him, you were safe too. It was more important not to alert the government than play heroic saviour. I mean I’ve had to make Russians think they hit Steve more than they did, stop Billy Hargrove from killing him, and a few other things, but it’s all been under the radar.

“You made the ultimate mistake coming in here, into our mind. Out there I can read thoughts and memories like books, make people remember whatever I like, mess with their perceptions on a good day.

“In here … in here I’m God.

“Now we’re going to do three things.

“First, you’re going to free Eddie Munson. Bringing him back to use him against us was a good plan, it would have been devastating to the Party, but you’ve missed your chance. Steve has some unresolved feeling for Eddie he needs to work through, and I want him to be happy. Eddie will be good for him. Someone needs to show him he doesn’t have to be strong all the time. Eddie will give him what I can’t.

“Second, you’re going to heal Max. You broke her, so you can put her back together. We’ll put your abilities to a good use for once.

“Then, finally, we’re going to let Eleven find us, and you’re going to put on a good show of fighting her before we give her the victory she deserves.

“It’s going to be glorious, Henry. A final battle from one of Eddie’s campaigns where good triumphs over evil.

“I told you to stop struggling. It’s pointless and annoying. You don’t want to annoy me anymore than you already have. I’m going to let you die a good death, Henry, don’t make me change my mind. Steve has all our goodness, all our kindness, you don’t want to know what I’m capable of when I’m angry.

“Brenner’s lucky he’s already dead. I’ve had years to plan what I wanted to do to him.

“You have amazing abilities, Henry. Using you like a remote is fun. I should have lured you in here ages ago. Ah well hindsight is 20-20. It’s time to finish this now.”

( My Other fic on Tumblr)

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Spooky Scary Skeleton!

Yandere! Jack Skellington x Gn! Reader

warnings: yandere themes, abduction, not accurate depictions of characters

©Copyright -2024-thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

“Oh my, Oh my! What do we have here? An earthling, here, in the land of shadows?” the fleeting sound of a man taunted, gravelly rumbling voice tinged with amusement as it rung deeply in your sensitive eardrums.

The night was one dangerous itself; gnarly shadowy figures dancing all around, as the breeze rustled the last leaves of autumn, creating a graveyards all across the forest grounds for them to rot on. Cries echoed—the laughter of foreign tongues cursing, while the wind was all time furious, his scream the most piercing as it traveled through the knobby branches intertwined into eachother.

“Who—who is there? Show yourself!” you demanded, voice swallowed by the cool of the night, silence quickly falling over you, hanging like a thick could over your head, as you frantically whipped your head around, squeezing the handle of your broken flashlight.

“If you don't—I will have you know that I own a weapon, and I am not afraid to use it!” you threatened whoever was toying with your sanity so deep in the woods, only the silver of the moon guided you through the maze of oddly shaped trees; crowns tilted downwards as if they themselves felt uneasy in the cold of the night.

“He, I would love to see you try, mortal.” the voice continued to your chip sanity away, his tone so rough and hoarse, as if the only air he breathed was smoke and he had forgotten he possessed a throat to growl through.

“I am serious, you sick fucking weirdo!—” you snarled, right before you felt twig snap beneath your shoe and the sudden jolt caused your foot to catch onto one of the many roots breaking through the earth’s crust like spidery legs. Your high-pitched terror rattled through the thicket, twisting yourself to the side, while squeezing your eyes shut as you prayed to not fall face-first into the dirt.

Yet you never felt the embrace of the lumpy ground, because something or rather someone was swifter than any human ought to be—with hands too lithe that they were poking the subtle flesh of your arms.

“Tsk, earthling, now look at you. So helpless, so mortal, so endearing. You're like a little fawn! Are you searching for the thrill of Halloween? Why else would a weak thing like you ever enter my lands.” the stranger rasped, purring the words, while he pressed you to himself—to a you who ripped open your eyes to stare at not a man, but a mask, or at least what you assumed to be one.

“Let go off me, you crazy fucker! I have got a life to live!—” you protested assuming the creature you were looking at, was some creep living out his fantasy of murdering on Halloween night as a cartoon character. However no matter how much you writhed, kicked and scratched his grip didn't falter, it didn't even ease.

The skull head tilted to the side, features twisting and moving around—morphing so smoothly as if this wasn't an animated mask some nerd had designed. You were sure of it, his towering height, the glow in his eyes and the odd skeleton hands, with his fingers curling around you like vines, were all just part of a costume.

Until you tried to kick him between his thighs and realized one thing; there wasn't anything soft down there—in fact there wasn't anything down there except bones to begin with.

You screamed and upon noticing Jack couldn't help but laugh boisterously. “Oh human! How fascinating creatures you are! What were you trying to do? Stick a hand through my hips? Is that a little hobby of yours? Such odd specimen.” he cooed, pinching your cheek before swiftly picking you up by the scruff and throwing you over his shoulder—and only then did you notice the little creatures all around you, hiding in the shadows, encircling you both, fascinated by the sight of you.

You finally realised—that you were no longer in the human world, that this guy wasn't just another costume but a real living, perhaps not breathing, skeleton—and the realisation choked you with fear, ensnaring your heart in a gilded cage of fear.

“Don't worry, I will take good care of you, afterall I am Jack Skellington! I look over the lands here—all these monsters are under my protection. And since you’re a mortal, a grave danger to all of us, you will have to stay here for quite some time, all alone with me.” he spoke overly energetic—until his voice faded out with his last words, something sinister tinging his mischievous tune.

Well he had always found humans just so fascinating, and after catching sight of you, a little fawn with bright eyes, a mundane life and odd customs, on another one of his missions of mischief in the human world, he had made sure that you would find your way into his, and therefore into his arms.

[cirtusmistress]

He Follows - Fixation

Mahito is met with someone who is his true opposite, and a mutual curiosity blooms.

Mahito x Reader

Tags: Angst and Feels, Tragedy, Slow Burn, Tragic Romance, Mahito Being an Asshole, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Eventual Romance, Not Beta Read, Mahito POV, Verbal Abuse

AO3 Crosspost

Word Count: 1.7k

You were endlessly fascinating to him. Though he had little interest in humans outside of his experiments, he couldn’t help but be enamored by your every move. You had cursed energy, so no doubt you were aware of his presence everywhere you went. And yet you never looked at him. Never spoke to him. You merely kept pressing on. Why? Was he not interesting enough for you? Surely someone such as himself was far more intriguing than any other human you came across day after day. He stood out, he could tell you that for free. Blue hair and covered in patchwork skin? What human looked like that! 

Mahito had only existed for a short few months. Though he held incredible intellect he was still much like a child. Still growing, learning. Everyday was something new, something fascinating. Learning how to use his cursed technique, interact, manipulate. All things that would aid him in his end goal of creating a world without humans. 

So one day when he was simply people watching - looking for a new playmate to experiment on no doubt, he couldn’t remember - he saw you. Helpless, innocent you. Walking along with your bag of convenience store goods in hand, and with a small gaggle of low level curses parading behind you. Though they weren’t stalking you. No.. They were following you willingly. Mahito watched from his perch up high on a residential building. How when you walked, they followed. How when you stopped at a crosswalk a flyhead landed on your shoulder. And you smiled at it! You weren’t a sorcerer, he could tell from where he sat. Your energy level was far too low. And yet, you somehow commanded those curses. How could it be so?

He had followed you home that day. Thanks to the quick mastery of his own technique, he was able to contort and morph himself into a Fly Head. Well, as close as he could manage. He joined your little parade and followed all the way to your small single bedroom apartment. You paid no mind to the extra curse in your home, simply going about your chores. Mahito watched with the other curses. Had you perhaps used some kind of technique to bribe them? Maybe some kind of cursed spirit manipulation? Finally you sat at your little coffee table and pulled out something from your convenience store bag. Ice cream. Those ones that came in cones, prepackaged and ready to go. You had four, and laid three of them out in front of you and the curses. 

“Go ahead,” You said with a gentle smile, “These ones are for you guys.” Once they had your go ahead, the spirits began eating your offering. Mahito was.. Shocked. Low levels like these couldn’t think for themselves like this. Let alone eat! And yet he buzzed there as the curses who looked like bugs and mutants and grotesque little things nibbled away. Making happy little sounds all the while. You ate your own treat with this.. Stupidly sweet genuine smile on your face. Then you saw him. The odd Fly Head who hadn’t moved. Your head tilted, so did Mahito’s. Then the other way, and he followed. And then you smiled at him, as sweet and genuine as it had been to the others. And something rippled inside him.

“Haven’t seen you before! I didn’t know you all came in different colours!” You laughed, holding out your own ice cream in his direction, “Well welcome. You’re safe here with me. Do you want some? C’mon!” You jiggled your hand in his direction as if you tempt him like a cat you found on the street. Mahito didn’t quite know what he was feeling. Why were you.. Being so kind? To this trash? These low level curses that hardly had brains! Were you stupid? Not knowing these creatures around you could suck you dry, weigh you down, make you miserable? It was overwhelming for Mahito. So he simply gave in and played along. He sampled the treat you offered. It was sweet. And he liked it.

Ever since that encounter Mahito had followed you everywhere you went. To work, the shops, out on excursions. Sometimes in the form of another creature, sometimes lagging behind as just himself. Having studied you up close he’d confirmed none of the lower grades were under your control in some way. Everything they did they were doing willingly. Why? Why did they do it? What did you offer these things that they could not obtain from just being curses? What did you have that he just couldn’t understand? What had you made him feel that day, and every day since?

He was pondering these thoughts at a park on his lonesome one day. He had tired of waiting for you to come out for your lunch break so he’d wandered off. He lazily swung back and forth on a swing, mind putting along as your methods all but tortured him. And then he heard your voice. 

“Hello.” He leaned back in his swing, looking at you upside down. You took a few steps back to make room for him, though you did not run away. “You’re the one who keeps following me right?” You asked, folding your hands in front of you. So you had noticed him! And here he thought himself invisible! Mahito rose his feet as he began to swing again. 

“Perhaps,” He mused, “Who’s asking?” Despite being curious, Mahito was still in many ways a childish being. Straight-forward answers were not in his wheelhouse. 

He heard you step around him and take a seat in the swing to his left, “The person you’ve been following for four weeks.” Your tone was still soft and your voice was like honey on his ears. Why had he waited for you to make contact? “I wasn’t sure if you were human or one of my little friends. You’re not like them.”

“You mean those curses?” Mahito asked, pointing past you. You glanced to see your ‘friends,’ all huddled together underneath a jungle gym. Smart enough to hide from Mahito. His energy was enough to scare them. He had grown that much in a mere four weeks.. 

“Curses?” Your brows quirked up, “I wouldn’t call them curses. They’re harmless once you get to know them.” You looked back at him. Mahito felt his own innocence being reflected in your eyes. You truly had no clue what kind of company you kept. Those sweet little things you so cherished were the bane of many peoples' existences. And yet you looked at them like puppies and kittens. What did you see him as then? What was he in the eyes of someone uninformed on the world of curses?  What was he?

“If you knew I was there why didn’t you talk to me?” Mahito asked. You for once let your smile drop. You looked contemplative. Did you yourself not understand your odd mutual fixation? Perhaps two strangers forever caught in one anothers orbit?

“Because,” You spoke but stopped. Your tongue dragged over your lips and Mahito watched so closely. Every movement, every blink, every twitch. The breaths you took, the pulse of your heart, the vibration of your very atoms. “Because I didn’t want to scare you. You looked so.. Lonely.” That word. Lonely. Mahito knew of loneliness. It often came with the very emotion that birthed him. And he had never once thought he was lonely. He was content wasn’t he? Doing his experiments on his own, finding other intelligent spirits to aid in his end goal. He was not lonely, he was never alone. So why did your eyes hurt him? Why did he once again feel compelled to run? Why was your kindness so terrifying?

“That’s the pot calling the kettle black huh?” Mahito jabbed back, dragging his feet until his swing stopped. “All these weeks I haven’t seen you interact with a single person outside of work! All you do is hang around with weak inferior spirits!” He stood as the words erupted from him. Once again, unequipped to handle these sudden emotions. So he did what children did in these situations. He threw a misdirected tantrum. 

“I am not lonely. Why would I ever be lonely? I have friends! People to talk to, play with, show my work to! You’re the lonely one! Too scared to talk to me for weeks on end! God you’re- You’re so pathetic!” Hate was something Mahito knew. He knew how to hurt people. And the look on your face said it all. Never had your unending kindness been met with such aggression. And part of Mahito loved that look on you. But another part of him wept for you. Love was his opposite. Something Mahito knew he could never comprehend. Not truly. He could pretend. Replicate it. Make copy after copy. But never could he match your wavering, unending love. 

He left before you could reply. He could have killed you. Make you into something cruel and grotesque. But the last shred of curiosity he had for you prevented him. Old sentiment. The first bout of it in his short existence. You were left in that park. And though you had just been verbally abused, your heart cried for the blue haired man. How could he not see how badly he was hurting? You could. You saw it in everyone. Everything. Every past failure, every hurt feeling, you could see it. Feel it. Even in those spirits you loved so much. Even in him. He radiated it. And right now all you could do was hope maybe one day, you could speak to him again. And maybe he wouldn’t be so cruel. 

Mahito couldn’t forget you though. Despite how he tried to bury his feelings. He knew you two were polar opposites. One born from hate, and one born to love. You were his foil. And he couldn’t move on. Not until he learned what it felt like. He was in his nature. He needed to know, to feel, to experiment. So after a few days of respite, he began following you again. Farther away this time, but he was there. Watching. And you kept walking. Waiting.

[metalmonki]

Objection! Part 8

Rafael Barba x fem!Carisi!reader

6.1k word count

Summary All you wanted was to be a lawyer like your big brother Sonny. So what happens when you get a job working under the famous ADA Rafael Barba

slow-burn, colleague to friends to lovers

Authors Note: Drunks me has decide this chapters goodd to go blame the whiskey if its nots also blame the whiskey for any abd spellin and grammar drunk me is also not sorry for the cliffffhnager.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

The squad room was unusually still, the hum of fluorescent lights filling the silence like an ominous soundtrack. I sat at a desk, staring at my phone, willing it to buzz with something—anything. A message. A clue. A sign. My knee bounced restlessly under the desk, and my hands clenched into fists. Each passing second felt like a lifetime, every tick of the clock a painful reminder that Y/N was out there, alone, and I wasn’t doing enough to bring her back.

The air felt heavy, thick with tension that no one dared to break. Amanda was seated at her desk, her hands hovering over her keyboard as if typing might somehow help her forget the helplessness in the room. Finn leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp. Olivia, always the calm in the storm, stood near her office, her arms folded as she scanned the room, likely calculating her next move. But it all felt distant to me. My focus was singular: the phone in front of me that refused to deliver answers.

Then the sound of heavy, purposeful footsteps storming into the room shattered the stillness like a thunderclap. Sonny.

His face was flushed with anger, a storm brewing in his eyes as he practically threw the door shut behind him, the loud slam making everyone flinch. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days—disheveled, tense, and radiating a kind of fury that no one wanted to be on the receiving end of.

“What the hell is wrong with all of you?” he shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of raw emotion. “Why are you just sitting around? Why aren’t you out there looking for my sister?”

Olivia stepped forward, her tone calm and steady as she tried to defuse the situation. “Carisi, we’re doing everything we can—”

But Sonny wasn’t having it. He cut her off, shaking his head furiously. “Don’t ‘Carisi’ me, Captain! My sister is out there with some psycho, and you’re all just standing here like it’s another day at the office!”

His eyes scanned the room wildly, seeking someone to lash out at, someone to blame. And then they landed on me.

“You,” he snarled, his voice dropping to a deadly edge as he pointed a trembling finger at me.

He crossed the room in quick strides, his fury like a physical force that slammed into me before his words even reached my ears.

“This is all your fault.”

I stood, meeting his gaze, my body tense. “Sonny,” I said, my voice low, a warning.

But he didn’t stop. His hands collided with my chest in a hard shove, forcing me to stumble back a step.

“If you’d done your damn job—if you hadn’t failed Anya—Y/N wouldn’t be in this mess!” he shouted, his voice raw with grief and fury. His words cut deeper than any blow, hitting a part of me I’d been trying to bury under determination and focus.

His chest was heaving, his hands balled into fists at his sides. The rest of the squad watched in stunned silence, no one daring to step in just yet.

“You were supposed to look after her, Barba! That was your job!” His voice cracked, tears glistening in his eyes as his anger started to morph into something more desperate.

“I know,” I said quietly, the weight of my guilt making it hard to speak louder.

But Sonny wasn’t done. He stepped closer, his face inches from mine, his voice dropping to a dangerous hiss.

“If Marco hurts even a hair on her head,” he said, his voice trembling with both rage and fear, “you’re a dead man, Barba. You hear me? A dead man.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for me to respond.

I couldn’t.

The guilt was already eating me alive, and Sonny’s words felt like a knife twisting deeper into an already festering wound. I looked down, unable to meet his gaze, my jaw clenched as I tried to keep my emotions in check. The weight of his blame—and my own—threatened to crush me.

Finally, Olivia stepped forward, her hand resting gently on Sonny’s shoulder. “Sonny,” she said softly, “we’re going to find her. But this isn’t helping.”

He shook her off, taking a shaky step back, his chest still heaving. “You better,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper before he turned and stormed out of the room, leaving an oppressive silence in his wake.

I stayed rooted to the spot, my fists clenched at my sides, my eyes fixed on the desk in front of me. The words echoed in my head—your fault, your fault, your fault.

Before I could find my voice, the door opened again, and two uniformed officers walked in, dragging a man between them. Marco. His smug expression was infuriating, even as his dishevelled appearance betrayed that he’d been through hell.

“He turned himself in downstairs,” one of the officers said.

“Get him in interrogation,” Olivia ordered, her voice sharp.

I watched as the officers dragged Marco into the interrogation room, his head held high, his movements casual as if he were walking into a meeting instead of a police station. My blood boiled with every step they took. From the other side of the two-way mirror, I stood frozen, watching every calculated move he made. Marco leaned back in his chair with the smugness of a man who believed he held all the cards, his posture lazy, his lips curled into an infuriating smirk.

Olivia and Finn entered the room, their expressions hard as steel. They were seasoned, unshakable, but even they seemed tense as they faced the man responsible for Y/N’s disappearance. Olivia wasted no time, her tone icy as she cut straight to the point.

“You want to tell us where she is?” she asked, each word like a dagger aimed to pierce his composure.

But Marco didn’t flinch. He didn’t cower or hesitate. Instead, his smirk widened, his dark eyes gleaming with something sinister. His gaze shifted past Olivia, locking on the two-way mirror. It was as if he could see through it, his expression a challenge aimed directly at me.

“I’m not talking to you,” he said with infuriating calm. “I’ll only talk to Barba.”

The words hung in the air like a bomb ready to detonate. My fists clenched so tightly at my sides that my nails bit into my palms. I felt the heat of my anger rising, my pulse pounding in my ears. Through the glass, Olivia turned to glance at me, her hesitation flickering in the subtle furrow of her brow.

Before she could make a decision, I acted on instinct. Without waiting for approval, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room felt stifling, the tension pressing down on me like a physical weight. Marco’s eyes lit up as he saw me, his smirk growing into a predatory grin.

“You want to talk to me?” I asked, my voice tight with barely contained rage. I stood at the table, my hands gripping the edge so hard I thought the metal might bend. “Fine. Let’s talk. Where is she?”

Marco leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table as if he were about to share a secret. “Oh, Rafael,” he drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. “Always so direct. Haven’t you learned by now? It’s never that simple.”

I slammed my hands down on the table, the sound reverberating through the room. The force rattled the chair Marco sat in, but he didn’t flinch. I leaned over him, my face inches from his, my fury barely leashed.

“Enough games!” I barked. “Tell me where she is!”

Marco’s composure didn’t waver. If anything, he seemed to enjoy my outburst, feeding off the anger radiating from me. He tilted his head like a teacher addressing a particularly slow student. “You like scavenger hunts, don’t you?” he asked, his voice deceptively light. “I left you some clues. Why don’t you put that sharp mind of yours to work?”

I wanted to wipe that smug look off his face, to force him to see the gravity of what he’d done. My voice rose, sharp and biting. “You’re wasting precious time!”

For the first time, his smirk faltered, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, and his grin returned, but it was colder now, sharper.

“No, Rafael,” he said, his tone darkening. “You’re wasting time. The longer you stand here arguing with me, the more water fills her final hiding place.”

His words hit like a sledgehammer, each syllable echoing in my head. Water fills her final hiding place. The room seemed to tilt, my breath catching as the full weight of his threat sank in. Every second was precious. Every moment spent here was a moment closer to losing her.

“What did you say?” I demanded, my voice barely above a whisper, my hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the table.

“You heard me,” Marco said, his smirk returning, but his eyes were darker now, filled with cruel satisfaction. “If you want to save her, you’ll need to start with my things. They’re locked up downstairs. Tick tock, counselor.”

His taunting tone was the final straw. Without another word, I turned on my heel and stormed out of the room, my heart pounding like a drum. His laughter followed me, low and menacing, a ghostly echo that clung to me as I sprinted down the hall.

Every second mattered now, and I wouldn’t waste another.

The moment Marco mentioned Y/N’s life hanging in the balance, a fire ignited inside me. Every second wasted felt like a betrayal to her. My feet pounded against the linoleum floor as I sprinted toward the evidence lockup, Sonny just steps ahead of me. His desperation mirrored my own, his frantic pace proof of how much he cared for his sister.

By the time I reached the evidence room, Sonny was already there, his hands moving with frantic precision as he rifled through Marco’s belongings. His face was a storm of emotions—anger, fear, and determination all vying for control. He barely acknowledged my arrival, snatching up the evidence bag containing Marco’s personal items.

“We don’t have time for this,” Sonny muttered under his breath, more to himself than to me. Without another word, we turned and bolted back to the squad room.

The others barely had time to clear the desks before we dumped the contents of the bag onto one of them, sending papers and small objects scattering across the surface. The noise of the chaotic search filled the air—keys clinking against the desk, papers rustling, receipts crumpling under impatient hands. The tension was suffocating, the silence broken only by Sonny’s muttered curses as he rifled through the mess.

I tried to focus, my hands shaking slightly as I sifted through the random items: a worn leather wallet, a set of keys on a chain with a gaudy souvenir keyring, a handful of receipts, and a few crumpled scraps of paper. None of it made sense. None of it screamed “clue.” My pulse pounded in my ears, the seconds ticking by with cruel indifference.

Then Sonny froze, his hands stilling mid-motion. His eyes locked on the wallet, a look of realization dawning across his face. He yanked it open and pulled out a folded piece of paper tucked into one of the inner pockets.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice sharp with urgency as I leaned closer.

Sonny unfolded the note with shaky fingers, his eyes scanning the handwritten words. “It says, ‘Your next clue can be found where Y/N buys Rafael’s morning coffee.’”

For a moment, I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Where she buys my coffee? I—I don’t know where she goes.”

Sonny scoffed, frustration flashing across his face as he tossed the wallet onto the desk. “Of course you don’t. She’s been doing it for months, and you haven’t even noticed.”

The jab stung, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Sonny grabbed his coat, the movement abrupt and filled with purpose. “I do. She always gets it from the same place because they sell her favorite cannoli. Come on.”

Before I could respond, Sonny was already heading for the door, his pace quick and his movements sharp. Olivia grabbed her jacket, sparing a glance at me as she followed.

“Let’s move, Barba,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.

I grabbed my own coat and hurried after them, sparing a brief glance back at the rest of the team. Amanda, Finn, and Nick were still in the squad room, their expressions a mixture of frustration and determination.

“Keep sweating him,” Olivia called over her shoulder as we left. “We’ll find her.”

The hallway outside felt colder, the sterile fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows. Sonny’s steps echoed ahead of us, his pace nearly a jog. The determination in his stride mirrored the fire burning in my chest. Wherever Marco’s sick game was leading us, I’d follow every step of the way—because failure wasn’t an option.

…

The tension in the car was suffocating as we sped toward the café, Sonny gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. His frustration bubbled over, his voice sharp and accusing as he vented.

“You don’t know where she buys your coffee? Seriously, Barba? She does it every day! You didn’t think to ask? To notice?”

I wanted to argue, to defend myself, but the truth stung too much. I stared out the window, ashamed. “I didn’t ask her to do it,” I muttered, though the words felt hollow.

“You didn’t have to,” Sonny snapped, his voice rising. “You’re just oblivious! That girl would go to the ends of the earth for you, and you wouldn’t even notice. And now, look where we are.”

His words hit like a gut punch, but I didn’t have the luxury of letting them sink in. Y/N’s life was at stake, and dwelling on my shortcomings wouldn’t help.

The car screeched to a halt in front of the café, and Sonny was out before it had fully stopped, slamming the door behind him. Olivia and I scrambled to catch up as he barged inside, holding Marco’s photo up like a badge.

“Have you seen this man?” Sonny demanded, his voice cutting through the hum of the café.

A barista behind the counter paused, her eyes flitting from the photo to me. “Are you Rafael Barba?” she asked, her tone uncertain.

I stepped forward, my throat tight. “Yes.”

Wordlessly, she handed me a coffee cup. My name was scrawled on the side in sharp, black letters, and beneath it, a note in Marco’s handwriting: “Enjoy this at the table closest to the window. Best view in the house.”

I stared at the cup, my stomach churning with unease. “Keep it,” I said, setting it firmly back on the counter. The thought of playing Marco’s twisted game made my skin crawl.

Sonny and Olivia were already at the window, scanning the street outside for anything out of place. I joined them, my eyes darting over the view: the passing cars, bustling shops, and scattered pedestrians. Then my gaze landed on the florist across the street, its display bursting with vivid blooms.

“It’s there,” I said, my voice firm with conviction.

Sonny frowned, skeptical. “How do you know?”

I pointed to the florist’s display. “Magnolias. Y/N’s favorite perfume is magnolia and honeysuckle. That florist has magnolias right out front. It has to be there.”

Sonny didn’t wait for further explanation, and neither did I. The three of us bolted across the street, dodging honking cars and shouted curses from drivers. The air was thick with the sweet scent of flowers as we reached the florist, and we immediately began combing through the arrangements.

I shoved aside bouquets of roses, daisies, and lilies, searching for something—anything—that stood out. Sonny did the same, muttering curses under his breath as petals flew in every direction.

“Cosa stai facendo?” a furious voice suddenly bellowed in Italian, startling all of us.

An elderly man emerged from the shop, his face red with anger as he gestured wildly at the mess we were making. Sonny stepped forward, his tone urgent as he switched to rapid Italian, showing the man Marco’s photo.

“Avete visto quest'uomo? È importante, ha mia sorella,” Sonny pleaded.

The man’s scowl deepened, but after a long pause, he disappeared back into the shop. Moments later, he returned, holding a small bouquet of magnolias and honeysuckles. Attached to the stems was a card.

Sonny snatched it and unfolded it quickly, his hands trembling. He read aloud, “Congratulations on getting this far. I promise the rest won’t be as easy. Your next clue requires some required reading. CSL.”

“CSL?” Sonny repeated, his voice rising with frustration. He crumpled the card in his fist. “What the hell does that mean? There’s gotta be hundreds of libraries and bookstores in the city! How are we supposed to figure out which one?”

“Marco’s clues have been tied to Y/N,” Olivia interjected calmly. “Think. What library or bookstore would be important to her?”

Sonny groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know! She loves reading, she’s been to dozens of places—”

My mind raced. Marco’s game wasn’t random. Every clue so far had been calculated, designed to taunt us and waste precious time. Suddenly, Sonny spoke again, his tone more focused.

“We should go to Y/N’s room,” he said. “Maybe there’s something there. A book, a receipt, anything that could lead us to a specific place.”

I hesitated. The thought of tearing apart her sanctuary, her private space, felt invasive. But there was no other option.

“Let’s go,” Olivia said, already moving toward the car.

We piled in, the silence heavy with unspoken fears as Sonny drove us back to Y/N’s apartment. Every second felt like an eternity, the weight of the clock ticking down pressing harder with each passing moment.

…

Sonny stormed into his apartment ahead of Olivia and me, his frustration palpable as he pushed the door open and headed straight for Y/N’s room. I followed, not knowing what to expect but feeling an ache in my chest I couldn’t shake.

The moment I stepped inside, I was surrounded by her. The faint scent of magnolia and honeysuckle lingered in the air, her favorite perfume. It was subtle but unmistakable, and it sent a pang through me. Her room was uniquely hers—organized chaos that told a story in every corner.

Three towering bookshelves lined one wall, each one crammed full of books. Some were neatly arranged; others had stacks leaning precariously or lying flat across the tops of rows. A mix of genres, from legal thrillers to battered fantasy paperbacks, filled the shelves, alongside small trinkets that made the space so undeniably Y/N.

There were figurines of owls, a tiny Eiffel Tower, and a vintage globe no bigger than my fist. A jar of sea glass sat next to a framed photo of her and Sonny, both grinning like they didn’t have a care in the world. I stopped to look at it for a moment, the joy on her face a stark contrast to the fear I knew she must be feeling now.

The desk was cluttered but purposeful—papers, notebooks, and pens scattered across the surface. A lamp with a floral shade cast a soft glow over the space. A coffee mug sat on the desk, still half-full and abandoned in haste.

The bed, a queen size with a simple gray comforter, was unmade, the covers tossed back as if she’d just rolled out of it. A stuffed animal—a well-loved bear with one eye missing—sat propped up on the pillows. It was the kind of detail that felt so personal, so intimate, that it made my throat tighten.

Sonny tore through the room with urgency, pulling books off shelves and flipping through them for hidden notes. He yanked open drawers in her desk, scattering pens and papers across the floor. “There has to be something,” he muttered, frustration evident in every motion.

Olivia joined him, opening the wardrobe and sifting through the neatly hung clothes. She checked pockets, rifled through shoeboxes tucked on the floor.

I moved to one of the bookshelves, running my fingers over the spines of the books. “She has so many,” I murmured, almost to myself.

“She loves to read,” Sonny said without looking up. “Always has. If you paid more attention, you’d know that.”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I crouched to check the lower shelves, trying not to think about how well Sonny knew her or how much I didn’t.

I opened the bedside table, finding a stack of journals and a flashlight. The journals were tempting, but I couldn’t bring myself to violate her privacy like that—not yet.

“Check the desk again,” Olivia said.

I stepped over to it, brushing my fingers over the coffee mug. It was still warm. She must have left it there this morning before this nightmare started.

Sonny cursed, pulling a pile of papers from the bottom shelf of the last bookcase. “There’s nothing here! No library card, no receipt, nothing.”

I leaned back against the desk, frustrated. The room was in disarray now, her things scattered everywhere, but we’d found nothing useful.

“I don’t know where she goes for books,” Sonny said, his voice breaking slightly.

“She has to have mentioned something,” Olivia said.

Before Sonny could respond, Olivia’s phone rang. Finn’s voice came through the speaker as she answered.

“Any luck on your end?” Finn asked.

“No,” Olivia admitted, running a hand through her hair. “We’ve torn her room apart and come up empty. You?”

Finn put her on speaker, and she repeated the clue. When Nick’s voice cut through, my stomach twisted.

“Centre Market Place,” he said. “Secondhand bookstore, below street level. Y/N took me there once to buy a present for Zara. She calls it her secret hideaway.”

“Of course, Little Italy our Nonna use to take her there all the time, it was their special place,  I can’t believe I forgot about that” For a brief moment joy flashed across Sonny’s face but was quickly replaced by determination.

Of course, Nick knew. He’d been there with her, shared that part of her world that I hadn’t.

“She never told me about it,” I said quietly, more to myself than anyone else.

Sonny glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “Well, now you know. Let’s go.”

I followed him out, the scent of magnolia and honeysuckle still clinging to me as we left her room in disarray. The thought of her stuck somewhere, terrified and waiting, pushed me forward. I wouldn’t stop until we found her.

…

Sonny drove like a man possessed, weaving through the dense New York traffic with a reckless precision that made my pulse hammer in my ears. The city blurred past in streaks of light and color as he pushed the car to its limits. My hand gripped the handle above the door tightly, knuckles white, but I said nothing. Sonny’s jaw was set, his focus unbreakable, and I knew better than to distract him. It wasn’t just the speed or the sharp turns that had my stomach in knots—it was the fear. The fear that every second slipping through our fingers might be one we couldn’t afford.

We skidded to a stop in front of the bookstore Nick had mentioned, the tires screeching loudly enough to draw annoyed looks from passersby. The building itself was understated, its entrance a narrow, weathered staircase descending into what looked like the basement of an old brownstone. The sign above the door was small and almost easy to miss, its hand-painted letters reading Rare Finds Books.

The moment we stepped inside, the air changed. It was warm and smelled of old paper and leather, with faint hints of coffee wafting from somewhere deeper in the maze-like shop. Shelves stretched in endless rows, towering over us, each crammed with books of all shapes and sizes. Some areas seemed impossibly tight, the shelves so close together that two people couldn’t pass through at the same time. Hidden alcoves featured overstuffed armchairs and small tables, inviting readers to lose themselves in a story. Despite its modest exterior, the store sprawled beneath the street above, an intricate labyrinth of literature.

“This place is a maze,” Olivia muttered, turning in a slow circle as her eyes scanned the towering shelves. “How are we supposed to find anything in here?”

Sonny’s expression was grim but determined. “CSL. It’s gotta be C.S. Lewis. Y/N loves his books—always has.”

His confidence spurred us into action. We split up without hesitation, scanning the shelves for anything bearing the familiar name. It didn’t take long to locate the section dedicated to C.S. Lewis. The shelves were packed with his works: The Chronicles of Narnia, Mere Christianity, The Screwtape Letters. Gold and silver lettering gleamed on the spines of hardcovers, while well-loved paperbacks showed the wear of countless readings.

Olivia and I dove in, pulling books from the shelves and flipping through their pages. I worked quickly, my fingers trembling slightly as I rifled through covers and dog-eared pages, searching for any sign of a clue. The tension in my chest grew with each empty book I replaced, the clock in my head ticking louder with every passing moment.

Then Sonny froze, his hand hovering over a single book on the shelf. “That Hideous Strength,” he murmured, pulling it down carefully.

I looked over at him. “Why that one?”

“It’s the last book in a trilogy Y/N’s been reading,” Sonny explained without looking up. “She’s been searching for this one for months. I’m sure of it.”

He opened the book, flipping through its pages with purpose. Midway through, a small slip of paper fluttered free, landing on the floor. Sonny snatched it up quickly, his breath hitching as he read it aloud.

“‘Eight clues to go, but will you make it in time? Your next clue will require a steep climb.’”

Olivia frowned, glancing around as though the next clue might be hidden in plain sight. “A steep climb? What does that mean?”

Sonny’s jaw tightened. “It means we don’t have time to waste. Let’s move.”

He dropped the book unceremoniously onto a nearby table and strode toward the door, muttering under his breath about steep climbs in the city. Olivia and I exchanged a quick glance before hurrying after him.

But I hesitated. My gaze drifted back to the book, its edges slightly frayed, the cover bearing the faint marks of countless hands. Something about it tugged at me. Without thinking, I picked it up and carried it to the counter.

“I’ll take this,” I said, pulling out my wallet.

The cashier, an older man with round glasses perched on his nose, smiled faintly as he rang it up. “Good choice,” he said. “Lewis always has a way of speaking to the soul.”

I nodded absently, tucking the book under my arm as I turned to leave. I didn’t know if we’d find Y/N in time, but I clung to the hope that we would. Christmas was only a few weeks away, and if she made it through this, I’d find a way to give her the book. It wasn’t much, but it was something—a small piece of normalcy in a nightmare that felt never-ending.

I jogged to catch up with Sonny and Olivia, the book pressed tightly to my chest like a talisman against the uncertainty ahead.

…

Back in the car, the atmosphere was tense, the air thick with frustration and urgency. Sonny gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white, as he and Olivia volleyed ideas back and forth about what "a steep climb" could mean. Their voices overlapped, each growing louder as their frustration mounted.

“Could it be the Empire State Building?” Olivia suggested, glancing at her phone as she pulled up a map. “It’s a climb, and it’s iconic.”

Sonny shook his head sharply. “Too public. Marco’s been keeping this quiet. It’s gotta be something personal to Y/N.”

I sat in the backseat, clutching the book I had bought for her, my mind racing. The clue had to mean something tied to Y/N—every step so far had been personal, connected to her routines, her likes, her life. Then it hit me.

“What if it’s the courthouse?” I said, my voice cutting through their argument.

Both of them turned to look at me, Sonny’s frown deepening. “The courthouse? Why would it be there?”

I leaned forward, gripping the back of the front seat. “She’s there almost every day. It’s a part of her routine. The steps could easily be considered a steep climb.”

Sonny’s eyes flicked to Olivia, annoyance flashing briefly in his expression, as if he was frustrated he hadn’t thought of it first. But then his jaw set, and he nodded. “Alright, let’s check it out.”

He hit the gas, the tires screeching as we sped toward the courthouse. The familiar city streets whipped past, the growing ache in my chest tightening with every block. Time felt like a physical weight pressing down on me, each second a reminder that Y/N could be slipping further away.

The moment we arrived, we were out of the car and sprinting toward the courthouse steps. The towering building loomed over us, its columns and grandeur as imposing as ever. We scaled the steps two at a time, the burn in my legs barely registering through the adrenaline coursing through me.

At the top, a man leaned against the railing, his clothes tattered, a worn backpack slung over his shoulder. He straightened the moment he saw us, his sharp eyes locking onto me.

“Hey!” he called, his voice rough but clear. “You Rafael Barba?”

I stepped forward, my chest heaving. “Yes. Did someone leave a message for me?”

The man nodded, digging into his pocket. From the folds of his jacket, he pulled out a crumpled $50 bill. “Some guy gave me this. Told me to wait here and say, ‘Water liberty seat.’”

“Water liberty seat?” Sonny repeated, his voice rising with frustration. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

The man shrugged, pocketing the bill and wandering off before we could press him for more information. Sonny threw up his hands in exasperation, pacing back and forth along the top step. “This is ridiculous! How the hell are we supposed to make sense of that?”

Olivia placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “Sonny, we’ll figure it out. We just have to stay focused.”

But I wasn’t paying attention to them. My mind was already working, the words tumbling over each other in my head like puzzle pieces sliding into place. Water liberty seat. It wasn’t random. It wasn’t a riddle—it was a description.

“Battery Park,” I said, my voice cutting through Sonny’s muttering.

Sonny stopped mid-pace, turning to face me. “What did you say?”

“It’s Battery Park,” I repeated, more firmly this time. “Y/N eats lunch there sometimes when she’s working late. She told me once she likes to sit where she can see the Statue of Liberty. ‘Water liberty seat’—it fits.”

Sonny blinked, his frustration giving way to dawning understanding. “That’s... yeah, that’s gotta be it.”

Olivia nodded, already heading for the car. “Then let’s move.”

We were running again, my legs burning as we pounded back down the courthouse steps. The sense of urgency clawed at me, each step feeling heavier, each second more precious.

As we raced through the streets toward Battery Park, I couldn’t shake the thought gnawing at the back of my mind: time was slipping through our fingers, and we couldn’t afford to lose another moment.

…

Sonny slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt in front of Battery Park. Before the engine had fully died, I was out of the car, my feet pounding against the pavement. My focus zeroed in on the bench, the one Y/N always sat on, the one I’d overlooked so many times before.

The bench faced the water, perfectly positioned to catch a view of the Statue of Liberty. I dropped to my knees beside it, ignoring the curious stares from passersby. My hands groped underneath, searching for something, anything, out of place. My fingers brushed against the edge of a crinkled paper bag, wedged in a spot so hidden it was almost invisible.

“Got it,” I muttered, tugging the bag free and sitting back on my heels. Olivia and Sonny crowded around me as I opened it. Inside was a neatly wrapped sandwich and a single folded piece of paper.

The note was maddeningly vague, written in Marco’s infuriatingly smug handwriting: “You know where to go.”

Sonny snatched the note from my hand, scanning the words as his frustration boiled over. “What the hell does that even mean?” he shouted, crumpling the note and hurling it into the trash along with the untouched sandwich. “This guy’s screwing with us! We’re running around the city while Y/N—” His voice broke off, and he turned away, pacing angrily along the sidewalk.

I sat on the bench, the weight of the situation pressing down on me like a tidal wave. My head dropped into my hands as I tried to piece together Marco’s twisted logic. He wouldn’t leave something vague without expecting me to figure it out. It wasn’t random; it was deliberate.

The steady rhythm of the waves caught my attention, pulling my gaze toward the water. For a moment, the chaos around me faded. The answer wasn’t in the note—it was in Marco’s mind. Every step of this game was a taunt, a deliberate jab at me. This wasn’t about Y/N, not really. She was the bait, a pawn in Marco’s personal vendetta.

I stood abruptly, the answer snapping into focus. “The DA’s office,” I said, turning to Olivia and Sonny. “It has to be the DA’s office.”

Sonny stopped pacing, his frustration giving way to determination. “Why the DA’s office?”

“Because this about Y/N,” I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil in my chest. “It’s about her. Every clue has been personal, tied to her life, her routine. The DA’s office is the center of it all—it’s where he wants me.”

Without hesitation, we piled back into the car. Sonny floored the gas, the tires screeching as we tore through the city streets. Inside the car, the tension was a living thing, suffocating and thick. The blare of horns and shouts of frustrated drivers barely registered over the pounding of my heart.

Sonny broke the silence, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice low but edged with anger. “Why Y/N? Why did Marco go after her? Why would he think she’s your weakness?”

His question hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. Olivia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. Her gaze was heavy with sympathy, but I looked away, unable to face it.

I knew why. We, Olivia and I, both did. But the words stuck in my throat, the admission too raw, too close to everything I had ignored for far too long. Y/N was targeted because of me—because I had let her into my life without considering the danger that came with it. Marco saw her as my weakness, the one way to make me pay for what he thought I’d done to him.

But I couldn’t say it. Not now. Not with Sonny’s anger simmering and Olivia’s quiet understanding pressing down on me like a weight I couldn’t lift.

“I don’t know,” I lied, my voice barely above a whisper.

The silence in the car was deafening after that. Sonny’s jaw tightened, and I could feel his frustration radiating off him, but he didn’t press further. Olivia glanced back at me again, her eyes soft with unspoken words, but I kept my gaze fixed out the window. The city blurred past, the familiar streets a reminder of how close we were—and how far Y/N still seemed.

As we approached the DA’s office, my chest tightened. The closer we got, the heavier the weight on my shoulders grew. Marco had dragged us here for a reason, and I could only pray we weren’t already too late.

Tag List!

@geeksareunique @pinkladydevotee @pumpkindwight @chriskevinevans

[halucynator]

False Fronts III

part 3 of 4

the mastermind behind this one is @berryzxx as always thank you for your help bby (after this series finishes, i want you to fill my inbox btw)

i shouldve named jess chloe because damn this girl is giving off major chloe vibes from mlb. sorry if this is like underwhelming.

i might make a part 4 (but like only if you ask nicely) because this isn't an ending it can't possibly be an ending!!

Pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!reader

Warnings: kissing, "fake" dating, jealousy, not proof read and my writing

Summary: Being asked to fake date someone to get a petty ex off their back is the worst possible way of being friend-zoned. You, however, were willing to take any chances to get as close as you could to Theodore Nott.

now playing: cindy lou who by sabrina carpenter

reblogs with tags are always appreciated <;33

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4: fluff angst

"Stop right there, bitch! Get the fuck away from my boyfriend." Jess's voice cut through the tense air, instantly drawing everyone's attention.

Theo sighed in exasperation. "Ex-boyfriend. And don't you dare talk to my girlfriend like that." His words carried a chilly intensity.

"Oh, she's your girlfriend now? That's hilarious because the last time I checked, you two were faking it," Jess retorted, a smug smirk playing on her lips.

The unexpected reveal left you and Theo exchanging a helpless glance. How did Jess figure it out? You had played the roles so convincingly that even you were starting to believe the lines had blurred between fake and real.

Before Theo could interject, Jess continued, her voice dripping with confidence. "Cut the act. You may have fooled everyone else, but the one person you wanted to fool hasn't been fooled."

You attempted to speak up, to question how she found out, but Jess swiftly shut you down.

"How did I know?" Jess glanced at you, then turned back to Theo. "Your "girlfriend" here," she eyed you "is quite chatty. Talks to her friends about how real it feels between you two. It's honestly so sad. She's desperate for your little facade to be real."

The weight of Jess's words hung heavy in the air. Theo's expression morphed from surprise to a mix of confusion and disbelief. You felt a pang of embarrassment and frustration. How could something you thought was contained within the fake dating scenario leak out and become gossip?

Amidst the tension, you struggled to find the right words to explain or defend yourself, caught in this sudden unraveling of a secret that had been meant to stay hidden.

Seeing the lack of reaction from either of you, Jess pressed on. "Pathetic, isn't it? Wanting something that's not real to be real."

Theo's jaw clenched, a knot forming in his brow as his gaze ricocheted between you and Jess, desperately seeking some clarity amidst the chaos. The gravity of the situation settled heavily, leaving you scrambling to find the right words to shield yourself from her accusations, to explain the bizarre blend of make-believe and genuine emotions that had intertwined.

"God, she's so pathetic," Jess continued, her words laced with a mocking tone that cut through the tension like a dagger. "He's gonna drop you, sweetie. You really think he'd date—"

Before Jess could finish her sentence, Theo's voice cut in, firm and resolute. "Enough, Jess. You don't know anything about us, so quit pretending like you do."

There was an edge to Theo's tone, a hint of frustration, as he stood his ground, shutting down Jess's attempts to sow doubt. His protective stance felt like a shield against her words, offering a reassuring anchor amidst the sudden storm of doubts. His words held a sharpness, a protective edge that cut through the tension between you, Jess, and him. There was an unmistakable weight to his tone, a warning that echoed with an intensity that couldn't be ignored.

Jess taunted, "Maybe, but I know this little fling of yours is fake."

Theo's frustration boiled over. "It's not fake!" His voice surged with an unexpected intensity.

Jess remained unconvinced. "Prove it, then."

Both you and Jess turned towards him, a shared look of confusion etched across your faces, curious about his next move.

And then he kissed you.

Just like that.

Theo's hand gently but firmly encircled your face, his touch tender yet commanding as he guided your gaze to meet his with an almost magnetic force. His eyes, ablaze with an unspoken intensity, drew you closer as he leaned in, the anticipation palpable in the charged air between you both.

With a tender yet deliberate motion, his lips met yours, igniting a spark that seemed to set the world around you ablaze. The kiss, at first hesitant yet brimming with an undeniable passion, swiftly intensified into a hurricane of emotions, locking you into a shared moment that transcended time.

As Jess stormed away, the tumultuous whirlwind of her departure seemed to only fuel the fervor of the kiss, heightening the sensation of intimacy and urgency. Despite her exit, the connection between you and Theo only deepened, the embrace continuing unabated, lost in the heat of the moment.

After the brief, surprising kiss, you and Theo pulled away, both slightly taken aback by the sudden rush of emotions that surged between you.

Theo's voice broke the silence, a hint of uncertainty lingering in his words. "Is what she said true?"

You met his gaze, the honesty in his eyes compelling you to speak your truth. "Well, that's what I was about to tell you before she rudely interrupted me," you admitted, a tinge of frustration evident in your voice.

Theo's expression softened as he took a step closer, a mixture of emotions playing on his features. "I'm sorry about that. Go on, tell me."

Taking a deep breath, you gathered your thoughts, finally getting the chance to express what had been on your mind amidst the chaos. "Theo, what started as a fake dating thing somehow... shifted. It wasn't just acting anymore. I began to feel something real, something I didn't expect. And I didn't get the chance to tell you earlier that... I think I might have fallen for you."

Theo's eyes widened slightly, surprise mingling with a hint of something that resembled hope. "Y/N, I... I feel the same way. I didn't plan on it either, but somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like just a fake thing."

Before either of you could say more, footsteps approached, interrupting the moment once again. It was your friends, rushing over, oblivious to the emotional exchange that had just taken place.

"Hey, guys! What's up?" one of them asked cheerfully, completely unaware of the weight of the situation.

Theo shot you a quick look, a silent agreement passing between you to revisit the conversation later, as the group gathered around, blissfully unaware of the emotions that had unexpectedly blossomed between you.

As your friends gathered around, oblivious to the charged atmosphere between you and Theo, the conversation shifted to lighter topics. Laughter filled the air, and you both seamlessly blended into the group, concealing the emotions that had just occurred moments ago.

Throughout the evening, stolen glances and subtle smiles exchanged between you and Theo conveyed more than words ever could. It was a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken feelings now shared between the two of you.

As the night wore on, the group dispersed, leaving you and Theo alone in the quiet of the Hogwarts grounds. The air was thick with unsaid words and newfound emotions.

Theo hesitated for a moment, then turned to you. "Y/N, about earlier..."

Before he could continue, you placed a gentle hand on his arm, offering a reassuring smile. "We'll talk later, Theo. For now, let's just enjoy the peace."

A sense of understanding passed between you, a mutual agreement to let the night unfold without the weight of rushed confessions or overwhelming emotions.

Together, you strolled through the dimly lit pathways, relishing the tranquility of the moment. Letting the newly revealed feelings linger in that money felt right.

The air crackled with anticipation, and you couldn't help but wonder: would this newfound bond flourish into something more, or would the weight of uncertainty push you both apart?

Only one way to find out.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡*:☆

hello, hi! want more fics to read while i work on part 4? check out my masterlist.

part 4: choose your ending. fluff angst

tagging: @hisparentsgallerryy @hpnsfwaddict

[knaveumineko]

Umineko Episode 1 Blog: Tea Party

For the first time since this blog began, I'm covering new content and I'm happy to report that Ryukishi wrote this scene to make fun of me specifically.

This Tea Party was initially framed as some kind of non-canon bonus scene, and of course we can't interpret its events entirely literally, but by the end it seems that this scene is cryptically revealing the fates of the grandchildren, who disappeared at the end of Episode 1. Of course, even when the game is keeping up it's cheerful facade, it should not escape our notice that the 6 people depicted here are Shannon, Kanon, Maria, George, Jessica and Battler: precisely the 6 people who are still alive at the end of Episode 1 (that we know of).

The game's pointed comments about how there's clearly a 19th person because of how Kanon died, and "wow I guess it was magic the whole time there's really no way around it," feel playful. I'm also very amused by the narrator dropping the facade of reliability and constantly mocking Battler's skepticism. We're all in on the joke now, so there's no reason to keep up the pretense that this scene is anything approaching an accurate depiction of events.

Also, we are going full tilt on the meta stuff here, aren't we? I'm sure you're all loving how Battler's constant half-baked speculations sound more or less exactly like me.

We get some new character profiles, an rather interestingly they only confirm the deaths of Jessica and George. Rather gruesomely at that. Maria is merely missing, and we never see her actually die. Presumably this is because she still needs to live long enough to write the message in a bottle. I wonder if this scene shaking her faith in the witch is what inspired her to write the story and beg someone to try and solve it. Battler also doesn't die, so who knows what's going on with him?

I was intruiged by Battler's "if you believe in a lie, it becomes the truth?" line. To me, it sounds like the grandchildren were approached by the "witch," with the resurrections serving as proof that magic is real. When Battler questioned it, the conversation morphed into a veiled threat: if the grandchildren know what's good for them, they will accept that it was magic and never dig into the true story of what happened on Rokkenjima. Battler doubles down and so the culprits decide they have no choice but to remove all of the witnesses, at which point Battler defends himself with the gun.

Something like that could work as an explanation for the grandchildren's fates, although I don't see how this narrative could explain Jessica and George being brutalised so horribly. We were told in the endscroll that their gory deaths really did happen.

The Tea Party is really beating us over the head with Beatrice's symbolic significance. Just like how the servants used to invoke her name, Beatrice is the God of the Gaps (with one 'a'). It's not that anything you can't explain gets blamed on her, but that Beatrice is the inexplicable. Any time you throw your hands up in the air and say it can't be solved, you bring Beatrice to life, and to defeat her you have to solve the case. She's the antagonist of mystery stories themselves.

I'm not sure how this ties in to her supposed power to "kill an individual endlessly". Perhaps Bernkastel's line sheds some light. She describes Beatrice as one who plays a dice game by never letting go of the dice, so whatever the roll could have been, she is not disappointed. Beatrice is a being that thrives off of ambiguity. The moment anything has a clear explanation she's helpless. In this sense, is her "endless" killing of an individual in reference to the seemingly limitless possibilities for how one of the bodies could have died?

Speaking of Bernkastel, the witch who looks a lot like that girl from Higaurashi (which I've never seen, so don't tell me if this resemblance matters), the description of her power reminds me a lot of that famous Sherlock Holmes quote "once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." Bernkastel can make any potentiality into a certainty, so long as it is not impossible. In other words, she symbolises the process of elimination, so it makes sense that she's aligning herself more with those of us trying to solve the mystery. This symbolism also ties into her comment about her matchup with Beatrice: once you accept magic, you can no longer rule out the impossible, so the process of elmination doesn't work.

I'm not sure what Lambdadelta's deal is, but then we haven't seen her personally. If we want to interpret her through the mystery genre lens, one guess would be that she represents the point at which we can say for certain that a character is actually dead, rather than just faking somehow? She could also be a play on the anthropic principle: to solve a mystery we must tell a story about what happened, and this story must end with the person dead and the body in the state that it was found in. In other words, we proceed by "making that person's death into a certainty," taking it for granted that they're dead and rearranging all the other facts to fit that truth.

Bernkastel leaves us with some advice which basically amounts to telling us that Beatrice is a metaphor, but she also leaves us with something else interesting:

Umineko doesn't use all caps like this very often. The only other time I can remember is the scene where the narrator wants to make sure that the siblings really needed A LOT OF MONEY RIGHT NOW. I don't know if there's anything to that, but maybe there is.

Bernkastel also has an interesting line about preceiving us like a character on TV, so maybe there's going to be some kind of metaphor with witches standing in for viewers or authors at some point.

That's all for now. I didn't expect to have so much to write about 2 scenes, but they were important scenes indeed. Don't expect me to keep up this pace going forward!

I almost forgot to mention that Purgatorio reference right at the start. What's that about? Is Beatrice's name a reference to the Divine Comedy? I hope that doesn't end up being important, beyond Kinzo's pining after her being a reference to Dante's. If I didn't bother reading And Then There Were None for context after noticing the parallels, then I'm certainly not reading that.

The Main Menu is an aquarium now? What on Earth is Episode 2 even about?