#''this series is a nightmare to shelve''

[keepinventory]

there's 3 levels at which you can hate warriors:

as a passerby, annoyed by seeing all of these cats with confusing names and sick ass animations

as a reader/fan, annoyed and/or enraged by the erins' numerous crimes

as a library employee, WHO HAS TO SHELVE A BUNCH OF FUCKING BOOKS THAT ALL LOOK THE EXACT SAME BUT BELONG TO DIFFERENT SERIES BUT ALL OF THEM START WITH "WARRIORS:" AND DID YOU KNOW THERE'S FUCKING WARRIOR CAT GRAPHIC NOVELS? AND WITHIN THOSE NOVELS ARE DIFFERENT SERIES? AND THE ONLY WAY TO TELL WHAT FUCKING SERIES THEY'RE APART OF IS BY READING THE TINY LITTLE SERIES NAME ON THE SPINE?! DO. NOT. GET. ME. STARTED. ON. THE GODDAMN FIELD GUIDES

[certifiedlibraryposts]

Why do librarians hate James Patterson?

OH I ACTUALLY KNOW THIS or at least I know from what my friends with library/bookselling experience have said, what I've heard is that it's because he writes (or has his name slapped on books written by ghost writers whatever the case may be) So Many God Damn Books that shelving them all is a nightmare

I personally hate him because I read 80% of the Maximum Ride series as a preteen and boy do those books go down the toilet-

[incognit0slut]

Much Ado About Nothing (Act IV, Scene I: The Unspoken Words)

You’re determined to avoid talking to Spencer, but no matter how hard you try to shut him out, he’s just as stubborn as you.

Part warning: Inaccuracies of workplace relationship policy slash agreement, angst Words: 3.7k A/n: even in the middle of angst I manage to find humor in all of this😭 I'm just gonna accept that this is my writing style

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

“I’m afraid I can’t change any statements under the agreement,” Hotch said, his arms crossed loosely over his desk. He seemed more weary than confrontational, as if he’d already had a long morning before this conversation even began. You stood in front of him, trying not to show your frustration after you rushed into his office the moment you arrived, but this was not the response you were expecting.

You narrowed your eyes. “What do you mean you can’t change it?”

“It’s policy,” your boss explained curtly. “To change the status of your relationship, both parties need to come to me together and agree on the new terms.”

“What kind of rule is that?” You glanced around the room, scanning the shelves and corners as if searching for an answer to this bureaucratic nightmare in the shadows. You found none, just the sterile walls reflecting back at you. You began to pace. “Can’t there be any exceptions?”

“Unless there’s an issue of harassment or coercion, the policy still stands.” He leaned back against his chair. “Is there anything like that going on?”

Your frown deepened, and you stopped to face him. “No.”

“Then there’s nothing I can do.”

And here you thought you could end this charade once and for all.

“This is ridiculous, you don’t need both of us here. Reid would agree with me anyway,” you stated assertively, trying to sound confident. You then noticed the way his gaze shifted slightly, avoiding direct eye contact. “What?”

Hotch paused, his shoulders slumping just a fraction. “He came to see me this morning.”

Your stomach dropped. “He did? What did he say?”

“He didn't go into details,” he explained, carefully choosing his words. “But he mentioned you might come to talk to me and suggested that things were... complicated between you two.”

You leaned against the nearest wall, suddenly feeling drained. “Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. "What else did he say?"

“He seemed genuinely worried,” Hotch said. “He thought it might be better if I could convince you to think things through before making any decision."

You let out an exasperated sigh. You couldn't believe he went through a third person to get his point across. Technically, you did avoid his calls last night—how could you not when you needed a piece of mind?—but you didn’t expect him to involve your boss like this. “So you’re saying he's worried about me being too impulsive?” You crossed your arms defensively. “Isn’t it my decision to make, not his?”

Hotch’s expression softened slightly, the crease on his forehead smoothing out as he spoke. “It is your decision, but it also needs to be a mutual one. Unless both of you are on the same page, my hands are tied.”

The only hands you wanted to tie were Spencer's. The thought of dragging him into this office was growing more appealing by the second. "If I manage to get him to agree, will you then make the changes?"

He nodded slowly. “If you come to me together and agree that it’s what you both want, then yes, I can finalize that."

That was how you found yourself searching for someone you didn’t want to confront. Your feet dragged you out of Hotch’s office once you promised him that you would bring Spencer along with you by the end of the day, but to do so, you had to find him first. He wasn’t at his desk, he wasn’t in the conference room, and he wasn’t even making his usual mid-morning coffee. You decided to walk up to Derek and ask his whereabouts.

“You’re looking for your own boyfriend?” Derek teased, the corner of his lips twitching into a sly grin. He was sitting in his chair, casually leaning back as he glanced up from his paperwork.

“Ex-boyfriend,” you corrected.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Trouble in paradise?”

“If you can call trying-to-break-up-with-him-but-he-refuses-to acknowledge-it trouble, then yes, this paradise isn’t looking so great.”

He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing you with an intensity that made you feel like he was trying to read your mind, or worse, profile you, which was the last thing you needed right now. “You’re really breaking up with him?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“I have my reasons.” When he gave you a skeptical look, you shrugged firmly. “I do.”

“You sure you’re not overreacting over a small fight or something?”

You made a face. “This is not the way you should respond to someone who’s going through a breakup,” you said, trying to ease the sudden tension in your shoulders with sarcasm, which seemed forced but necessary. It was the only way to keep you sane. “Do you not have any shame?”

"You don't even look that upset."

“Well, I am,” you retorted. “I'm heartbroken and frustrated, and as someone who sees you as an older brother, this is the part where you’re supposed to beat him up or something.”

His features softened as he noticed the way you shifted from one foot to another, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. The hard lines of his face relaxed. He slowly stood up and walked around the desk, opening his arms. You met him halfway, placing your head on his shoulder, your arms hanging limply at your sides as he wrapped his toned arms around you.

“Is that what you want? You want me to beat him up for you?”

The mental image of Derek trying to throw a fist at Spencer flashed through your mind and you couldn’t stop the small laughter falling from your lips. “No. He’ll probably snap like a twig if you try to lay a finger on him.”

“The kid’s been doing his training lately,” Derek noted. “He might actually surprise you.”

You slightly pulled away, giving him a mock glare. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

A crinkle formed at the corners of his eyes as he grinned. "I'm always on your side." He draped an arm over your shoulder and guided you out of the bullpen. "Come on, I think Garcia brought in her special treat bag today."

Your ears perked up. "Cookies?"

Derek chuckled, leading you through the maze of desks and toward Penelope's office. "Cookies, brownies, and who knows what else. She’s been on a baking spree."

You could use some sugar. You could also use a distraction, and the more you thought about it, the more your tense mood lifted slightly. But the moment you stepped into Penelope's lair, you stopped dead in your tracks, eyes widening as you saw Spencer sitting next to her with a cookie in his hands. You instinctively pointed a finger toward him.

"You!" The word escaped your lips before you could stop yourself. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Spencer glanced up at your sudden outburst, the cookie halfway to his mouth. "Eating a cookie?"

You barely held back a scoff as you strode into the room, crossing your arms over your chest. "What did you tell Hotch?"

Spencer’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “What are you talking about?"

Penelope's eyes darted between the two of you. "What's going on? Did I miss something?"

Ignoring her concerned and slightly confused look, you fixed your gaze on the man who had been causing you so much frustration. "I went to Hotch and he told me you spoke to him this morning." You took a step closer. "What did you say?"

Spencer's eyes widened slightly, and he carefully placed the cookie down on a paper plate resting at the edge of Penelope's cluttered desk. "I told him that things between us are complicated and that we might need more time before making any changes to our agreement.”

Penelope swiveled in her chair, the furniture creaking under her sudden movement. "Wait, are you two breaking up or something?"

Derek shifted uncomfortably behind you, gesturing toward the door. "Come on, baby girl, I think we should leave."

"Shh! I wanna hear this."

You barely noticed their exchange behind you, your eyes too fixated on Spencer. At this point, you were beyond worrying about who heard your conversation, you just wanted to put an end to everything—the lie, the pretense, the unresolved feelings. You were too exhausted to navigate these complicated emotions, too drained to keep pretending everything was fine. The desire to protect yourself outweighed any concern for an audience.

"Reid," you called sharply, emphasizing his last name as a clear sign of the boundary you were creating between you. The slight wince on his face confirmed that you struck a nerve. "There's no need to think this through anymore, you know I want to end things."

He stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I know."

"Then what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to make sure you don't make a mistake you'll regret."

You shot a sharp glance at him. "The only mistake was pretending this—" you paused, searching for the right words. Fake relationship? The biggest lie of your life? "—this... situation could work out in the first place."

Spencer’s gaze flickered with hurt, a shadow crossing his features before he quickly masked it. “So you’ve decided it’s all a mistake? Including last night?”

“I decided nothing on a whim,” you replied. “I’ve had plenty of second thoughts about us, and they all lead to the same place. Nowhere.”

“You can’t say that. We should at least—”

You cut him off sharply. “You just don’t get it, do you? There’s no ‘we’ in this. There never has been, and I don’t understand why you’re so determined to force one.”

Spencer’s jaw tightened, and he took a deep breath, his shoulders lifting slightly as he tried to steady his emotions. “No, there is an ‘us’, you just don’t want to admit it, and I’m trying to fix that.”

You finally let out a scoff, the sound jarring in the small, tight space. “By what, running to Hotch? Why did you even think that was necessary?”

"Because it was the only way to get you to talk!" He exclaimed, his voice rising a pitch higher. “You shut me out, and if I have to go through everyone to get you to open up, then I will."

A sense of déjà vu washed over you as you stared at him. It was like being thrown back to the beginning of your fallout and you were replaying the same frustrating pattern, where every attempt to communicate only spiraled into another argument. Most of these fights had been petty, but now, the stakes felt impossibly high.

You suddenly became acutely aware of everything around you—the close proximity between you both, the way the room seemed to shrink as the tension mounted, and how your friends were still watching, silent witnesses to your confrontation. The realization of how inappropriate it was to raise your voice in the office, of how public this argument had become, made you want to take a step back.

“We have nothing more to discuss,” you stated firmly, trying to create some space between you.

He took a step forward. “We both know that's not true."

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest. The room seemed to hold its breath afterwards, the only sound came from the soft hum of computers in the background. Derek shifted uneasily, glancing at Penelope before breaking the silence with a low, “Let’s go, Garcia, let’s give them some privacy.”

But before either of them could leave, you shot them a glance. “No. Stay.” Your eyes met Spencer’s again, holding his gaze as you added, “He’s about to leave anyway.”

His eyes scanned your face, searching for any sign of hesitation, or doubt, or anything that might indicate you didn’t mean what you said. But when he found none, he finally took a step back, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Fine. I’ll go. But know this—” He paused, looking directly into your eyes. “I’m not giving up on you. Not yet.”

Those words were meant to offer some form of reassurance, showing just how determined he was to fix things, but instead, they left you feeling more unsettled. When he closed the door behind him, you let out a long, weary sigh as your eyes met with Penelope’s. She lifted her plate of sweet treats. “Cookies?”

You shook your head, too drained to muster a response. Her eyes softened, and she stood up, crossing the room in a few quick steps.

“Oh, honey,” she murmured, pulling you into a tight, comforting hug. Her warmth enveloped you, and a lump formed in your throat. You pressed onto her shoulders as you desperately stopped your tears from falling.

You weren’t surprised with Spencer’s relentless attempts to talk to you, it was the fact that you managed to hold back your tears for two whole weeks that truly shocked you. Maybe it was the sudden case that helped you stay distracted. It wasn’t anything major—just a stalking case in town that seemed straightforward to solve, but it was still enough to keep you occupied.

During those two weeks, Spencer tried everything to get your attention. At first, it was through messages. Short, persistent texts that you easily ignored. Then he tried calling, but you always let it go to voicemail, deleting the messages without listening to them. He even showed up at your desk several times, only for you to walk away, finding some lame excuse to be anywhere but there.

There were moments when you’d see him waiting by the coffee machine, hoping to catch you for a casual conversation, but you’d turn on your heel and take the long way around to avoid him. During meetings, when you were gathered around the round table, you made sure to sit as far away from him as possible, refusing to meet his gaze, your eyes fixed on your notes instead.

The hardest part of it all was seeing the confusion and hurt in his eyes when he thought you weren't looking, the way he seemed to deflate just a little more with each failed attempt. But you couldn’t let yourself give in, you couldn’t allow the walls you’d built to crumble. You were too afraid of what might happen if you did.

Penelope had noticed, of course. She’d given you looks of concern, her eyes silently asking questions you weren’t ready to answer. Derek had made a few comments, trying to lighten the mood, but even he seemed to sense the depth of the rift between you and Spencer. So you avoided them altogether, throwing yourself into interviews and paperwork while working late into the night and starting early in the morning.

By the time the case wrapped up, you were exhausted, and all you wanted was some time to yourself. It was finally the weekend, and all you could think about was snuggling under a blanket with a mountain of junk food, binge-watching something mindless. But somehow, the universe seemed intent on testing you, because just as you were settling into your couch, you heard a knock on your door.

You could already tell who was waiting on the other side. You could feel it in the way your heart raced and then settled into a tense rhythm. For a moment, you debated pretending you weren’t home, but you knew Spencer well enough to understand he wouldn’t leave that easily.

A knock, then another, and you found yourself dragging your feet toward the door. You weren’t surprised when you peered through the peephole and saw him standing there. You took in his appearance, noticing how his hair had grown a bit longer, falling over his brows in a disheveled way. You also observed the faint shadow of stubble on his jawline. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to tell you he hadn’t been taking care of himself.

You pulled away, trying to keep your silence. But he knocked again, and then you heard his voice, muffled but clear through the door.

“I know you’re in there.”

To open? Or not to open?

A part of you wanted to swing the door open, to let him in and finally have the conversation that had been hanging over your head for weeks. Maybe this was the chance to finally clear the air, to put everything out in the open and deal with it once and for all. But another part of you was afraid. The cowardly part of you wanted to hide, to avoid the confrontation.

You didn't want to give in to hope only to be disappointed again.

“Y/N, please open the door.”

You rested your forehead against the door. Maybe he would leave if you stayed quiet long enough. Maybe—

“Fine, if you're not going to open it, at least hear me out.”

You closed your eyes. Why was he so stubborn? Why couldn’t he just leave? Why did he have to make this so hard when all you wanted was a moment of peace?

“Please,” he continued. “Just give me a few minutes. If you still want me to leave after that, I will.”

His voice was soft and pleading, carrying a sense of quiet desperation that made it hard to ignore. You fought the urge to open the door immediately, instead taking a few more moments to gather your thoughts. After a long pause, you finally whispered, “You have two minutes.”

You could hear the relief in his breath from the other side. "I can do two minutes," he murmured. The silence that followed was heavy, and you leaned back against the door, feeling its cool surface against your spine. Then, after what felt like an eternity, you heard his voice again.

“I’m sorry.”

You inhaled a sharp breath.

“It seems a little too late, doesn't it?” You could almost sense him flinch on the other side. “I’ve been thinking a lot, about everything—about us. I know saying sorry won’t undo the past, but I mean it. I’m sorry for hurting you.”

You listened, arms wrapped tightly around your body. It was as if the physical pressure was the only way to hold yourself together. The silence on your part seemed to spur him on.

“I’ve also been doing a lot of thinking about…” he paused, his voice faltering before he cleared his throat. “About what happened that night, how everything just fell apart. I’ve replayed it over and over in my head and you have no idea how I wish I could go back and do things differently.”

You did too. God, you wished you had reacted more calmly that day. You sighed quietly as he continued, “If I could take it all back, believe me, I would. I just…” He trailed off, the question hanging in the air, almost too painful to finish. "I just don’t understand why you don’t want to talk to me now."

And then you felt it—the familiar sting of tears threatening to break through. You took a deep breath, refusing to let them fall when you had been holding yourself together for so long.

"I want to apologize to you in person, but I can’t… I can’t do that if you won’t even look at me.”

His words struck you like a physical blow, and the emotions you'd been trying so hard to suppress began to bubble to the surface. You felt a tightness in your chest, like a weight pressing down, making it hard for you to breathe. And to make it all worse, the memory of that night flashed through your mind. You could still hear the hurtful words, the unbearable silence that followed, the way everything had spiraled out of control so quickly.

You struggled to steady yourself, taking in slow, measured breaths. Breathe in, breathe out. Inhale, exhale. You repeated the motion until you finally found your voice.

“It’s just—I can’t…” The words caught in your throat, and you felt the tears gathering at the corner of your eyes. You blinked them away rapidly. “I can’t… talk about what happened without… without breaking down and… and every time I—I think about it, it makes me want to cry.”

It made you feel guilty. It made you feel ashamed, because deep down, you knew you had yourself to blame for how that night unraveled, for the things left unsaid, for the way you both had hurt each other.

“I don’t care if you cry,” he whispered, although you could still hear his voice clearly. "I'll even hold you if you let me, just please, open the door."

You slightly pulled away, your hand hovering over the handle. "Your two minutes is up."

There was a pause, and you could almost hear him holding his breath on the other side, waiting, hoping, before he asked, “Do you want me to leave?”

You felt the cool metal beneath your fingers as you grasped the handle. Did you really want him to go? You always believed that protecting yourself was the safest choice. You had spent so much time building up these walls, convincing yourself that distance was the only way to survive the pain. But as his words lingered in the air, you weren't so sure anymore.

You took a deep breath, the kind that felt like it stretched your lungs to their limit, as if your chest might crack open from the pressure. And then, almost against your own will, you found yourself unlocking the door, slowly pulling it open.

You kept your head down, your eyes first landing on his worn-out Converse. Your gaze traveled along his long legs, then to his chest, taking in the way his jacket looked a little oversized on his frame. You fixed your eyes across the very soft stubble on his jawline, a detail you hadn’t been close enough to notice for too long. And then finally, you met his eyes, and that was when you crumbled.

You wished you were the type of person who could get mad without crying, but you were exactly the opposite. You hated how your emotions took hold of you when all you wanted was to scream at him, to let out the frustration in sharp words instead of broken sobs. And as much as you forced yourself to be strong, the tears came anyway, blurring your vision and spilling over before you could stop them.

Spencer's eyes widened in surprise, and without thinking, he reached out, closing the distance between you. His hands hovered for a moment, unsure, before gently cupping your jaw. “No, no,” he murmured. “You’re supposed to cry after we talk.”

Now you just wanted to punch him. But you stopped yourself from resorting to any violence, albeit half-jokingly in your mind. Instead, you let his thumb gently wipe away your tears, you let him draw you into his arms, enveloping you in a warmth that felt hauntingly familiar. It felt the same as it had on his bed, the same as that quiet morning, and as deeply heart-wrenching on that unforgettable night.

You gripped his shirt tightly, the fabric bunching under your fingers as you finally let yourself fall into the past.

[eroselless]

────────────── sommer house // 1

series summary: After starting a new job at a prestigious museum in London, you form a close friendship with Helaena Targaryen. You're surprised when she invites you to stay at her family's estate for the summer holidays. [1.7k]

[aegon targaryen x reader, modern!HOTD AU ]

masterlist

warnings: talk and description of bugs. if there's any I missed, let me know!

note: hello friends! I’m sure some of you might be a little confused seeing this coming up again. after much contemplating and many many re-reads, I decided I would rewrite what I had of moth to a flame now that I had more inspiration and motivation. for this first chapter, it’s not much different from my first draft but I removed and added a few things that I thought made the story begin flowing a lot better. thank you for the support and happy reading <3

Dashing through the rain, your coat pulled tightly around you, you navigate the bustling streets of London. The sky opened up as you were leaving the train station, drenching you instantly. You’re breathless when you reach the entrance of the museum, soaked to the bone with hair sticking to your forehead. Pausing briefly under the awning, you try to catch your breath, shaking off as much rain as you could before hurrying inside, the patter of rainfall fading behind you. 

The familiar warmth and silence of the museum envelop you, offering a stark contrast to the chaotic weather outside. The lights are dim and if you listen closely, you could swear you can hear soft music permeating the air. 

You make your way to the back of the museum, passing through employee doors and to the entomology department, where you knew Helaena would be waiting. Rounding a corner, you see you. She stands at the entrance of your shared office, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. She leans against the doorframe, her free hand fiddling with the key card that hangs around her neck. It’s 5 past 9, you're not that late and her casual demeanour only makes for a comforting sight.

“Rough morning?” she asks, a grin on her lips as she entends the cup of coffee towards you. 

“Don’t even get me started,” you reply, taking the cup and making your way past her into the room. “The tube was a nightmare. Some sort of signal failure. I’m surprised I made it at all.”

Helaena laughs, “You wouldn’t have to deal with the tube if you drove,” she teases, raising her eyebrows. Following you to your desk, she stands in front as you set your things down. You roll your eyes at her, making a face, to which she responds with a half-smirk.

You met Helaena three months ago when you first started working at the museum. After a seemingly endless job search, you happened upon one that just happened to be in a country halfway across the world. Seeing as how you fit all of the requirements, you pushed fear aside, taking a leap. You packed up what you could and made your way to London. The idea of working in another country had always captivated you, but the reality of moving hadn’t fully sunk in until you stepped off the plane. Everything felt surreal—the accents, the bustling streets, the historical buildings whispering stories of the past.

Working in the entomology department with Helaena, you spent countless hours cataloging and preserving the museum’s vast insect collection. The late nights became routine, often the two of you working late into the night, at times at each other's homes. Her companionship made the hours more bearable. Helaena quickly became more than just a colleague; she became a friend, someone you could rely on and share with. 

Clapping her hands, a wide smile now on her face, Helaena turns to you from a large cluster of boxes: "Well, you're here now, and just in time; we've got a ton to do today."

Settling into your desks, surrounded by cabinets filled with specimens and shelves lined with books and equipment, the morning passes quickly.

You take turns pulling out cases from the large boxes, a new shipment from South America, examining and cataloging each specimen. Each one is carefully inspected, labeled and documented. The vibrant colors and intricate patterns never cease to amaze you, each telling a different tale. 

As the afternoon rolls around, you find yourself leading a group of young school children through an interactive exhibit, one you spent the last week preparing with Helaena, explaining the life cycles of different insects and answering their curious questions. Their eyes widen as you show them the cases of insects, pointing out each of their intricate and unique features. Together, you carefully examine drawers of pinned needles, getting lost in the details of their iridescent shells.

The children nod as you explain different insects, jotting down notes in their small notebooks to bring back to school. Their laughter and curiosity makes the rest of the day pass quickly, their enthusiasm making even the most mundane tasks feel rewarding. 

The day winds down from there, the absence of the children making you realize how tired you’d gotten. You put the exhibits back into their boxes, making sure everything is in its place for the groups coming in tomorrow and the day after that. From the corner of your eye you can see Helaena making her way to you, rolling a cart identical to yours. There’s a thoughtful expression on her face. 

"So, any plans for the summer holidays? They're not gonna need us at all during these renovations they're doing," she inquired, pursing her lips at you.

You shake your head as you continue placing boxes onto your cart. “I would but I can’t afford to go home right now. I’ll probably just stay in London and explore the city or something.”

Helaena’s face lights up. “Why don’t you come with me to my family’s country estate? We’re having a big party for my dad’s retirement. It’ll be a nice change of pace and you can officially meet my family. They’ll adore you.”

Your lips part as you stare at her wordlessly. “Are you sure?” you asked, searching her eyes, 

Helaena waves you off, “Of course!” she exclaims, shaking her head. “"It'll be fun. Besides, it would be nice to have another girl there so I don’t have to deal with my brothers all on my own. Say you’ll come," she pleads.

The thought of spending the holidays with Helaena, surrounded by the English countryside and her family’s hospitality, race through your mind. It sent a shiver of nerves through you. You knew very little about her family, only hearing of her brothers in passing. You’d seen them in pictures she had littered around her apartment and on her facebook. You met her mother, if you can call speaking to her briefly over the phone, one night that you spent the night at Helaena’s. Her older sister and her father were a complete mystery to you, both of them a subject she didn’t ever really talk about. 

She bats her eyes at you, gently wrapping her arms around yours. You let out a sigh, breaking out in a smile. “Alright, I’ll come.” you laugh, and she throws her arms around your shoulders. 

:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It's a few days later you find yourself tossing clothes at Helaena. The afternoon sunlight streams through the window behind her. Her hair is loose, falling in soft waves over her shoulders. It looks as if it were glowing. She sits on your bed, gingerly folding different shirts and pants into your bag. Rejected piles of clothes are strewn across your bed, shoes littering the floor and small packing cubes full of toiletries and makeup sit next to your gradually filling case. 

“What about this?” you ask. Swaying slightly, you hold a dress up to your chest. It’s red and covered in polka dots with a large white bow cinching the middle. Her face stays in a slight grimace, shaking her head and laughing.

"We need to get you some new dresses; these look like they belong in a history museum," she says with a playful smile. You laugh, shoving her shoulder as you tuck the dress back into the wardrobe. She pulls a knitted sweater from the edge of your bed and tucks it tightly into your bag.

Once your outfits are sufficiently coordinated and your essentials pulled into packing cubes, Helaena helps you pack them into your suitcase, ensuring you have enough of everything you need for your stay. She speaks up when you struggle with the zipper. 

“So, I know you’ve sort of met Mum and you’ll be meeting everyone else while we're there.  My sister is even coming with her children. A fair warning, though having everyone there can be a bit … intense but they’re good people.”

You note her hesitation. “Intense how?”

Helana shrugs, trying to downplay her words. “It can get a little overwhelming, is all. But you’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

You nod an ok at her, climbing on and bouncing on your suitcase to press it shut with your knees. She joins you, twisting with you as you begin to pull on the zipper. 

"The place’s been in my family for generations. There’s lots of history there, places you could get lost in. You’ll really love it.”

You struggle for a little bit, pulling the zip a little more to fully close the case before sitting on it, breathless. 

"What was it like, growing up in a place like that?" you ask, looking up at her as she takes her spot back on the edge of your bed. 

Helaena smiles, a distant look in her eyes. It's a smile that has a drop of sadness behind it. "It was magical. There are all these secret passages and hidden rooms. We used to play hide and seek for hours.” 

She traces a pattern on your quilt as she continues speaking. “We each got puppies at some point and when we’d pretend we were princes and princesses, my brothers would pretend they were dragons.” 

There's a bittersweet expression on her face as she recounts the memory. It's not an expression you're used to seeing on her face but it’s one she seems to fall back to every time she speaks of home. You can’t help but to be curious about it but you always stop before prying or saying anything. You smile, reaching out a hand and placing it on her knee. It pulls her out of her momentary daze and she flashes a smile at you. A mixture of nerves and anticipation fill you again. "I can’t wait," you say with a soft sigh.

Helaena looks at you, her eyes sparkling. "You're going to love it. It’s like stepping back in time. Just be prepared for a bit of drama; there’s always something happening when we're all together."

"Drama?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, you know, family stuff. Arguments, misunderstandings, that sort of thing. But it’s all part of the charm," she says with a wink.

You laugh, feeling a bit more at ease. "Well, I’m ready for anything."

With the suitcase finally zipped, you both collapse onto the bed, giggling. Helaena turns to you, her expression softening. "I’m really glad you’re coming. It’s going to be a summer to remember."

If you want to support my writing you can buy me a coffee over on Ko-Fi <3

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 2)

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

​GIF: Originally posted by @harleytudinous

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Threat. Dream manipulation. Masturbation. Voyeurism. Plot related cigarette use. Dubious consent.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: So I know I initially billed this as a two shot but the story has run away with me in the most lovely way. Part 3 will be coming soon. Thank you for all your kind responses to part 1, it honestly means so much to me. Hope you enjoy this one too. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

---------------------------------------------

The veil of sleep comes down upon your weary body with a feather-light touch, trying to coax your mind back into the world of dreams.

Dreamscapes have been a whole new experience for you in the past month of your life. Before, you would wake with no recollection of what had played out. Not even the slightest inkling. Now, you remember everything.

They are staggering; bursting with details and ideas beyond your most outlandish daytime imaginings. The emotions that are conjured by them, both when asleep and also awake are just as bold.

And even though it's been 23 nights since it started you are still finding them predominantly jarring and disorientating. You are baffled by how other people cope with the sheer vividness. The unpredictability. Maybe they have become desensitised. You can only hope that the same will happen for you in time.

One thing you tell yourself with each sunrise:

Thank goodness they weren't nightmares.

At least, you don't think they are. There's no resemblance between yours and what you have heard others describe over the years, nor to those outlined in a dream decoding book you had checked out of the library last week. There's no obvious threat or fear. No re-living of traumatic events. Just weird subtext.

The first dream found you standing barefoot on a beach. A mirage distorted the particulars of the scene making it impossible to see further than half a meter in front of you. The temperature of the sand under your soles was verging on painful and as such, it forced you to walk into the unknown before you.

A groaning wind started to brew and lifted the sand into sparkling flurries. You shielded your eyes from the abrasive particles.

The sun was at its apex when you heard the ear splitting bangs. Unmistakably gun shots; you didn't last much longer in the dream and woke with a start.

For the next week, your dreams had been like a series of video clips edited into a supercut.

Raven wings. Black cats. Hellfire. Ruby red glow. Sprawling library shelves. Landscapes hewn by earthquake fissures. Hotel corridors. A handsome, blond haired man wearing sunglasses, holding a blood covered knife.

If you didn't know any better, you would begin to suspect that your new box of tea bags had been laced with a psychedelic. Alas, no. Your hypothesis was unequivocally disproved when you friends had been completely unaffected after stopping by for a Sunday afternoon catch up.

This quick fire of snapshots eventually stopped, transforming into lucid long form dreams. You often think back to the first one where it happened.

Standing in the the empty room, and the appearance of the figure dressed in black. The colour that had flashed in their midnight eyes had the quality of liquid silver. Sometimes you wonder if you see the same image in other dreams, standing in amongst a crowd.

From that point on, regardless of what dream you are in, you cannot shake the intuitive prickle down your spine that tells you someone is watching you.

You reason that it is nothing to be concerned about. Humans dream, and you cannot deny that some of them - swimming in a sea of clouds, re-visiting childhood haunts, trying out superpowers - have been quite fun.

You roll over on to your left side and close your eyes.

You dream.

The room you see is expansive in breadth and depth. Impressive windows bring brilliant light into the space which bounces off the ivory stone of the floors and walls. There are statues positioned at equidistant intervals, implying that the chamber is a gallery of sorts.

One effigy, fashioned from bronze, and rich in colour draws your attention. The lines and curves of its form intrigue you, despite not knowing the creature it was portraying.

You are about to move on when the feeling of being watched sparks through your skeleton.

Everything changes.

Clarity gives way to haze. Sun is swapped for moon.

You see a man across the room. He stands with a perfect posture. Graceful, powerful. His elbows are bent, fingers interlaced, palms facing upwards. Sheer black fabric floats around his frame. It moves languidly, giving glimpses of his bare body beneath.

The man's face is imperceptible. The distance between you too great but somehow you know you are the focus of his attention.

His robes fall to the floor with a gossamer sigh. The pale, unmarked skin of his slight form glows beautifully in the moonlight. You look down in embarrassment as arousal flushes through you, and you see that you are suddenly as naked as he is.

You gasp, and snap your gaze back up.

The sight you see is rather unexpected. The man is intimately touching himself.

You feel compelled to mirror him. You immediately reach between your legs. The man groans as you make contact.

All it takes is a little bit of attention on your clit before you are ready to slide two fingers into your core. The noise you make at the feeling of the stretch is salacious. The man echoes you with a sound that is just as dirty.

It spurs you on and you burrow deeper.

You curl your fingers until your legs are weak and quivering. You long to sink to your knees so you can finish in a more comfortable position yet you can't. An invisible force is preventing you.

It keeps you on display.

Just like the statues to your left.

You wonder if it is for the man's benefit.

You try to focus on him but it is impossible to do so through the trembling glaze over your eyes. All you are able to sense from him now is the sound of the rhythmic pump of his palm around his cock and his panting breaths.

Desperate whines escape your lips. You are teetering on the edge of an orgasm but you can't seem to lose your balance and fall into the abyss. The unsteadiness in your legs is too much of a distraction. You rub at your clit again in the hope that it will bring the satisfaction you need.

It does nothing.

You are so frustrated by your body's disobedience that it is almost painful.

"Please. Please. Please," you mutter under your breath.

A voice suddenly speaks next to you ear. A velvet voice with the timbre of a thunder rumble. It pours like a soothing syrup into your brain and commands you to do exactly as it bids.

"Let go."

You climax intensely, crying out in relief, squirting all over your fingers and onto your hand as you legs finally give way.

The fall jolts you back into consciousness and you wake with a barely contained scream of pleasure in your throat and adrenaline lighting up your nervous system.

Daylight is peeking through a little gap in the curtains. You take a deep, grounding breath.

That was obscene.

The context, the actions, the sounds. That sultry voice at the end. From the throbbing in your vulva and the twitching of your legs it seems like you didn't just finish in the dream.

There is really no point in looking it up in the dream decoding book.

You were clearly horny on a subconscious level. Or craving attention, hence the exhibitionist behaviour. The latter is not usually in your nature to seek out but if it is the reason, you might not have to wait long before the desire is fulfilled. There is a work event happening this evening that may require you to accept an award and address the crowd.

You love this time of year where community projects get recognition; a nomination alone is a sure-fire way of garnering publicity which in turn helps the charity's outreach.

But first, a normal day at the office. You throw back the covers and go straight to the bathroom to rinse off the evidence of your wet dream.

---------------------------------------------

Your right hand connects with the metal push plate of the function space's front door. The heels of your boots click and clack as you cross the threshold, moving from floor board to paving slab.

It's fortuitous that you brought a long, thick coat with you this evening for the wind is wintery and unforgiving. You stay close to the wall of the building to try and shelter from it as much as possible.

The pavements are slick with recent precipitation, streetlamps bouncing off of the water with caustic white light.

Then you see him; a figure cut from shadow.

He's breathing in such a laboured way that you wonder if he is sick.

Your phone is still inside the venue, currently being guarded by a colleague along with your bag but it wouldn't take long to retrieve it and call for medical assistance.

"You okay?" Concern colours the simple question.

His reply comes quickly and assertively, "I am well, thank you."

You nod, not entirely convinced for the stranger's response was as stiff as his posture, and reach inside the pocket of your coat for the box of cigarettes and lighter stashed within.

You settle one of the sticks between your lips and use your thumb to bring forth a flame. The crackle of smouldering paper and tobacco perforates the damp air and you take a needy drag. The nicotine taints and tantalises in equal measure, filling you with guilt and relief. You've been trying to give up but the little voice inside your head had won this evening. You close your eyes and focus on the pleasure it brings before flicking some ash into the tray mounted to the wall.

Your attention now back on your surroundings, the stranger steps into the scope of the streetlight. The angles of his cheekbones, jaw and nose are accentuated to an incredible extent in the gleam. His dark hair is being buffeted about the wind, locks of it very close to falling in the blue eyes that are unwaveringly trained on you. He begins to talk again, showcasing his deep baritone.

"I'm afraid I wasn't entirely honest with you just now. It is not how I envisaged our first interaction transpiring. I hope that you can forgive me for my deception."

You laugh nervously and take another quick drag. "It makes no difference if you're honest with me or not. I don't know you."

"You are correct. You don't know me. Not yet -"

"Oh," you cut in quickly. "I'm not looking for a hook up."

While you cannot deny that he is arrestingly beautiful, you are technically working and have never been one for one-night stands.

"You mistake my meaning. I have been searching for you for so long. I oftentimes doubted your existence however I was wrong and I find myself humbled to be in your presence at last."

The grandiose declaration is one of the stranger things you have heard in your life and you used to deal with drunken patrons when you worked at a university bar. Maybe he was intoxicated; it would explain a lot.

"Look, this might work on other people but I just came out here to have a cigarette -"

It is his turn to interrupt you now. "You will have no need of those going forward. Your addiction to them will be replaced by me."

"Excuse me?"

You are trying to sound incredulous, however, inside you are rather frightened by the turn the conversation has taken. His gaze is not helping either.

The crystalline eyes are embodying every part of the descriptor; a hard, chill inducing blue. Ash drops from the smouldering cigarette as a tremble of fear rattles through you. The man sees this and the ice suddenly melts to a warmer hue.

His tone turns soft and gentle. "We are supposed to be together. Our union is fated."

He's staring at you expectantly even after your two attempts at rejection. You swiftly stub out the part-finished cigarette and take ownership in ending the interaction.

"I've had enough of this. I'm going back inside now. If you try and follow me, I will speak to the venue's management. If you are still here when I leave later, I will call the police."

You turn towards the door.

He calls your name. Your full name. Middle name too.

Despite your brain chanting at you to go inside, you can't stop yourself from looking back at him. "H-how do you know my full name?"

The profound rumble of his voice resonates deep in your ears. "I know everything about you, Y/N."

He's right in front of you now. His posture is bordering between desperate and predatory. Like he can't quite decide if he is seeking comfort from you, or if he wants to consume you.

You are fumbling behind you to find the door handle. "Please get away from me," you say hoarsely.

He reaches for your hand.

You jump back and struggle to get out of his grip but his strength is inhumanly strong. His skin of his palm is glacial against yours and yet somehow, the touch makes heat snake up your arm and settle in your chest.

You become aware of an internal feeling that you've always had, like that of chapped lips. Low level but something that constantly nags. Something that existed every minute of your life until the moment he touched you.

You grip his hand and look up at his face in astonishment.

"Good. That's it. Look into my eyes. See what you know is there."

You do as he says, totally stunned by the depths that seem to reside within them. It's as if there are universes suspended inside. Maybe there are. Perhaps you could float among the celestial bodies if you asked him to show you how.

You feel so alive and overstimulated that you welcome the delirious thoughts taking over your mind.

You welcome him.

It's like there is a cord connected between your heart and his that is shortening in length. The intensity scares you.

"Give into the pull," he urges darkly, sensing your anxiety.

You obey, feet moving of their own accord and then you are standing before him, just centimetres apart.

He smiles triumphantly and presses you flush against his body.

His free hand comes up to cup your jaw, fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your neck. More heat sears through you from the additional skin-on-skin contact.

Your peripheral vision closes tighter and tighter with every passing moment. The outside world is gone.

He leans in further and you wonder hazily if he is going to kiss you or break your neck. Both options are equally viable given the behaviour he has exhibited. You keep staring at him regardless.

His irises flash silver as he intones his next sentence. "Y/N, I claim you as my soulmate."

-------------------------------------

Taglist: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt

"Am I your dream girl? You think of me in bed. But you could never hold me. You like me better in your head."

[kaixserzz]

The Fox, the Crow, and the Bunny.

ੈ♡˳ Il Dottore and Gn!Child!Reader *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ 2.4k words ┊ Fluff *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ Masterlist | JLM Masterlist *ೃ༄

author's note ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

something sweet. dedicated to @idyllic-affections thanks for writing my kaveh rq n this series is inspired by ur acc.. realized i strayed from the real purpose of this fic and made it too long, so just think of it as a 2 in 1 special lol,, (also hi sorry for using dottore he's like my muse and i love writing him) also i hope yall get the meaning of this shit lmao (ref to the scara quest tale)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ cw: strictly platonic/familial, reader is 8 years old, basic dottore warnings, mentions of death, dissecting animals and injuries, implied dottolone (barely), a little ooc but it's canon to me

Dottore's office was once a sacred chamber inside the Fatui headquarters.

While not relatively as pristine as his laboratory, amidst the chaos, there was order. Everything was in its designated place, even though his desk was a nightmare to whoever laid eyes on it (spilled coffee too busy to clean, now dried onto the wood of his table, piles, and piles of documents and papers stacked haphazardly on one another, a disarray of pens and pencils occupying every available niche, and vials filled with who-knows-what dangerously teetering on the edge).

Hazards lurked at every turn within his office, presenting a far-from-presentable façade that seemingly clashed with his position as the 2nd of the 11th Fatui Harbingers. Yet, one might ponder, does the doctor truly concern himself with such matters?

No, not at all. He doesn't have the time to clean everything or keep them in such an organized state. He simply knows everything is in place, and the mess scarcely holds him back (he hires maids once in a while, when the mess gets too much, and in 1 out of 5 maids he hires only makes it out alive).

Yet, what truly imbued this room with a sense of sanctity? For within these walls, he unearthed his genuine solace and tranquility.

In this space, silence reigned supreme. Isolation was his companion, a cherished serenity he embraced. Here, his thoughts danced, inventions took form, and ideas flowed onto paper alongside intricate equations. Occasionally, he'd pass out on his desk and drool all over his papers. This room stood as a shelter inviolable, reserved solely for those few instances of urgency or the presence of a fellow Harbinger.

All other members of the Fatui instinctively bid their time, patiently awaiting his emergence from the sanctum of his office before venturing to approach him. For within its confines, the Doctor was impervious to disruption. No one disturbs the Doctor.

That was before you came along, of course.

The office, ill-suited for a child of your tender years, harbored a minefield of hazards. Within its walls lay various artifacts, concoctions, and intricate machinery, a perilous realm unfit for the innocent curiosity of youth. Regrettably, your presence inadvertently disrupted the serene harmony that had long enveloped this space, unsettling the Doctor who, by nature, dislikes abrupt shifts and deviations from what he was used to.

When you first arrived in his office (he didn't want you inside of it, after all, he wasn't exactly fond of children, but he had no choice) you were immediately injured after stepping onto a shard of glass that Dottore has completely ignored. You tried your very best not to cry for the sake of not irritating Dottore further, but he wasn't very gentle with your wound either.

He took note of keeping his vials away from the edge of his table.

Then a bunch of books topples over you. He puts them into the shelves now, and you helped him organize by using the Dewey Decimal System, to which you had read from a book.

Then, while he was explaining his recent idea (rather enthusiastically) to you, his hand accidentally slammed against his files and flew straight to your face. You also helped him organize his papers.

And then it was cleaning his desk, offering him DIY pencil holders you've made just for him. You've also invented a mug that prevents the liquid inside from spilling (he thinks it was a rather brilliant invention, he no longer has to worry about spilling on his desk).

And then it was putting his rather precarious possessions somewhere else, outside the vicinity of his office and far away from your grasp.

You were very eager to help him in any way possible, and for a child, you quite enjoyed receiving chores. Yet, your contentment was uncomplicated, drawn from the privilege of being granted entry to his treasure trove of knowledge, replete with a limitless collection of books, materials, and tools.

Dottore always thought that you'd be such a nuisance to him once you entered his office and sully the peace he has always known within his office's enclosed haven.

But he didn't expect to welcome your presence at all, on such short notice, too. (Deep inside, he felt a strange warmth in his chest whenever you'd tug on his coat, asking if he needed any assistance with organizing his office. He wonders what it was, though.)

So, here you were, amidst the symphony of pen strokes etching against paper, a solitary melody resonating within the confines of his office.

Contrary to his expectations, the calmness he believed would dissipate upon your arrival had, in fact, been amplified by leaps and bounds. As he observed from the corner of his eye, you reclined on your stomach, legs swinging idly behind you, immersed in a world of creativity. Strewn across the floor, an assortment of crayons bore testament to your artistic endeavors, while he diligently attended to the papers handed by the Fatui.

Then, as if hesitant to break the comfortable silence, you tried to catch his attention with a soft 'psst!', then covered your mouth with your tiny hand to suppress your childish giggles.

The corners of his lips twitch in irritance amusement as he turns his head toward you, his pen on the desk. You broke into a much bigger grin and held your drawing close to your chest, not wanting to expose it just yet. "Hey, Dotdot!" You whispered to him, and he can't help but roll his eyes smile at the nickname you've given him. "Can I show you what I drew?"

Dottore emitted a contemplative hum as if grappling with the decision of whether to engage or remain absorbed in his thoughts. Your evident impatience manifested in a pout, prompting his response. "Well, fine," He yielded, beckoning you forth. You beamed brightly as you swiftly rose to your feet and bounded toward him, your landing generating a muted grunt from him. A steadying hand rested on the desk, enabling him to regain his composure, after which he settled your giggling form comfortably within the space between his legs. "Now then," He put his hands on your shoulder, "What is it you wished to share?"

With another giggle from your ceaseless childish amusement, you gave him the piece of paper. Big, round eyes sparkling against the light of the room looked up at him expectantly. Dottore received the drawing from you, his gaze lingering over its details, drawn into a moment of shared curiosity and wonder.

It was him, and you, holding hands, depicted with earnest effort and the imaginative touch of your youthful artistry. Around you were a bunch of other versions of him, his segments, though you've only drawn five (since they were the only ones who have interacted with you so far). Each had their names labeled beneath them, but Dottore absolutely adores that you've labeled him as 'Dotdot' instead (you've also drawn Pantalone holding your other hand and labeled him as 'Pants', adorned both figures with encircling hearts).

"Truly remarkable artwork," He stated with a smile, his words accompanied by the sound of your jubilant cheers, "This masterpiece deserves a place of honor, a spot where all can admire it. I can already imagine the joy it will bring to the other segments once they lay eyes on it."

"Really!?"

"Of course, I do believe they enjoy your company, little bunny."

As he carefully set the drawing on his table, your inquisitive gaze caught his attention. With a tilt of your head, a gesture he knew all too well, you asked him a question, "Why do you call me that?"

"Hm? Call you what?" Dottore grabbed you gently and settled you onto his desk. Positioned face to face, at eye level, his intent was clear—to engage with you as both an adult and a child, a balance you seemed to relish.

"Bunny! You call me bunny lots,"

"Oh? Do you not like it?"

You vigorously shook your head, "No no, I love it! I get called nicknames, but they're all mean." You furrow your brow as you reminisced, pouting at the awful memories. But then you broke into a big smile again, "But yours is new and cute! So, why do you call me that?"

Dottore's grin widened, revealing his sharp teeth, a sight that enthralled you. Your hands instinctively moved to his cheeks, your eyes filled with wonder, and he welcomed the touch wholeheartedly. "Ahh, ever so curious, aren't you, little bun?" He teased playfully, giving your nose a gentle boop! with his finger, and your giggles were a delightful response. "You see, I call you bunny because you embody its spirit—small, swift, and an endless source of vibrant energy.

You also love to hop onto people a lot."

"I love giving surprise hugs! I'm too small, so a jump, so I can wrap my arms around them a bit higher!" You huffed as he chuckled at your explanation. "What are you, then? What animal?"

"Oh? I've never thought about what kind of animal I'd be... Hmmm..." Dottore mused for a while, his expression thoughtful. Eventually, he arrived at a decision. "A fox, I think. Crafty, shrewd, and sly. A creature that prowls with a purpose and possesses those distinct, sharp teeth." As he said that, he grins once more to show his sharp teeth, then lunges for your finger, mimicking a bite, prompting you to gasp and pull back with a joyful squeal.

"And speaking of bunnies..." His tone took on a mischievous edge, causing your eyes to widen in anticipation. Suddenly, he swooped in, grabbing your legs and lifting you high into the air. "I might just gobble you up!" Dottore's playful pretense of chomping down on you elicited a cascade of laughter from you. You pushed at his head, trying to escape his 'gobbling' jaws, your legs kicking playfully as you enjoyed the moment.

"I don't think you're a fox, Dotdot!" You quipped, retaking your seat on his desk. Playfully swinging your legs, you mused aloud, a soft humming accompanying your contemplation.

Dottore raised an intrigued eyebrow, "Oh? And what am I in the eyes of my little bunny? Perhaps something more fearsome?" He inquired, looming over you in an effort to intimidate you.

Instead, your eyes lit up brightly, and you joyfully clapped your hands together. "Oh, I've got it! A crow!" You exclaimed with a triumphant smile.

A bemused frown replaced his grin as he processed your unexpected response. "...A crow?" He echoed, clearly puzzled by your choice. "Of all animals?"

And you merely smile at him, giggling at his confused reaction, "Mhm! Yeah! A crow that talks on and on and on." Your hands followed your words, almost hitting him in the face, "A crow that is death and prey over rotting corpses, but a crow that saved me! I thought Dotdot was an angel, but angels don't have black feathers, scary smiles, or red eyes."

Your words painted a vivid picture of your perception, a whimsical and deeply personal perspective on his nature. Dottore nods along, intrigued, as you rambled your thoughts to him, not even chastising you for grabbing the beak of his mask and playing with it.

"You're a crow! You're very smart, and clever, and creative! You're scary to other people, but not to me! I love corvids, I used to feed them bits of animal after I dissect them, and they always bring me something shiny. They were my only friends, and now you're my friend too!"

He doesn't understand the gentle warmth that began to unfurl within his chest as he remained attentive to your words. While unfamiliar, this sensation wasn't entirely unwelcome... "I beg to differ, my dear bunny. I am unmistakably a fox,"

"Then you're a crow pretending to be a fox!" You pout, stubbornly crossing your arms. "I think crows are way cooler than foxes. They can fly! Plus, you can't call yourself a fox when you resemble a crow more than a fox!" You pointed out, a triumphant smirk on your lips.

Well, you do have a point. He does wear a beaked mask, coupled with a bird-like shoulder embellishment bedecked in exquisite black feathers.

"Should I then consider donning attire that better befits a fox?"

At the notion, you fixed him with a mock glare, your cheeks puffing out in an adorable display of discontent. "Nooooo! I prefer Mr. Crow!" you protested with a playful whine, punctuating your words by delivering gentle punches to his shoulders with your tiny hands.

He chuckles at your small tantrum, and he swiftly gathers you into his embrace. Your arms naturally encircled his neck as he rose from his seat, carrying you toward the door, your precious drawing clutched in your hands. "Very well, very well, my dear Mr. Crow it shall remain," He conceded with a playful tone, his steps filled with an easy camaraderie.

Victoriously, you shot him a smug grin, to which he rolled his eyes at.

"Do you wanna know something, Mr. Crow?" You mutter in his ear as he walks past one of his segments.

"Hm? What is it?"

You made sure to whisper it very quietly, hoping the other segments won't hear you. "Between you and me, I think that your younger segments are like rats!"

He didn't know what came over him, he released a hearty, resounding laugh, its volume surprising not just you but also the other segments who happened to be present, each momentarily taken aback by their own affairs. Such an outpouring of mirth was rare for him (only when he was inside his dark, cool lab, alone with experiments).

A sense of pride swelled in your chest as you grinned widely, his laughter infectious as you burst into a fit of giggles. It was a scary laugh, maybe it was just naturally like that, but to you, it sounded very happy. "They bit me once! I was just poking their face."

"Perhaps give them a treat before you approach them," He says, calming down as he continues his trek toward your room. "This gesture might just soften their demeanor."

"What, like cheese?"

"Oh, little bun, that'll drive them even more mad once they found out you called them rats."

You share another grin with him, finding a cozy spot to rest your chin upon his shoulder in contentment, "Good! I think they're funny when their faces turn red."

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛❛ If you like this a lot, consider reblogging! I’ll appreciate it very very much! Don’t repost and/or translate my work anywhere. ❜❜ ┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

[raymantogether]

Rayman Together Community Spotlight #3 - Clairiphi

Rayman Together Community Spotlight #3 - Clairiphi

Introduction:

Have you ever made your own Rayman comic book series? Growing up, I spent thousands of hours outside of playing the Rayman series creating comics and drawings, making my own adventures for Rayman and his friends. However, I never could create something as captivating and truly unique as the Rayman Nightmarish Series. Rayman Nightmarish stole my heart and is something that I have followed since 2020. Every few weeks to months, I eagerly anticipate the next chapter. There is something so personal about the art style and original characters, which I fell in love with. Every strip is full of personality and charm. I had the pleasure of meeting Clairiphi, AKA Chiara, during my visit to Ubisoft Milan. In person, Chiara is just as amazing as her series. So when I decided to make this Community Spotlight Series, I just had to make a segment on Chiara and her Rayman Nightmarish series.

1. Please introduce yourself.

"My name is Chiara; I go by Clairiphi on the web, and I'm a storyteller from Sardinia (Italy) who dabbles into drawing to accompany her stories. I hope one day, not too far from now, to become a professional comic writer if the comic industry in Europe gives me the chance. For now, I sadly remain an enthusiastic hobbyist."

2. What are you currently working on in the Rayman Community? 

"I’ve been publishing my fan comic Rayman Nightmarish for a few years with the frequent help of my partner Francesco (@thepinna on Instagram and Cara), who is a professional illustrator and studied as a comic artist as well. Without his teaching, I would be nowhere near where I am with my skill level. He taught me how to storyboard, how to efficiently use a drawing tablet, and helped me train my writing skills. He also offers his direct artistic input from time to time, when work hours permit him (for example, while I did the storyboards and pencil sketches for chapter 11, he did inks and colors)."

3. What is your inspiration behind Rayman Nightmarish?

"One December evening I was particularly bored and haven’t been writing since the beginning of high school, but that evening I was coming from a long period of frustration regarding the school path I chose, and coincidentally, I was also back on my Rayman obsession because I was playing Legends and Origins. I had this fairy character (Waaty) and a horrific, almost lovecraftian villain (The Lighteater) in mind for a while, and all of a sudden I said, “You know what? Let’s stop daydreaming and write an actual story!” I took a huge empty notebook from my desk drawer, and a bunch of years later, here we are!"

4. For any newcomers, what is the story of Rayman Nightmarish about?

"With Rayman Nightmarish, I aimed to narrate a classic Rayman adventure, with the humor, the combats, the voyage across fantastical places... And zombies! Yeah, I love horror, and of course there was going to be a twist. But no worries! This is still a story for all ages, like Rayman always was after all.  An ancient evil called The Lighteater is rising from the depths of the sea and is going to bring a dark plague that will soon turn The Glade of Dreams into The Glade of Nightmares. Of course it is Rayman's job to save the day once again, with the help of Globox and a few unexpected friends, like Waaty, the livid dead fairy with strange clairvoyant abilities...and many others along the way! Will he be able to do it this time? Very likely knowing his records, but this could actually be more challenging than he thought."

5. Is there anything new or unreleased you can share?

"I’ve actually been working on a new original fantasy series for a while. The story is already all planned, I'm in love with the characters and every process I came across during the planning of the plot. I hope with all my heart that I'll be able to bring it to life, not as a webcomic but as a fool-blown series for comic stores’ shelves."

6. What made you fall in love with the Rayman series?

"When I was a little girl, I didn’t have much social skills, and my first ever playmate, before my brother was born, was my dear cousin, who one day came to me with a copy of Rayman 3; his parents got him somewhere during a trip. That game changed my brain chemistry because as soon as I saw the fairy council level, I was hypnotized, and I wasn’t even the one playing! The music, the scenery, the jokes—I don’t know, but every time we played it, I came home wishing I was still in that world. Then a few years later, my cousin got a PS3 and gave me and my brother his PS2, Rayman Raving Rabbids, and Rayman 3. I was so happy! My first ever “comic” was a very cringy Rayman fanfiction I wrote in middle school, kind of an ancestor of Rayman Nightmarish in a way, haha! I thank my cousin every day for showing me that game that evening, and if he were still here today, I bet he would think Rayman Nightmarish looks pretty sick (especially in comparison to his middle school predecessor)."

7. What is your favorite Rayman game?

"I think it’s pretty clear by now that it’s Rayman 3 since it comes with so many dear memories, but I really liked playing both Origins and Legends in co-op with my brother when they came out. They were really fun to play with others! While I’ve always considered Rayman 3 like an intimate journey to take alone in a fantasy world, as silly as it sounds. Haha!"

8. Who is your favorite Rayman character?

"I’m going to be very unoriginal and say it’s Rayman because it’s true."

9. Tell us about your time at Ubisoft Milan.

"It was better than Disneyland! I felt like a kid again being able to hang out with a team of professionals behind a whole videogame. Not only was I happy, I felt seen, like, “Woah! These guys know I exist and even asked me to come here, hello???” Pretty surreal experience!"

10. Other than playing Rayman, what are your favorite things to do?

"I’m going to be completely honest; I haven’t been playing a Rayman game since the dawn of time. Haha! Back when I was a little girl, I wasn't much of a gamer and only played Rayman games because I didn’t care for the others. Now I love my switch, and I found many more games I love to spend time with. Rayman still has a special place in my heart, because it’s thanks to it that I found out I was actually meant for writing stories. Two of my other favorite things to do (besides writing and drawing, which are obvious) are reading books and watching movies, and in both cases, my favorite genre is horror. I also like to play fantasy TTRPG games like D&D or Pathfinder from time to time; they are very stimulating for the imagination."

11. Tell us something interesting or funny about yourself that we might not already know. 

"I’ve actually graduated (both bachelor’s and master’s degree) from a music conservatory in classical piano and never taken a single class in any art school. Sometimes I feel stupid about my past choices, and sometimes I’m glad because learning to play an instrument on a professional level has helped me build discipline and time management skills that helped me greatly in the writing process."

12. Do you have any hidden talents?

"I don’t know much about "talent,” but I do love to sing in my car, and I can memorize the entire script of a movie if I like it a lot. Haha! I remember when I was in elementary school, I used to recite Madagascar to myself when it was past bedtime, but I didn’t want to sleep."

13. What is one thing you can’t live without?

"Besides my air conditioner, I think I would go insane if something happened to any of my writing devices. I keep all my notes scattered between my computer, my iPad, and many physical journals. While clouds are essential, sometimes I just need an actual piece of paper and a pencil to figure out a scene or a plot point."

Want to discover more about the Rayman Nightmarish series? This is my link tree where new readers can find the best social media platforms to either catch up with the story or stay tuned for any exciting news:

[littlefandomfairy]

🥰(fluff) 🍆 (smut) 😈 (angst) 🩹 (hurt/comfort)

last updated: 04/28/24 | fic rec masterlist

entire masterlist by @forever-rogue (individual warnings)

the back of your knees by @baby-bearie 🥰

jealousy, jealousy by @theoreticslut 🥰

the metal head and the material girl (series) by @loveronlineee (individual warnings)

i'll make it up to you by @stranger-nightmare 🥰🍆🩹

prized possession by @kaylawritesfics 🥰

hard to love by @steviebears 🥰😈🩹

where in the hell did you find that by @laheymaze 🥰

private guitar lessons by @hawkins-losers 🥰

between two shelves by @hawkins-losers 🥰

joyce daughter request by @steviebears 🥰

my kind of woman by @rynwritesstuff 🥰🍆🩹

i have always seen you by @edsloveydove 🥰😈🩹

gentle with me (series) by @swingsuckerswing (individual warnings)

dating eddie headcanons by @itsactuallywhitewolf 🥰🍆

nothing like him by @runningmunson 😈🩹

regular by @brighteyedbushybrowed 🥰🩹

who could be a more doting boyfriend? by @bettysupremacy 🥰

of toothpaste kisses and giggles by @folklorefairyy 🥰

high school sweethearts (series) by @girasollake (individual warnings)

'broken nose' kind of protective by @kl4us4 🥰😈🩹

love letters by @babybluebex 🥰🍆🩹

matilda by @kl4us4 🥰

blurb by @ghosttownwherenoonegoes 🥰

off limits (series) by @loveronlineee (individual warnings)

made with love by @copiasratx 🥰

dirty little secret by @jobean12-blog 🥰🍆

little things by @word-wytch 🩹

parent trap (series) by @skyfall8600 (individual warnings)

boo? by @eagerbby 🍆

heaven tonight (series) by @el-dibidibidorado1 (individual warnings)

request by @hawkins-losers 🥰🩹

naughty sleepover by @xxmayxx05 🥰🍆

spa night by @staygoldwriting 🥰

see it? by @never--doubt 🥰

hey, princess by @matchamunson 🥰

read between the lines by @munson-blurbs 🥰🍆

first time with someone like you by @musings-of-a-college-dork 🥰🍆

penny verse (series) by @queenimmadolla (individual warnings)

i thought i lost you by @musings-of-a-college-dork 🥰😈🩹

belt by @queenimmadolla

early morning lovin' by @lokis-army-77 🍆

insecure reader by @luveline 🥰🩹

meeting the munsons (series) by @mypoisonedvine (individual warnings)

was that so hard? by @luveline 🥰

dancing with myself (series) by @ambrossart (individual warnings)

sneaking out by @mawofmeraxes 🥰

do you wanna touch me by @munsonsbtch 🍆

are you together? by @galaxy-siren 🥰

not his type by @galaxy-siren 🥰🩹

bad idea by @galaxy-siren 😈🩹

my evil dad (series) by @strangerthingsn (individual warnings)

safe hands by @lonelysatellites 🥰🍆🩹

magic brownie by @januaryembrs 🥰

i want you to want me by @munson-blurbs 🥰😈

be my forever valentine? by @harringtonstilinski 🥰

first sleepover by @lovebugism 🥰

candygram by @hellfirenacht 🥰

the boy is mine (series) by @carolmunson (individual warnings)

[starlightkun]

little league ➠ teaser [sungchan]

➠ teaser word count: 1383 | full fic: 13.5k ➠ warnings: scenes of a child crying if you don’t want to read that (nightmares and stuff), also people are called mommy/daddy in this so if you can’t be normal abt that please skip this one ➠ genre: fluff, angst? but like around them in terms of life not within their relationship, established relationship, parents sungchan/reader, former hockey captain sungchan, chronically ill reader (chronic migraines), part of the buzzer beater series (after freezing the puck, or if you’ve only read buzzer beater & 27jsc, this should still make sense!) ➠ extra info: the reader in this has chronic migraines, which i have. when the reader’s migraines, experiences as a chronically ill person, and thoughts about being chronically ill are described, that is me writing directly from my own life. i am not generalizing the lives of all people with chronic migraines/chronic illnesses, but i am sending all my love to any readers out there living with a chronic illness, and here’s a reminder to go take your meds! ➠ estimated release: saturday, june 15, 2024 3:00 p.m. eastern time

“Hey, buddy,” Sungchan called for your son’s attention, his hands occupied with groceries. “Do you want me or Mommy to help you get ready for your nap? Or are you going to try to do it yourself?”

“Mm…” He looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Mommy!”

“Alright, help with the groceries then I’ll help you, Binnie,” you bargained, putting a bag down on the ground in his reach.

As Woobin dutifully put the bags of chips and boxes of gummies on the lower shelves of the pantry that he could reach, you and Sungchan quickly put away the rest of the groceries. When there was just cleaning and other household supplies left, your husband grabbed those and nodded towards your son.

“Go put buddy down, I’ve got this.”

“Thanks, Channie,” you pecked his cheek before turning to your child. “Lead the way!”

Woobin was able to get into his pajamas by himself, so you were really just there to tuck him in and kiss his forehead. You never bought into the “cry themselves out” mindset from the get-go, and to this day would sit with him until he fell asleep if he asked.

Except this time, he didn’t get into bed at all, standing next to the piece of furniture with you and staring at it like you were about to cliff dive instead of nap. He looked up at you, and you already saw his bottom lip quivering.

“Mommy?”

“Yeah, Binnie, I’m right here, my sweet,” you promised, kneeling down in front of him so you were eye-to-eye. “What’s wrong?”

He threw his arms around your neck, taking quick, shallow breaths as he very bravely tried to communicate with you. “I don’t wanna—I don’t wanna…”

“Okay, I won’t make you right now,” you promised, rubbing his back. “Will you tell me what’s making you upset? Is it the nap? Going to sleep? Did you have a bad dream?”

But he had already devolved into incomprehensible sobs, and you bit your lip at the twinge in your chest. “Alright, sweet, how about we go to Mommy and Daddy’s room? Hm? And I’ll read you something. If you don’t want to nap, you don’t have to today, okay? Sound good?”

You could feel him nod into your shoulder, and that was all you needed to pick him up and settle him on your hip to carry him out of his room. As you passed by Sungchan putting away new bottles of dish soap and dishwasher pods under the sink, he gave you a concerned look. You mouthed a ‘later’ to him as you took your son across your house and into your room. As you passed by your bookshelf, you quickly selected a book, then sat down at the head of your bed, Woobin on your lap. Pulling your blanket up over you two, you let him get settled in and comfortable, still very much crying all the while.

Holding your book with one hand and resting the other on his back, you started reading. After a while, his sobs died down to hiccups, which petered out to just the occasional sniffle. But you could see that he was still awake, his eyes open and following your place as you read. Then, after a while longer, they started to slowly fall shut and his chin would tilt down, then he’d quickly open his eyes again and jerk his head up. Finally, he couldn’t fight the heaviness of his lids, and he fell asleep. You put your bookmark in where you were just before his eyes closed, but kept reading past that, just in case. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the door handle slowly turn, and your bedroom door inch open before Sungchan peered in.

Your husband pointed to the boy in your lap, then made a gesture of pretending to sleep on a pillow, lifting his eyebrows questioningly after. You nodded, still reading softly.

Sungchan slipped in the room, closing the door quietly behind him as well. Having come to a stopping place, you finally closed your book and set it aside on the one you already had on your nightstand.

“Really? You’re reading Breton lais to our child?” Sungchan’s teasing whisper was barely audible. “He’s going to start school saying stuff like nary and furthermore.”

“Says the man who knew I was reading a Breton lai,” you shot back just as quietly.

“Getting married to a lit professor, you pick up a few things.” He then looked down at Woobin. “What happened?”

You sighed and readjusted slightly to hold him tighter now that you had two free arms. “I don’t know. He couldn’t tell me. As soon as he had to get into bed for his nap he just… broke down.”

A deep frown cut across Sungchan’s face as he stroked your son’s hair, but he said nothing else. He left the room, and you heard him moving around throughout the house as you picked up the other book from your nightstand. Eventually, he meandered back in, sitting on his side of the bed and setting up his laptop to quietly work beside you as your son continued napping on your lap and you continued your book. In addition to doing research at the university and being the assistant coach for the hockey team, Sungchan had picked up teaching a couple of Intro to Biology for majors sections, and you could see him answering emails from his students out of the corner of your eye. You were rereading the material for the Direct Study you were leading next semester.

Eventually, Woobin slowly started stirring, grumbling, yawning, and rubbing at his eyes before burying his face back in your chest with a sigh. You stroked his back, attention still on your book. He turned over in your arms when he finally decided that he was awake, blinking his eyes open and staring off into the middle distance.

“Hey, Binnie, you awake?” Sungchan asked quietly.

He nodded slowly, stretching his arms up, and you had to duck your head out of the way to avoid getting smacked in the face by a stray hand.

“Sleep good?” Your husband kept talking to him.

He nodded again, letting out another adorable little yawn.

“Of course you did,” Sungchan chuckled, gently pinching the tip of his nose. “You got the best seat in the house right there, bud.”

Woobin made grabby hands at Sungchan, and he moved his laptop to the side to transfer him from your lap to his, pressing a kiss to forehead once he was settled in against his chest.

“Uncle Chenle is going to be over soon,” you reminded your son of your plans for the night. “Are you excited?”

He perked up at this. “Yeah! He said he was gonna bring me back a souvenir!”

“He does love to spoil you,” Sungchan shook his head, ruffling the boy’s hair.

As Woobin busied himself with his toys in his room, the horrors of naptime all but forgotten, you and Sungchan were having a fervent, whispered conversation in your bedroom.

“Should we even go tonight?” You asked, pulling your outfit on.

“I know, I’m worried about bedtime…” Sungchan sighed, nevertheless assisting you with your zipper.

“Chenle’s really good with him, and you know how much he dotes on Woobin.” You paused in front of the mirror, smoothing out the wrinkles. You weren’t sure if you were trying to convince yourself or your husband at this point.

“I know, I don’t doubt how much he loves our kid, or how much buddy loves him,” he replied, fidgeting with his tie behind you. “I just… would hate to not be there.”

“Me too,” you replied quietly, turning around to fix his tie yourself. “I can practically feel the stress migraine coming on thinking about it.”

“Okay, well don’t do that, baby,” Sungchan insisted, resting his hands on your waist to pull you closer. “I mean, that didn’t happen at bedtime yesterday, did it?”

“No, it didn’t,” you agreed. “Or naptime yesterday…”

“Who’s to say it’ll happen at bedtime today?” He suggested. “Might’ve been a one-time thing. Or only for naps.”

“Right.” You breathed out, having finished with his tie, and now looked up at him questioningly. “So we’re going?”

“Seems like it.”

➠ series masterlist | blog masterlist

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Part 10- keep me from my grave

"Well, don't sing me praise. Just keep me from my grave." -Me Against the Devil by The Relentless

Main Masterlist Regent Series Part 9

They met at a bookstore. 

It had been almost two full months since the Joker had met his end, his head mounted and strangely not decomposed, with Jason returned to the Batfamily Gotham had settled into a lull. Not a quiet one, but a lull nonetheless. 

Jason was taking a break from sorting through cases with Dick, head throbbing from the lack of sleep and patience for annoying siblings wearing thin. 

The bookstore, tucked away in a quiet part of Old Gotham, was often empty of people during the day. Despite its large bay windows, comfy seating and welcoming atmosphere, the Page-Turner would remain a hidden gem to the city dwellers. For Jason, it was a haven he could never feel bad about keeping to himself. 

He’d branched out from classics some time ago, deciding to try other genres he’d long since ignored for the Bard, meandering around the shelves to find a title that caught his eye. 

It was between the mysteries and thrillers that he found her. 

Her. 

She was sitting on the ground with her back pressed against the thriller shelves, slender jean-clad legs tucked towards her chest to cradle a book, eyes never straying from the pages, red hair tied into a low ponytail with what looked like a small braid tucked behind one ear. Jason couldn’t tear his eyes away from her soft features, desperately wanting her eyes to meet his, her lips to offer him a smile and her hands to cradle his own.

 For the first time in his life, Jason finally understood what the regency novels meant by love at first sight… because the man was halfway there already. 

The Page Turner was a haven admist the chaos that was Jazz’s life, especially once she finally admitted to herself and Danny that she needed help to manage her depression. Her little brother was concerned, but also relieved when she confronted the elephant in the room first. He’d been weary of bringing it up himself, not wanting to worry her more. 

(Silly brother.)

(It was her job to worry.)

Nonetheless, Jazz asked around among the living and dead for a therapist recommendation, which she was correct about it being difficult in Gotham, but Jazz didn’t want to branch out just yet. A toss up between disbelief and enthusiasm awaited her, but she didn’t let it deter her from contacting the recommended psychologist- Harleen Quinzel. 

A bit awkward to be in a session with the reformed rogue, dutifully ignoring whatever lingering shades wanted her attention. Harley was a great listener, more importantly she cared about Jazz as a patient, as a human being. Whatever Bozo the Clown had done to her, what she had survived, had given Harley a new lease on life with his death (ironically). 

“It sounds like ya never been allowed to simply be, Jazz.” Harley spoke plainly and evenly, her brooklyn accent barely clipping her words. The redhead had spoken of her childhood, her brother’s death, the neglect.

Opened up about the nightmares, how Danny’s destroyed grave haunted her. Let the truth spill from her lips, free to simply exist in the space between the two women. Sure, Jazz would never spill secrets about the Realms, but where it concerned her guilt, or lack thereof, about the blood on her hands- yes, Jazz knew Harley wouldn’t judge her. 

And it was true, Jazz had no childhood. She was Danny’s caretaker, his first memory, his first steps towards, the first to have his back. There had never been just Jazz, only Jazz and Danny. Every dream she’d once had, broken and scattered in the ashes of Danny’s grave. 

(Danny had no hope of reaching the stars, of being an astronaut, with his death.)

“Sweetie, Danny sounds like he is capable of taking care of himself for a while. Have you considered finding a hobby?” Harley questioned, sincere in her wish to help. 

Jazz sighed, “I wouldn’t know where to begin.” What did she have outside her little brother and work as Regency? 

“Do ya like to read?” 

Jazz huffed, finding amusement with that question. Of course she liked, no, loved to read. It had been her one escape from the nightmares so long ago, but she hadn’t found the time since taking regency to lose herself in a good book. 

Harley didn’t need her to respond, offering a sincere smile in response to Jazz’s lack of reply. 

“There’s a bookstore in Old Gotham, the Page Turner, ya could check out? There’s no pressure to pick up a book, but it would be enough to just get through the door, yeah?” 

“I’ll try.” 

“That’s a good start.” 

As it was, Jazz wasn’t able to find time between Realms Work and patrol to do anything other than sleeping, eating, and various other tasks that filled her days (and nights). The more it itched at her, to listen to the therapist she liked, the more Jazz wanted to read a book. To get lost in a good story, just like she used to. 

Patrols were harder with Hood back, his haunt under his command once more and streets protected by a vigilante in red. Only twice in the few weeks since Jason had been moved from her side to the batcave had the Regent caught a glimpse of him, both as his nighttime persona, and from a distance Jazz hadn’t been able to sense him as clearly as previous. He did seem healthier with the pure ecto and his Proto-Core, though Jazz was in no mood to test her luck by crossing into his Haunt. 

The girls were sad to see the Regent less, even though Jazz remained firmly in the Phantom haunt and was barely a few minutes away at any given time, but it was the principle of the thing. The Regent was one of the good ones and a woman at that. A woman who could kick ass wasn’t rare, but it was rare that they would take up a vigilante role for the occupants of the Alley. 

Red Hood, while awesome and respected by his people, was a man. 

Some of the girls were gradually drifting into the Phantom haunt, or a shitty part of Old Gotham that bordered on the Alley. Regardless of it’s quality it belonged to the Phantom Fraid… and Phantom was a Protector Spirit. 

(With the Regent and the Phantom, crime was all but extinct in their haunt.)

With the decrease in crime, Jazz was finally able to dematrilize her armor, set down her sword and enter the Page Turner. 

A distinct mix of old books, ink, and some kind of body spray welcomed the redhead once she stepped inside, intrigued by the sense of calm that greeted her in place of a human. 

Which was fine, Jazz preferred to browse in peace. 

Grateful for the shelves being categorized, Jazz found herself enthralled by a thriller (They Never Learn by Layne Fargo) and didn’t notice another person in the aisle until they were within arm’s reach. 

Jazz flinched back, embarrassed by her lack of focus and attention to her surroundings, dangerous when one is a vigilante in Gotham. She greeted the man in front of her after a few moments of awkward silence, his stare making the redhead even more embarrassed, but now by her appearance. She'd been too tired to fuss with her hair or clothes beyond ensuring the orange-red strands were brushed into a semblance of order and her clothes were somewhat decent. 

(Jazz was more concerned with her bracelets being concealed under glamour and sleeves.)

(The metal, eternally cool against her warm skin, offered some comfort in times like these.)

(She was the Lady of the Acropolis, once student of Pandora, the Ancient of Peace.) 

(There is nothing that can make her feel lesser without her consent.) 

“Uh, hi.” 

(Oh how eloquent, Jasmine.) 

“Hi.” The deep voice, smooth and accented like a native Gotham, made Jazz finally move her gaze from his chest- nice chest as it was, it was his eyes that made her breath rush from her lungs. 

Jason. 

.....Jason!

(Oh yes, Jazz picked a good day to walk into the Page Turner.) 

(She was finally able to talk to her dream man.)

(She wasn’t disappointed.) 

(And by the smiles they had as walked away, neither was Jason.) 

A/N:

This isn't the best, I know. Hey, they finally meet! Keep an eye for the updated masterlist, because I'll be putting the link up and changing some of the chapter titles. Thanks for reading!

Update: “They Never Learn” by Layne Fargo is an actual book, with a female Anti-Hero who kills bad men. I don’t want to say more because I’ll spoil something, but it’s a great book.

[starrbright]

𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍: 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐔𝐒 || 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐄

Creatures of nightmares that crawl from nothing to land he's dealt with for so long, he himself bounded to those, unthinkable abilities he wields; he never questioned reality. But there's an impenetrable sense of high he's in as he fixes in your softness, it doesn't feel real. It's peaceful, he thinks that is what dreaming is.

Kishibe finds his demise not to be of devils, fiends, wars—not even of death.

images used: X | X

April 2023 - April and June 2024. about fucking time. to the ones that encouraged me to start writing for csm, i'm truly so sorry for the long delay. when i started this piece for him, i was focused and suddenly i wasn't and a lot kept happening and i didn't want to touch this until i was on it entirely, i wanted this to be perfect, so i shelved it. and i hope the waiting does the justice. the lack of works for this anime with us fat readers is what started this all and you encouraged me, so thank you for that🙇🏽‍♀️🙏🏼. writing the end of this was so difficult, i'm so sorry again this kept delaying.

if you've read the manga or watched the show, you may have noticed or not—and that i've only realized i didn't address reader's contract with devils in the previous works in this series and in this one, the case is still the same 😁 because, honestly, i just forgot about it. apologies for that

nearing 8k words. all my y/n are afab, fat and of color. Reader is in 50's. with two children. a ten and four years old. divorced. ex-devil hunter. kishibe hums a lot here because he does that a lot. he barely talks as well, that's how i headcanon him, i just can't see him saying too many things that wouldn't be from someone like him🙁 slight slowburn. a tiniest tinge of crack. one thing about me in my works is i will always inject my pride in my characters! masturbation. light sparring. spit play? pussy eating. fucking.

I'll be disappearing for a while for another work, this drained me. enjoy!!! as always, thoughts are more than welcome!! thank you💌

On routine, that's how Kishibe's life was, all the same everyday. Even in the unusual situations with his job, all the same as well; natural. He's not sick of it, no. He's just....bored. Sure, he gets laid most of the time, but that, too, was routine. Funny thing to say for an old man like him, who has nothing going on in his life, on purpose, chooses to be.

Though just to say the least, he's quite getting sick of the boredom. But he doesn't do anything about it, there was nothing to come across his mind. So instead, his fate did it for him.

Delivering him something new, and that something was someone.

Someone moving into the building where he lives, in the top floor he's in, no less. In a building where it looks so lonely because it was a bit far away from the city and only a few buildings were surrounded by the place. It's literally lonely, one could say, because there are only three tenants in it and he's already included among them--and said three tenants don't know each other, let alone have crossed paths before. He preferred it that way.

For probably enough time that one could bear until they went mad, it was like that.

Until it was broken off by you.

And what's new is that you're there standing in the elevator with enough bags that one could carry sitting on the floor.

You know each other. He knows you. Only a few years younger late when you got in the division from him. Never worked with you but still knew of each other. One of the reasons is because you're known in the division, respected rather. A few of the primes, same like him. But that is until you switched to working in the office rather out in the field, still you were esteemed. That was all he knew. He never paid much attention to trivial things anyway; not unless it was something he should be concerned about.

"Kishibe?" You voiced, eyebrows furrowed.

"L/N." He replied, voice ever nonchalant.

As you stepped out of the elevator, he took a few of your bags from the floor as you did and you didn't say anything to it. No such thing as shyness or awkwardness between two grown people like you, let alone that you know of each other.

"So you're the one living here?" You asked, both of you walking in the long hallway.

"And you're moving."

"Guess we weren't both told then."

"That's the rule anyway."

Confidentiality was the top rule of the apartment, no introductions, not even background checks or anything. Closed off and expensive. That piques his interest, just a little though.

Though what you both find odd—even a little amusing is how you didn't even get to see each other when the two of you figure that of the day you checked out the place. And only now. What coincidence, you supposed.

Of you seeing how he was the only one living on the floor, you spoke your thoughts. "...And I suppose you being the only one here on this floor is ruined by me." You chuckled a little.

"Doesn't seem so bad." He answered just as easily and simply. Any other time back then, he wouldn't have liked this, it would have made his eyes sharp and lips fell even lower....but today, he's not gonna complain.

You nod, a small curve of your lips turning up. "...That's good to know," you say and not a second later, you arrived at your door. "....Well, thank you."

Kishibe laid the bags inside on the floor just as you opened the door, "Hmm," he just voiced before going his way.

This didn't deter you or anything, seeming to know that he's always been that.....rather reserved, you could say....anyone will, actually.

And as you went on to fix your things up, you thought of the man. That you were surprised to see him, much more that he lives here. You weren't bothered by it...just surprised—rather curious to what comes next.

This was him after all, the prime of the primes. The so reserved man, so as you now find new (the place he lives at could say a lot already) but suppose that's normal for his age, close to your age rather and especially in the kind of work you both have, let alone his.

"Shouldn't this be interesting?" You say to yourself just as you folded the last bag to its place.

Something new is what you came here for anyway,

As night has come, you made dinner not only for yourself but as well.....well, Kishibe. You'll be living closely for such a time and it's always right to give something for your neighbour. Though at the back of your mind, you can't help but think, does he even cook? eat for himself properly? It encouraged you more to give him something. Be it as a nature of a mother, and who was once a wife, you believe.

So late of the night when the time has come that the devil hunters usually go home from work, specifically in his rank—a few minutes after that said time, you went out from your apartment to head over his. Walking down the hallway, holding the small and still heated ceramic pot. As you reached the door, you knocked, successfully.

Seconds later, the door opened to show the man, looking a bit tired more than usual, just out from his coat but still in his attire, white shirt messily opened and hair ragged.

He has always been quite handsome, hasn't he?

"I'm sorry if I disturbed but I made you something as a gift of me moving in, I suppose." You spoke, putting up the pot slightly and he eyes it down.

He only said nothing but took the casserole from your hands and just hummed, walking back in, leaving the door open for you to just stand there, contemplating to leave as you figured the man was much more....him than he was.

Then you heard him speak, his usual voice that was gruffly. "Beer?" Coming from the kitchen.

You almost chuckled in surprise, thinking for a second he'd just leave without saying anything and now he offers you beer. Daring to take that as an invitation, you went in and closed the door. "I'm fine, thank you." You answer as you follow where he was. You see him took out a glass pitcher from the fridge and was holding a glass in his other hand, pouring the water in it as he put it on the table just beside the bottled and unopened beer.

Kishibe was a bit surprised, if he admits so. He actually thought you would have gone along just like everyone does.....just as he does normally. But here you are now, just at his door earlier, offering him a gift you made for him. So yes, he was surprised.

Opening the glass bottled beer, he took a light sip from it before opening the casserole that stood out on the table...well it was empty anyway. It was pasta, something he haven't had in a while, and something he'd devour in a while as he was damn hungry and haven't had dinner yet.

.....He was liking this new thing already.

The savoury scent immediately flourishes in the air, putting off the smell of musk and alcohol of the place. Kishibe didn't mind, though he just went to the wide terrace that lets the wind come in strongly, you follow shortly and he leans on the railings, a cigarette already in his mouth.

You placed yourself a bit far across from where he was leaning your waist back on the railings, the sound of night faint in the background. "How long have you been living here?" You asked.

The man let out the smoke before answering, still looking ahead, "Don't exactly count it,"

You nod, looking at him for a second as you lightly chuckled, uttering a small, "Of course."

Kishibe then gave you a side glance, looking at the view again. "Why'd you choose this?"

"I wanted to be away from the city but not so far that it'll be inconvenient for me and my children, and there this place was."

This made his eyebrows furrow but he wasn't looking at you, though you saw that. "They're separated from me as I'm divorced from my ex-husband....let him gain custody of them." You spoke but just stopped there, not wanting to say too much.

He looks at you this time, not tearing it away. "Is that why you switched to the office?"

Trivial things....trivial things he doesn't get involved with, nor even asked questions about.....but maybe this one won't change a thing and normal he thought it was to be curious at the very moment.

"Yes," That's what you only answer, he doesn't ask more and just looked away from you. Only smoke lingers in the air, no sense of any discomfort but you're both just there.

Until you spoke again, "I'll be off now, good night." You bid as you crossed your arms over your robes and stood up straight before walking. You only hear him hum as you did.

It was the beginning of a new thing to become a routine.....one that he wouldn't be sick of.

As it was the same for you. Just after finally settling down, your new abode made, you began to get more comfortable in the place. That meant with your neighbour. Well, maybe not so much but just enough to give him what you cook when you have time to make such meals at night. Just enough to let yourself in his place as every time you brought him something. Always in the terrace, the man will always smoke and drink his beer or just from his flask, and you'd just be there, not talking of anything but work, at least after a few nights then you both began speaking of said work, all the ordeals you go through...but still words were only kept short and few.....and just only that.

.

.

.

Stacked papers in your hands piled up on your arms as you're in the elevator, just walking out of it when it reaches your floor. Just as you're halfway in the hallway, Kishibe walks out of his place and he stops when he sees you, looks at his watch then back to you, not even fazed with the countless papers you have.

This makes you chuckle, slowing down. "Yes, my office was quite busy this afternoon because of the new recruits and what happened in the city." You spoke, Kishibe barely tuts his head, knowing how paperworks after hunting, its casualties and much more that comes with it—can be a bitch.

Figuring that with how late it is and the fact the man has been getting his dinner from what you've been giving him lately—you asked simply. "Are you getting dinner?"

That and maybe getting laid, he's had a damn day after that shit happened in the city. But maybe not tonight after all.

Kishibe took some of the papers and folders from you and began to walk towards your door. "What are you making?"

Your lips curved slightly, "Harako Meshi, been a while since I've had it and my friend gave me sake, so I figured."

Kishibe doesn't think there's been a second for him to think that he hasn't liked it every time you bothered him ever since you showed up. Yeah, he can't see that he'll be getting sick of this thing soon.

There he smokes on your balcony just as he laid the papers and folders on the table in the living room. And you're already in the kitchen just after you changed into a more comfortable clothes....a clear view of you as you work.

Your space was much more different from his ( Untouched and just left how it was. Dull. ) you damn turned the place upside down, one wouldn't think this one room was inside a soulless building. It reeks of home.

Home. He's unfamiliar with that since he was young and until now, let alone of the very word.

Kishibe sought to think how someone like you could still be in this kind of life. And he thought he's thinking enough, so he turned to the view and took a long drag.

You weren't oblivious to his stare, it doesn't bother you. Clear was how you hear his unspoken thoughts, it doesn't bother you as well. Anyone would think the same.

As you continue to work in the kitchen, you thought....how long it must have been for him since he's been in a home.....to feed well. A part of you smiles in daring to hope to give him a taste of it...no matter how...cruel it was if one were to see it in the other way. Give the satiated man he knows he doesn't...wouldn't...couldn't have.

Your conscience lies in just doing something nice for him.

You begin to prepare the table and Kishibe walks in, unhesitantly bringing some of the things you made on the table and the sake, of course. Now there you both are sitting across from each other and started to eat.

"I've heard that you'll be training the two recruits." You spoke.

Kishibe nods as he continues to eat-he really was damn glad he didn't go out. "Two fiends, nothing I can't handle."

"I'm sure." You spoke mindlessly....then you speak again. "She's planning something, isn't she?"

"She's always planning something."

That much was unfortunately and thankfully known. "Teach the boy well."

"I'll give him hell."

"You better."

You two didn't even miss a beat.

Kishibe's lips almost quirked as he drank. It was...quite...good to know that there lies an agreement between the dangerous notion. Nothing but truth in your voice as you speak every time....expectedly rare in the life of you both live.

"You stayed even if the cause of your separation is because of it." He spoke, no tone of anything but just his own voice.

Again, you were quite surprised as he said that, clearly not expecting him to take any interest, let alone even a bit of curiosity from him. But you didn't show it, nor were you offended by what he asked.

"Because this way, I can still protect them without risking my life so much before and not worry them anymore."

Of course.

"You and Quanxi were a loss to both the divisions." He'll give you that much.

And you were proud for that one. "We're all lucky that they let me switch without anything in return and that you remained to shoulder all the shit."

He couldn't agree more.

Now you both are done eating, with you fixing up the table and Kishibe on your balcony once again smoking—before you join him, nothing but the distant sounds of the city.

"Hayakawa?" You asked.

"Close."

"Have you warned Himeno?"

"He's set straight to it. Screws all lose."

You took a sharp breath from your nose as you looked up at the sky. "Kind boy," you spoke mindlessly.

Kishibe just hums as he let out his smoke. Silence came in and it was welcomed..a few more while, his cigarette ran dry....and there he bids. "Good night," and you just stood there still ahead to the view and him not sparing a glance as he spoke.

Normal night, you supposed.

Work was work. Walking in the corridors in the division, headed to your office...Kishibe was there walking in your opposite direction. As you both continue to walk, no glances were made but kept straight. A few times in that and left in the back of your minds.

And...now...he walks in the elevator of the apartment just as you did earlier seconds ago.

"You making something?" he asks as the elevator closes. It seems he likes your cooking more than you thought.

You hum, nodding. "Vegetable curry."

Kishibe raises his brow, "At night?"

You chuckle a little, "It seems so."

He just hums.

As you now cook in your kitchen, the door is left opened for the man who is still yet to come.

Then, what an odd mixture of the night was; aroma of the dish, cigarette and alcohol. It was welcomed nonetheless.

.

.

.

For some fucking reason...Kishibe hasn't had sex for a while...well...ever since you moved in, that is. And he's a simple man but dumb...he knows the reason why; you. Some fucking reason, huh.

Blind. The notion coming as unexpected...maybe...but is it really unexpected...really?

After all, what is to be expected when two grown people share the same floor together, what is to be expected when each night they share dinner together...what is to be expected when those two persons have some needs and those needs untouched?

Yeah, you. You've been...having thoughts about the man, you weren't bothered by it...if anything, again, you deemed it normal...and you aren't denying it as well. The man is fucking appealing. You know you can't blame yourself for it and you don't. But of course, that doesn't mean you'd act upon it. You are in need, needy, sure...maybe even aching but you have your....yes—your pride.

Oh, you're well aware that there lingers something in the air, it's palpable but still subtle...however hidden, it's there and you feel it. You both do.

But what does Kishibe do? Nothing. Went with his day and night like his mind hasn't thought of running his cock through a certain fucking someone. He's not exactly sure of what's keeping him from doing the exact thing.

But what's not keeping himself from doing is letting his hand go down on him, his free hand loosening his tie as he sits back on his couch lazily. Hardened length straining so tight against his boxers and black slacks.

"Hmghm..." He groans. That sinful sound...that rumbles through his chest so good even with his lips just closed. Kishibe took his already lit cigarette from the ashtray on his table, taking a long drag as he continues to palm himself. His fingers firmly pressing on his clothed cock.

He let out the smoke from his mouth. Pent up heat in him almost leaving along with the smoke, staring to nothing at the ceiling, his eyes clearly seeing your tempting figure. Engraved you were in his mind, he can thank himself for always letting his eyes linger on you, taking you all in when he stands on your balcony as you cook in your kitchen. Not turning his gaze away anymore ever since his...needs gotten the best of him and satisfied his eyes.

With one hand, he unhooked his belt and took seconds to free his aching cock, standing proud and leaking already. Kishibe closed his eyes, his head still laid back on the couch, exhaling deeply once his fingers wrapped on his base...allowing whatever was enabling him to feel it as your own fingers, it slides down so slowly, the closed palm confining his cock so warm and good, what he has been depriving of.

Your hands....your hands that moves fluidly when you handle your cooking, his mind flashing him visions that your hands are on his cock whenever he's there in your balcony.

Kishibe takes another long drag as he continues to suffocate his cock, still so slow, up and down, a strained groan this time as he slowly let out the smoke, eyes still closed. Feeling your hand go a bit fast now. Sweat and pre coating his length and your plush skin, it makes his chest start to rise and fall now. Droplets of sweat gathering on his skin and it drips down from his neck to his chest and down to his abdomen.

A rhythm being found. Still not that fast but enough...so enough to build fire in him as you circle your closed palm on him up and down, all while you run your thumb on his tip every time.

.....The fuck you do to him...penting him up just by watching you cook there...a humanly ritual...a domestic act...one he was barely familiar of and he's getting all hot about it. The cigarette he takes is blameless for it, but what he's familiar of humanly ritual...is need.

And what he needs is release.

Kishibe's throat strains as he hums….an animalistic growl as the ministrations on his cock continues. The pace still the same but filling in his peak slowly, and he likes it that way. Just as how the alcohol he drinks burn slowly in him. He savours it each and every time, just like right now, Kishibe feels you take your sweet time fisting him hard and steady. His tip continuously leaking, leaking more each time the pads of your fingers would go over his tip and press on it.

He held his cigarette with two fingers as that same hand reached out to get his glass on the table. Taking a drink of his whiskey as your hand never stops on him. Fucking hell...that flaring smoke of his cigarette, the alcohol, the burning waves from his straining cock, it engulfs him, enough...more than enough to send any being into euphoria. Deep and long groans rumbles from him as he feels it all, his throat and all the way down, burns. Clenching him.

However he was drowning in fire already, however enough it was...he wants more...he wants more than your hand. So what he does is grab the crown of your head and make you take his cock into your mouth, fingers gripping your hair to guide you in. Lips sliding against his thick and long length, tongue flat above him, the walls of your mouth and the end of your throat. "Fuck." Kishibe growls, the glass got put down on the table too hard that it might have cracked, his cigarette almost falling from his fingers.

Gurgled sounds vibrates through him and he hears it, he hears you. His grip on your hair strong as ever so as to keep the pace going, fast and hard, he assaults your mouth, his drips spilling to your tongue, down to your throat. His peak long gone from burning tantalizingly slow and turned to wildfire, overflowing, his hips now twitching, rising to make the pressure he gets in your mouth stay. Kishibe feels your breath going away as he doesn't let you breathe but just continues to hold your hair so tight, still making you take him. He can't lose his end...so whatever what was left in him is now gone as he moves his hips to fuck your mouth better. Slowly he does while he makes yours only faster and harder if it's still possible.

"Mhmgr fuck..." His growling sounds never stops as it continues, his hips slapping to you, abusing your mouth with his cock again and again. It didn't take much longer for him to see his release; all of him strongly clenched as his cock stilled in you, reaching the end of your throat, he feels it go down while his cum flows in you. The cigarette on his fingers now being crushed in his hand as he closed his fist so tight, the burning pain on his skin was nothing as he stays in his high, cock flinching in you while his lower body continues to slowly move against you to feel it all.

"Mgrhm…” It's what echoed in his walls continuously, his chest slowly comes down from its rising and falling, shirt soaked with sweat, hair falling with droplets of it as well.

"Kishibe."

He hears you call out to him from your kitchen. Dead eyes, he looks to you. "I think you wasted your cigarette." You nod to his cigarette on his hand...and as he now noticed, realized—it was crushed by his strongly closed fist, burning his skin once more. Kishibe opened his hand, showing his long before scarred flesh now freshly tainted...bits of its remains falling...because he was thinking of having your hand on his cock and fucking your mouth last night when he was only doing it by himself.

His thoughts long left to ashes the moment he stood in your balcony once again this night.

He needs to end this. He will have you soon.

Anticipation fills you. You know one way or another something will happen, you don't know when but you know it's hanging on by a thread...it has your heart racing...and your cunt beating.

The air of the night was fucking thick as you eat together.

And it's getting thicker with each passing second as the morning comes. It had to be fucking Saturday, where it's both your day off. But thankfully...as fucked up as it's sounds, you'd be luckily distracted as your two children will come over in the afternoon. And hopefully, he won't be in his place or anything to not cross paths with him today. The last thing you want right now is to see him at the moment...some part of you knows that if you do—it would be not too different from your thoughts.

But even that, of course...us creatures are nothing to the will of time; just another words to say it ended how one would normally expect. Bumping into each other...well, not exactly that, maybe worse than it. With him walking into your place with your two children walking in front of him.

The moment you heard a heavy footsteps along with a light and rapid ones, your eyebrows furrowed as you took a few steps aside to see who it was and you almost dropped the tray of freshly baked cookies from your hands as your eyes met his.

It took you not even a second to figure out the reason what's happening right now; you let your children just play around and inevitably went out of your place to go and play around on the floor. Either they knocked on his door or ran into him—either way, you knew your children likes to be friendly...and that says a lot, given how only a few children would approach a man like Kishibe.

You should have known better.

Though what could you have done to avoid it from happening, anyways. Finding your composure inside of you. "Tell me they just ran into you and didn't knock on your door." You spoke, laughing lightly as you went back to work.

"They knocked," Kishibe answers simply, as always.

"Yes, of course." You nod as a little laugh escapes you once more. Setting the cookies on the cooling rack. The sounds of your children in the background as Kishibe now stood in your kitchen, leaning the back of his waist on the counter, his eyes on you.

You were glowing...he hasn't noticed that before. He's sure he hasn't heard you laugh that much as well, probably normally because of your children...something is gotta be wrong with him...no, that's just his...desires that's making him notice.

You could strangle yourself right now, maybe even do something worse, because what the fuck is his problem staring at you while you're trying your best to not even so much show an ounce of waver in your composure and you know he knows what he's doing. What the fuck is he even gonna do here?

...Yeah, your mind was all over the place and that has rarely happened before, almost never. Yet you can't find the urge...the guts to ask him why he's staying right now this time.

Instead, you fucking ask him if he wants coffee, he just nods as he took one of your cookies.

Maybe...he stayed for your cookies

You almost bash your head on the counter as the thought occurred.

The kettle made its noise and you made your coffees. "You gonna have them over for dinner?" He asked.

"Mmnn, yes," you answer. But you hesitate to ask if he'll join.

"What are you making?" he asks once more. Your lips quirked as your mouth is now close to your cup. Well, you didn't have to worry about that after all.

"Pasta. It's their favourite." You spoke. And Kishibe remembers the night you gave him that dish. He still has the taste at the end of his tongue when he lets you in his door, he cannot wait to taste it again.

Which he does as the night falls, with your children across from both of you as your besides each other this time. The laughter of you and your children...it's nice. Pasta and among other things he can barely remember the names of, nonetheless he eats so well. Lots of it tastes unfamiliar and yet it's so welcoming...he wants more of it.

Kishibe's mind is stirring, the smoke is fogging his mind, so as he believes....or something must be in your food—he's really losing it.

And through his silence with only little of his words, through his eyes with your subtle glances besides him; you see through him. It almost worries you...you really gave him a taste of it. Where it goes from here next, you don't know but possibilities, of course, runs in your mind...more possibilities.

And it fueled even more when you caught a glimpse of his eyes when you got embraced and kissed by your ex-husband as he arrived to pick up your children...and Kishibe met your gaze as your former lover did.

The mere act alone...nothing needed to be said more.

The night hangs quiet when your children goes with their father, with Kishibe still there with you. If it was possible, the beating of your heart could echo loudly in your place as you fix up the table, with him following you to do the same, it's the first time he helped you with it....it's enough to say what it could possibly mean.

The glasses in your hand clang against one another as your said hand trembles a little to lay it down in the sink, while he walks close to you to put the plates in it as well. You're both so close to each other. He towers over you, he's just that damn tall. Kishibe only stands there as you did, his eyes looming above and behind you, his breathing turning deep that it was now heard in the deafening silence.

He can have you right there and then. Be relieved of his insanity.

Yet instead he speaks, "How long has it been since you sparred?"

Your mouth has already exhaled a light laugh before you could stop yourself. "It has...been quite some time."

In his mind, what he's to do could compensate for what he doesn't yet—"Why? You gonna run my memory?"

Before you know it, you're trapped by the counter and him, the edge of a knife on your throat, your hand on his wrist firmly—your eyes dead on him in sheer stun, laced with thin provocation. Seeing his gaze doesn't change at all; it was more maddening. "You doubted me." You at last utter in a calculating disbelief, your fingers tightening around his grip.

Kishibe lives by your nerves resonating through him, they're loud and strong because of him. It feeds him. "I wondered." He spoke, still having the blade directly on you.

You don't feel anything from him but now that the proximity grants you to fully look him in the eyes, you can finally see he's burning.

The evidence is more worrying than the weapon dying for your throat.

"That's wounding." You breathe.

"Everything is."

You only scoff at his reply, before your other free hand swiftly went to get another knife of his from one of his pocket and aimed it for the side of his head—only for him to stop it by his hand that once trapped you, his hold just effortlessly firm, barely a strength to keep you from driving the blade in his brain.

Even when you never worked together, your reputation has never doubted you and that he can see now right in front of him.

"Proof enough?" You ask.

Not enough of you.

He only huffed a short hum. Just like that, he retracts the knife against you and that you held against him. "Good night."

Not now. Not yet. The burning in him, he wants to feel it more before anything.

The exchange has you falling to your knees as your hands weakly hold on the sink. A warning for what's to come more.

What deprivation can do to a being.

Yes, indeed what it can do to a being; it has Kishibe filling his glass with whiskey, trying to wash away whatever he's thinking, whatever he's feeling. But no matter how many downs he takes, it doesn't go away, it won't, it can't. Especially not when the sight of you and your ex-husband...lovingly held each other, even when it was short, it was undeniable there was.....love between you both still. He doesn't know the bits of your remaining relationship with your ex-husband, but he sees well enough that there isn't something between you both....and yet, when he saw that sight, it bothered him, something went off.

Another man clinging to you like that, it comes crashing down. It's getting ridiculous. He's gonna turn into ashes if he continues to let this burn.

Icarus' wings could only bear so much of the sun after all.

.

.

.

The day is going too fucking slow and it's driving you crazy. You're at work and you haven't even had a glimpse of him in the apartment nor at work. Just what is happening to you, acting like a damn puppy who can't seem to keep it in. It has you tired as you come home. Heels heavy as you walk through the corridors, eyes lingering to his door as you pass by.

You were left nowhere but to wait. So wait you did. Your door left open—you begin to prep for dinner after taking a long time under the water, composure building up again all while. But of course, your mind was still somewhere else, your insides never stopping of its fluttering as you mindlessly go.

By doing that, it was only a mere expectation of yours for it to now actually happen.

Though a complete lack on your part, really, that even with years of being a hunter and still having whatever you've learned and throughout all the years even when you switched from being one—you missed that someone has walked in your place.

Now you find yourself suddenly dropping the knife you were washing, the water left running as you felt a strong presence loom behind you. You stood there unmoving, breath caught in your throat the moment you felt it. Felt him.

The seconds turned slow but your heart was the opposite being filled with...thrill. "Kishibe." A breathless murmur echoes faintly but he hears it greatly and there comes his rope snapping. Your voice that's been plaguing him, it finally mutes everything.

Kishibe laid his hand on your right arm and the other around your waist as he pulled you tightly close against him, immediately meshing his fingers on your belly. Your breath being taken away from you again. He won't say he can't believe what's happening because he expected the boundness when he grew close to you.

His hand on your arm has been rising up, rough palm on your skin, his grasp heavy; feeling the softness of the fat on your arm to your shoulder, kneading you there with his mouth heated on the side of your forehead. "Been too long." In a low breath he says as he continues to tightly caress on your shoulder, before going down to slip under your dress then slipping his fingers in your bra, his thumb and index finger now playing with your nipple, the rest of his palm fondling your breast.

Creatures of nightmares that crawl from nothing to land he's dealt with for so long, he himself bounded to those, unthinkable abilities he wields; he never questioned reality. But there's an impenetrable sense of high he's in as he fixes in your softness, it doesn't feel real. It's peaceful, he thinks that is what dreaming is.

"I think it's just about time." You merely replied, finding your hand relying firmly on his nape, as the other reaches for the faucet to stop the running water while he goes on. Your waked mind still there before you let yourself go in a haze later.

Kishibe ghosts his face down on the side of yours, his nose breathing you in so much before he opens his eyes and looks at your lips—then to your gaze.

He feels foolish again but he feels it more so the more he thinks about it, so he just simply kisses you now.

It has been too long.

It's humorous; a simple kiss making you want to fall on your knees.

The remnants of cigarette and whiskey you're now familiar with, you can taste with mouths being held together, and he begins with mildly sucking you. His hand that was groping on your belly trails up to your neck, pushing his mouth to yours even more as he drags it open—only to suck your lips once again out of hunger that he spills freely, swallowing roughly each kiss he takes after the other, soaking his dry mouth with you—only then he uses his tongue against yours, tangling on one another, roaming it inside you, swimming his tongue in whatever saliva that gathers in your mouth. Dragging you in.

A simple kiss.

So much for it when you pull away before you could no longer breathe—your chest heaves, lips parted with air heavily leaving in and out of you. He's no different; gaze darkened as blown, you could almost hear the growl that threatens to echo from him, his grip creasing on your neck to your nape and he turns you around to face him. He pushes you just slightly to put the back of your waist against the edge of the sink, leaning his body down so he's levelled to you.

The hand of yours on his neck slides to lay it on the side of his face, it's the first time you're looking at each other this long, for more than five seconds directly, let alone this close, gazes straight through your souls. Kishibe always looks at the person he talks to straight at them without falter, and you've seen that having him done it to you only a few times, before you both always turn your eyes away as the days kept going. Now you see all of him as he allows himself.

A voracious kiss.

When has a man been so…..desperate?

When have you ever been so wanting? Shameless; rapid, messy, strong, wet.

Drowning in need you seek. Your sex has long gone weeping in your panties. Kishibe’s throbbing cock only soothed by the tightness of his clothes below, even as he was starting to drip of his own arousal, he just left it before he took you up to lay your back on the counter after suffocating your lungs in that kiss, simply pushing off the things that's there and shattered on the floor but never parting his mouth away from you, from your face, your neck, to your chest and belly while his hands took off your undergarments below as he goes down more.

It's incomprehensible. Your fate that brought you upon him, that has led to a path of the Kishibe barely on his knees to finally have a taste of your pussy. The feeling of his mouth and tongue latched on your cunt the first second was already the last thread of your hold on your existence. That hold became your fingers wading through his hair, thighs already trembling in his tight grasp, sounds of pleasure etched to your erratic breathing.

Kishibe is not at all rough when he began—subdued; each kiss he gives, each suck he takes is heavy. He doesn't want to rush. He has suffered to simply hurry and not feel every thrum he could get. His wide and long tongue flat on your whole mound, drinking your slick with each drag he licks, his stubble grazing against the hair and flesh of your cunt.

There's no words from you both, it doesn't exist. Only flesh and unruly power that conjured from your desires. Only the sounds of a hungry man one with his devils as he feeds.

It begins to rise more, the fire your body collects, his ceaseless hunger. Your grip on his hair deepening. The grind of your hips for your cunt to ride his face. The unstoppable tremble of your limbs as you move against him, thighs barely clutching to his head despite his hurtful grip to keep your sex tact to him. The repeating shock and clenching of your pussy with each spit he threw. His mouth nor breath not once waver until he gave your end, only for him to take it out of you again and again. All numb, nerves just wildly spiking everywhere within you—pussy left raw and still weeping, throat dry and eyes in tears.

However his boundless hunger, his mouth is at least given a little bit of your pussy for now for it to be enough and move next. So Kishibe then stood up, your tearful eyes following. It remains unreal to you. His lips so red, half of his face soaked. He swipes his thumb on his cheek, jaw and to his chin, catching what drips from his mouth of the myriad of your cum and swallowed it like the rest. Before that same hand ran over his dishevelled wet hair, and simply took off his tie in one go. Eyes kept on one another the whole moment.

You no longer own your breath….the sounds you've been making…the fog clears more, blinking the tears away, the coldness of the metal in spite of all the heat, your dress clinging on your skin, drenched with sweat; there's a little of shame that seeps back in you.

But you don't turn away from his gaze. Kishibe holds it. You follow him. It took you that long to make a decision. Desirably, you accept it.

Amusing as it is for Kishibe seeing you unfold, he doesn't know how much longer he could stand to not just fuck you senseless. The sound of his belt snapping as he took it off from his pants wakes you up. “Done being in your head?”

Coherent words exist again. You tirelessly breathe out a little laugh, “Barely.” You keep cursing in your head and they're louder now as he frees himself.

He couldn't help the tut on the edge of his lips when he saw the fleeting look of stun from you once he now held his cock. “Just about time, huh?” he plainly taunts as he spits on his palm before he strokes himself.

It's been so long. And he's damn big.

“Fuck you.” You scoffed.

Kishibe swears there was laughter that swirled inside him but didn't reach his mouth. Only the strain in your breath as his left hand gave your still drooling cunt attention again, your body involuntarily tensing before easing again while he slid two of his thick fingers in and barely loosened you up for just mere seconds.

The bits of pain remains treads you on edge, expecting it to double soon. His blood prevails to course so explosively.

You both expected it, nonetheless still by the skin of teeth when Kishibe grazed his cock in. Your walls a soaked and snug furnace, barely halfway—"Fucking,” he trailed off in a mutter, the fingers of his left hand digging on your thigh, the other lightly choking your throat. Each trudge he makes fill the fullness of your cunt takes. It's plain insanity.

“Just about time, huh?” You get back, barely.

Kishibe's laugh is at last freed. It really is madness. It was just an air of laugh, teeth shown; it was priceless. One that you beheld before he just plunges in with no more room left for hesitation. “You fucking—” you growled after he slammed into you, your sudden glare sharply closing as your body took in that shocking goodness against the pain.

“This is nothing yet.”

It is.

It was.

But once again when he began, it's slow and kept. The sting that drags melts more to tight fondling sensations from every thrust he pushes deep in your pussy. You didn't think you would have had a cock fuck you to be this staggering, render you brainless—or more so believe it that's it now happening after having……fantasized of it. Kishibe's cock feeds your pussy so well. You keep him in too well. Soon then again, his abilities are not held back and it's just quite pitiful how you're holding back to not just already break and cum for the nth time. It doesn't matter to him, not really—he wants nothing more than to wring you empty for him.

That's just what he does. He let it go by unsaid as he kept fucking you, making you break no sooner. Your mind barely comprehends he's kissing you as your cum spills and he's still ramming again and again, not making you ride your high, letting his drool make a mess on your mouth again.

You don't stop him however, nor you could in your state. And when he reaches his first end, how is it still possible you break more? Kishibe's left hand holding a death grip on the edge of the counter above your head once he stilled deep inside you, his pulsing cock floods your pussy of his cum. Much of it. He'll be moulding you to a greedy creature in no time, meeting his own ruin. Eyes mirroring too clearly upon one another. You're far gone than you'd have thought you'd be with him, and you don't want to ever go back.

Kishibe has long made that decision before he invaded your home tonight.

The high strongly lingers, still burrowing himself in you before he slowly moves and relives that beating high again. Thick drools of hotness webs in your walls that keeps you full even as he pulls out entirely and seeps out from your folds.

Heats still raging and barely satiated after having much of it.

Your kitchen is a mess and reeking of sex. He takes you standing and bent over the counter after, easily holding you up as he railed you like so, drenching your cunt again with his cum. Keeping his prowess in his wield, when he just carried you to your living room after and had you on his lap as he sat on a couch. Your clothes finally ripped off of you and had you bare as you rode him while he watched and felt the glory. Remnants of your sex left on the couch when he took yourselves to your bedroom, taking you again with your face buried in the sheets, back arched for him as he fucked you from behind. And when you both break again, he doesn't stop, instead loomed himself over your back and still delved his cock in and out endlessly while cum flows out messily, your loud moans strained from his hand squeezing your throat and head deep on the bed. Even as the dawn rises, Kishibe remains.

No end in sight.

[namusthetic]

The Writers' Series

Who wrote you, based on your aesthetic?

British Edition

---------🖋️

Oscar Wilde

"You can never be overdressed or overeducated."

Irregular sleep schedule

Sprawling on a sofa quoting poets long gone

The forbidden sweetness of guilty pleasures

The gently whispered name of a lover

Losing oneself to sensations and feelings

Writes poems for their lovers

Dressing up only for the pleasure of doing so

That dizzy feeling of late night adventures

Procrastination and unsent letters

An old silver framed broken mirror and forgotten withered roses

Sitting alone late at night. The thick, stuffy air in the room is making you dizzy and dulls your senses

Virginia Woolf

"How many times have people used a pen or a paintbrush because they couldn't pull the trigger?"

The soft first autumn breeze

Spending winter afternoons in hidden library corners

Taking long walks along the riverbank in the early afternoon

Gives good advice but doesn't follow it

Scented candles and gentle nostalgia

The furious, quiet calmness of the ocean before a storm

Orange blossoms and sea salt

The texture of paper under your fingertips and the sound of chirping from outside the window

Wants to change the world one word at a time

Never forgives, never forgets

Reads poems in the golden afternoon light

Romantic but won't talk about their feelings

William Shakespeare

"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves."

Wine stains on victorian shirts

The sound of footsteps on marble floors

Scribbling random Latin sentences in other people's notebooks

Dark, alluring, and a little bit occult

Writes poems on random scraps of paper and then forgets about them

The line between dreams and reality starting to blur

Loud, contagious laugh

Sword fights back stage

A lone flickering candle in the night

Laughs and cries at the same time when overwhelmed with emotion

Believes in the power of the unsettling and the forbidden

Sprawls on any available surface just to read tragedies and drink wine

Mary Shelley

"When I looked around, I saw and heard of none like me. Was I then a monster?"

The sound of your heart beating in your ears when waking up from a nightmare

Anatomy and science illustrations

Equations and formulas scribbled everywhere

The touch of cold metal on warm skin

The clap of thunder and insistent drumming of heavy rain on the windowpanes

The muffled sound of cracking thunder from outside

Organized shelves and absentminded humming

Cold gravity and solemn silences

The cold shudder of realisation

Pacing back and forth trying to solve grave problems and unexpected results

Empathizes easily

Agatha Christie

"Poirot," I said. "I have been thinking."

"An admirable exercise my friend. Continue it."

Hot chocolate on cold winter days while people watching inside an old Café

Sitting down in parks and reading the paper

The scent of clean laundry

Windswept hair and sharp looks

Spontaneous conversations and smiling at strangers

Could prove anyone wrong solely for their own amusement

Wet pavements glinting in the sunshine after a rain shower

Apricot jam, fresh baked croissants and café au lait while reading the newspaper in the early morning

A glint in their eyes and a spring in their step

Peppermints and vanilla hand cream

Sarcasm and condescending smiles

J.R.R. Tolkien

"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."

Early morning dew sparkling on spiderwebs

The awareness and clarity that comes with crisp morning air

Daisies, gingerbread and warm comfy clothes

Really into folklore

Snail shells and acorns kept in a jacket's pocket

The scent of fresh homemade bread in the morning

The gentle murmur of the wind blowing through the trees

Nothing could make them miss their afternoon tea

Knows the name of every plant or bird species

Presses flowers in their notebooks

That spark for adventure glims constantly in their eyes

George Orwell

"But if thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought."

The smell of cigarettes and the sound of steps on the wet pavement

Long night walks around the city

The cold winter wind howling against the windows

Cheap black coffee drank in a small almost empty 24/7 coffee shop

Tired eyes and vivid dreams of liberty

Messy, rushed writing

The condensation on a cold window

Minimalist notebooks and black ballpoint pens hidden everywhere

Trying desperately to be free, to feel alive

The deafening silence of loneliness and the gentle quiet of solitude

T. S. Eliot

"For I have known them all already, known them all / Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, / I have measured out my life with coffee spoons."

Coffee and ink stains

Tiny scribbled notebooks carried around in worn out messenger bags

Reads to escape the real world

Reading on public transportation and almost missing the stop

Falls in love five times a day

Strong coffee and dark chocolate

Feels like nobody can truly understand them

Doesn't take care of themselves

Stacks their books randomly around their house, forgetting empty coffee mugs and notepads on top of them

Flopping facedown on the bed and listening to the sounds of the life out the window

[drarryspecificrecsdaily]

2024.02.10 ~ Lunar New Year

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. An Addendum For Depressed Authors by @queenie-jinny [E, 86k]

►‘The Misadventures of Harrison Portier’ six-part book series by J.E.P has been on the Daily Prophet’s best sellers list for 177 weeks straight, despite the author’s insistent anonymity and continuing avoidance of the public eye. After a long hiatus, the elusive final novel in the septology is about to hit the shelves, and Draco Malfoy, avid reader of the series and self-proclaimed number one fan (a proclamation he’d made to absolutely none save for himself), is determined to be the first person to read it. When the epilogue of the book leaves much to be desired, Draco has no choice but to take matters into his own hands. Thus begins a stormy correspondence that threatens to disrupt Harry’s hard-earned peaceful routine and maybe change his life in the process.

2. dreams of nights and futures by @fabledfrog [G, 1k]

►It's a normal day in which they play Uno. And then it's a normal night in which they have nightmares. Draco and Harry find comfort in cuddles and soft words as they paint their future together.

3. May the Best Pet Win by Amazuppai [G, 1k]

►Draco organizes a pet race for the children.

4. These Old Feelings by Reloumi [E, 24k]

►Ten long years have passed since the events of the war, and Draco has a completely new life, one spent mostly in the muggle world. He has a successful career as a paramedic, and a rescue cat, and his mother is safe in France. What else could he possibly want? Sure, he is a little lonely, but that was the price he was willing to pay given his history. That is, until an extra shift completely flips his world upside down, leaving him wondering if the world has truly gone mad.

[arcadekitten]

With the new year on the horizon and 10 completed games under my belt, I thought it might be fun to go through some projects that didn't make the cut and I ended up shelving for one reason or another! (It's only like, 2 of 'em but still)

The first is a game about Theodore and Zapara. While Tricks N Treats was my first finished + published RPGmaker game, I originally started testing things out with RPGM shortly after Cemetery Mary's release. The following game was meant to take place in the CM universe.

It was my first time using RPGMaker & it shows. It was also being made in VXAce, hence why proportions are so different from all my current projects. VXace uses 32x32 tiles whereas MV + above use 48x48. Trying to work within these limitations was a bit tricky for me

The (gif) footage you see above is all that exists of the game now(I didn't even screen record LOL). Back when my old laptop kicked it the files for this game went with it and I never cared to back them up. I don't consider it a hard loss though as by that point I had already moved on to bigger more polished projects and I didn't see myself returning to it any time soon(or at all).

The plot of the game was that Theo woke up in the night to hear Zapara leaving their apartment. When he goes to look for and finds her, she seems to want to avoid going back to the apartment for reasons she won't share. By the end of the game she confesses that she had a really realistic nightmare and she's scared if she goes back it will come true. Theo reassures her that he would never let her nightmare happen in reality, and so the two go back together. In the morning, we see Crowven texting them. They're making plans to go out to a club, when Crowven asks if his cousin can come along--tying it into CM.

I think if I made this game, it would've been cute, and maybe I'll even do something with the premise for a larger game, but I don't see myself trying to start this as a solo project again.

The next game that was shelved from when I was learning Unity & Adventure Creator. Patrons had seen previews it! I started this game as a tool to help me learn the programs, and it got shelved when I felt it was no longer teaching me but instead adding weight to my back.

Unlike the previous game, this is a game I COULD see myself starting again--probably using the same method I'm using for WISHMAKER in RPGM. This game is called "Dreary Elaine", and it's a bit interesting!

(ignore the reference PNG of Elaine here HAHA) This game, like WISHMAKER, is a point-and-click adventure game, where you play as the titular Elaine as she delivers party invitations to her neighbors.

The thing that makes Dreary Elaine interesting is that it is actually an offshoot of my other work! Mary Anta is a character that exists in the fictional world of Noisrev. Dreary Elaine is Mary's favorite childhood book series. A fictional world within a fictional world!

As I said above, this is a game that has the potential to come back one day--I'm just not currently sure when. But exploring the Elaine-verse is something that always appeals to me and who knows! Maybe I'll represent it more in my work going forward.

I think that's all for now? I hope it was fun to read through and I'm excited to have more (finished) games and art for you soon! ❤️

[haastera]

A Potential Explanation for the Murder Drones Situation Involving TADC

I've been trying to think of an explanation for this entire situation, and while this will probably be a controversial post, I think everything can be explained by a simple question.

What would Glitch have done if the TADC pilot flopped?

As unlikely of a scenario as it was, especially looking back now, Glitch as a company needed to have a backup plan for the worst-case scenario. A lot of artists' livelihoods are on the line if leadership is caught unprepared. That backup plan was Murder Drones Season 2.

Put simply, Murder Drones S2 was left on the table as an insurance policy if TADC was a dud. Glitch didn't want to outright commit to it, but they wanted to ensure that the infrastructure for S2 was in place in the unlikely event they needed to rapidly greenlight and announce it. If said TADC nightmare scenario came to pass and Murder Drones had been explicitly created from the beginning as a single-season series, Glitch would have been stuck with a dead-on-arrival TADC and no plan B.

TADC turned out to be the exact opposite of a dud, so MD S2 was no longer needed, as it makes more sense for Glitch to focus their limited production resources on the far more popular and profitable series.

This hypothesis lines up with the available evidence. For over 2 years most promo material for MD described it as S1, even as late as the Glitch X stream in Nov 2023.

However, around the beginning of 2024 when TADC S1 was announced properly the wording around MD began to change. Now it was simply Murder Drones instead of Murder Drones S1. In other cases, the word season was quietly replaced with the word series.

Why? Because with TADC being a stunning success Glitch didn't need to keep the backup plan alive.

Sadly, I doubt we'll ever know for sure whether MD was truly created as an 8-episode-and-done series or if a blueprint for S2 was shelved for any number of reasons.

[astramachina]

Do you like spooky stuff? Do you like cringefail MCs who are both pathetic little men and the worst people imaginable? Do you like anti-colonialist narratives and gothics featuring POC characters desperate to break out of generational cycles of abuse? Then let me tell you about my novel.

The Unbinding of Wicked Things

Mile High Paranormal struck it big as one of YouTube's premier ghost hunting shows of 2021, but following the tragic death of one of its beloved hosts, sibling producers Nick and Kim decide to pull the plug on their beloved post-college project. Determined to go out in a blaze of glory and amidst the throes of internet notoriety, Nick devises the perfect plan for the perfect series finale: an investigation at a location so remote and obscure not even locals dare speak of its existence. Beyond the idyllic hills of Moorwich, England stands Blackthorn Manor, an ancient manor house whose shuttered doors keep the still-festering secrets of the Middleton family locked inside. Rumors of missing children, witchcraft, and illicit familial affairs plague the manor grounds and the neighboring village, dooming any family who dares take up residence on the land where blackthorn bushes grow. Fortunately, the MHP Team does not believe in the paranormal. Unfortunately, vivid nightmares of burning alive and episodes of misplaced time begin to affect Nick during their stay. Phantoms now stand outside the inn's windows, and bipedal hounds chase him towards a monster that screams its lament in the dead of night. The thing about Nick Miller, however, is that he would do anything for the content.

COMING SOON.

I hope you also like unreliable narrators, gay shit, trans shit, and general ghost hunting infodumps. More info under the cut.

The Unbinding is an Adult genre fusion of gothic horror, dark romance, and "epistolary prose". It is also a fake memoir. Kind of like a burrito wrapped inside of another burrito.

Some influences behind the story include Crimson Peak, House of Leaves, Demon Theory, and I hesitate to list Episode Thirteen because that book actually came out after I wrote this, but it has a very similar style (which is in part why I ended up shelving this project for so long). Some less serious influences are Ghost Adventures, Grave Encounters, and a bunch of other ghost hunting related media. I'm just a huge sucker for that kind of thing, okay? I also love fucked up family dynamics, hence why gothics are just so *chef's kiss*.

The cast is mostly QPOC which means the story includes instances of homophobia, transphobia, racism, and general bigotry. Other trigger warnings include themes revolving around suicide, dysphoria, and plenty of death. But this is an Adult Horror, so like, bad things should be expected. Bad tings can and do happen. Explicitly.

Lastly, the tag for this project is "wip: the unbinding". Mostly for my sake.