#and pray the dog/my house is quiet

[ambersky0319]

Arghidjdjxvcnzgcndgsbf

I have multiple things I need to do tomorrow and I dont wanna do any of them

[topguncortez]

The Beauty fell for The Beast || Whumptober Day 20 - R. Wheeler

whumptober masterlist

synopsis: Rip has no idea what John saw in you to keep you at the ranch, but he quickly finds out that it's got nothing to do with how you cowboy

word count: 2.2k

@ailesswhumptober prompt: mutilation

warnings: domestic violence, mentions of scars and injuries, cursing, slight sexism

Rip wasn’t sure what John saw in you. Apparently, you had been picked up on the side of the road by Beth, literally shaking in your boots out in the rain. Somehow she worked her magic on John and agreed to let you earn your keep to stay on the ranch. You were weak, you were quiet, you were. .  . well, you were just you. You stuck out on the ranch like a sore thumb amongst the foul-mouthed, loud, adrenaline-fueled cowboys who walked around with their heads held high. You looked like a dog that had been kicked one too many times. 

“She’s weak, she’s slower than the rest,” John had barely been at the bunkhouse for an hour before Rip started in on his spiel on why you should get fired, “I have to tackle half her workload plus mine-” 

“Looks like you need to teach her,” John said, sipping his coffee casually. John had a soft spot for strays, it was clear by the misfits that he had on his ranch. He knew good and well that you were the weaker link, having watched you struggle to keep up with the rest of the cowboys. But it wasn’t very often that his daughter begged him for a chance. Begged him to give you a chance. You didn’t have to say the reason why you were standing on the side of the highway in the rain, John could tell by one look at you. 

“But sir-” Rip argued. 

John looked over his shoulder at him, “Make her take the lead with pushing the cattle to the north pasture.” Rip’s jaw dropped as John clapped him on the shoulder before sauntering off towards his truck. 

You hadn’t expected anyone to stop that night. All you wanted to do was get as far away from that house, from him, as you possibly could. You didn’t get very far in your car, breaking down only a mile outside of town. You knew that you couldn’t just sit there, he’d certainly find you. So, you ditched the car, leaving your phone in it, and took off walking. It was raining so hard that night, you could hardly see ten feet in front of you. Every passing semi and truck on the road made you jump, praying that you wouldn’t become roadkill. You just wanted to get away. Wanted to be somewhere safe and warm. That’s when a blacked-out SUV slowed to a stop beside you and a woman with a scar on her face rolled down the window. 

“Are you fucking insane?!” She yelled. The moment you turned to look at her, her hard facial features softened. She clenched her jaw and looked towards her driver, before reaching over and opening the car door, “Get in. And if you think about killing me, I’ll haunt your fucking ass until you die.” 

Beth had been the literal angel sent straight from hell. She had given you a place to stay, taking you to the bunkhouse and making all the men in there shake in their boots. She had given you fresh clothes and some toiletries, giving you a bunk with another female, Teeter, who reminded you a lot of your mother. 

“You’ll stay here, got it?” Beth said, and you knew better than to argue with her, “Run out on me and I’ll kill you,” You nodded your head. She then looked at Teeter, “Rip doesn’t find out about this until after I talk to my dad.” 

“I’ll hide ‘er,” Teeter nodded. 

Beth nodded and looked back at you, her heart cracking in her chest a bit, “Get some sleep kid.” 

Teeter had tried her best to ward Rip off, keeping him away from the bunkhouse that first morning, but there was no hiding the loud screams of terror that came from inside. Rip pushed away from Teeter, storming into the bunkhouse to find you, a small frail thing shaking and crying while Kolby and Ryan stood utterly confused. 

“What the fuck is that?” Rip seethed as he pointed at you. 

“Fresh blood!” Ryan smiled, while you were holding your knees to your chest and sobbing. You raised your head gently and looked into the warmest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. He clenched his jaw tightly, looking away from you, “Get her fed and saddled up. We got work to do,” Rip paused and turned back towards you, “And do something about the screaming shit. Gonna scare the fucking horses.” 

You got to work quickly, not knowing a single thing about being a cowboy. Hell, you couldn’t even remember the last time you rode a horse. But thankfully, Teeter and Kolby took you under their wings, almost as if they were your proxy parents. Ryan fell into the spot of being the older, annoying brother that you wished you had. The three of them looked after you and made sure that you were doing alright, eating well, and getting your workload done. The only thing the three of them could not stop was the nightmares. 

It was like clockwork, every single night. The same dream would plague you, the feel of his rough hands on your body, slamming your head against the wall, threatening to kill you, holding his hands tightly on your throat while black spots filled your vision.  You would wake up in the middle of the night screaming, sending the whole bunkhouse into a frenzy. Teeter would quickly jump down from her bunk, crawling into yours and holding you tightly, while Kolby made his way over. He’d always make sure that you were okay when there really wasn’t anything physical happening. Teeter would lay in your bed until you were asleep and then would crawl back into hers for the last few hours of shut eye. 

It wasn’t until about two weeks into your working on the ranch that you had another run-in with Rip. 

“You’re waking the bunkhouse,” He said gruffly. You looked down at your boots, trying to bite back the tears in your eyes, “My cowboys look like they haven’t had a solid night’s rest in weeks. I would fucking fire you if I could but. . .” You looked up at him, heart in your ears. You couldn’t get fired. You had nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Rip pinched his nose and sighed, “I can’t cause for some reason, John thinks your worth a shit.” 

“But you don’t?” You said softly. Rip had to hide his stunned expression cause he was starting to think you don’t actually talk. 

“No, I don’t,” Rip nodded, “So pack your shit and follow me.” 

“I-I. . . I have nowhere to go,” You weren’t sure why you had to say that, but it felt like if Rip was going to tell you to disappear, you might as well try to plead your case. 

Rip sighed, “Pack you shit. . . You’re coming to stay with me.” 

You had been staying in Rip’s house for the past two weeks, and you hadn’t woken up screaming at all. Yes, you still had the same recurring nightmare, but it wasn’t so terrifying that it had you screaming in the dark. You weren’t sure what the cause of it was, but there was something about knowing that Rip was under the same roof that helped you sleep easily. You had seen the way that Rip jumped to stop a fight between Kolby and some rowdy ranch hand at the bar. 

Rip had a soft spot for you, whether he liked to admit it or not. It made his chest hurt when he heard you whimpering and crying in your sleep from down the hall. He tried his best to ignore it the first night, but it got to the point that he couldn’t just lay in his comfortable bed, while you were fighting with something in your sleep on the couch. So, Rip found his way to the living room, gingerly lifting your head and laying it on his thigh. He would stroke your hair until you were back into a deep sleep. And then, he’d turn around and leave before your alarm sounded, going to the bunkhouse and telling John that he should fire you. 

— — —

There was one thing that you loved about being away from the city, and that was the calm serene mornings. Watching the sun poke its light rays through the dark night. Seeing the purples and reds fade into bright blue skies. You hadn’t been on the Yellowstone ranch long, but you already fell in love with the sunrises. It was getting a bit colder out, as the sweltering summer was fading into the brisk fall. The leaves turn from green to vibrant reds and yellows. You felt calm out here. You felt in control. You knew you were needed down at the bunkhouse, but you didn’t care at this moment. Not after what you faced last night. 

Rip was grumbling as he walked towards the stables, taking note of all the ranch hands walking around, seeing that you were nowhere to be found. You hadn’t come home last night after saying you were going into town with Ryan, Teeter, and Kolby. Rip hadn’t bothered to get your number, which he was starting to regret. He cursed himself for being worried about you, knowing you were a full-grown woman. But you were also a woman who looked to be scared of their own shadow. 

“Carter!” Rip yelled as the young boy was walking out of the stables, “Why aren’t you saddled up?” 

Carter paused for a moment, huffing up the heavy saddle in his arms, “I got a late start. I’m sorry Rip.” 

Rip cursed under his breath as he watched Carter continue to struggle with his saddle, “God didn’t add extra daylight to Tuesday, Carter,” Rip rolled his eyes at the boy, who started to break into a jog, “Where’s the other Kid?” 

“Still in the barn,” Carter nodded his head towards the white building, “She just got there.” 

When he spotted you, resting your head against your house, Rip’s blood was boiling, “Do we just show up whenever the fuck we want to now? Where the hell have you-” You slowly lifted your head and turned to face Rip. 

His jaw clenched shut tightly. His anger was now directed off of you and towards whoever the fuck bashed your face in. Your right eye was swollen shut, an ugly cut above your eyebrow. You had what looked like handmarks around your neck, and your nose was clearly broken. 

“Who did this?” Rip seethed. 

You shrugged, “It doesn't matter.” You grabbed your horse’s reins, going to walk out to the ring, but Rip grabbed your arm. 

“That wasn’t up for an argument,” He spoke lowly, “Who did that to your face?” 

You gulped and looked up at Rip, “My husband.” 

It took all the willpower in Rip’s body to hold back the shocked expression. Why hadn’t you said you were married? Is that why you ran away? Well, clearly it was why you ran away, but how long had this been going on? Did he not know where you went? Was he looking for you?

But none of that mattered to Rip. All Rip wanted to know was, “Where is he?” 

“I. . .” You closed your eyes and shook your head, “Dead.” 

Rip didn’t ask any more questions, releasing your arm and running a hand down his bearded face. He looked over his shoulder, taking in a quick glance of his surroundings, before grabbing your arm and pulling you into the stall. 

“Listen,” Rip whispered, “You’re gonna tell me where you left him and then you’re gonna go back to the house and stay there. I’ll handle this.” 

“But-” 

“Go put some ice on your face,” Rip didn’t leave any room for argument as he walked out of the stable, leaving you there alone. 

— — 

You did what Rip told you, leaving the stable and heading back to the house. You weren’t surprised that he didn’t have any ice packs in his freezer, so you were stuck with putting a frozen steak on your eye. The house was eerily quiet as you sat on the couch, frozen meat to your face as you waited for Rip to come back. You wondered what he thought about the house. You wondered what he was going to do to your husband’s body. You wondered if he was wishing that he had never agreed to help you. Maybe he was going to turn you in to the police as you sit. 

But all those worries melted away as the front door opened, and Rip walked in. You stood up quickly as he stood in front of you. 

“I-” 

“How long?” Rip asked. You bit your lip, “How long has he been fucking using you like a punching bag?” Tears filled your eyes as you looked down at the ground, “Jesus Christ.” Rip huffed and took a step closer to you. He gently grabbed your chin in his hand, “Look at me,” You looked into his brown eyes, “You should’ve said something. You should’ve not gone to the house by yourself.” 

“He was going to file a missing persons report,” You sniffled, “I thought that I should just go, get the rest of my things, and tell him that I’m leaving. But he got so mad and. . .” Cries fell from your lips and Rip pulled you into his chest. 

You felt secure in his arms, his chest strong and comforting at the same time. You melted into his touch as he held you. 

“You’ll never have to worry about him or anyone else again,” Rip spoke, making his chest rumble with the dip timbre of his voice, “You’re a part of the Yellowstone now.”

taglist: @els-marvelvsp @sarahsmi13s @topgun-imagines @cassiemitchell @xoxabs88xox @seitmai @a-reader-and-a-writer @bradleybeachbabe @kmc1989 @senawashere @beautifulandvoid @ohtobeleah @rogersbarnesxx @oatmealisweird @dempy @devil-angel-winchester @gillybear17

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

https://www.tumblr.com/iamyourdailydoseofbi/749511641793757184/hello-dear-will-you-pray-for-me-will-have-a?source=share

Thank you dear!! I didn't think you'd post the second part so quickly. if your willing to write a part three can you please insert some spicy in it? 🎀❤️

WILL YOU PRAY FOR ME? ( House of the Dragon x Reader ) FINAL PART.

AUTHOR NOTE! I've never done smut before. But, we'll give it a try. Also, if you like this, you will probably like my fic 'THE CONQUEROR REBORN'. [ Yes that is me shamelessly promoting it AGAIN. Check out the link for it in my previous posts. ] <3 pairing: DARK! Aegon ii Targaryen x Fem! Hightower! Reader prompt: Aegon intends on securing your place as his. What better way than to spoil you for other men, than with bedding you. word count: 1, 298+ words

Staring at the wall of his bedchambers, you dreaded what was to come, or what could possibly come. It was clear that Aegon was planning something, he said so himself that he wished for you to tend to his wounds. Though, it was not clear if he genuinely wished for you to tend to his wounds or if he wanted you to ‘tend to his wounds’. He seemed lewd like that. Hearing the handmaiden’s leave the bedchambers, you turn around just as the last one leaves, a look of pity on the handmaiden’s face. They knew. They knew what awaited you. 

No. No. Please don’t leave. Stay. Stay.

Gulping as you are now left alone with Aegon, you turn your head away to stare at the wall. A tiny twisted part of you hoping that if you stay still and quiet long enough Aegon would forget you were there. Feeling a hand slowly trailing up your back, you involuntarily tense up at the feeling, calloused fingertips tugging at laces at the back of your dress. 

You didn’t need to turn around, you knew who it was, Aegon. Holding back the tears that threatened to fall, you gather your bearings the best that you could, not wanting him to get the satisfaction of seeing your misery. Feeling the laces of her dress loosen up, you hold up the dress with your hands, trying to stop before your chemise is revealed. 

“I thought of you, whilst I am in Rook’s Rest.” He whispers against the shell of your ear, “Of you waiting for me to come home, to come back to you.” 

“Please don’t.” You whisper, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No, tis’ my right. As your betrothed, as King, to take what I wish from you.” 

“Aegon..” You try, hoping that you could somehow get through to him. 

Keeping your head turned away from him, he pulls out the clip in your hair, letting your hair fall loose from the pinned back hairstyle. A mix of fear and humiliation bubbles inside of you as he slowly undresses you. He was slow, almost as if he was taking his time. It was odd, not like what you had expected. Feeling his hand gently tug your dress free of your hands, you shift your eyes from the wall to his, a lust filled expression on his face. 

“Say it again.” He whispers, a slight need in his voice.

“What?”

“My name. Please, say it.” He whispers, “You make it sound like I am worthy of being named after my ancestor.” 

Staring deeply into his hypnotic amethyst eyes, you could see an odd glimmer in his eyes, not one of lust or something sinister. More like a plea of some kind of reciprocation of affection. Feeling the tiniest bit of pity for him, you try to turn your head away, but he gently turns your head back to face him. In this light, he could almost be considered handsome, maybe even ethereal. 

Without those big puppy dog eyes of his, his lips pulled into a soft pout of desperation. The thick white bandages on him, just adding to the wounded puppy look to him. Chewing on your bottom lip, you couldn’t find your voice in that moment, even if you could speak up, what would you say to him? Something witty? Something hurtful? Or just give into his demand?

“Please.” He begs, “I will get down to my knees if that is what it takes to hear you say it again.”

Had he gone mad?

Almost as if he didn’t think you believed him, he slowly kneels down in front of you. Letting out a shaky breath as he kneels in front of you, he slowly tilts his head up to meet your gaze, his hands gripping softly onto the skirt of your chemise. He looked like he was praying, and you were his item of worship. 

Any other woman would have enjoyed the sight, the King of the Seven Kingdoms kneeling before them. But, you just felt a mix of confusion and uncertainty. Should you enjoy this, savor just how much power you had over him? Should you not, for selfishness was a sin against the ideals instilled upon you by your parents?

“Please, just say my name once more. I will⎯”

“Aegon..” You whisper, a little fearful that he would escalate to something more drastic.

“You make it sound so desirable, so worthy.” He mumbles, a lovesick look on his face.

“Aegon, please..” You beg, not liking his reaction.

The way he just seemed to spiral for your affection was unnerving, like if you stopped recuperating he would do something drastic. You weren’t entirely sure if it would be towards you or himself, and that was what was the most unnerving part of it. Taking a step back from him, he grabs the hem of your chemise, slowly pushing it up. Going deadly still at the action, you watch like a watch as he pushes up your chemise. 

Keeping eye contact with him, he pushes your chemise up to reveal your linen thigh-high stockings. Flushing a bright pink at the way his eyes darken, you couldn’t seem to push him away, a twisted part of you wanting to see how far he would go. No man had ever touched you before, not like this. You had always been told that the only man who should ever touch you or see you in such a state was your Lord Husband. 

“Let me worship you in the way you deserve to be.” He whispers, just waiting.

Was he…Was he waiting for you to give your approval?

“Aegon..” You whisper, a little unsure. 

“Let me.” He whispers, slowly pulling down the linen thigh-high stocking. 

Chewing on your bottom lip hard, you open your mouth to protest, but the words quickly die on your tongue. Watching him place a soft kiss onto your ankle, you flush at the feeling of his lips on your bare skin. Blushing a deeper scarlet, he slowly kisses his way up your leg, stopping just short of your inner thigh. Slowly trailing kisses down your leg once more, you could feel his hot breath, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. He was so gentle, more so than you had thought, and a twisted part of you was actually enjoying all of this. 

“Will you pray for me?” He asks, “For my soul to be saved as I take your maidenhead?”

----

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@danytar

@nightvers

[sketches4mysw33theart]

To Indeed Be A God

The title has almost no bearing whatsoever on the writing, I'm just obsessed with the Dead Poets Society right now.

Pairing: Henry Winter (The Secret History)

Summary: A drowsy morning at the country house with Henry Winter involves a row around the lake, a breakfast picnic, and falling asleep in the boat.

Warnings: Google translated phrases, please let me know if these are wrong!

I awoke to a throbbing in my head, a contrasting harmony to the soft twittering of birds floating in through the open window. I couldn’t resist the groan that forced its way from my mouth. It felt as though my head was being split open repeatedly, like a misguided executioner was standing at the head of my bed and swinging an unsharpened axe.  

It was several moments before I moved at all after I had rolled over, my body feeling scarily heavy yet weightless at the same time. I had little desire to so much as breathe manually, let alone open my eyes and face the merciless joy of the sunlight.  

As I lay there, eyes closed firmly, hands grasping the thin silk duvet, flashes of the previous night came to me as though through a camera’s lens.  

The dinner, a large affair to mourn the passing of the twin’s beloved dog. The wine sloshing in the Abernathy’s prized crystal wine glasses. Those same glasses raised in multiple toasts and clinking together like blood-soaked moths in the candlelight. Charles at the piano playing melodies of sweet summers past. The bottle of Bourbon passed between us without a care for tumblers. Francis plucking Camilla from the armchair she had curled herself up in to stumble around the library in a clunky dance. Bunny’s face, lined with confusion and acidity, watching us all through rolling eyes. Richard’s reflection, gaping at the chandelier-lit room through dazed eyes, as I stared out of the window, looking for stars but finding only my own distorted face.  

And Henry, tall and proud and stoic and quiet. Him I could picture clearly, as sharp and focused as a still life portrait. He’d drank as much as us, more, yet he’d never fizzed over like we did. Only watched from the sofa as we exploded like fireworks, flashing reds and yellows reflected twofold in the whites of his eyes through his glasses.  

Then, me falling into place beside him, head spinning in dizzying circles even as I laid it back on the plush sofa cushions with my eyes shut, light popping behind my eyelids.  

Then, him whispering to me, the soft, cold anchoring of his deep voice, but either I couldn’t tell what he was saying, or I was not in tune enough to listen.  

Then, I was there, waking up in bed. 

I opened my eyes when the pounding in my head began to lessen, allowing the bird song to wash over me rather than suffocate me. The thick curtains were open, weak sunlight creeping across the oak floor and furnishings, lighting them up like whisky. It was cool, that early morning chill before the last of the lingering summer heat could settle in again.  

I watched the floor for several minutes, praying for my headache to cease. Of course, praying never did anyone much good. Henry would be disappointed.  

I didn’t have a clock in the room I stayed in during nights at the country house. Francis’s great aunt, whose room that used to be, couldn’t stand them. She felt they made her rush.  

Still, I could guess it was early. There was no noise. Francis wasn’t singing in the kitchen as he made breakfast, Charles and Camilla weren’t bickering meaninglessly in the depths of the house, Bunny wasn’t honking his laugh at some ridiculous jibe. There was nothing except pure tranquillity.  

I knew of one other person, for certain, who would be up so early. That was motivation enough to get out of bed. Still, it was a struggle. My body fought it as I sat up, pushed myself to my feet, scrabbled through my bag for clothes, and checked myself over in the mirror to make sure I looked presentable. 

Finally, I exited the room, closing the door with a soft click behind me. The hallway was quiet, eerily so, and I paced down it, focusing on the soft, luxurious carpet against my bare feet over the pounding of my head. 

On the stairs at the end of the hallway, Francis was curled up, still fully dressed, like a small child unable to stay conscious on a drive back from the beach, snoring obnoxiously and fiercely cuddling a near-empty bottle of whiskey. His overcoat tails were tangled between his bent legs, pale, slender ankles poking out conspicuously from his half pulled-off socks. In the country house, this was not an uncommon occurrence. 

I clambered over him, trying not to catch his limbs or face with my foot. As though sensing my presence as he slumbered, Francis uncurled his body, spreading himself out across several steps and out of the way of my bare feet. Smiling, I leant down to pat him gently on the cheek, careful not to disturb him. He looked incredibly peaceful, for once.  

I left Francis on the stairs, snoring in the shadows of the half-shuttered windows, and headed towards the library. There was a fair chance Henry would be there and, if not, I would likely spot him on my way over. 

As expected, it did not take me long. Henry valued the morning hours, the weak light illuminating the thick pages of his books, the quietness of a dawn tainted only by the songs of the birds.  

He was sat outside, of course, fully dressed, a suited silhouette through the ornate glass doors, a splatter of ink against the canvas of autumn. Although I pushed open the doors as softly as I could, his head shot up as soon as it began to squeak. 

“Good morning,” he said, with a smile. “Drink up.” A slight gesture of his hand brought to my attention a full glass of water and a sleeve of ibuprofen sparkling in the cool, creeping light. 

“Good morning,” I mumbled, fumbling with the package in my desperation to push out two of the pills. When I managed to do so, I swallowed them quickly with a large gulp of water, which I drained gladly straight after.  

Once I’d swiped at my lips, I took the few steps to his seat. Standing behind him, I rested my hands on his broad shoulders and bent down to press a kiss to his cheek. I caught the smile on his face, which did little to lessen the furrow of his brow. 

“How’s the translation going?” 

This question elicited a heavy sigh from him. “It’s all wrong, unfortunately. The verbs won’t translate well, and these sentence structures are ridiculously tricky.” 

“Boreís na to káneis éfkola agápi mou,” I breathed into his ear, bringing my fingertips to his sharp shoulder blades. You can do it easily, my love. 

He laughed. “Óchi ótan eísai étsi, den boró.” Not when you’re like this, I can’t. 

I hummed humorously, spreading my massaging fingertips along his taut shoulders. Spread out before us was the house’s garden, as pure and fierce as Eden, coming swiftly to life in front of my eyes. The sun was just emerging, lingering in the far east like God, watching His creations come to life as on the seventh day. Henry was watching it too, finally relieving himself of his books in favour of the glitter of the autumnal flowers, Gomphrena and Didiscus and Goldenrod. 

It wasn’t often I was up early enough to catch Henry on mornings like this. Despite our circumstances, we never shared a bed during our stays at the country house, primarily because Henry didn’t want to disturb me during our short vacations, or so he said. But also, because, I believe, he was rather shy about our activities around the rest of the Greek class. They knew, of course – we were never as subtle as we thought - but, still, there was something prudish lying within Henry. Or perhaps it was possessive. Not that it matters now, I suppose. 

“Let’s go to the lake,” he said, suddenly, startling me from my observance of a large bee bumbling its way drunkenly through a flowerbed.  

“Now?” I questioned, surprised. Henry enjoyed the mornings because of the quiet solitude they offered him, the time to be alone with his books and his papers. Things he valued even more, I think, than me. 

“Would you like to?”  

I was still sleepy, even more so after taking the ibuprofen Henry had laid out. Still, I could picture how lovely it would be: the drowsy, sun-laced walk through the dandelions and uncut grasses, the heady smell of nature flourishing around us, the somniferous sound of waves lapping at the gently rocking boat, the mesmerizing feeling of floating on air. 

“Yes,” I said, “I would, actually.” Henry was always confidently persuasive. Eerily so. Not that I would have needed much persuading, really. I just liked to think there was something magic about him.  

He sighed, stretching out his aching limbs as he got to his feet. Pre-emptively, he removed his jacket and folded it meticulously, leaving it on the seat of his chair. “Good. Perhaps we should take breakfast with us?” 

It was a wonderful idea, and we slipped back inside to prepare a breakfast picnic: a full bottle of orange juice, a half-full stoppered bottle of champagne left over from the previous night, a package of strawberries, a selection of pastries bought from Camilla’s favourite bakery on our way to the country house the previous morning, and a packet of large blueberry muffins.  

With our breakfast packed in an old wicker basket, we set off into the morning sun, meandering through the budding flowers and tall grasses, clasped arm in arm. It wasn’t a particularly long walk to the lake, but we lingered meaninglessly on the way, I to admire the nature and wildlife, and Henry to momentarily relieve his arm of the picnic basket and watch me with a smile when he thought I couldn’t see him. 

Eventually, we made it, and eagerly hopped into the lonesome boat oared at the makeshift jetty, picnic basket still in hand. Considering it was so early, Henry was alive with vigour, and rowed eagerly, pushing us quickly to the centre of the lake. He had been somewhat withdrawn over the last few weeks, particularly during our days at the country house, so seeing him come to life among the falling birch leaves was a gift.  

We covered one lap of the lake at a fairly quick pace, talking about our latest classes, Julian’s theory of Dionysiac architects (which was, essentially, that the secret language they spoke was more akin to modern day English than any other language throughout history), and the startling resemblance that morning of the pond and surrounding countryside to Jan Brueghel the Elder’s ‘Odysseus and Calypso’ - one of my favourite paintings.  

Henry slowed as we began our second lap of the lake, and I watched his concentrated expression in the water’s reflection.  

“Aren’t you tired?” I was feeling a little peppier now, despite the rhythmic sound of the waves lapping gently at the boat, and I knew Henry had been up significantly longer than I had. “Can I take over?”  

“No, you don’t have to do anything.” I was still watching him in the warped shine of the water, and he caught my eye through the fairy-dust covering of birch leaves. “Just sit right there and look like you do.” A smile flittered across his face briefly, and I shook my head, laughing.  

“If you say so,” I said, still laughing. Henry rowed on and began to fill the silence with his stream of thoughts on Heraclitus’ ideas of opposites, and how the philosopher decreed Hades and Dionysus as the same God, a belief Henry was strongly against. Occasionally he’d break his speech to mumble a suggestion for his translation, which he no doubt tucked away into another corner of his mind for later. 

At some point, I lay back across the seat of the boat, head coming to rest on the lip, one hand stretching over to trail in the lukewarm water. Francis had said once that one of the neighbours had seen leeches in the lake, and Bunny always swore blind that there were water snakes in there. Yet, still, we all went out on it as often as we could, swimming and fighting and trailing our hands through the ripples.  

Listening to Henry speak tantrically and feeling the warm water kiss my fingertips was as delicious and satisfying as being carried in Charon’s boat across the rivers separating the worlds of the living and the dead. I wanted it to last forever. The best kind of purgatory. Psuche. 

But eventually, we did come to a stop, once Henry, with some difficulty, had managed to turn the boat and situate it towards the centre of the lake. I sat up and stretched, groaning at the creak of my bones.  

As I heaved the picnic basket up on to the seat, Henry balanced the oars properly, wiped at his brow, and rolled up his sleeves, eying the cutlery and plates I was laying out. He must have been starving.  

I looked to him to ask if he had any preference for pastries as I began doling out them onto our plates, but the question died on my lips when I saw a constellation of bruises flowering in a strange pattern along his freshly revealed arm. They were fresh, a shocking purple tinted with red. 

“Henry,” I exclaimed, croissant held in one frozen hand. “What in God’s name have you been doing?” 

He furrowed his brows at me, following my eye line quickly. I saw him flounder for a moment, but in a flash, he was as composed as the Queen’s Guard.  

“Don’t fuss, it’s nothing. I fell in the garden yesterday morning, those damn dogs left more garbage on my front path. Is that for me?” 

I believed him, of course. It was a perfectly sensible answer, and certainly not the first time something like that had happened. If only I’d known... 

I gave him the croissant, and finished plating up the food as he poured two Mimosas into the old teacups we’d packed, using far more champagne than orange juice. We ate in a comfortable silence, broken sporadically by random thoughts and anecdotes; we were both slipping into fatigue once more now the sun was fully risen, not too warm against our skin, and the inebriating smells of flowers and the birch trees were reaching out to us, woody and smoky like winter night’s gone by.  

Four Mimosa’s later (between us), we had finished our breakfast, and were lying, nearly unconscious, in the boat, which was very slowly bobbing its own way around the lake once more. Henry was stretched out completely, arms acting as a pillow, and I was tucked in on my side next to him, resting my head on the broad stretch between his shoulder and chest. 

God knows how long we stayed there in the boat, moving listlessly without direction or need, bumping lightly against the bank until one of us made the effort to lift a foot and push us away, listening to the birds' tweet and fly above us, feeling the gentle caress of the birch leaves across her skin, hearing the soft intermingling of our breaths just over the gently lapping water as it granted us passage, seeing the shades of light and dark through the shield of our eyelids. Zoe. The divine life of God. 

When we were roused, the air, the very nature around us felt different, alive, charged. The sun was crawling towards the centre of the sky, but several dark clouds were on its heels. Hours must have passed.  

I came back to life first, awaking as though from death’s sleep, drowsy and confused. What came to me, however, was the distant call of my name, the familiar cadence of the voice. Francis. It was Francis.  

As his shouting got closer and slightly more frantic, I pushed myself up with one hand braced against the smooth wood of the boat’s sole, using the other to first wipe the sleep from my eyes and then shield them from the sun.  

Francis was on the far bank, heading towards the small jetty, and waving his arms as though welcoming in a plane. He was, I noticed with some amusement, still wearing the same clothes he was in when I’d stepped over him that morning. I waved my free hand at him, and he shouted my name again. “Are you insane? We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Is Henry with you? It’s gone 12, you know.” 

I couldn’t muster up the energy to respond to him, but I did lay a hand on Henry’s shoulder to shake him awake. With a bit of resistance, he came to, and sat up in the same sluggish manner as me, stretching out his arms, back, and neck. 

Francis called to him now. “Henry? Henry! Bring the damn boat in, will you? Julian’s coming to dinner tonight, and I need everything to be ready.” 

Henry waved his fingers at him, a dismissive acknowledgement, a king sending away a disobedient courtier. Finally, he opened his eyes, landing his gaze directly on me. He smiled, pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth so quickly I did not have time to respond. “Piso ston politismó,” he said lowly, a melancholy look setting in his features. Back to civilization.  

He situated himself carefully on the seat while I stayed where I was watching him like I was at the feet of one the post-Socratics. He picked up the oars once more and started rowing us back to bios. Back to life. 

[swiftwind3]

There's something so funny, so cute and so sad about imagining Mirage getting used to life on Earth.

Funny in imagining him learning how to drive with human rules and deal with human traffic. He almost runs a stop sign once, and it gets him a, "Watch it, freak!" from someone Arcee called a "road-rager." If he's a freak, then they got their license from a cereal box. He tries driving through Times Square and acquires PTSD. Never again.

Cute in imagining him sneaking away with Bee to the drive-in theater, and after parting ways or splitting up and finishing a night patrol, Mirage finds a quiet neighborhood to park in. And while getting ready to wind down or whatever, a cat hides under him. He tries a kitty hologram to spook it off, but after a sniff, the furry fuck knows his bluff. Then, there's two. Then, three. And he resigns. He doesn't really mind, as long as they don't piss on his tires. And it gets him in trouble because he ends up not moving for days because they chased off a dog that was about to piss on him and he's grateful aaand now the entire fucking colony is under him now. Animal control was called, aaand so was a tow truck. Shit. He'll miss the cats.

And sad in imagining him getting sick of Optimus's doctrine, and just, getting closer to humans in subtle ways. He parks outside an arcade on a slow night and lets the teens tripping over themselves to play Donkey Kong lull him to sleep. That is, until a woman bursts out through the door, pulling a boy by his ear. There, he learns something.

"Why are you such a tight ass, bro?"

Slap. Mirage saves himself from wincing loudly.

"Tight. Bro? I am your mother. I am not your bro, and you will respect the rules in my house!"

Never call your mother bro. Or a tight ass. He prays for the little man, and once the crickets, buzzing lampposts, and distant video game gun firing registers again, he goes to sleep.

[afrowrites]

~What A Difference a Day Makes~

High noon, blistering heat scattered across the wastelands. Rolling waves of heat come off of the scared man. His weathered coat and hat absorbs the warmth of the sun. But a man like him doesn’t mind it. He clings to its warmth like he clings to radiation it’s familiar and after 200 years of life that’s the first thing that gets him going. As he traverses the weathered ground and picks from the weathered weeds he’s home and home is wherever he lays his hat. And today his hat lands right at your home.

Word Count: 3,102

Warnings: Hostages, Explosions.

Tags: The Ghoul/Black Plus-Sized Reader, Fluff, Domesticity, Banter, Slowburn(Kind of, not really)

Read on Ao3

The Ghoul enters an old dilapidated town,“Well, well, what do we have here?” 

 He trips and before he can figure out what it is that he tripped on he hears music, a song from the past. “What a difference a day makes”  

The Ghoul pauses for a moment, letting the song wash over him. He hums softly to himself before his features fall back into the familiar sardonic smirk. “Well, ain't that just a day late and a dollar short.”

Suddenly the record stops then it rewinds, a haunting and demonic sound ringing through the speakers from that turntable. It explodes and sends him hurling towards some old rickety building. 

He slowly gets back up, rubbing the back of his head. His expression changes from amusement to annoyance. “Well, ain't that just a real humdinger. What's a ghoul gotta do to get some peace and quiet around here?”

He suddenly feels the barrel of a gun at the back of his head "Now I don't know who you are and what your doing here but you have about three seconds before I blow your head to smithereens"

He turned slowly to see a beautiful brown figure, she had luscious full lips that were twisted in a scowl, a sharp stare that could cut glass, and a body that would make any man fall to his knees. Which is what our cowboy wants to do so bad but he also doesn’t want to get shot. 

“Well, ain't you a proper little ray of sunshine, darlin'? If you want to know who I am, just call me The Ghoul. As for what I'm doing here, well, sometimes a fella jus' needs a little excitement, know what I mean?”

"And what pray tell would that be?" you looked at him, gun nudging his forehead.

“What do I want? How ‘bout a damn drink and a decent meal. Maybe even a little bit of friendly conversation that doesn't involve pointing a gun at my head?” The Ghoul's tone is cool and calm, unruffled by the threat of violence.

You take his bag from him and motion him to hand over his weapons, after all your modified grenade launcher is much scarier then some dinky pistols, after collecting the items you bind his hands with rope tightly and make you decent to your base of operations. 

"Alright if food and good company is what you seek then I guess you can follow me, but don't think you can escape or I'll make sure you face my music."

All while you're talking he for some reason can’t stop staring at your lips, The Ghoul raises an eyebrow, his smirk turning into a wry smile. 

“Well, looks like I'm just a damn dog on a leash now. But, if that's what it takes for a little vittles and banter, I guess I can't complain. Lead the way, darlin'. I'll try not to bite.”  He shows you a grinning smile. 

It takes half a day's journey to get to a dilapidated house on the outskirts of the shady sands. We walk in and it smells of mildew and dust.

 "Welcome to my abode, rough skin." I tie him securely to a sturdy post of the house. He has enough room to sit at the dinner table without causing too much of a fuss.

The Ghoul glances around the dilapidated house, taking in the dusty surroundings. He doesn't hide his surprise, but masks his discomfort with sardonic wit. 

“Well, ain't this just the picture of comfort and luxury. Mildewed walls, a chair that's seen better days, and the distinct smell of desperation. It's like a damn holiday.”

"I'm sorry this house is 250 years old and has survived two nukes safe to say I think I'm doing just fine, besides it's not like you know any better.” 

The Ghoul laughs, a raspy, guttural sound. 

“Two nukes, you say? Well, now we're talkin'. But hey, maybe I just prefer the finer things in life, like a decent roof over my head and a bed that doesn't squeak louder than a dying Radstag. But who am I to complain? After all, I'm sittin' at the table of a bonafide wasteland celebrity. And the company ain't half bad, either.”

"You're funny, what's your name?" I squint and I lean in closer to his face.

The Ghoul gives a crooked grin, revealing yellowed, pointed teeth. “They call me The Ghoul, sweetcheeks. But you can call me whatever you damn well please. Just don't expect me to be all sunshine and butterflies every damn minute.”

“You idiot I already knew that,” You chuckle and hit his arm playfully, “But you do look awfully familiar, I can't quite put my nose to it but I'm sure I'll figure it out soon enough"

The Ghoul's lip curls into a smirk as he leans in close. “Well, darlin' if you recognize this old mug of mine, then you must be one hell of a fan, considering how much more handsome I used to be.”

He takes a moment to relish in this compliment before his sarcasm returns. “Now, are we gonna talk about my good looks all night, or are ya gonna get a fella somethin' to eat?”

"pushy, much" I rummage through my cabinets to open my secret stash of food behind my fake out cabinets 

"Alright I have some cram and mac'n cheese and drum roll please"

The Ghoul's eyes light up at the sight of the canned meals, He quickly returns to his usual sarcasm. 

“Well, hot damn! Look at you, pullin’ out the good stuff. I reckon I’ll take a bowl of that there “mac and cheese” you mentioned. Gotta tell you, darlin’, nothing says fine dining like canned crap.”

"You didn't even let me tell you what was for dessert, hmph." In your pouty frustration, he finds it endearing which is awfully close as he remembers that one you have him tied up in your hide-away, and two he barely even knows who you are. 

The Ghoul chuckles, enjoying this brief interaction with someone who isn't actively trying to kill him. 

“Desert, you say? Well, now you have my full attention. Let's hear it, darlin'. What's the sweet treat you're hiding in that stash of yours?”  

"Fancy lads snack cakes, they are actually good which worries me because that means they put all sorts of chemical crap in here. But beggars can't be choosers can they?"

The Ghoul's eyes light up again, and he almost seems enthusiastic. 

“Well, now we're talkin'! Fancy lads snack cakes, huh? Sounds like a piece of pre-war heaven. Hell, I've tasted dog food that was better than some of the slop I've come across in the Wasteland. But, you're right, darlin'. When you're out here scavenging for scraps, you gotta take what you can get.”

"I'll heat this stuff up then." You turn away blushing,and you honestly don’t know why?

The Ghoul gives you a sly smile, noticing your flushed cheeks, and nervous nature. 

“Well, ain't that a sight for sore eyes. Here I am, tied to a chair and at your mercy, and you're the one gettin' all flustered. Careful now, darlin'. If you keep givin' me these heated stares, a fella might start getting some ideas.”

"Now what kind of girl do you take me for?" You raise my brow and smirk.

The Ghoul's eyes twinkle mischievously as he looks you up and down. 

“Well, darlin', let's see. You're a proper little badass, ain't ya? Tying me up, feedin’ me grub, givin’ me the eye. I reckon you're the kind of girl who knows how to hold her own in this here Wasteland, and if provoked, could knock a fella flat on his ass with just the force of your glare. Hell, I'd say you're the kind of girl who could kick my ass while lookin’ damn fine doin’ it.”

"That's real cute but flattery will not get you untied." I get closer to whisper in his ear "Mister~"

The Ghoul chuckles, the hairs that would be  on the back of his neck rising at your touch. “Well, ain't you a sly one? Look darlin', I'll gladly sing your praises from here to the Grand Canyon. But you're right, there ain't a compliment in the world that could charm these ropes off me. And don't get me wrong, I ain't complainin'. A pretty lady, good food, and I'm tied down at her mercy? Sounds like a hell of a good time to me.”

"Your just in luck because the food is ready." You take the macaroni and cram off the fire and plate it on the mis-matched plates and cutlery.

The Ghoul's eyes light up as the food hits the table. Well, isn't this a sight for sore eyes? You ain't pullin' any punches, darlin'. Canned mac and cheese and cram. It's like a damn feast for a Wasteland king. I appreciate the effort, darlin'. You've got me hooked. He grins, his stomach rumbling in anticipation.

"You really better be glad I'm wasting my food on you, if I didn't have other food drops and suppliers you'd be starving."

The Ghoul gives a hearty chuckle, his sharp teeth glinting in the light. “Oh, darling, I'm aware. Believe me, I don't take your generosity lightly. But hey, I'd say I make up for it with my sparkling personality. He winks playfully. If you wanted to leave me hungry, you would have done so already. So, why feed me? You gotta be expectin' somethin' in return.”

"Honestly I don't know why I'm helping you, you just feel familiar to me and I don't know why. It's like in my mind I know who you are. But I don't know I might just be talking out of my ass."

The Ghoul's grin falters for a moment, his thoughts racing. He can see the confusion and memory in your eyes. “Ah, familiar, eh? Well, I won't lie, darlin'. I've been around these parts for a damn long time and have met more than my share of fascinating folks. It could be I've got a face that sticks in the mind. But, who knows? Maybe it's just a coincidence. The Wasteland is a mighty big place.”

You abruptly pause and think for a moment, “Would you want to watch a movie with me?"

The Ghoul's eyebrow arches in surprise and amazement. “Now, that's a damn fine suggestion. It ain't often a ghoul gets an invitation to watch the latest Hollywood flick. But, if you're askin', I'd love to join you. As long as it's a proper action movie, none of that romantic crap. I wanna see things blow up and people kick ass, you know what I mean?”

You laugh at his response, gritty and rough, “"Oh yeah you can watch my favorites with me. I only really have a cowboy cooper so I hope you don't mind." You give him a sheepish smile.

The Ghoul's expression grows intrigued. “Cowboy Cooper, eh? Sounds like the kind of movie fit for a true Wasteland outlaw. As long as it's got that proper Wild West charm, I'm in. You better believe I'm ready to sit back and enjoy the show. Let the explosions and bullets fly, darlin'. Hell, it might even make me forget about my current predicament.”

"You're such an old man."  You chuckle to myself as I turn on the movie.

The Ghoul lets out a low chuckle, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Well now, aren't you the little firecracker? I ain't called old man in years. But hey, if it gets me a front row seat to this flick, I'll wear that label proudly. Now, let's get this show goin'. Nothing like a proper Western to get a ghoul's blood pumpin'”

You watch the movie together on your dilapidated couch on a tv that somehow works. "Now I know who you remind me of."

The Ghoul nods, his eyes flicking between the movie and you. He can tell you’ve got something on your mind. “Go on, darlin’. I could use a good mystery unraveled. Who do I remind you of?”

You make this somewhat off connection in your mind. "Cowboy Cooper, your voices are somewhat similar and you both have the same teeth which is shocking considering you're a ghoul."

The Ghoul's expression is unreadable for a moment as he processes your statement. Then, a slow, sardonic smile spreads across his face. 

“Well, now, isn't that something. Cowboy Cooper, huh? Guess it makes sense, given this ole’ rugged good looks. I'll take that as a compliment, darlin’. As for the teeth…well, I guess you could say life's been rough on them. But it just gives me that extra charm, don't you think?”

"I guess." you chuckle to yourself, as I start to rest your head on the ghouls shoulder.

The Ghoul's smirk softens slightly as he feels you rest your head on his shoulder. He can't help but let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

“Well, ain't you somethin'? Here I am, all tied up and helpless, but somehow I end up playin’ the role of your personal pillow.”

You nuzzle into him, “Well you are comfier than you look.” You smile to yourself, this is honestly the first time you’ve felt anyones touch in a long time.

The Ghoul's smirk widens into a wolfish grin. He leans against the ropes, allowing you to use him as your makeshift pillow. “Well, darlin', if I knew I’d end up as the Wasteland’s next hottest pillow, I would have tied myself up years ago. But I gotta admit, you’re onto something. Maybe it’s these rugged good looks that make it so comfy. So, is this my new job? Just stayin’ put so you can rest your pretty little head on my shoulder?” 

"Whatever you say cowboy," you  yawn and stretch off of him. "Hey I don't know if you ghouls need to sleep but I will be doing that upstairs. i'll even tie you to my bed so I can sleep easier"

The Ghoul can’t help but chuckle at your bold invitation. He gives you a sly look, his eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“Well now, ain't you the forward one? I haven't slept in years, so you don't gotta worry about me gettin’ into mischief while you catch your rest. As for the whole "tying me up to your bed" shenanigans, well, I won't say I'm opposed to the idea.”

You chuckle and give him a sleepy smile. "I bet you aren't, come on cowboy" As you lead him upstairs.

With a low chuckle, the Ghoul follows you up the stairs, his steps slightly hindered by the ropes. Despite his predicament, he can’t help but feel a bit excited at the prospect of spending the night in your bed. “Well, darlin', if you're offerin', who am I to refuse? Just don’t hog all the covers, alright?”

"Ah ah take off your shoes" You grin with your hand wide open motioning him to give them to you.

The Ghoul pauses for a moment, confusion flickering across his face. “My shoes? Look, darlin’, I ain’t one to question a lady, but this seems like a bit much. If I take my shoes off, then the next thing I know, you’re gonna be demanding I sleep naked and give up my guns.”

"That's not a bad idea, hand em over cowpoke" You knew he had extra weapons you were honestly confused as to why he hadn’t tried anything.

The Ghoul raises an eyebrow at your suggestion, but can’t help but chuckle, clearly amused. 

“Oh now, darlin’. Don’t get me wrong. I’m a wild one, sure, but takin’ off my shoes and sleeping naked? You keep making me an offer like that and I’m gonna start thinking you’ve got plans for me beyond just restin’. Maybe I oughta keep my weapons within reach, just in case.”

"Relax if you think I'm thinking about doing anything of that nature you're surely mistaken" this next part you say under your breath "I've never even done that." 

The Ghoul quirks an eyebrow at your muttered words. “Now wait now, hold up. That sounded like a mighty important confession you just let slip there. Are you tellin' me that you’ve never done any of that?” His eyes rake over you for a moment as a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. “Seems like some fellas in this world are missing out on a good time.”

"Oh be quiet" you throw a pillow at his face and you take his weapon and throw it at the far side of the room. "And if you don't mind I'll be sleeping with my gun, is that ok?”

The Ghoul catches the pillow with a smirk, setting it aside. He watches as you move his weapons away, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Oh trust me, darlin’, I’m perfectly fine with a lady keepin’ her weapon close. In fact, I’d say it’s a mighty smart move, even when you’re sharin’ a bed with a fella like me. Can’t be too careful in this Wasteland.”

"Hmmm you're too eager and I don't like that, but I'll keep you around. I need a guard dog after all" You smile cheekily at him.

The Ghoul's smirk turns into a wolfish grin, revealing a hint of sharp teeth in the dim light. Your wink doesn’t go unnoticed, and he can’t help but appreciate your boldness. “Oh darlin’, you’re playin’ a dangerous game. Keep givin’ me those looks and making comments like that, and you just might find yourself tangled up in somethin’ more than just bedsheets.”

You roll my eyes "goodnight Cowboy"

The Ghoul watches you roll your eyes, a smirk plastered across his face. He can’t help but laugh as you bid him goodnight, his deep chuckle filling the air.

“Alright there, darlin’. Goodnight~” With a wink, he settles down on the bed, his gaze never leaving you. 

[oddishfeeling]

nothing is ever happening to me bc i don’t do anything 😭 i go to work and i finish class assignments so that i can do nothing!! on my days off, i usually do chores around the house bc i find it extremely soothing even if it is just a different type of distraction. and by the time im done with that, im tired. 😴 idk how to find time for my soul needs when it seems to require so much of me to keep on top of these things. i feel like there’s a sacrifice to make every time and i tend to pick the practical route bc im always going to need clothes to go to work. so i do laundry. i’ll need to eat. so i do the groceries and i make dinner. i do the dishes. i get 10k steps in and then watch too many episodes of a show i dont particularly like. i’ll shower and wash my hair. i’ll do my skincare. i’ll take the magnesium supplements before bed. and i hope and pray for a good nights sleep. also it’s worth mentioning that i don’t think there’s anything wrong with this little life. there’s beauty in and all around it. i get to share it with my partner and our cat and our dog. dotted and sprinkled with quality time spent with my friends and my family. but i would be lying if i said that i didn’t want more, that my soul is being pulled firmly and more intensely everyday. that i have no idea where to or to what or who i’ll be where i finally find it. but truthfully it’s just a feeling that washes over me, like the suds on a dinner plate. like shampoo down the drain. like the flies trapped by the daddy long leg in my kitchen window. they just come and go. they don’t interfere much except when i’m still and i’m quiet between tasks. then i feel like it like a draft. like an old friend from the future. inviting me to a place i belong but haven’t been to yet.

[mabelstone]

Boy Next Door

matt stone x fem reader

i'm back. mabel finish a fic before starting a new one challenge i don't want to write Y/N anymore so for now i will use [name] as a filler LOL is that even worse? this was one of the first ideas i ever had and i'm sure its widely overused on here but i really loved writing this. will probably turn it into a series lol we'll see but at least one or two more parts to come xx

*

The removal of the sold sign and the influx of moving vans this past week was a dead give away that I now had a new neighbour. I seriously prayed for someone cool to move in, as I have an almost certain suspicion that the previous owners were drug dealers. I hadn't actually seen them yet and I wasn't planning on going over and introducing myself as my neighbourhood was notorious for keeping to itself. Unless you count that awkward wave you give to the person across the street when you're taking out your bins at the same time. It was a quiet place, all the more reason to love it. We were all living in synchronous harmony in our quiet, private little bubbles.

I had a routine of hitting the hay around 9:30pm, 10pm on a bad night, which in itself was a luxury. Tonight, I'd already set myself up. Fed the dog, fed myself, showered, watched a bit of telly, then got cosy in bed around 9pm. I turned off my TV, and that's when I noticed the repetitious bumping of heavy bass brought to life by the speakers next door. It's okay, I told myself, closing my eyes and trying block out the sound best I could. Is it getting louder? I suspected I may be paranoid or hyper focused on the sound because I have work at 6am. I ended up dozing off, thankfully.

Then the next thing I knew, I was being awoken by a loud smash of glass, and an even louder, "aw, come on, man! You're paying for that!"

I couldn't have been imagining it, because now instead of a steady thump of bass, I could now hear loud and clear the lyrics to MAAD City by Kendrick Lamar as if he were performing a live concert in my bedroom. I rolled over to check my phone. 11:45pm. That's it.

I - a bit dramatically, I must admit - threw my blankets off and threw on my dressing gown, storming out my front door in my stupid bunny head slippers. Despite the great choice of music, I was absolutely furious, the bass bumping so hard as I approached the door, I could feel it in my chest. I knocked on the door so hard my knuckles stung. No answer. I waited a moment, then proceeded to bash on the door with all my might. A few moments later, my hands on my hips and a scowl on my face that screamed, 'I don't care if you think I'm lame, you've royally pissed me off,' the door opened.

A man with kind of short, kind of long, curly brown hair stood before me with ugly oval rimmed glasses, an aquiline nose, and a bottle of beer in his hand. "...hello?" The look on his face almost read, do I know you?

"Hello. I live next door," I huffed, arms now tightly crossed over my chest. Don't get angry, compose yourself. "It's almost midnight on a Sunday. Could you please... tone it down a bit?"

“Oh absolutely, sorry, miss…?”

“[Name]”

"Well, nice to meet you," he reached his hand out to shake mine, which I begrudgingly accepted, a little gap in his teeth on display. "I'll turn it down right now." He pulled out his phone and showed me him pressing the volume down button repeatedly, the music complying.

"Thank you." I wasn't interested in chatting, instead I stormed back into my house with an emphatic sigh, slamming the door behind me. I shucked off my gown and climbed back into bed, grateful that now I'd hopefully get an okay sleep.

Nope.

Less than ten minutes later, the music is cranked back up and now theres a ball repeatedly hitting my fence. "For God's sake," I yelled to nobody, charging for the neighbours house barefooted.

I was so angry at this point, I didn't even care that I was in skimpy little Victoria's Secret pyjamas I'd owned since high school.

As I shamelessly bashed on his door, I tried to block out the little voice in my head that pleaded, just let it go, and, your actions have consequences. Absolutely livid, I waited, and waited. My fist inches away from punching a hole through the door, it opened once more.

The same curly headed man from earlier, this time more noticeably inebriated. Or high. Please, for the love of God, just be an occasional user and not a dealer. “Well, what a pleasant surprise! Decided to come party?”

“No, I did not come to party!” I snapped, my anger seemingly unleashing itself in the form of a foot stomp, similarly to how a spoilt 5 year old would. “I want you to have some respect and turn this shit down! Or better yet, off!”

One of his friends appeared in the doorway, eyes half lidded and probably the same shade of red as my face currently. "That's not party attire," he snorted, being pulled away by someone in a... Spiderman costume? What kind of party is this?

I sighed deeply, pinching the upper bridge of my nose with eyes screwed shut as tightly as my fist. I was on the verge of tears, and I think he noticed by the way he quickly dropped his act.

“Okay, okay. I'm turning it off right now.” He must've realised how much of an inconsiderate dick he was being. He reached into his pocket and turned off the music, sighing down at me. I heard a few short lived groans from the other side of the door. An annoyed, “duuuude that was my song,” before the drunken chatter quickly resumed.

“Thanks,” I muttered, yawning into my hand (for dramatic effect, of course).

“Matt, bring the lady in,” one guy slurred against the door frame as if I wasn't even there. “Wanna play basketball with her,” he professed, before stumbling back into the house.

“Oh, yeah, if that ball hits my fence one more time I'll tear it down and beat you with the wood.” I walked away after this, feeling quite proud of myself, actually. We should normalise occasional temper tantrums in adults.

Thankfully, the music remained off as I got back in bed, almost immediately drifting off.

BANG. Then that fucking ball hit my fence again, followed by followed by my new neighbour scolding someone indistinguishably. Then, in a slightly louder voice intended for my ears, “sorry, [name].”

Due to my disrupted sleep last night, I nearly slept in. I confess, I am a bit of a princess with my sleep. I spent my morning racing around like a headless chicken, spilling coffee all over my white blouse, having to change, which pushed me back another minute. I rushed out to my car, only to find, to my demise, I've been blocked in. Some random vehicle, probably belonging to one of the degenerates next door, hanging 3/4 over my driveway.

Almost with a feeling synonymous with deja-vu, I flounced to the neighbours', determined to fuck his shit up, to put it plainly. I pounded on the door impatiently with both fists, tapping my foot while I waited. A random man clad in a t-shirt depicting a stick figure humping the word 'IT' answered the door.

“Excuse me, who’s car is this?” I pointed to the car blocking my driveway, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Fuck, dude, I was sleeping,” he groaned, and I didn't even try and hide my eye roll. Karma, I thought. “I don’t know,” he rubbed his eyes like a child, thinning my already impossibly thin patience.

“Where is Matt?”

“Probably sleeping, man, it’s like, barely even morning yet.”

I was painfully close to losing my temper. To avoid combusting on the spot, I sighed and pushed past the potentially still drunk guest. Or maybe other new neighbour. I sure hope not.

I scrunched my nose up at the state of his place - beer bottles strewn everywhere, the stale smell of cigarettes and weed clinging to the furniture, guests were passed out in each corner of the living room. I hugged my handbag close to me and stepped over the scattered limbs like a contortionist dodging laser beams, adamant on disrupting Matt's slumber like he had mine. I navigated his long hallway, pushing open every door, scoffing at the half naked bloke with two naked women clinging to either side of him. I near shuddered in disgust, wanting nothing more than to disinfect my entire body after being in the war zone of his house. Maybe I was only being so judgemental because I was irrevocably angry. Maybe.

I eventually found his room, which to my surprise, was almost compulsively clean and ordered with Patrick Bateman level precision. I stood before his bed with folded arms and wondered to myself if maybe he'd think I had some kind of bone disfigurement that kept my arms bent across me. I quickly relaxed them at my side.

"Matt," I spoke sternly. He didn't even stir. I bent down close to his face, raising my voice this time. "Matt."

Finally, his eyes flung open and he jumped, clamping a hand over his chest as if to stop it from bursting through his skin. “Fuck!” he panted softly. I rolled my eyes at him as he caught his breath and pulled away. As if deliberately oblivious, he stretched and spoke halfway through a groan, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Who’s car is parked over my driveway?”

“I have no clue,” he breathed as he smooshed his face into his pillow, voice still thick and croaky with sleep. His hair was unruly, but his glasses were neatly folded on his bedside table beside a glass of water and a packet of Advil.

“I’m going to be late for work,” I exclaimed as calmly as possible, though I was on the verge of a tantrum. I was oddly self conscious that he'd only seen me furious. “Whoever it belongs to, it needs to be moved. Like, five minutes ago.”

“Alright,” he sighed, groggily pushing the blanket from his body and sliding his glasses on, only clad in pyjama pants with m&m’s printed all over them.

He lead me through the dormant chaos of his house, even scrunching up his face from the mess. Or maybe the smell. He pushed a blind to the side and glanced out onto the street, seeing the culprit; a silver Mitsubishi Lancer. He then walked over to the supposed owner, kicking him softly in the side where he was laying on the floor. “Move your car, dude.”

The man just groaned and patted his jean pocket, face smushed into the little couch cushion beneath him, weakly handing the keys to Matt. He just rolled his eyes and trudged out the front, and I followed close enough behind that I almost nicked his heels with every step.

He clambered into the drivers seat with the air of a zombie, pulling the car onto the side of the road. I wasted no time getting into my car, reversing out of the driveway and rolling down my window, pulling up beside him. “Thank you,” I smiled with genuine appreciation, watching him run a hand through his hair in my rear view as I drove away.

[fancyfeathers]

Society of Protection (Yandere Bungo Stray Dogs x reader x original characters) (normalized yandere au)

Chapter Thirteen

The Phantom of the Opera

Prologue and oc intro

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven, part one

Chapter seven, part two

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

You awoke by the sound of footsteps, still in the room Fyodor placed you and Gaston in. You looked over to see the door being unlocked and the familiar figure of Fyodor entering the room. He looks over at the two of you with a soft smile, unfitting for a man like him. “Seems like my ангелы, are getting the rest they need.”

He approached you and Gaston, curled up next to one another. He sat down on the edge of the bed, he reached up and brushed the hair out of your face, the leather of his gloves cold against your skin before it trailed up and ran over Gaston’s closed eyelids. “So beautiful. Sleep is almost the pinnacle of peace, our bodies unbothered by the outside world, unmoved, relaxed.”

He offered his hand to you, offering it to help you sit up. Against your better judgment you took it and he pulled you to sit up on the edge on the edge of the bed with him. “Why do you do all of this? What do you want from me?”

“Oh my love…” He smiled and leaned over, taking your hand he still held and pressing it against his cheek which was also cold. “You were once so pure, both of you, so pure. I will fix you, bring you back to the light after you’ve wandered in darkness.”

“Both of us?” 

“Hm… I suppose Gaston has not told you about his entire past, has he?” Fyodor asked, glancing over at the sleeping composer.

“I know he is a composer for the Paris Opera House and that he was assigned by the European Union to hunt you down three years ago.” You answered, trying to think about what Gaston had told you about his past, not much at all. “I think he’s from a town called Perros-Guirec or at least his father is buried there.”

“Hm…” he hummed in thought and letting your hand go and land on your own lap. “That’s not untrue, but not the entire truth, my мышь. It’s not my place to tell you, but I do hope he tells you in due time.”

Before you could push him any farther on it you felt a shift on the bed behind you as Gaston awoke. Fyodor reached out and grabbed Gaston’s glasses from the nightstand, handing them to him. Gaston grabbed them from the Russian, slipping them on without even making eye contact with either of you. You two watched as Fyodor stood from the bed, adjusting his coat. “Come along now, it is time we watch Yokohama rot away.”

Fyodor made his way to the door, both you and Gaston following behind. As you walked into the hall your eyes never broke from the back of Fyodor’s head. Then you felt Gaston slip something into your hand, you looked down to see a fruit knife. You looked to Gaston and he held his pointer finger to his lips as if to tell you to tell you to be quiet and hide it. So you managed to slip it in the back of your skirt. Now you could only pray that would be enough to defend yourself if need be.

—————————

Victor stepped into a large room, he was escorted by two government agents, one on either side. He looked around the room, his hands fiddling with the necklace he wore. This was the headquarters of the Special Division for Unusual Powers, Victor had been called by a contact of the Society and told to come here with urgency. Victor had no idea who this contact was but if they were able to get ahold of them then Dr. Stevenson or Miss Jane must have trusted them. 

“You must be, Victor Hugo.” Victor jumped at the voice, startled he turned to see  who called him. There stood a man, black hair, black suit, a beauty mark above his lip, and round glasses. “Well?”

“Y-yes, I-I am…” Victor stuttered out, clearly nervous. “B-but, I-I’m not.. the… um…”

“Original? I know. I read your file, I apologize for the loss of your brother.”  He said, still no emotion coming on his face. “I understand your parents renamed you to basically be him after he died in the war, and I also heard your colleague William Shakespeare worked under him in the war as a child spy.”

“Y-yes… that’s correct…” Victor didn’t like talking about his brother. With his passing, Victor’s parents forced a false identity onto him, he went from being the unloved child to a filler for their dead child. Victor shook away that thought. “E-excuse me, you called me h-here but I’m afraid I have no idea who you are, is this about that fog o-overtaking Yokohama? C-cause I-I have no idea about that.”

“I know. To put introductions aside, I am assistant counselor of the Special Division for Unusual Powers, Ango Sakaguchi.” He introduced himself, so calm and collected unlike Victor who was a stuttering mess. “We have called you here to help deal with this fog incident, you and one other.”

“One other?”

At that time the door literally swung off his henges and crashed to the ground with a heavy clatter causing Victor to let out a high pitched squeak. 

“Ability user, 5158.” Ango said, stepping in front of Victor. There stood a man, red hair, black suit, and a black hat. “Chuuya Nakahara, executive of the Port Mafia.”

Victor’s expression slowly turned to one of shock and fear. “You want me to work with the Port Mafia!?”

—————————

Fyodor lead you to a hall where you could hear distant talking and figures, two, sitting at a table, but you couldn’t quite make out what they were saying or who they were, must be the drugs in your system, but apparently Fyodor could.

“To me, both of your intentions are obvious.” Fyodor spoke as the two figures at the table came into focus, a man you have never seen with long white hair and dressed in white, and the all to familiar smug face of Osamu Dazai. Gaston scowled at the sight of Dazai. Fyodor only chuckled and continued.“With such lies you’ll never write a good play, you’ve lost your audience too.”

“The demon, Fyodor. You to will dance as my collaborator.” The white haired man turned to look at the three of you. “These must be your angel and mouse as you call them in Russian.”

That made you want to throw up but before anyone could speak, Dazai chuckled and spoke up. “Collaborator? Don’t you think he has the highest chance of betraying you?”

You and Gaston watched from the edge of the room, standing against a pillar next to a window that looked out over the fog covered Yokohama. His eyes were fixed on the three sitting at the table, his face scrunched, trying to figure out what exactly they were planning. 

“No one has ever exceeded my predictions thus far. I have high hopes for you.” The white haired man said with a shrug. 

“What I feel most is sorry for this city of ability users, no matter which of us prevails they will all die.” Your eyes widened in horror when Fyodor said this. Your entire life was about to crumble before your eyes.

That is when Gaston leaned over to you and whispered. “That’s Shibusawa, I think I have an idea now about what’s this is all about, I’ll explain it to you when we’re alone, for now-“

“ангел музыки, it’s rude to whisper. (Name), Come here.” Fyodor said, cutting Gaston off. He did not look over at you but waved you over with his finger. You hesitantly stepped forward, your heels clicking again the marble floor the only sound in the room. Fyodor patted the arm of his chair, silently tellingly you to sit down and so you did. “Care to tell us what you and Gaston were talking about?”

This wasn’t a question but it was a demand. You couldn’t tell him otherwise he wouldn’t leave you and Gaston alone. “He… he was telling me about….” You thought back of Fyodor’s words from when you entered the room. “How you all, including you Fyodor, would never write a good play for you don’t possess the craftsmanship and charm of an artist.“

Fyodor’s eyes narrowed at you, he knew you were lying but had no other ground to go off of here so he grabbed your chin, harsher than he had before. “If I found  out you were lying to me, мышь. It won’t be very pretty.” He let go of your chin and kissed your cheek. “That’s all.”

You slipped off the armrest and turned and started walking back towards Gaston and collapsed in his arms and the two of sunk to the floor, sitting down like pets, sitting at the feet of their owners. The three of them talked while Gaston held you and you silently cried in his arms…

Now you know why Dazai called you Snow White all that time ago.

—————————

Fyodor allowed you to return to your room while they discussed more sensitive topics, not meant for your ears. Once the door clicked shut, locked, and footsteps began walking back where they came from, Gaston took off his glasses and pinched his nose in slight annoyance.

“Why did you say that? If he finds out who knows what he’ll do!” Gaston reprimanded you as you sat on the bed. 

“I-I don’t know, I didn’t want him to know I guess, he wouldn’t leave us alone together if he did.” 

“He probably already knows we’re planning something, just not what.” Gaston came and sat down next to you on the bed, putting his glasses back on. “I think I have an idea what is happening. We don’t have our abilities and in this fog gifted died via their own abilities. Shibusawa’s ability is behind this so he’s unaffected, Dazai’s ability nullifies any other abilities so he’s immune, I can’t place Fyodor but it’s probably something out in our best interest. As for us and everyone in Yokohama, our abilities have left us and it would be a good guess that they’re going to try to kill us.”

Your eyes widened in horror as he spoke. “Our abilities are hunting us down?” 

“Yes, I believe so.” He nodded, his head turned to you. “Your ability only has mental capabilities but mine could be quite deadly, pass through walls, materialize at will.”

As he spoke you saw a  red figure pass through the walls, no features besides eyes and a red jewel on its forehead… oh shit.

“Gaston look out!” You screamed as Gaston’s ability wrapped its hands around his throat, pushing him against the wall. Gaston’s glasses were knocked to the floor and he was gasping for breath as his ability tried to break his wind pipe. You stood there completely in shock, not knowing what to do, but if you didn’t do something Gaston would die. You reached out and tied to grab the ability but it disappeared, dropping Gaston to the ground who was gasping for breath. You rushed forward but before you could reach him, his ability materialized again, getting Gaston in a chokehold from behind.

Then you remembered…

The knife…

This is why he gave it to you…

Just as Gaston was slipping into unconscious you pulled out the knife, you grabbed the ability yourself and stabbed it in the head, shattering the red gem on its forehead. The ability disappeared into thin air, leaving you alone with Gaston who was gasping for breath.

“That… was your ability…”

“Y-yes.” Gaston spoke while he tried to breathe. “T-the… Phantom of… the O-opera. Deadly if used correctly.”

You helped Gaston back on the bed again, laying him down as he caught his breath. “If I destroyed your ability does that mean you have your ability again?”

Gaston reached out to the wall and his hand passed right through. He turned to you with a weak smile. “We have one up on Fyodor. The Phantom of the Opera is here, inside my mind, where he belongs.”

[aylish91]

Can you do bitty sans underfell x reader if you don't want too then can you do a shark horror x reader??if you don't want to do either that's fine too

Oh boy! We getting the bitties up in here! I've got a more traditional underfell edgy bitty coming for ya. And how dare you get me dreaming of our horror shark boy. I love my horror boys, no matter the au! Now I might have to drag him in here at some point too. haha

~ ~ ~

I'd Do It All For You

It was the perfect afternoon for a nap on the couch. The sun was shining, birds were singing, and it was finally a quiet day over at the neighbors. It was nice. Peaceful even. One of the other neighbors must have gotten tired of the noise and called in a complaint. Red would be thrilled when you both eventually got up.

It was a shame heavy angry pounding on your front door had to go and ruin it.

Groaning, you tried to ignore it all, but the pounding only got harder and louder. Unfortunately, this also spurred movement against your shoulder, indicating your tiny companion was now awake too.

Great.

“Ya gonna answer that, or just let em bust down our door?” You huffed but didn’t move. By the scoff, you could tell he wasn’t impressed. “Ya c’n at least tell em ta fuck off.”

Another groan, louder and more drawn out this time, but you did manage to sit up. Red, your little shark-toothed angry bitty, clung to your shirt so he could sit on your shoulder, tugging harshly on your ear when you didn’t move to answer right away.

You stood up.

Guess it was time to face the chaos.

The pounding didn’t stop until you partly opened the door. Unsurprisingly, it was the noisy neighbor you had thought calmed for the day. She was a gangly woman with tanned leathery skin and sunspots, hair unkept and short. She occupied the townhome connected to your left and usually held a nasty snarling dog in her arms. It was more of a surprise the creature wasn’t with her than the fact she was trying to break your door.

You took a breath and braced for the worst. “Can we help you, Karen?”

“Don’t you patronize me with your false sense of courtesy! This is all your fault! You and your little Gremlin sabotaged my yard and let my dog out! How dare you, HOW DARE YOU!” She was beyond livid for someone who had been so quiet earlier. You attempted to calm her down, but she continued to scream over you. “No! I will not calm down! You broke into my home, opened Remmie’s door, and unblocked that hole in my fence! Now he’s gone! I can’t find him anywhere and it’s all you and that little demon’s fault!”

It took you over thirty minutes to get her to leave, Red only hindering the process by cackling the entire time while calling out jabs. You did your best to try and inform her that no, you did not climb the fence and break into her home, you did not unblock one of the many holes under her fence, and that Red had been with you all day. She, of course, didn’t listen to anything you said and continued to yell at the pair of you, at one point physically trying to grab Red from your shoulder. She was lucky you had more self-control than her because you came close to punching her in the face for that.

It wasn’t until another neighbor mentioned that they saw Remmie a couple blocks away chasing and snapping at children, that she stormed away. After she was gone, it was admitted that animal control had been called and the incident had been over an hour ago.

Red was ecstatic, you not so much. You prayed the interaction would be the last you had from her about it, but you weren’t holding out hope. Closing the door and taking a deep slow breath, you turned an accusatory look towards your still giggling bitty.

“What, did you do, and when?”

His grin was downright mischievous. “Me? Ya wound me.”

“Reeeed.”

“Ah, come on! That rat-faced terror was a menace ta society. I did the neighborhood a favor! The thing tried ta eat me at least ten times. In our own yard!”

You ran a hand over your face. “Did you really break into that woman’s house? Just to let the dog out?”

He cackled, shortcutting onto the back of the couch and looking back at you. “Course not. I also unplugged her radio, microwave, and tv, and hid the remote. Would have unplugged the fridge too if it weren’t so close ta the wall.”

“Red!”

“Don’t even get me started on the surprise I left in the oven.”

“Red!!!”

“What! S’ not like I broke anythin! Believe me, I was tempted.”

You sat on the couch and ran your hands over your face. “You can’t just—that was extremely dangerous! What would you have done if you had been caught? Or attacked? I didn’t even know you had gone over there! When, did you go over there?”

He looked away, suddenly more serious. “Wouldn’t ‘ave happened. Went after ya went ta bed last night. Besides, that witch got what she deserved after what she said to ya. Don’t think I didn’t hear it, or you crying about it in the other room either. Ya deserve better than that.”

Your heart tightened. While you wish he hadn’t done something so dangerous, it did feel nice knowing that he did it for your sake. Even if he didn’t come right out and say it.

You sighed, reaching up to gently pick him up off the back of the couch. He startled but otherwise let you pull him to your chest with a smooch. There was only a small grumble and wipe this time.

“You are a gremlin, you know that? You’re lucky I love you so much. Please don’t do that ever again, however gratifying it was to find out she experienced some karma.”

‘Begrudgingly’, he snuggled closer. “Damn straight she did.”

You chuckled, giving his head a light scratch. “So… What exactly did you put in her oven?”

Judging by the deep maniacal giggling, it was something good.

…

You sure loved your little gremlin of a bitty.

[mlmxreader]

Mari Lwyd | Alfie Solomons x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Alfie

15 “We’re not here for you, don’t worry”

24 “It’s alright, I got you, I got you” ❞

: ̗̀➛ For the first time, Alfie is exposed to a tradition he's not quite sure of.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, innuendo

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Winter had officially arrived, and while Alfie lit the candle for Hanukkah in the evening and joined in with you for prayer, he wasn't going to stop you from going to the festival in your home town.

It was only a few hours there and back in the car, but Alfie was more than happy to go with you and to bring Cyril along as well.

You both agreed that for three days, you would spend some time with your family, and for three days, you would go and see his family; for the other two days, you would spend it at home together.

Thankfully, your family had enough room for you both, and you were saddled with sharing the annex at the side of the house; it was quiet and peaceful, except for during the mornings when Cyril would play with the family dogs.

He was a clumsy old boy, and often accidentally knocked over the slimmer greyhounds; the black and white one wasn't too keen on Cyril, but the seal brown one with white spots randomly littered across her back adored him and thought he was her puppy.

With the Menorah sat on the table, you and Alfie had everything prepared and ready. Your family had theirs up, displayed on the mantle in the living room.

In the evening, you and Alfie would sit with them in the living room, eating sufganiyot and latkes; when the candle was lit, you would sit and pray and sing Maoz Tsur.

It all seemed rather normal, not many surprises to be had except for the Hanukkah gelt that was hidden around the house and the garden but out of reach of the dogs.

It was quite fun, really, and Alfie enjoyed helping your younger relatives with finding their lot, even if he was getting rather stiff from running around after them.

What he didn't expect, though, was when you walked into the annex; Cyril barked and howled at you, his hackles up as you stood in the bedroom. Alfie looked you up and down, furrowing his brows.

"Why the fuck are you dressed like a dead horse?"

You laughed softly as you did a twirl for him. "Mari Lwyd!"

Alfie frowned, taking the pole with the horse's skull from you and examining it. "Why?"

You grinned as you adjusted the sackcloth on your head to make sure it wouldn't fall. "We do it every year. We go knocking on houses, and we ask for entry in song... well, cywydd."

He nodded slowly, licking his lips. "I ain't dressin' up as a fuckin' dead horse."

You chuckled, shaking your head as you pointed to the door. "Nope. You're gonna be one of the men that escorts me."

He raised a brow. "Escort?"

"Yeah," you nodded. "It's just a bit of fun. You'll love it."

He was skeptical, in all honesty. Looking you up and down as he shook his head. "You owe me."

"It's alright, I got you, I got you," you beamed, taking the pole from him and gently setting it aside before taking his face in your hands. "One kiss now, another later - as payment."

Alfie shook his head, tugging you a little closer so you were stood between his legs. "Go up."

"Two now," you offered. "Two later?"

"Bit more," he hummed.

"Three now," you grinned. "Three later?"

"Four now," he bartered. "Four later."

"I can do that," you agreed, licking your lips as you laughed softly. "You sure you're gonna be alright to do this? I know your legs have been a bit sore."

Alfie shrugged as he hummed, leaning back slightly so he could get a good look at you. "I'll be alright as long as there ain't no fuckin' runnin' involved."

"There won't be," you told him with a shake of your head. "And we'll be back in time to light the candles, as well."

"You sure?"

"Mmhmm," you agreed with a nod. "We always are - and there'll be fresh sufganiyot."

He groaned softly as he nodded. "We're gonna have to nick some of they cunts, mind. My mum would love 'em."

"That won't be a problem," you admitted. "There's usually loads left over."

Cyril growled at the horse head, prompting Alfie to laugh as he grabbed the dog's collar. "It's alright, mate, we're not here for you, don't worry... it ain't gonna hurt thy."

You smiled, gently ruffling the dog's ears. "Aw, he's a good boy - ain't you, matey? You wanna go play with the others?"

He perked his ears up, looking at you with a wagging tail as he got down on his front legs; you laughed softly, going to the door and opening it so he could bolt into the garden. You were about to close the door when Alfie came up behind you, pulling you flush against him.

"You owe me," he warned playfully. "You got a payment to make, love."

You turned to face him, unable to keep the smile from your face as you looked to the bed. "I think I know where best to perform the transaction."

"C'mon, then."

"Wait," you laughed when he tugged at you. "I gotta lock the door, Alf!"

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch03: Alone

Summary: Sam and Dean leave on their next hunt, leaving the reader alone with some new faces... Referenced Episodes: S1 E09 "Home" CW: Lore building. Additional monster characters are introduced. Word Count: 4300 Recommended Song: Alone -- Heart Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose in irritation, listening to the sounds of footsteps and gentle knocking from my back door. To my dismay, a few former members of my brief pack had chosen to stay behind; the rest had left in the middle of the night, but it seemed a woman who introduced herself as Sasha, the blue heeler dog, and another had chosen to stay and bother me forever.

It had been peaceful the past few days, quiet and relatively innocuous, aside from the occasional attempt at communication. I was steadily growing tired of their attempts at rekindling relations – I didn't want a pack, nor did I want to be responsible for a couple of mutts. Why couldn't they just see that?

"Miss!" came a voice at the back door. "Miss… uh, Alpha..?"

"I'm not your God damn Alpha!" I snarled at the perpetrator, simply wanting them to go away. I didn't recognize his voice as Sasha's, nor the blue heeler's rough voice.

"Alpha we, uh... we've been staying in the bunkhouse. Sasha went to town to get us bedding and groceries. She got you some groceries too since you haven't... left your house... she figured you might want them."

I sighed, praying to God to give me the strength to not shoot this nosy mutt. "I'm fine. I don't need groceries. I need you three to leave. This is my place, not yours," I hissed through gritted teeth. I had spoken to each of them individually throughout the past few days, and none of them seemed to get the hint.

I didn't want to be responsible for others – being responsible for my own actions was enough of a hassle.

"Alpha-"

"I'm not your Alpha!"

For a minute there was silence, but the dog did not retreat. He stayed at the door, patiently waiting. Minutes passed and I was beginning to think maybe he had left, and I just hadn't noticed.

"We don't care," came his soft voice, jarring me out of my thoughts. His voice was smooth, young, but it was coarse and reminded me so much of my uncle, in a way. He had used that same sweet tone and yet didn't take shit from anyone.

"We don't care." He stated again, unafraid of retaliation – his voice, which had been a bit shaky with his first statement, was now firm. "You're the best chance we've got. Booth can fight, I can kinda fight, and Sasha… well, she's purely a pacifist. She nearly starved, y'know. Refused to eat human hearts, always hunted on her own. Booth, too."

There was another long pause and I mulled over the kid’s words. Did they really have nowhere they could go? If that really was the case, I doubted I was their best chance. Finally, I stood slowly, regretting each step I took towards the back door. The cool doorknob seemed to burn my hands as I wrenched it open, startling the boy who stood on my porch.

He was tall and lanky, likely no older than nineteen and appeared as though he had been turned only a few years ago. Maybe when he was sixteen? He had three distinct claw scars on his neck, dipping down into his blue shirt. His hair was fiery red and his eyes a deep brown. Freckles dotted his nose and he had a sweet, gap-toothed grin.

"What's your name?" I asked the shocked boy, eyes brown as tree bark wide and mouth agape. He stammered, opening and closing his jaw like a fish on land.

"Andrew," he eventually managed to stammer out.

I turned away from him, leaving the door wide open and a confused boy in the doorway. "Come on in, Andrew," I invited, struggling to keep the bitterness out of my voice. It didn't appear they were going to leave anytime soon – might as well get to know them.

—

I watched in fright, wrapped in only a towel, as a tiny woman rushed around my home with a feather duster gripped tightly in hand.

It had been three days since I had first invited Andrew into my home and now all three had made themselves comfortable. They still stayed in the bunkhouse, but they came and went whenever they pleased.

I had just come home from a hunt, three deer hearts stuffed into a Safeway shopping bag when Sasha had rapidly descended upon me, demanding I clean the blood out of my hair, as this was no way for an alpha to present herself. She claimed it was the job of the pack members to hunt, and after snarling once more, I was immediately sent to the bathtub and told to not come back until I was clean.

Now the small woman was cleaning everything she could touch, muttering about trying to restrain herself for days. Andrew was laughing at the sight of his alpha shell-shocked in a bath towel while Booth sucked on a beer.

The woman dashing around the kitchen couldn't have been much more than five feet tall, maybe an inch give or take. She had short-cropped brown hair, in a pixie cut and blue eyes covered by black wire-frame glasses. She was young, maybe late twenties or early thirties. Sasha, although not a fighter, was already proving to be a valuable mother figure. She was quite OCD about maintaining a clean space, and I had often seen her smacking Booth playfully for dirtying the bunkhouse.

Unlike Andrew and Sasha, Booth was an older dog. His hair was silvering, and his blue eyes had deep worry lines beneath them. He wasn't a particularly tall man, closer to five and a half feet than six. He was squarely built and well-muscled, the perfect picture of a blue heeler. He looked to be in his mid-forties and had a few scars on his arms and legs.

I had grown quite fond of the ragtag pack, even if they were a daily annoyance. They each had unique and charming personalities that I was steadily beginning to love.

"Alpha," piped Andrew with a teasing lilt, earning a glare from Sasha, "if you want her to stop, we can just drag her back to the bunkhouse for you."

"Pipe down, kid," came Booth's lower tone. "She can handle Sasha just fine herself. She don't need us." He took another sip of his beer and Andrew flashed an awkward smile.

The room was quite silent for a while, aside from Sasha's grumbling and hurried movements. I chose to seat myself on the couch beside Booth, selecting a book from one of the many piles on the end table, left there by my uncle. I had refused to touch most of them, out of an odd respect for him – as if he were going to stroll through the front door, plop down on the couch and pick up where he left off. One book still had a bookmark in it that he had left behind, and one of my own less than halfway through; I chose that one and opened it to the page I left off on, careful to avoid his marker.

—

The evening was quiet, with each of us enjoying a meal on the couch. Andrew had spent hours cooking; he was quite good at it too, admitting that he hoped to own a restaurant of his own one day, before his attack. My heart wrenched in my chest, knowing he could have had an incredible future outside the world of the supernatural.

"What happened to you?" I asked him, avoiding his gaze as I speared my food. "How'd you get turned?"

Andrew looked down at his plate, his floppy red hair obscuring his eyes briefly. Sasha reached out a hand and placed it on his back comfortingly. He looked lost for a bit before lifting his head and finally answering with a shaky voice, as though he wasn't used to recounting the tale.

"I played basketball in high school. I was on track for getting a scholarship. My hope was to get into a decent school on a sports scholarship and get a culinary degree that way." He paused sucking in a shaky breath. His words were measured and the story sounded rehearsed, as if he’d told it many times.

"I was a junior when it happened, varsity team, and I was doing really well. We were playing a game against a neighboring school and one of their players was getting really aggressive. Apparently, he had been discharged from the hospital recently after a supposed animal attack. Don't know why they decided to let him play.

"This kid was big, and he looked like he had gotten bigger since the last time we played this team. He was meaner too. Nearly cost his team the game a couple of times for being rough with mine." He looked pained at what he said next, hanging his head and setting his fork down loosely on the plate.

"One of my friends was on the team with me. This player got angry with my friend for taking the ball from him. They got into a huge argument in the middle of the court. The big guy said he would see my friend after the game. Threatened him too.

"I told my friend I didn't want him to leave the game alone, so I agreed to walk him to his car, just in case. Bad move on both our parts." He swallowed, his eyes becoming glazed and glued to the ceramic plate at his fingertips. I pursed my lips in thought, imagining the scene he was describing.

"The dude jumped us. He was a dog at the time, but I knew it was him. Same eyes, you know? He attacked my friend first. I tried to fight him off with a bag of my gym clothes if you can believe it.

"I ended up getting knocked out. Don't know why the kid left me. I woke up in the hospital like a day and a half later with a broken leg and some cuts and scrapes... My leg was healing faster than they thought it should. Apparently the kid who attacked us went missing. My friend... didn't make it. As soon as I found out what I was – which wasn't a pleasant experience," I grimaced, noting Sasha and Booth's mixed reactions. The first shift was always the most painful. "–I left home. I was so hungry, but I didn't want to hurt any of my friends or family as he had. Dropped out of school, ran away from home. Ended up with Chikaltio not too long ago. First pack I've ever had."

The room was silent for a bit. The tension was palpable. Many Skinwalkers had stories like that, pure aggression and rage costing them their lives or the lives of their friends. That didn't make it any less difficult to stomach.

I hated that he ended up with Chikaltio, that he hadn't found some better, safer pack to stay with. He had mentioned that Sasha and Booth had refused to eat human hearts but... I doubted that he could avoid the temptation after only a few years of being a monster. He wasn't practiced enough, and I knew his lack of control would haunt him.

Finally, Andrew wiped his eyes and sniffed. He lifted his head and turned to Sasha, who still had a comforting hand resting on his back. "What about you?"

"It's... about what you'd expect," she mumbled and averted her gaze, clearly not as ready to discuss it as Andrew was. "I was in New York with my boss for a company meeting. I was his secretary at the time. I was… I was attacked in an alley, and ended up in the hospital. Lost my job not long after that." She said it all in nearly one breath, spitting it out like poison. Her eyes were glued to the floor as she spoke.

"How'd you lose your job?" Andrew asked softly. Sasha winced and slipped her hand from his back, clasping them so lightly that I was sure her fingers would leave marks on her skin.

"I attacked a co-worker. I don't even remember why. Nearly killed her."

Nobody could think to say anything at that. The woman pulled a pillow to her chest and squeezed it in comfort. It was Andrew's turn to comfort her and she leaned into his touch. The room was heavy with silence as the two younger skinwalkers huddled together, sharing their grief.

Frankly, I didn't know how to comfort them. I wished I had more experience with skinwalkers, more experience with people in general. Being isolated most of my life, for fear that I may hurt someone, had left me... lacking in my ability to build relationships with others.

I turned to Booth expectantly, catching his watery blue eyes. He smelled like saltwater, so clearly like the ocean. It reminded me of the tides crashing over rocks and leaving that damp, stony scent in their wake.

Booth sighed and rolled his head back, so he was staring at the ceiling. "I was in the Navy. Enlisted right outta high school. My first several deployments were on an aircraft carrier, working maintenance - lucky me. Spending every day in a boiler room wasn't my style, but the food was good and that's all that counted at the time.

"I had a... girlfriend of sorts. She'd write to me, I'd write back, she'd send me the occasional picture to prevent me from getting... lonely. " Sasha scoffed at this, obviously not wanting to indulge in such behaviors. Booth turned a lazy glare on her, "I was in my twenties, wanted to live a little."

He continued with a bitter tone, eyes narrowed in slight irritation at the memories that followed. "This girl would come and visit me anytime we stopped by a port in the states, often on the west coast. My parents lived towards the east, so when I was on leave, I stayed with her instead.

"I got a call from her one day and she sounded frantic, talked about getting attacked and some people wanting her to join up with them. I figured someone was trying to get her involved in some cult.

"I applied for leave so I could help her figure out the mess. It was a month before my leave was approved and another before we got to a port I could see her at. She didn't meet me at this port. I had to go lookin' for her." He ran a hand through his graying hair and a few old scars became visible on his thick arms. I wondered if they were from his time of working maintenance on ships, or from his life as a skinwalker.

"I found her at a bar, one frequented by a lot o' sailors. Said she'd been waiting for me. I kept asking her what had happened, and she only told me that it had been silly and if I left with her she'd tell me all about it. That shoulda been my first clue.

"I did leave with her, like the dumbass I was. I knew something was up, but it had been months since I had seen her, so I threw caution to the wind. She was chatting me up like old friends if you coulda called us that. We were... something like that. Not friends, but certainly not strangers.

"We got to our hotel room and I jumped on her almost immediately. I remember she smacked me and growled – it was so strange at the time, sounded almost feral. Then I was being pulled back by a couple other guys. They weren't necessarily bigger than me, but they were certainly stronger. I tried to fight, but there were more of them than there were of me.

"I woke up on the hotel room floor to a maid screaming. She said there was blood and glass everywhere. I barely remember it, but I limped out of there in my blood-covered uniform, hoping to find her as fast as possible."

Booth took a deep breath. His nostrils flared and he clenched his fists, becoming angry just thinking about what happened. "As soon as I stepped onto the street, I felt that hunger for the first time. I went wild and... you can likely get the rest. It hit me not long after just what I had done and what I had become.

"It took me a few months, but I found the bitch. Killed her too, and some of her pack. I went back to the Navy but got court-martialed for desertion. She took my career and my life. I discovered later that the pack in that city liked to bite young girls and have them attack tourists for food. I wasn't their first Navy victim either."

Andrew and Sasha burst into a chorus of apologies and frustrated growls – apparently, they had heard stories such as his before. Booth, not wanting any of their shit, stood and made his way to the kitchen. "I don't need you to say sorry. It was a long time ago. I've lived like this for a while, and yeah, I miss my old life, but I like what I have now a lot better."

He rolled his shoulders and returned to the couch with another full platter of Andrew's cooking, his body language showing he really didn't care anymore about what had happened. Surely it had been years ago, at least a decade, probably more. He had moved on, moved past it, and grown to accept what had happened. I admired that about him – he rolled with the punches.

"And you?" he questioned, turning his glacial eyes to meet mine. His eyes were pale with age, but still quite brilliant and commanded respect.

"I don't have a sob story," I answered, immediately regretting my choice of words. I didn't want to offend, but it seemed none of the others minded my poor word choice. Managing my words was hard after months of no contact. "I was born like this. My dad was second generation. Don't know much about his parents. My mother was a hunter-"

"A hunter?" Andrew interjected. "Like those guys that were with you before?"

"Yeah. Hunters kill monsters," I looked down, playing with a loose string on my ripped jeans – I had been wearing those jeans for years. They were comfortable to shift in, molding easily into my skin. 

"Then why didn't they kill us? Are they going to come back?" 

I looked up to meet Andrew's worried eyes. Any trace of his previous tears had vanished. "No. I don't think so. They killed the ones that needed it. Most hunters seem to kill any monsters, but a few seem to spare the ones that aren't doing any harm." Andrew nodded at this and sat back against the couch, waiting for me to continue.

"My mom... she was a hunter. She got turned while fighting a supposed werewolf. Turned out to be a skinwalker, like us. She gave up a life of hunting. My uncle helped her eat animals instead of humans. Eventually, she met my dad, fell in love, had me..."

"Why isn't she here now?" Sasha questioned timidly.

"Mom went rogue." I swallowed dryly and leaned back in my seat, folding my arms. It was years ago, and frankly not as painful as it had been. I felt guilty every time I told someone the story – it was my fault she ran out of the house after that fight. "She killed a couple humans. Begged my uncle to kill her."

There was silence for a moment before Booth asked, "Did he?" 

I nodded, eyes latched to the ceiling. I remembered crawling out of bed in the middle of the night at the sound of my uncle’s truck, now mine, pulling into the driveway. My father had met him at the door, expecting him to return empty-handed. Instead, he returned with the worst possible outcome.

"Shot her. She said she'd die happy knowing she was put out of her misery by someone she trusted. Told him if he didn't do it, she'd do it herself. My dad left after that. I was seventeen. He said I was of age at sixteen, that I didn't need him anymore. A load of bullshit that was. I lived with my uncle for a long time.” I breathed out a shaky sigh and drummed my fingers against my leg. “About a year ago, he went on a hunt and got himself killed. I think it was a wraith that did it."

"A wraith?"

"Nasty buggers. They've got a spike in their wrists that injects dopamine into their victims. They feed off their brains. I hate those bastards," I muttered, swearing under my breath and drawing my knees to her chest. I rested my head on my knees and closed my eyes. "I got his body back and cremated him. There wasn't a lot to bury. When I first saw him... his skull was cracked open, brain half gone. Could barely see his face - the only way I knew it was him was his scent."

The room was quiet as everyone mulled this over. "What did he smell like?" Andrew asked in an attempt to be supportive.

I inhaled deeply, wishing his scent still lingered in the house. "Saltine crackers and whiskey if you can believe it. He drank a lot, but I never blamed him for it. He never got angry with me, never hurt me. Treated me like his own daughter. If anything, he was more of a bubbly drunk than an angry drunk. The only time I ever saw him angry was after mom died..."

The pack stayed for a while after that, chatting about everything and nothing at the same time. Favorite colors, movies, books, foods (Sasha's, ironically, was chocolate, something she ate even though it now made her sick when she shifted). Eventually they left taking the last of the leftovers with them to the bunkhouse.

The house felt quiet without them. Empty. Colder. It was off how quickly things changed.

Maybe I really was lonely. I didn’t think I was until now.

As I laid in bed that night, I thought about everything we had discussed; my mind was whirling, trying to remember everything about this odd pack that I had unconsciously grown close to. Andrew's vibrant brown eyes and impressive cooking skills. Sasha's love for Glee and odd obsession with Elvis's music. Booth's tired but content face when he finally relaxed enough to lower his barriers.

I smiled to myself as I drifted off. They were slowly becoming family, and I was OK with that.

—

Sasha and I sat at the kitchen bar and watched Andrew waltz around the kitchen like he owned the place, sautéing a chunk of venison as he went. Sasha was practically drooling at the very thought of the raw meat in his hands.

The previous night had marked our first month together as a pack - as a family. In celebration, the group had gone hunting together in the hopes of preparing a celebratory feast. Booth had the messy job of skinning and cleaning our haul.

We had caught rabbit, deer, and even some squirrels as appetizers; Sasha had been kind enough to pull some spices from the garden and get some side dishes from the grocery store. She was lazily tossing a salad, her eyes fixed upon Andrew's dancing form.

I grinned, propping my chin in my hands. We'd have enough food to last two weeks if we didn't gorge ourselves tonight. I couldn't wait to try the rabbit stew Andrew was planning to make in the next few days.

I jumped at the feeling of my phone buzzing in my pocket and scrambled to withdraw it from the denim. A number flashed on the screen that I didn't recognize. I frowned and brought the bulky little phone to my ear anyway.

"Hello?"

"Y/N, hey! It's Sam Winchester."

"Sam! Hi! Hold on just a second," I smiled delightedly, surprised to be hearing from the brothers, and hopped down from my chair. I strode onto the front deck and shut the door behind me, away from the others. "What's up?"

"Dean and I are taking up a case soon, back in our hometown. Our last case was a couple states over from you and we'd be heading right past you. I was wondering-" Sam cut off and there was a commotion from the speaker. "- Sorry, we were wondering if you wanted to join us?"

Hunting? Real hunting, not just guilt by association? 

"What kind of case..?" I asked, folding my arms over my chest. Things were finally settling down with the pack, and I really didn't want to be away from them for too long. Frankly, I doubted I'd ever want to be away from them for extended periods

"Uh..." Sam trailed off. I assumed he was asking Dean a question, as I heard the older brother's muffled reply from the other end. "We're thinking a ghost."

"Ghost huh? Don't think I would be much help against one of those, but sure, I'll tag along." I'd never had a case with a ghost – my uncle always brought me on monster hunts, correctly assuming that I'd be more useful to him then. "How far out are you?"

"We'll likely be there in about two days, maybe two and a half. You wouldn't be gone long either."

"Alright. Hurry up and get over here boys," I teased, eager to see them again. After exchanging pleasant goodbyes Sam hung up, leaving me alone in the humid evening air, the sun going down over the tops of the moss-covered trees.

[tk-writer]

Peace and Quiet. [platonic Sonic x Shadow]

Peace and quiet. All he wanted was a little peace and quiet.

What Shadow got instead were flashes of cobalt blue always appearing somewhere in his vision, along with constant chatter in his ear about this and that and stupid shit he only half-listened to when he had the patience for it. Conversations he prayed would end as quickly as possible but seemed to drag out every time. Or worse, when his attention was demanded for an absolutely ridiculous reason. Like it was at that very moment.

“Shadooooow! Look, I finally figured out how to do that one trick I told you about!”

The black hedgehog watched from his chair on the front porch as Sonic make his 47th fucking attempt at an upside down kick flip on the oak tree in front of the house and fail, quite miserably. He hit his head on a sharp rock and cradled it in his hands as a giant lump appeared on his forehead.

“Owwwowwowwoww...! Ugh, I thought I had it this time!”

“Hmph.”

He should’ve known that peace & quiet was too much to ask for, being around that blue menace and the rest of his friends. All of those big personalities shoved together in one house. That immature fox who cried every time someone made fun of him. That knuckleheaded echidna whose fists were bigger than his brain. That pink wannabe soothsayer who always tried to “pull cards” for him and analyze his natal chart or whatever new age shit she was into at the time. 

And worst of all, that loudmouth hedgehog who never stopped shoving chili dogs into his big stupid mouth and didn’t know the meaning of silence.

Under normal circumstances he would have hightailed it out of that tiny shack on the edge of the forest, but times had changed since they all first met. There was always a new crisis manifesting, a threat to the world they were all expected to handle by themselves. Living together made it easier to assemble their little “hero” team instead of having to chase down everyone on all corners of the earth. It wasted precious time and energy, both inconvenient and annoying.

But despite the fact that they had been together for months already, the lifestyle change was still difficult for Shadow. He was used to being on his own, fending for himself, not having to speak at length for long periods of time. Having roommates who practically begged for his companionship and attention was a huge adjustment. Being expected to make idle small talk everyday was a pain in the ass. Hell, having anybody in his personal space for too long was too much.

But he did it anyway, because no one had ever wanted to be friends with him until now. And as much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t feel as lonely now as he used to.

While Sonic recovered from his clumsy little stunt, Shadow’s ears perked up as he heard a panicked cry for help coming from inside the house. Before he could turn his head to see what it was, flashes of orange and red appeared in his peripheral vision.

“Leave me alone! I didn’t do anything!!”

“Get BACK here you lying brat!”

Tails was, well, hightailing it as far as his two tails could carry him, followed in close pursuit by an angry and vengeful Knuckles. The two passed by Sonic, who watched them run circles around him before finally stepping in.

“Soniiiiic! Help meeee!”

“Lemme at him! He ate my last grape!”

“I didn’t do it!! Amy was the last one with the grapes!”

“You’re LYING! I caught you red handed you little twerp!”

Shadow shook his head as he returned to reading his book. Such foolishness over something so silly as food. He prayed it would be over soon so he wouldn’t have to hear all the fucking whining.

“Wait, I wanna play too!” Sonic finally piped up, ready to play. “I’ll grab him for ya, Knucks

“SONIC! NOOOOO!”

Shadow watched them attack one another with eyebrows furrowed. Such childish behavior over something so trivial. He wouldn’t bother getting involved. He gave up on reading and crossed his arms, closing his eyes as he listened to the commotion.

“You grab him and I’ll pin him down!”

“NO! Pleeeease! I didn’t do anything!!”

“You’re gonna get it now, foxboy. I’ll teach you to mess with my stuff.”

“Wait, no, no! NOOO - ahahaha! PLEEHEHEHESE DON’T!”

Confused by the sudden laughter, Shadow opened one eye to see why the fox was suddenly squealing and begging as if being tortured by hot skewers. What he saw made his fur stand on edge.

Sonic had pinned Tails’s arms to the ground, holding them down tightly as Knuckles tickled his pits mercilessly. The fox was squeezing his eyes shut, wiggling from left to right as he struggled with all his might to break free and laughed loud enough to scare the birds away from the trees. Sonic was grinning deviously as he watched Knuckles dig into what must have been the poor fox’s most ticklish spot until he cried. It was enough to give him the chills.

Shadow decided that he did not want to get involved under any circumstances. He uncrossed his legs and stood up, walking towards the back of the house where he would be out of sight and out of mind.

“Hey, Shadow! Wanna give us a hand?” Sonic called out, making Tails plead even harder.

“Nope.”

“Aww, come on! Stop being a grump for once and come play!”

“I refuse.”

“If you don’t help, we’ll get you too!”

Nope, nope, nope. There was no fucking way.

Shadow scurried off, hoping that if he was not seen and not heard that he would be forgotten. That’s always how things had been, anyway. He was really good at blending in with the background and avoiding all interactions. Maybe Sonic would leave it be and move on with his life.

“Tch,” he scoffed. Wishful thinking. Before he took his next step, Sonic was in his face grinning at him like an idiot.

“... AGH! How the hell…?”

“You ran away pretty quickly there, Shadow. Why’s that?”

“Mind your business.”

“Are you nervous or somethin’? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“No. Now leave me alone.”

“Whyd’ya gotta be so grumpy all the time? Have some fun for once in your life!”

“Fun to me is peace and quiet, two things I can’t seem to get living with the lot of you.”

He turned his back on Sonic. A grave mistake, in hindsight. If he had only paid attention to that glint in his eye, that mischievous expression of his… he would’ve seen it coming.

Instead, he felt two hands grab his waist, which made him fall to his knees, and yelp like a dog that had been hit with a rock.

He froze. Every quill on his body stood on end. He swung around to face Sonic, who looked just as surprised as he was.

“What was that?!”

“Shut your mouth. Not another word.”

A cheeky grin spread across Sonic’s face, and Shadow knew it was all over.

“No way… Shadow, you’re-”

Shadow took off before he heard the end of the sentence. He didn’t know what to say. And even if he did, he wouldn’t have been able to say it. So instead of speaking, he ran.

He bolted into the woods in attempt to get as far away as possible. He knew it was futile; Sonic had always been faster and nimbler than he. But it was all he could think of. It was his last hope for escape.

It only took a few seconds for Sonic to catch him. The blue hedgehog slammed into him, pushing his darker rival to the ground and pinning him on his stomach by sitting on his lower back. He couldn’t move. He could barely struggle. He started to panic, realizing what a compromising position he found himself in and began squirming like a snake speared through.

“Urrgh, get off me!”

“Why? You worried I’ll do something to ya?”

“If you touch me, I swear to God…”

“What, you’ll kill me? Dontcha think it'll be kinda hard to do that when you’re trapped like this?”

Sonic poked one of his sides, right under his rib, and Shadow jolted as if struck by lightning. He let out a gruntled yelp, trying his damned hardest to stifle a laugh. Sonic poked him again, and again, in again, alternating between the left and right to throw him off guard. Each touch caused him to jerk around as he choked back his laughter.

“Something wrong, Shadow?”

“Nghhh! N-No! ACK!”

“You seem a little tense. It couldn’t be because of these little pokes, right?”

“Mmpph! GAHHH!”

“The big, bad ultimate life form... taken down by tickles. Who woulda thought you had such an adorable weakness!”

At this point Shadow couldn’t muster a single word without potentially letting his facade crack. He bit his lip, pounded his fists on the ground, attempting all forms of physical release if it meant that his laughs wouldn’t escape. He couldn’t laugh, he wouldn’t laugh, not when he knew what would come next if he did…

Unfortunately for him, it didn’t take long for him to finally crack.

He felt Sonic’s hands at both sides of his waist again, fingers pressed against sides and ribs waiting for the right moment to attack. Shadow was breathing heavily, bracing himself for the next tickle attack. The anticipation was making it worse. If he was gonna do it, then he should just d-

“AAAAAH! Nghhh, mmhmhmmhm, FAHAHAHACK!”

Ten fingers dug into his body, wiggling and pinching and stroking every sensitive inch. It was way worse than he had expected. He had no idea that his seldom-touch body could be so sensitive or that light touches could make him thrash about so wildly. He understood why Tails was screaming and begging so loudly before. It was absolutely unbearable.

“Tickle tickle tiiiickle! Wow, this must be really bad for you, huh?”

“Ahahahahahaha! Fffff-FAHAHACK!”

Shadow couldn’t even muster a proper word. It was all too much. And it seemed to go on forever. Sonic somehow managed to find every horrible spot on his upper body. His underarms, his waist, the horrid spaces between his ribs. All of them tickled terribly as he screamed and tried to buck him off. The worst part was Sonic’s incessant teasing. It was humiliating enough being taken down with tickles, but to be teased about it? Certain death.

“Say uncle or I’m not gonna stop!”

“Fahahhackahahaff!!”

“Saaaay it! Or else I’ll keep going!”

“NAHAHAHAHA!”

Only a couple minutes had passed and he was already out of breath, red in the face, and willing to do whatever it took to make it stop. He had no idea how sadistic Sonic could be. If he hadn’t been so proud, he would’ve begged for mercy long ago. 

Finally, after what felt like forever, it stopped, Shadow felt the pressure lift off his back, but instead of running he found himself stuck in the same spot on the ground, struggling to catch his breath. He was completely tuckered out from the tickling. Embarrassed of his display of weakness, he kept his eyes on the ground despite feeling Sonic’s gaze.

“You alright bud? That took a lot out of you, huh?” The blue hedgehog extended a hand, which he pushed aside while he pulled himself off the ground.

“...Ha… haaaa… leave me alone…”

“Aww I’m sorry Shadow! I guess I got a little carried away. You just sounded so… happy, for once. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you actually laugh hard like that.”

“You… don’t you dare tell anyone about this…”

Sonic smiled sheepishly. “Hey, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about! Lots of people are super ticklish. But I promise I won’t tell a soul. Scout’s honor!”

He crossed his heart and looked at Shadow with such a genuine expression that he couldn’t help but feel relieved. He couldn’t fully trust him, at least not yet, but at least his honor could stay intact for the time being.

He would never admit it out loud... but messing around like that was more fun than he had expected.

[therealteddybear-sry]

hi sry if this is a little weird but if you need a break from write Be mine or you finish could you write a fic about bakugo turning into a dog (because a villain attacked him w/ an animal quirk) and the reader has to take care of him?

the more I think about this the weirder it seems so u do have to write it if you don’t want to

Don't worry it's not weird at all! thanks for giving me something to foucuse on other than my series and i was quite shocked that you knew about it. Thx for the request <3

Cuddle puppy <3

Bakugo x Fem! reader | fluff, slight angst idrk | this is my first time writing a fanfic so if it sucks be quiet | Basically Bakugo gets hit with a quirk that turns him into a puppy making him ditch your plans.

“Is this your place?” asked Mina pointing to the tall apartment building ahead. It wasn't unusual for Mina to walk with you as you live in the same area, though on this trip to your house your other friend Jiro came along. 

“Awww look it’s a puppy” you and Mina cried in unison speed-walking towards it, Jiro following close behind.

“Ya know you can’t just pick up a stray and bring it home,” stated Jiro as Mina tried to pick up the feisty, baby golden Shepard. 

“Uuuugh I know” whined mina “...but know someone who could keep it… here y/n!” 

“What?” you stared dumbfoundedly as mina handed the puppy currently biting her uniform’s sleeve over to your arms. Bolting before you could refuse.

“See ya on Monday!” hollered Mina as she ran towards her house leaving you and Jiro in front of your apartment.

“Sorry but there's no way I'm keeping that,” said Jiro as she wandered off to the radio shop nearby -her primary intent of the trip here-

“I guess it’s just me and you little guy,” you sighed carrying the slightly less pissed small dog to your apartment.

 Just a few steps away, a bright red sign attached to the building caught your eye ‘NO PETS’ astonished that you had never noticed it before. But before you could properly form a half-decent plan a thin, wrinkled, old, staff member waltzed out of the building. You had talked to this woman a few times before and you knew she despised animals, especially dogs, claiming they were “too loud”. Not wanting to get kicked out you hid behind a nearby bush, brain scattered you did the unthinkable. You shoved the poor dog down your shirt. and when the old hag had turned her back you bolted through the entrance and into an elevator. Fate had left you lucky enough to get into an empty elevator, though not wanting to take any risks you quietly apologized to the seemingly silent dog. Thankfully still feeling it breathing and occasionally adjusting itself reassured you that you hadn't crushed it. After what felt like an eternity of awkwardly slightly getting your chest nipped and praying no one else gets on, you finally landed on your floor dashing through the hallway you stopped at 307, your apartment, and yours only. Your parents died in a villain accident many years ago so you are used to living alone, though the thought of finally having something living that can feel and display love made you feel happier. Gently shutting and locking the door behind you, taking off your red tie you scoop into your white button-down and pull out the puppy now realizing how messy it had gotten you. Dragging yourself and the dirt-engulfed raging fur ball to the bathroom to get cleaned up. Once you got the bath water to a decent temperature and amount of bubbles to not wreck your uniform further you started getting undressed. Even if it is just a dog you were not indecent enough to get naked instead you just left for a second to change into a swimsuit.  Clearly not impressed with previously being suffocated between your bust, when you returned in your f/c bikini the deviant of a dog pounced into the full bathtub leaving you covered in water and suds. This along with the earlier actions displaying this puppies personality you decided on what to name him, “ya’ know you remind me of my friend Bakugo” you huffed “but since it’d be weird to give you his actual name I’ll call you Katsu instead!” you’ve had a crush on Bakugo since day one and the closest you two ever gotten was being accepted into the bakusquad where he just barley tolerated you. You continued to muter to yourself not realizing how tranquil the dog had gotten after being given his name. Once the seemingly now calmed dog was washed and dried the ash-blonde dog sat there cozied up in your lap as you watched f/s when an ad popped up for pet supplies. That’s when it dawned on you, how could you keep a dog if you didn't have any food or, really anything on the matter. I mean you used dish soap to wash the poor thing! Thankfully, after rummaging around your apartment's room you had found a purse big enough for the dog to fit comfortably, as you slid through the building and out the front doors without being caught. Finally reaching the pet store you got just a few cheaper necessities being short on cash at the moment, food (you could use bowls at home), collar, leash, a small baggie of treats, and you thought maybe a toy or two would be nice. While you were deciding on either a rubber bone or one of those tugging rope thingies when a man tapped you on the shoulder. Sightly startled, you turn around instantly absorbed into his golden yellow eyes

 “uh, excuse me,” he said smiling, one hand grasping the back of his neck “but what is your name?” 

“Oh! It’s y/n!” you cheerfully stated.

“What a beautiful name,” you couldn't help but blush “though could I call you mine instead?”  This comment leaving you visibly flustered making him smile as you tried to find a way to say you were not interested without coming across as rude, you then realized you didn't have to as Katsu already hopped from your bag bitting the hemming of the left leg of his pants, too small to really do anything.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry” you frantically apologized as you picked up the wriggling dog still trying to attack the stranger.

“Tch whatever maybe try to learn how to control your pets.” the man bluntly stated. Embarrassed you checked everything out and walked back to the apartment muttering under your breath. Back at the apartment you couldn't help but get rather annoyed at the puppy and it seemed he looked almost guilty. Dinner consisted of instant ramen and binging f/s while katsu sat there unsure of what to do. Should he give you space to snuggle next to you? You noticed how the dog was just standing there unsure yourself of what to do, you pat the cushion next to you inviting him to sit there. Katsu gladly obliged and lied his fluffy head on your thigh, ecstatic you weren't still mad at him. After hours of telling yourself one more episode, you finally checked the time. It was 2 am. Regret seeping into your tired body you carefully picked up the sleeping dog and walked to your bedroom. Where you gently placed him facing your back as you lay beside him unaware the quirk only lasts twelve hours. You felt the dog sift a bit as you were seconds away from drifting into your own slumber too, tired to notice the dog had wrapped his arms around you resting his head in the crook of your neck. Spooning you and whispering faint mumbles of I love you y/n. Mindlessly you whispered back I love you too Bakugo, thinking this was just a dream. Bakugo contently hummed to himself imagining how your face would look seeing him in your bed in the morning and how glad he was that this happened. I mean he got to see you half naked and have you all to himself for an afternoon.

[jamiesfootball]

the vacant house behind our home - ch 2

Splitting the difference and posting here before I post to AO3 in the morning.

Part 1 can be found here

A/N: contains horror elements, grief/mourning, mentions of supernatural violence

No man could be this cruel. This was the thought that crossed Ola's mind when he received the first letter, when he could not breathe through the stifling ache in his heart.

Not a day had passed without Ola drying the tears from his wife's cheeks, even as he ignored his own. Their youngest flighted from room to room. Nary a word had crossed his lips, though at night Ola can hear him praying. He had always been a quiet one, shy in his expressions. He would not begrudge the boy his space, butt he worried, and at night, he yearned. He yearned to hold his son safe at night when the grief rushed in fast like a flood to an empty gorge.

The funeral passed, with all its mercy and ruin, and Ola knew in his heart that while the grief was fresh, it was not a pain meant to dry. It would never be stale. Never would it lessen. It would bleed from his heart with his every step, for as long and as far as his heart endured to carry him forward, after being so roughly hewn from its branches.

The letter was addressed to him--not his wife. That was the only charity he'd allow this man who'd dared to send torment while Ola's eldest son's body touched dirt at the bottom of the sea.

His Samuel. His beautiful boy, with hopes and dreams a mere blush from his fingertips.

He was only nineteen. He would be nineteen forever.

And this man dared to write Ola a letter with his Sam's name printed on the corner of the envelope.

He had no words for the sear of emotions that cut through him, escaping from his mouth in a desperate whine as hate like he had never known coursed through him.

But for all that his hands trembled, he could not bear to drop any object bearing his son's name to the ground.

'It is unlikely that we will ever find his remains.'

For one word he opened the letter: hope. Awful, lingering, desperate hope.

Ola opened the letter with all the gentleness his son would always deserve.

He crumpled.

He read no more than two words before he hunched over at the waist, sobbing, breathless. He held the letter in his hands as if it were a still-beating heart. Carefully inked in a dedicated reflection of his own hand were two words, a gift Ola could scarcely believe in:

'Hello Daddy-'

Hello Daddy-

I am sorry that it has taken me so long to write. I have missed you so much! Truthfully, I can not seem to recall how long I have been away from home. Has it been months? I hope I have not worried you or mother.

I am not sure that the place where I have arrived is the place I intended to be, but it is not so bad. In some ways, it is rather lovely. The team I have joined, the Greyhounds, are a wonderful team full of (mostly) wonderful people. Our coach, Roy Kent, is very demanding, but incredibly skilled in many areas. He says he played for England, although he cannot remember when and I presume this is why he is so informed. Already he has taught me much about strategy, technique, aggressive attack positions, and abjuration. His methods for physical conditioning can be quite rigorous, but at least we do not have to play when the weather is screeching (he has sensitive ears). My football is much improved already! Although I do wish you could see me. I wish I could see anyone, anyone at all outside our town, but that is not how things work here.

The football I am playing here is far different from how I played back at home. At times it seems as though we are able to read each others thoughts, the way we move as one across the field. When I first arrived, it was not as such. We lost many balls over the gate, whereupon Coach Kent must disappear to find them. He as an exceptional coach with an exceptional temper, so we try not to let this happen.

The man who speaks on the local radio, Ted, he refers to our home as the Dog Track. It doubles as our training pitch, where we may prepare for what lies ahead. It is a selective establishment that does not permit many within its walls, and only those of us who have joined the Greyhounds are allowed inside. The man on the radio is very kind. Despite the fact that I have never laid eyes on him, he has always been willing to answer my questions. In some ways, he is also my coach, with a wealth of knowledge so vast, it often seems as though he has been around forever. Perhaps this is why I do not always understand his references, although that could just be a facet of living in [----------].

I am doing well, for all that I cannot seem to remember what I am doing most days. Indeed, I do not even remember my arrival. There was a problem with the airplane. I believe we began to take in water. Then the water turned to rain, as light as a gentle mist, and when I opened my eyes, I found myself standing on a verdant pitch.

Indeed it seems as though most of us have suffered some sort of struggle immediately before coming to [----------]. The others here with me, they also appeared in similar circumstances, although some of their stories sound more outlandish than mine.

Isaac, our team's captain, says he was drafted after he accidentally knocked over a television set. He said that Roy appeared and offered him the captain's band. A promotion is a promotion, yes?

Theirry, our team's goalie, says he is actually not a football goalie at all--he is a hockey goalie, which is why the mask is attached to his face and cannot be removed no matter how hard we pull.

Another of my friends, Colin, he will not say what happened to him. He says that all that matters is that his boyfriend is safe. He hopes that his boyfriend is safe.

Another, Richard, says he was kicked in the head by a goat(?)

Our friend Jan refuses to believe that we are not in the Netherlands. I do not know enough to disprove him, but he is right about most all things, so I do not argue.

One of my teammates also believes that we are all individually suffering from cacodemonomania, but that is just silly. Moe can be excitable and prone to conspiratorial thought experiments, so we try not to take him too seriously, despite the fact that he can be quite convincing, especially to newcomers.

Only one of my new teammates is newer than me. I believe he arrived during the winter transfer window--or, at least, it was snowing at the time, so I assume it was the winter transfer window. How long have I been away? In the beginning I admit I did not care for him. He was arrogant, and rude, and made awful remarks about my skills as a player, and he did not constrain his comments to a professional scope. He was quite hurtful, and oh Daddy, I wished so badly for your wisdom in the matter. I do not think I have ever met a person with such teeth in their soul.

He bit me once for daring to mention my home and the family I had left behind. I had only gotten as far as to tell him I had a little brother, when a pain like I have never known seized upon me, like knives twisting deep between each of my ribs. It was as if someone snatched the sun out of the sky.

Honestly, I do not think he meant to harm me. I think I scared him. I told him, "I do not wish to frighten you," and he asked, "Am I in hell?" so I do not know what he heard in its place. He sees threats where there are none. He sees violence where there is friendship. For all that he has improved, there is still poison in him, and no amount of care can make the poison drain any faster.

He did not even have a name when he arrived--instead he had a collar that bore initials like a ship bears an anchor. That was before Trent {[][]]][[[//][][]\][]\\\[][-]-

The initials do not belong to him alone

That was a while ago. Since then, he has proven to be a reliable ally, one who is capable of baring those teeth at opposing teams, when given the proper signal. He is trying. I did not originally wish to accept his apology, only some things happened-when the repo[[][]]\[[]/\[]]][/\\/[[

Daddy, if there is one thing Jamie has done that will forever tip the scales in his favor it is this: he has helped me write this letter to you. Him and another newcomer, Trent C[]rimm/], T\h]e I||nep/nde][n|t||--seem to have retained some knowledge of--

They seem to remember--

They understand that the place we are in is--

They helped me remem

Address book-

There are rules in this place that I do not understand. I am lucky to have others who, to put it delicately, are more comfortable navigating in a world where the truth is often no more than a rug waiting to be pulled away.

For this alone, I would consider him a friend, but he is so much more than that. For reasons too delicate to put to words, his presence has lit in me a strong desire to return home. I want to hug you. I want to hug everybody. I miss my home, in a way I know he does not.

I hope that when I am able to leave this place, you can meet my friend. I have been practicing your recipes, but it is not the same. I miss cooking with you, Daddy, and I would like my friend to believe me for once when I tell him that your cooking is not just better--it is worth living for.

This place is strange but I have made a friend of its strangeness. But that does not matter. Lately I have missed you, I have missed home, to a degree which steals my breath away with its frost. For all my growing familiarity, one day I will make this place a stranger. I will return, and when I do I will bring those that are my new home with me.

I still hope to play for Nigeria one day.

I cannot wait to see you all soon. In the meantime, please give all the love that you would give to me to Mummy and James.

Yours, always,

Sam

[wamtorical]

Credits to @antiquatedplumbobs for the Antiquated Brindleton Bay save file! It's beautiful - all npc characters (Neighbours etc.) belong to her (Except one infant I added). On another note, my characters are based in England and having researched I realised non wooden paneling didn't and still rarely exists here so we'll consider that the only semi-unrealistic aspect since I really didn't want to remove it.

April 1890

Dearest Charlotte,

I trust this letter finds you in good health and spirits. Elmer and I are doing splendidly, and we hope the same for you. Is the house quieter without me? Do tell us any news.

With the generous sum we've loaned, we have been able to purchase not only the farm but also some farm animals. You must come see. They were all rather expensive but still worth every penny. Our cow we've named Bluebell, and our chickens - well, I simply can't keep track! Two of them are so alike, but our distinct and boisterous rooster has been named Willy by Elmer. It is such a relief to have a steady supply of milk and eggs. No longer do we need to worry about procuring them - do come over so I can lend you a batch.

The pace of life is delightfully slow, and I must say, I find it quite refreshing. I wake early to prepare breakfast and Elmer sets off to work. Meanwhile, I attend to our farm and animals, relishing in the peacefulness of the countryside. Later on I take a little time for myself, of course, before Elmer returns for dinner, after which we retire for the night. It's the married life I've forever longed for. Brindleton Bay is much different to Windenburg, though I'm sure you've formed an established impression on it from the glimpse of it you saw during the wedding. The streets are tranquil and overrun with more cats and dogs than people, mostly sad-looking strays putting on a face for scraps. The fresh, salty air from the sea is invigorating, I tell you - it is the nicest air I've ever had the luxury of breathing! We have settled into our new home with ease and pleasure.

Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, Elmer is training as a nurse at our local hospital. It came as quite a surprise to me, after all I've only ever seen female nurses. He says that the training is not as rigorous as that of his female colleagues. Nevertheless, I trust that he knows what he is doing. The money is slowly but surely coming in and the loan should be paid off soon enough.

In the greener areas I spotted many quaint looking cabins fit for individuals seeking a quiet, solitary life - remind you of someone? Specifically, there's an abandoned one in the very heart of the forest that I believe you would adore. I wish for you to come and see it soon, it's in a great need of renovation and I know you like a good challenge. I miss you so, Char, it's odd being here without you. You're like my other half. Should you could move there, we could see eachother much more frequently.

You'll be pleased to hear our neighbours are quite friendly as well. I've yet to meet them, but I've heard nothing but good from Elmer. They reside across the street from us and possess a farm that is quite grand in size, fitting for a family of their stature. Their brood is extremely sizable, with several children ranging in ages from infancy to adulthood. You wouldn't believe! It's bizarre. As for myself, starting a family has not crossed my mind. If I were to have children, I fear I would spoil them endlessly. However, Charlotte, you and I know the dangers that it risks. I simply cannot bring myself to face those dangers and Elmer thankfully understands.

I await your letter with bated breath. Continue praying for me as I pray for you. And Charlotte, please venture out and befriend some of the locals, I'd hate for you to be lonely - or perhaps, as I mentioned earlier, you could move here! it would be a considerable amount of work but you wouldn't need to go through the hassle of taking out a loan. Kindly convey my love and regards to our dear friends back home.

Claudia,

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