#ok but its spring so where if is the warm

[original-punks]

come toast some marshmallows with me 🖤

[hurthermore]

Could you write something quick for Your Alastor x reader where she’s ovulating! (Horny week ;)) he asks her what she wants to eat as he’s making dinner and she’s like you while palming his crotch?? PLS IM ON MY PERIOD AND ITS KILLING ME

YES OK OK SEXUAL CONTENT BELOW

"What would you like for dinner, my darling wife?" Alastor had asked you after wrapping his apron around his waist, fully intending to make you anything you desired; just as he did every night.

He was a man of passion, one that craved to show you how dearly you meant to him, and the act of cooking was one of the many ways he exhibited that.

It was such an attractive trait, one that had you swooning over your husband more and more as ever day passed. But as you contemplated his question, you couldn't help how your cunt pulsed in want as you thought of having your husband for dinner; not in a cannibalistic sense, but in a sexual one.

Walking behind him ever so slowly, you pressed your chest against his back before etching your hand against his clothed, soft cock that began twitching in want as your mere touch doused him. "I want you." You had moaned against him as you continued to massage your palm against his pelvis.

You could hear him panting as you touched him, and as you looked up, you witnessed the hinges of his jaw tensing ever so slightly as his hands grasped the rim of the counter side.

“Will you let me, my handsome husband? Will you let me eat you?” You had asked as your hand snaked under the belt that held his trousers up. Slipping your hand underneath his clothes before your fingers grasped round the hardening fat cock that was yours and yours alone.

“Fuck, yes.” He had groaned in that seductive voice that you loved oh so much; the same voice that sent trembling shivers down your spine and tickled your core.

Quickly, your husband unclasped his belt before helping you remove his heavy sex from the confines of his clothes. You could feel his cock spring out as you had turned him around to face you all too quickly before falling on kneecaps in front of him.

His expression was filled with want and lust as he looked down at you, his darling wife, his hand resting against the crown of your scalp before you had moved his apron to the side; only to caress his cock against the side of your face, your lips ever so slightly swiping against his length.

Groaning, Alastors eyes stayed fixated on you, watching intently as your tongue licked along the entirety of his length. He always tasted so good, and you couldn’t help but moan as the taste of his salted cock sunk into your taste buds.

It didn’t take long for your husband to thread his fingers through your hair before guiding you to take his cock in your warm and wet mouth; something your desired more than anything in that moment.

He had forced you to choke on him as he guided your head back and forth against him, forced his cock to slam against the back of your throat before ultimately splattering your oesophagus with his salty cum.

Alastor, your husband, would always be your favourite meal.

[gallusrostromegalus]

ok I need elaboration on pretty much all of those bankais that you haven't already talked about but for now i'm probably most curious about ichigo and hanataro? please, a measly few crumbs of context

The short version of Ichigo's sword situation is that he is D'artanigan to Zangetsu's Three displaced-during-the-fuckery-surrounding-his-parent's-meet-cute-slash-manslaughter-thing Musketeers. We got his dad's half-starved family Zanpakuto, The Family Ghost from his Mom's side, and a guy made in an evil instapot that wandered in here on accident and precipitated the whole enfuckening. They are untied in their goal of "Keep Ichigo Alive" but unfortunately they also have a collective IQ of Negative Four.

Reader: Gee Ichigo, why does the author let you have THREE Zanpakuto spirits?

Ichigo: That's nothing! Orihime has SIX!

Ichigo and Orihime's nonsense is connected to how The Almighty operates:)

Meanwhile, short summaries of Unohana and Byakuya's Bankai under the cut:

Minazuki is a sword primarily about the manipulation of flesh- healing injury, making better fighters by pushing the flesh to it's limits- This is a spirit that is distinctly VISCERAL in nature. It has mass. It has a very distinct body.

Unohana:

So it follows that, in order to supply injured patients with blood and drugs and new flesh and everything else, Minazuki is giving up some of her Mass. Consequently, the Stingray form of Minazuki is the SECOND one- she cannot create her elixirs and make new flesh from nothing. First she must FEED.

Which is why Minazuki's liquid format is acidic blood that devours anything organic. It's why Kenpachi!Unohana's bloodthirst was so bloodthirsty: she was literally starving for biomass to complete her sword's two forms and finally put her Soul in Balance.

Senbonzakura has been with the Kuchiki family for generations, passed from one head of the clan to the next in a sacred ritual that allows the Zanpakuto to bond to its new weilders and grant them the power accumulated with generations.

In the fic, Ukitake is one of a handful of people old enough to remember "Yachiru" Unohana, and until Zaraki's arrival, probably the closest to understanding her. That Unohana and Retsu both understand the horrors of the flesh he lives with every day more intimately than anyone else in his life, and it's the basis of an almost sacred friendship between them. He knows perfectly well where the emergency transfusions and drugs she creates come from, and they have a standing agreement that if he predeceases her, she is to feed his body to Minazuki so he can pay forward at least some of the debt given to him.

He will not be the first of Unohana's friends that have been willingly devoured by her sword.

Byakuya:

But for course, everything has it's cost.

Byakuya was not the head of the Kuchiki clan when his father Sojun died prematurely and make Byakuya the orphan heir apparent as an adolescent. He was not the head when he met Hisana in a grove of cherry trees in the middle of harvest, and fell in love with her He was not the head when he had a terrible row with his grandfather Ginrei and the rest of the clan elders about his elopement. He was not the head five years later, when on a cold spring morning before the plum trees had blossomed, Hisana died of a miscarriage.

One week later, when the plum trees bloomed and the cherry trees had budded, Byakuya came to his grandfather, head bowed and heart broken, and agreed to take up the mantle of Clan Head. His soul had already been torn in half, what was another half?

Everything has it's cost, and the price of Senbonzakura's power is the sacrifice of the weilder's own original Zanpakuto spirit, and by transference, the imminent death of the previous head.

He had known this day was coming, ever since his own native Zanpakuto spirit failed to awaken at the academy. At the time, he'd thought it a mercy that the poor thing wouldn't awaken and be aware of being devoured. But now, as he held the tiny, warm body of the spirit out to Senbonzakura, he could only think of the child he never got to hold.

...with Senbonzakura, at least, she'd be at rest with something beautiful that loved her.

Because Senbonzakura loves it's family, and in particular it adores Byakuya. It has, ever since Byakuya fearlessly climbed it's branches as a small boy, since he partook of the sword's fruits as a young man, and now, when Byakuya offered the most precious parts of himself to the sword with a sense of peace and profound trust. And Senbonzakura repays that trust in kind.

The sword's shikai release is the same, or at least similar for all it's wielders, but long-term friends of the family note that that is a LOT MORE blades than the sword ever summoned for Ginrei or any other head.

The Bankai is different every time. Senbonzakura is ready to give Byakuya whatever Bankai he wants immediately, but it's not until after he adopts Rukia and sees her fooling around in the family orchards when she thinks he isn't watching that he realizes the shape it should be.

It's name is "Senbonzakura: Sakura no Kaju-en" and it is beautiful and terrible.

Sakura no Kaju-en requires only that Byakuya pierce the flesh of his enemy or the terrain around him with one or more of his petal-blades. Once in the ground or embedded in flesh, the blade is transformed into a seed and an entire magical cherry tree grows from it, converting the Reishi and spiritual energy around it into its own mass. Since Byakuya is effectively wielding somewhere around 10,000 petal blades in his shikai alone, he can summon up to 10,000 devouring cherry trees, which will radically alter the landscape of battle and blossom into millions and millions of new petal-blades.

That is, unless his foe is unfortunate enough to have the blades penetrate their flesh. Then the trees will devour them as they grow. Even a truly massive opponent like Yammy can be mulched in minutes.

The trees initially blossom almost white, but as his enemies are felled and Senbonzakura drinks, the blooms grow pinker and then redder until they transform into deep crimson fruits.

It's a brutal Bankai, but a beautiful one. When Byakuya looks out upon the blooming landscape and tastes the sweet fruits of his efforts, it brings him peace to know the small, sleeping spirit he had to sacrifice is playing somewhere within, they way he saw Rukia playing in the family orchards that day.

[witchywithwhiskey]

12 and 17 Andy Barber💖

dreaming of a rainy spring morning

pairing: husband!andy barber x female reader

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, dry humping, consensual somnophilia, piv sex, creampie, cockwarming, dirty talk, praise kink, very light bdsm, begging, teasing, pet names (wife, husband), sleepy cuddling, fluff, established relationship

word count: 1,200ish

a/n: i hope it's ok that i pulled from the smut prompt list instead of the fluff one—they were just more inspiring: “where are your manners?” + “beg for it.” i wanted to do something soft and i had the idea for this because it's rainy here today (and i probably should've done more rainy day fics since it rains so much in the spring 🫣). anyway, hope you enjoy!! ♡♡

The rain was a steady pitter patter against the windows, a soft morning light trickling through the glass and casting a cool, gray glow over the chilly bedroom. You took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of earth and water that filtered through the cracked window that had been left open overnight. Letting your eyes flutter closed again, you reached blindly across the bed until your fingertips brushed against the familiar warmth of your husband, Andy Barber.

Outside, the rain picked up its pace and a fierce wind ruffled the newly sprouted leaves of the spring trees, but inside your home, you were safe and warm—and you had other things to concern yourself with. Like squirming across the bed beneath the blankets so you could curl around your husband’s side, draping a leg over his thigh, feeling the hair on his tickling your skin.

With a soft sigh of relief, you settled in beside Andy, breathing in the familiar scent of his soap and feeling your body warm at his closeness. You tried to let sleep reclaim you, but there was a restlessness in you—a low, simmering heat in your core that didn’t allow you to slip back into the comforting embrace of sleep. Instead, it smoldered until it refused to be ignored.

Sleepily, you shifted your body until you lay on top of your husband, your thighs on either side of his hips and your bare pussy pressing against his soft cock in his boxers. You’d worn one of Andy’s t-shirts to sleep, but that was all you had on, while he wore his boxers and a t-shirt of his own. You grumbled a little at that, wishing you were pressed skin to skin with him, but you didn’t want to make the effort to wake him and undress.

Instead, you rocked lazily against Andy’s bulge, feeling his cock twitch and come to life. A mischievous smile curled the edges of your lips as you felt him harden beneath you, his cock stiffening beneath your puffy folds. You slid your messy slit against him, your clit bumping against the tip in such a delicious way, you had to bite back a moan. 

You still had your eyes closed, your cheek pillowed on Andy’s broad chest while you took your pleasure at a leisurely pace. But soon it wasn’t enough. With as little movement as possible, you inched up Andy’s body until the tip of his cock was prodding against your slick hole. You were wet enough that he slipped in easily and you pushed back, taking the head into your tight, warm cunt.

“Where are your manners?” Andy rumbled, his voice gruff with sleep and startling you a little. But there was a hint of teasing in his tone that made you smile, happy your husband was up to join you in your morning delight. “So needy, wife—you can’t even wait until your husband’s awake to start playing with his cock, huh?” 

“Sorry, husband,” you purred, not feeling sorry at all as you arched your back and pushed your hips down further on Andy’s hard length. “You shouldn’t have given me permission to do what I want while you’re sleeping if you didn’t want to wake up with my needy pussy wrapped around your hard cock.”

Andy groaned, his hands lifting to your hips and, with a brutal shove, he impaled you the rest of the way on his length,  stuffing you full with one move and wringing a sharp gasp from your lips. He grunted at the tight squeeze of your inner walls and pressed a kiss to your temple, his beard rasping against your skin and making you shiver.

“Love waking up to your perfect cunt on my cock, wife,” he rumbled, his hips thrusting up lazily while you moaned and rocked back onto his cock. “So soft and warm and wet for me—you feel perfect, wife, perfect.”

Your fingers sank into Andy’s thick hair and you guided his mouth to yours as best you could without opening your eyes, your lips finding one another in the dim light of the morning. Your husband kissed you as sweetly as he’d spoken his words of praise, filling you with every ounce of love in his heart while you poured your own back into him. 

The soft clapping of your skin against his set a new rhythm in the room as the rain continued outside, but you were too wrapped up in your husband to notice anything beyond him. When your mouths finally parted, you gasped and moaned while he grunted and groaned beneath you, your bodies writhing together and seeking pleasure in each other. 

“Andy,” you cried softly on a gasp, burying your face in his neck while your fingers curled in his hair, clinging on to him as ecstasy swirled through your body. “I’m gonna—please, husband,” you mumbled, knowing you didn’t make sense, and knowing it didn’t matter because Andy would know what you needed because of the way your pussy was fluttering around his thrusting length.

But it seemed your husband wanted to pay you back for waking him up early because his next words weren’t a soothing acknowledgement of your looming release. They were a dirty demand, rumbled right into your ear.

“Beg for it.”

A whimper escaped your lips at the command, the gruff sternness in Andy’s voice only making your body clench tight as you barreled toward your release. You were so close that all you could do was submit and give Andy what he wanted. 

“Please, husband, please make me come,” you babbled, the words falling from your lips easily as you were driven by your need for satisfaction. “Wanna come all over your big cock, wanna feel you spill inside me—please, please, oh god, Andy, please!”

“Good girl,” he cooed in your ear, gripping your ass in his big hands, making you squeal as his fingertips dug into your plush softness. “Now, come,” he growled through gritted teeth, holding you still as he fucked up into you, bouncing your hips on his cock and grinding against your clit in just the right way to set you off.

You came with a scream that you muffled against Andy’s shoulder, your mouth open wide as you wailed in ecstasy, your whole body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you. Andy’s arms flexed against your sides, holding you pinned down on top of him, your pussy rhythmically squeezing his cock while he rutted up into you. It wasn’t long before he was groaning his own release, his cock twitching deep in your cunt as he came inside you.

When he was spent, Andy heaved a heavy sigh and sagged back into the bed, leaving you to stay sprawled across his chest, his softening cock still wedged in your pussy. Your chests were pressed so tightly together, you could feel his heartbeat pounding against his ribcage, and you smiled, ducking your face to press a kiss right against his sternum.

“Go back to sleep, wife,” Andy muttered, running his hand down your spine to soothe you. His soft touch made your muscles melt, and sleep crowded into your consciousness.

“Yes, husband,” you mumbled, already halfway there.

Between the steady beating of Andy’s heart and the constant pitter patter of the rain against the windows, you were lulled back to sleep with a smile on your face. As you slept, you dreamt of your husband, and the love you felt when you were tucked safely into the warmth of his arms on a rainy spring morning. 

[monstersandmaw]

Male fox spirit x female reader (nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

___

Commission #4 in the list of 5! Thank you for trusting me with your prompt:  female reader saves a dying fox on her way home from work, who turns out to be a fox spirit. I hope you like it!

Contents:  Fox suffers a spinal injury when hit by a car (not the reader’s); there’s some magic; some domestic fluff; oral sex, fingering, him coming on her; and a sweet, fluffy ending.

Wordcount: 4400

Driving rain greeted you full in the face as you shoved open the main doors of the building and burrowed down into your coat, drawing the hood tight around your head in a vain attempt to keep the weather out. Nights like this — cold, damp, and at the tail end of winter before Spring took a proper hold on the land — were truly miserable.

Your fingers were half frozen by the time you had fumbled the keys out of your pocket and clambered into your car, and you fired the old thing up with a hopeful grimace that it would start. It coughed to life and you uttered a little prayer of thanks to whichever gods or spirits out there might be listening. “Now if only you could do something about my pathetic love life as well,” you said to yourself as you reversed out of the parking space and headed towards the main road. “Wouldn’t that be perfect?”

Half an hour outside of town, your headlights flashed over something lying on the side of the road, sprawled halfway across the white line, and you swerved instinctively to avoid it. Mercifully there was nothing coming in the other direction, or you’d have caused a serious accident. Adrenaline spiked through you and you slammed on the brakes.

The flash of golden-red you’d glimpsed had told you it was a fox, but it had had its head raised and it had been looking at you with its eyes flaring yellow in the headlights, but the expression on its face had struck you to the core. It had looked… resigned. Like it knew you were going to hit it. Like it knew it was going to die.

“No,” you said through gritted teeth.

You had some old work gloves in the back of the car from when you’d taken a load of stuff from the garden to the dump a week before, so you put your hazards on and slid out of the driver’s side door and into the worsening storm. You cursed softly, squinting amid the stinging rain as it struck your face like little iron nails in the gusty night. You cleared a space in the trunk for the fox, spreading an old picnic blanket out and grabbing those thick leather gloves. No need to get rabies if the thing bit you before you could get it to an animal clinic in the morning.

You knew it was a stupid thing to do, that cars hit wildlife all the time, and you really weren’t equipped to deal with it, but you couldn’t just leave it there when it had looked so sad; black ears drooping, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

Making your way along the edge of the deserted road with only your phone torch to light the way, you found the spot where the fox was still lying on the asphalt, and crooned softly to it. “Hey there,” you said, feeling a bit silly. “It’s ok. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s alright. Let me help you out… Let me take you home and see if I can take you to a vet in the morning…”

When your light found its back legs though, your heart sank. They lay limp and slightly twisted to one side. Its back had been broken by the impact with a vehicle.

“Oh baby,” you said, fighting sudden tears. “It’s going to be ok…” you lied.

Was it like with humans? Should it not be moved with a spinal injury? It would probably die anyway, or they’d recommend putting it down. You could at least take it in and keep it warm for its last few hours. When you knelt nearby, it just laid its cheek down on the cold tarmac, defeated, and let out a long, broken whimper.

“I’m going to pick you up, ok? Please don’t bite me. God, this is such a stupid thing to do…”

The fox licked its shiny black nose and just blinked slowly at you.

When it made no move to attack you or snap at you when you got nearer, you scooped it up and marvelled at how light it felt in your arms, its lovely, russet fur damp and matted.

“There,” you said, cradling it in your arms as you carried it back to your car. ‘Him’, not ‘it’, you saw when you set him down on the blanket and stroked his head and neck. He murmured softly, the sound almost a purr, and you swallowed thickly. He was so weak, you wondered if he’d even survive the journey home.

Five cars overtook you as you drove on after that, all beeping and honking their horns and flashing their lights to get you to go faster, but you absolutely would not be bullied into making this last car ride hell for the little, injured fox.

It didn’t take very long to set up a cosy den of blankets and towels in the kitchen by the radiator, and when you were satisfied that it was as comfortable as you could make it — and that any mess would be contained in an area with tile floors — you went back for him. He was still lying on his side, exactly as you’d left him, but his eyes seemed brighter and more focused, and his ears pricked up when you opened the trunk up and gazed down at him.

“Alright?” you asked and he gave a soft snuffle that was half-sneeze and half-chuckle. “You’re awfully perky for someone who’s just gone head-to-head with fast-moving traffic, buddy,” you smiled. “Maybe you will be alright. Ready to go inside?”

You had your gloves on but it didn’t feel like you really needed them, and when you settled him down on the veritable blanket fort inside, he heaved a great sigh and nuzzled his cheek against the fabric with a rumbling moan of contentment.

“You hungry?” you asked. “I don’t have much that’s fox-friendly, but I think there’s some ham in the fridge. Let me check.”

You offered him a saucer of water first, holding his delicate head up as he lapped steadily at it until he’d had his fill, and then you fed him little slivers of cooked ham which he took from your fingers like an absolute gentleman. “Aren't you dainty,” you chuckled as his small, sharp teeth pulled the next piece carefully free of your gloved hand.

He fixed you with such a flat, patronising look that you had to laugh.

The fox flicked an ear and looked away.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you said in a baby voice. “Don’t be grumpy with me, you precious thing… Here, have some more…”

He sneezed, then looked back at you and opened his mouth, head tipped back like a baby bird awaiting a worm.

“You’re not going to take it? You want me to feed you?”

He just stared at you without moving.

“Fine, your highness,” you said. “Anything for you.”

You let the piece drop into his tilted jaws, and then chucked him affectionately under the chin with your finger after he’d chewed and swallowed it.

He caught the leather of the glove’s fingertip in his teeth in a move that was so fast you didn’t even see it, but then tugged gently, insistently.

“I’m not taking this off,” you frowned. “You could have rabies for all I know.”

A tiny, rattling growl, like the world’s tiniest chainsaw, rumbled out of him and he folded his ears back indignantly before pulling on the glove again. Then he let go, his ears pricked about as far forward as he could get them, and he stared expectantly at you.

“No way, friend,” you said, and stood to put the empty ham packet in the rubbish bin.

With your back to the kitchen window, a golden light flooded the room, and for a wild moment, you thought someone was driving straight at the house, headlights blazing. When you whipped around though, you froze. The light was coming from… from the fox.

“The fuck…?”

Your heartbeat started to race, and you weren’t sure if the ringing sound was coming from your own blood pounding in your ears or from something else in the room. The brightness reached such an intense crescendo that you had to look away, shielding your eyes with the crook of your arm until the chiming noise stopped and you lowered it cautiously back down, blinking.

There, standing in the centre of the room, was a man.

You took a step back, fear crashing in on your senses.

You looked around for something you could use as a weapon, but a warm, gentle voice said, “Wait, I won’t hurt you. I swear it.”

Again, you went still, and after taking a steadying breath, you turned to face him again, wide eyed and shaking. “What the hell?”

“Not hell,” he smiled, and you saw that he had warm, tan skin and dark, golden eyes. His hair was a russet colour, and it fell in soft waves around his ears to the nape of his neck. He was slender, not especially tall, and he was quite possibly the most beautiful human being you’d ever laid eyes on. Except… there was still a kind of glow around him, like an aura, and his clothes looked like they belonged at a Ren Faire or something, though the dark green, belted and embroidered tunic was finely tailored and his dark brown boots looked soft and well worn. Tiny points of light, like fireflies, twisted slowly through the air surrounding him before vanishing into a miniature, glittering starburst.

“You’re not human,” you said, despite how crazy it sounded.

“No,” the man replied with a smile. “No, I’m not. But you didn’t know that when you took in an injured fox and cared for him.”

“You’re the fox,” you blurted without thinking.

“I am. Sort of,” he smiled, and you saw that he had perfect, white teeth, with slightly more pointed canines than humans usually did. “I’m a fox spirit. There are all sorts of us, and we’re known by many names all over the world, but the most famous is probably the ‘kitsune’ thanks to modern media.”

“Oh,” you said, only half aware that your vision was darkening around the edges until it was too late. The blood roared again in your ears and your knees went out from under you. The last thing you saw was a flicker of a frown on the man’s — kitsune’s — face before he lunged towards you with hands outstretched, and the world went black.

You stirred and found yourself lying on the sofa in your sitting room, with your feet raised about a foot or so off the seat cushion, and a stranger in green standing over you, holding your legs up by the ankle. The kitsune. The fox spirit.

“Got to say, that’s the first time someone’s actually fainted because of me,” he said with a smile, lowering your legs back down and stepping back. “Are you alright?”

“I fainted?” you asked stupidly, pushing yourself upright and swinging your legs slowly off the sofa and onto the ground. You swayed a little, but didn’t pass out again.

The fox spirit nodded, his lovely hair shining with strands of bronze and copper in the low light of the room, gold eyes glowing as if back-lit. “Thank you for saving me,” he said in a quiet, earnest baritone.

“Did I, though?” you asked, staring openly at him. “I mean… you’re… magic, right? I saw the way your legs were just… Your back was broken…”

“If you’d hit me with your car, or simply left me there for the next driver to do the same, then I wouldn’t have survived. We’re tough, and our magic can heal most things, but not that.”

“Oh.” And then your cheeks went hot and you looked at the carpet, “I’m sorry I baby-talked you like you were an actual animal.”

He laughed; a beautiful, bright sound like dry autumn leaves in clear sunlight. His head tipped a little way back and he looked truly delighted. “You weren’t to know,” he said, still chuckling. “And you’re not the first.”

“Oh,” you said, like a broken record.

From where he stood nearby, the fox spirit smiled at you and then inhaled deeply. “I… should go,” he said, his golden eyes turning a little sad. “Let you return to your life…”

“Wait,” you called from the sofa as he turned away. “What’s your name?”

He cast you a look over his shoulder and the smile he gave you was wry and amused. “You may call me Rowe.”

There was a nuance there that you weren’t understanding, but you told him your name in return, and he inhaled suddenly as if you’d struck him.

“You would part with your name so carelessly?” he whispered, brows pulling together into a frown of utter confusion. “You…” and then his expression cleared and his shoulders dropped. “You have never had dealings with the fae, have you?”

“The… fae?” you stuttered. “Like… fairies?”

The smile that replaced the frown was patient and amused in equal parts, and he sighed and shook his head. “Well, here’s your first lesson. Never tell your true name to a fae.”

Again, all the sound that escaped you was a dull, “Oh.”

He exhaled and approached you, and you tried not to lean back, to lean away from him. This whole night had gone from bad to utterly bizarre in the blink of an eye and you felt a little sick from the whiplash.

To make matters all the more confusing, the strange man knelt before you, sweeping his long, otherworldly tunic out of the way as he sank down onto one knee like he was going to propose or something, and he bowed his auburn head. “You saved my life without thought of debt or repayment, and in recognition of the gift, I give one of my own. I bind your True Name to my heart and hold it there in silence. I may never speak your True Name aloud unless you give me leave so to do. This I swear upon my spirit and my magic and my own True Name.”

The air in the room prickled like static and you had to fight the urge to see if your hair was standing on end. Goosebumps flickered along your arms and legs, and you drew in a shallow breath. “Anything else I should know about?” you asked faintly.

He looked up at you and shrugged. “We’re allergic to iron,” he suggested. “And we’re overly fond of cream and sweet cakes…”

“Sweet cakes,” you repeated thoughtfully, eyes drifting towards the kitchen where you’d bought a strawberry sponge cake just the day before, and an idea half-formed in your head.

Rowe smiled and your heart slipped sideways in your chest for a moment. He was so beautiful it was almost hard to believe he was really there and really standing in front of you. Well, technically he was kneeling like a knight in a fairytale. Fairytale indeed, you thought.

“You don’t have to go,” you whispered.

You were afraid of sounding childish, that if you spoke too loudly, he would think you desperate and would laugh at you, but all he did was tilt his head to the side the way he had done as a fox, and he nodded once. “Alright,” he said.

“I mean, don’t feel like you have to stay either,” you babbled, making a rather pathetic, flapping gesture in front of you with your hands. “I just meant… you’re welcome to stay if you want to. I was going to cook some dinner and watch a movie… eat cake for dessert. I thought… I thought since you’ve had kind of a rough day, you might like to just… chill out with me for a while.”

“May I help you cook?”

“If you… If you’d like to?” you said, standing carefully and holding your hand out to him to encourage him up off the floor.

He slid his warm fingers into your palm, and got to his feet with the grace of a prince, and offered you another smile. “I’d like that very much.”

Rowe stayed with you for a week. You explained that you had to go to work or you’d get fired, and when you came back on the first day, you expected him to have gone, leaving you wondering if the whole thing hadn’t been a hallucination brought on by the combination of a stressful week of work and the awful weather. But no, Rowe was there that evening, curled up as a fox on the impromptu bed you’d made by the radiator while the rain hurled itself at the window pane above him.

“Rowe, you don’t have to sleep on that!” you gasped, dropping your bag by the door and making him startle awake, ears pricked, tail fluffed up in rather adorable alarm.

In a flash of gold light, he was human again, standing beside the bed and smiling at you. “I don’t mind,” he chuckled. “It’s comfortable, and when I’m a fox, I don’t think in quite the same way as I do when I’m in this form. That’s how I got hit by the car in the first place… Please, don’t fret.”

You scowled at him, but relented, and asked him about his day. It seemed he’d spent most of it in his fox form, either out and about in the woods near your house, or sleeping by the warmth of the radiator.

“Didn’t you get bored here?” you asked.

“I could have done the housework for you,” he smirked. “But I thought that might have been an intrusion on your privacy.”

You laughed. “Thanks?”

After three days of sharing your space with him — he sleeping contentedly as a fox on the pile of blankets and you upstairs in your bedroom — you cleared your throat that evening as you sat together on the sofa like old friends, and said, “You know… uh… I… I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to come upstairs with me… I don’t want you to feel like you have to sleep down here like you’re a…” you trailed off, flushing hot with awkward embarrassment.

One russet-brown eyebrow climbed a little higher than the other. “… a what?”

“Like you’re some kind of pet… you know…”

Rowe laughed and, as it always did, your heart skipped a beat. His cheeks dimpled and Adam’s apple danced in his exposed throat and you ached. It felt like a long time since someone had touched you; since you’d been held, let alone kissed. He had a beautiful mouth, like he’d been made just to tempt you.

Some of your thoughts must have shown on your face because the laughter died in his throat and he fixed you with a look that was all concern. He murmured the name you’d given him permission to use when it was just the two of you and asked, “What’s wrong? I’m not upset about the animal comment,” he said, reaching for your forearm and trying to reassure you, but you shook your head. “Then what?”

Tears came unbidden to your eyes and you turned away. His hand felt hot through the fabric of your hoodie, but his grip was feather light. It would take nothing at all to pull yourself free, but the thought of it seemed overwhelming. “It’s nothing,” you choked, pressing your lips together and hoping he’d let the matter drop.

He didn’t. His eyes flared bright gold and he scowled at you when you risked a glance at him. “The fae can always taste a lie,” he said with the slightest growl to his voice. “And I can tell you’re hurting. We were laughing, and then… you weren’t. What changed?”

“It’s —”

A short, animal growl echoed in his throat but he bit it back, shut his mouth with a click of teeth, and glared at you.

“Ugh, fine,” you huffed, standing up and pacing across the room. “It’s been a long time since it’s been this easy around someone, ok? And it’s not every day that a handsome, cute guy with a great sense of humour shows genuine interest in me. I just wished, for like half a second, that you might be interested in me, but I get it. You’re not even human. I was nice to you. You probably feel obliged to stay here. You… You should probably go soon anyway.”

His expression turned from concerned to carefully neutral, and he stood. “If that’s the way you feel,” he said, “Then I can leave. But you should know that I’ve had a wonderful time with you, and…” he swallowed and took a breath, “I think you’re beautiful, through and through.”

“Please,” you scoffed. “Don’t bother trying to spare my feelings.”

“We can taste a lie, but we cannot tell one,” he said evenly. “I could not tell you that your clothes are yellow when they are not, nor that the sky is green, nor that you are not beautiful.”

You turned slowly around to look at him, and found him glowing gold again, those points of light spiralling lazily in the air around him. The slight shape of fox ears seemed to be picked out in two, brighter lines above his copper hair and behind him you saw a golden tail swaying back and forth. His eyes blazed bright like burnished bronze, and he was staring directly at you as he spoke.

“Oh.”

“I would very much like to stay with you, and share your bed, and, if you would let me, I would bring you pleasure too.”

Your breath hitched and you licked your lips. He even spoke like he was out of a fairytale. “You mean it?”

“Yes.”

“Ok,” you smiled.

Together, you tidied up the sitting room, and he followed you upstairs, still glowing softly, as if he were utterly contented and couldn’t help it.

Rowe undressed with you in your bedroom, baring a body like polished bronze; all lean lines and languid muscle, and you almost couldn’t look away. He asked if he could shower with you, and gently washed you and touched you, cupping your breasts and trailing his hands down your sides with reverent care. He passed his thumbs over your hardened nipples and kneaded your breasts until you gasped and tipped your head back, eyes closed. He teased between your legs with his fingertips, and then when you turned the shower off, he kissed your forehead. In a rush of magic, both your bodies were completely dry and your skin glowed softly with a thousand, dewy, golden sparkles. You beamed up at him, and he kissed you.

When he drew back, he led you by the hand into the bedroom and you lay down on the bed, heart racing. He knelt between your parted knees and you stared openly at his beautiful body. He looked like a statue come to life, and his cock had been more than half-hard ever since the shower, even as he turned his attention wholly on you and skimmed his palms up your thighs. You parted your legs a little wider for him and he bowed forward to kiss along your inner thigh until you shivered and lay back on the pillow behind you with a gasp.

He kissed you and tasted you, moaning softly before letting his tongue sweep up over you. He took your sensitive clit between his lips and kissed you there as well, and then he slid his arms under your thighs, lay down on his front, and you lost yourself to the pleasure of his mouth.

You lost count of how many times he made you come that night, with his tongue and with his fingers, but he never asked for more than you were ready to give.

“Come on me,” you murmured. You had no idea how well your current contraception would withstand a magical fae, but you were pretty sure you were safe with that, and when you asked, he nodded.

His fingers were slick from where he’d made you come, again, and he closed his hand around his cock with a low groan that dissolved into a gasp as he brought himself to the brink. He glowed gold again and you saw those ears made of light and the tail gleaming vividly behind him just as he spilled over your stomach with a muted grunt and another beautiful moan.

The golden light suffused the room, and you watched his expression as he came — open and vulnerable and achingly beautiful — and wished more than anything that he would stay.

When you woke in the morning, you expected to wake alone, but the warm pressure of Rowe’s body pressed against your back and the weight of his arm across your waist drew a little inhale of surprise from you. Apparently that was enough to wake him, because he kissed the back of your head and mumbled a sleepy good morning into your hair.

He was hard too, you realised, and you deliberately rocked your hips back against him.

Rowe let out a grunt and his hand shifted to your hips, drawing himself closer to you with a languid, answering roll of his hips.

“I don’t know if the fae have weekends,” you said, “But today is Saturday. I don’t have to go in to work…”

“Good,” he said. “I’m not sure I could let you go anywhere today after last night.” He said it with a laugh that told you he would let you do anything you liked, and you rolled over to face him. The softness in his smile brought one of your own to your lips, and he slid his hand down over your breast and then down between your legs.

Your eyes fluttered closed as he slipped his fingers easily inside you, and you rolled onto your back as he started a rhythm that would end in the kind of pleasure you had only ever dreamed of before him.

He smiled and kissed your cheek without his fingers once faltering, and whispered in your ear, “I’ll stay with you as long as you want me.”

You gasped and bucked, and almost missed his promise.

“I’ll stay with you forever.”

__

Thanks for reading this story, and I hope you’ll consider reblogging it (as well as leaving a like) if you enjoyed it, since that will help others find it.

Take care, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar) | Library/Story Archive Blog

[cloudcountry]

Hey Кролик!!!! I saw you changed your bio, so I think I can still request? Maybe? Idk, tell me if I can't.

I read and reread the rules, so here is what I thought of: absolutely obliterating 707 with snowballs, the poor unsuspecting fool gets hit with way too many snowballs (that's what he gets for being mean to me >:] ) and falls to the ground getting buried for his sins >:))))

Then, he gets a little kiss as an apology because he's my little pookie bear <3

(Make sure to take your time! And eat and drink! I love you! Muah ❤️)

SUMMARY: you take saeyoung completely off guard with a snowball to the back of the head!

WARNINGS: spoilers for seven's route, contemplation of death. ITS FLUFF I PROMISE.

COMMENTS: ignore the fact that i picked the most summer cg ever for him ok HE LOOKED HAPPY. the seven kissers hiveminded you guys are so weird /aff (also abel!!! i love you too!!!!! RAHHHH)

TAGLIST: @haruhar-u since this was also your request <3

It almost seems like the rolling of the snowball in your hands is an absentminded movement, but it's very much intentional. Your eyes are training on the back of your boyfriend’s head—his bright red hair is a beacon in the bright white world around you. It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop (or, alternatively, Saeyoung’s giggles as he sculpts the little snow Elizabeth the Third next to the snow-you and snow-him.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t impressed at how quickly he whipped up snowpeople of everyone. Impressed, but not surprised. You think you even see Vanderwood a little ways back, isolated from everyone else, and you feel a stab of pity for the poor guy.

Working with Saeyoung can’t be easy, but he’s always been nice to you. Even up until the two of you ran away, you know deep down Vanderwood cared for Seven.

You shake yourself out of your thoughts, not wanting to get too caught up in the nitty-gritty of the situation when Saeyoung had it handled. You trusted him to protect the two of you, You know he can. You’re incredibly lucky for each and every day you get to spend at his side, even though you’re nearly always aware that each day could be your last.

But you chose this life when you chose him, and you would have it no other way.

And so, you show your love by winding up and throwing your perfectly crafted snowball as hard as you can at Saeyoung.

It hits him square in the back of the head, wetting his vibrant hair and sliding down until it hits the inside of his hood.

“Yikes!” he yelps, flailing his arms around his back as he springs away from snow-Elizabeth, “Enemy attack! God Seven is down!”

You laugh, already scooping up more snow and pelting him with your (much more sloppy) snowballs. Saeyoung makes a big show of gasping for air and pleading for mercy, occasionally playing dead and waiting for you to come over and poke him before smacking you with snow as well.

It doesn’t take long till the two of you are out of breath, your fingers ice cold but intertwined through your gloves.

“Want to head inside?” you murmur, kissing his snowflake-sprinkled brow, “We can have some of your very special hot chocolate.”

Saeyoung’s eyes light up and he gives you that big goofy grin you fell in love with.

“One thing first.” he whispers, the quiet of his voice exaggerated and theatrical.

And for a moment, you expect a snowball to the face, but he kisses you instead. It’s soft and sweet and tastes like an unholy combination of energy drink powder (which...now that you think about it, likely explains how quickly he crafted everyone out of snow.)

“Now we can go inside.” he laughs softly against your lips, scooping you up in his arms and carrying you inside, where you can be warm and comfortable with the one person you love most.

[milksuu]

Second Magic

Pairing(s): Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & II / witch!fem!reader

Word count: 2.OK

Content/Warnings: soulmates, reincarnation, immortal, soft magic, slice of life, fluff, minimal use of y/n, minor angst, implied sexual themes, minor blood

Summary: Death claims everyone at some point. Unfortunately for you, your gift of magic cursed you with eternal youth and an ability that has shunned you from the village of Berk. More than one-hundred years later, memories resurface when you’re visited for a potion from Berk’s next chief.

He was the spitting image of your long-lost love—your soulmate—Hiccup Horrendous Haddock II.

a/n: hello there everyone! I'm back with something new to add to the hiccupxreader tags. still on my mythical/magical kick. I do plan to have about three parts to this. so please stay tuned for updates, or let me know if you'd like to join a tag list. thank you and please enjoy.

There came a knock at the door. No one ever knocked on a witch's door by accident.

From the bedroom window, you peeked through the muslin curtain. Below the two-story cottage, grew a garden of lush greens and wild flowers. Where the weeds and dandelions led a trail to your front porch, a figure stood at your door. More pestering thuds bothered the home and the skin of your nose wrinkled. Muttering a thing or two, you ambled down the aching stairs. Before reaching the door, you rummaged through a decorative drawer, procuring a gray river rock. It was enchanted with one of your magic spells—a screeching stone, you called it.

“You can stop trying to break down my door,” you said, pressing the stone against the entryway. “Didn’t you read the sign posted on the oak tree outside? Clearly, it said no trespassing.”

“No—think I might’ve missed it,” the muffled voice of a young man answered, and it seemed honest enough. The stone hummed at the response. “Are you [Y/N], by chance?”

“There’s a chance I could be,” you said with soured lips. “Not many people come this far into the woods. And fewer people know of me, let alone my name. Which leads me to ask, who exactly sent you?”

“Gothi sent me. She mentioned you two knowing each other,” he replied in truth, and the stone continued its soft hymns. “She said if there’s anyone who could help me, it would be you.”

She’s still alive?

“That all depends. I trust Gothi, but I’ll need to trust you as well. You can start by telling me your name.”

There was a beat in the air. “It’s Hiccup.”

The ghost of your breath trapped itself inside your chest. That name—it had been buried beneath over a century ago. Yet the stone sang sweetly, and your heart squeezed in a haunting delight. A part of you wished it would scream. Wretched and revolting as it was, it would give you reason to cast the stranger away.

To your grief, he wasn’t so much a stranger as you thought.

Pocketing the stone, you opened the door with a creak. Meeting the green meadow of his eyes, your magic dug its fiery claws between your ribs. With all your power, you tried not to let his familiar freckles unsettle you. Fearing if you did, your magic would spring out of control. The windows would shatter. The roof would crumble to dust. The fireplace would spark and scorch the floors. Or something much worse. Touch him, and reveal when death would knock on his own door.

You wouldn’t let that happen. Not again. Not ever.

With a deep breath, you pushed the door open wider. “Come in,” you said, "we can talk more inside.”

He tipped his chin and thanked you for the invitation. When he stepped through, his gaze swept about your home. Dried flowers, herbs and spices hung from every inch of ceiling by twine. Sunlight spilled from the white-painted windows, and warmed the cushions of two chairs perched near the fireplace. Bookcases stood on either side of the mantle, stretched tall enough to touch the rafters, and wide enough to cover the entire walls. At the back of the home was the kitchen and brewing space. With emerald cabinets and honied-countertops, stacked with jars and vials, scattered petals, and corked potions.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you said. “I’ll prepare us something warm to drink.”

With a blink, he tore his gaze from the foliage and oddities. “Sure, I would appreciate it.”

When you left for the kitchen, he absently traced a hand against the chairs upholstery. Although it matched its counterpart, there were subtle differences; the legs were built taller, and arm rests crafted higher. When he took a seat, it felt made for someone of his stature—an odd thing to notice. His gaze raised to a row of books on one of the bookcase shelves. One particular book stood out among the jewel-toned backs of scarlet, green, and yellow. A simple spine of leather, softened over-time with use, and streaks of charcoal staining the edges.

Like a cool breeze, a sense of familiarity swept through him, touching the marrow of his bones. It begged the question.

“Have you always lived here by yourself?” Hiccup asked.

“You could say that.” 

For a moment, you lost yourself in the fragrant pools. When was the last time you served someone tea? It may have been the day before a young man's mortal fate—the same day you couldn’t convince him to stay. Leaving you to join the collection of things he left behind. Your throat tightened around what felt like a ball of hot wax. Searing as it was, you swallowed its entirety. 

Balancing the trembling porcelain, you returned to the next room and took a seat of your own. 

“I’m sorry if I was rude earlier. I’ve…never welcomed visitors. It’s always been safer that way.” With a smile, you offered him a cup. “But between Gothi sending you and your genuine nature, I’d like to help you.”

“Thanks—and you don’t have to apologize to me. I’m the one who decided to come here unannounced. So…” Hiccup trailed off, taking a drink. He stared at the ripples with solemnity. “My father isn’t doing so well. And you know Gothi, she’s the best Seer we have on Berk. She’s done all she can, but it’s not going to be enough. When I asked if there was anything more I could do, she recommended that I seek you out.”

“I’m sorry about your father,” you said, lowering your own cup. “If Gothi wasn’t able to help him, then he must be very sick.”

“I’m trying not to think about it too much.” He worked the tension of his lips between his teeth. Then pitched a sincere look your way, and said, “So you know, I’m not worried about you being a witch. If anything, I find myself pretty lucky to ask for your help. Even if that does mean I have to sell my soul for it.”

“I have some good news for you, then. I won’t be needing it. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t even know what to do with yours,” you said with a laugh. “But most spells and potions require something of personal value. At least, the stronger ones do.”

Setting your tea cup aside, you hopped onto your toes. Approaching one of the bookcases, you trailed a finger against the backs of countless titles. Your search came to an end when you plucked one out; dense with musky pages, a silver lock clasped at the side, and a small wooden door carved into the cover.

Peering over your shoulder, you found your nosy company arched forward in his chair. You cleared your throat, “Don’t think about peeking over here. A witch never reveals her secrets.”

He apologized under his breath, and shifted his chin away. But like a child snuffed out of his curiosity, he wore a pout of disappointment. You smiled in amusement, and brought your attention back to the book.

You knocked against the small door in a melodic tempo. The little door sprang open, revealing a tiny ear inside. You brought your mouth close, whispering the incantation with the smallest voice you could muster. Too loud, and the door would snap shut against your lips.

An unpleasant experience you remembered from childhood.

The lock clicked open, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Page after page, you mumbled and zipped through each recipe. A couple more turns, you tapped against the right one. Breezing through the ingredients, you had all but one. Oh buttercups, you blushed.

“What is it?” Hiccup furrowed his brows at your dawning expression. “Everything all right?”

“It’s a bit hard to explain. I—I don’t have one of the ingredients any longer. But maybe you still do,” you exclaimed, taming the warmth of your cheeks. “Come with me.”

With a tilt of your head, you gestured to the kitchen. Your guest rose from his seat, following your footsteps. With instructions for him not to touch anything, you scrambled to find your proper ingredients; mugwort, newt tail, bog water, and a strand of witch hair. Tossed and muddled by mortar and pestle, you poured the mixed contents into a glass jar.

“Time for the last ingredient,” you said, picking up a kitchen knife, “hold out a finger.”

Although hesitant, he lifted a hand. “Tell me you’re not going to cut it off. I’m already down a leg, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Not at all. That would be more than what I actually need,” you answered, albeit a little too plainly. With your other hand, you touched the stone tucked in your dress pocket. “You only have to be honest when I ask you this question. If you’re not, then we’ll both hear about it.”

He nodded carefully. “Go ahead.”

“Have you ever—Oh, how should I put this?” Calming the storm of embarrassment brewing in your chest, you exhaled the words in one breath. “Have you ever committed the coupling act?”

There was a gulp. Then a twitch of his lips. Followed by a blush that bloomed from nose to ear. “What? No, I—I haven’t. What kind of question is that?”

Without a word, you sliced the tip of his finger. A hiss sizzled from his mouth when you squeezed it open. Aligning the bottle underneath, you caught the blood falling in pitter-patters. Once enough dripped into the brew, a plum of red smoke burst into the air. Both of you coughed and waved your hands around the space. When the pungent cloud faded into wisps, you corked the bubbling potion.

“A warning would’ve been nice.” He wrapped his finger in a handkerchief you provided. He went on to mutter, “Not sure why you couldn’t use your own finger.” By the delivery, the last part was meant to stay in his head. 

Embarrassment washed through your veins, and painted every inch of your skin posy pink. The sight of it colored his own complexion.

“I didn’t mean to say that, honestly,” he apologized after the realization struck him. “It just sort of came out.”

“Absolutely no tact at all,” you chastised, snatching back the handkerchief. “Gods, you’re just as bad as him.”

He blinked with mystification. “Him?”

A slip of the tongue had the back hairs of your neck bristling. Magic pulsed like coils of lightning in your stomach. Crackling up through your chest, wanting to burn deeper holes in your heart. The roof groaned and creaked. Grains of wood dust fell onto your nose, dispelling the awful feeling.

“You have to go. Please, take it and leave. And don’t worry about repaying me.” Before he could argue, you forced the potion into his possession. With a clap of a hand, the wood beneath his feet shifted, motioning him out the front door.

“Wait a second.“ He wedged his prosthetic between the shutting door and frame. “Right bookcase, third shelf, leather back.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“There’s a book that belongs to my family. Ask me how I know.” The question was rhetorical, and in your bafflement, he continued. “My families crest is sealed in its spine. And the only way you could have it is if someone gave it to you. You said you never had visitors. Sorry to say, but I’m not buying it.”

“That book has nothing to do with you or your family,” you glowered, and the stone screeched and howled from your pocket. You clapped your hands against your splitting ears, with your company mimicking your movements. Over the prevailing wails, you cried, “You’re right—I lied and I’m sorry for it! It belonged to your great-grand uncle. And that’s the truth of it.”

The screeching stone fell to whispers. But the thumping of your heart continued to beat in your ears. 

“Wait. My great-grand uncle?” He caught a breath in his throat. “You don’t mean—there’s no possible way you’re talking about—”

“I am.” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “My only visitor before you; Hiccup Horrendous Haddock II.”

[incorrect-mtg]

A Note for a Friend

It was after the third nightmare of the night, where her mind once again conjured images of her friends being torn apart by phyrexian horrors, that Kaya decided she wasn't getting any more sleep. Putting on some warm clothes and sturdy boots, she let Ravnica's streets embrace her.

There was never a time when the city was actually silent – the cover of darkness meant simply a change in the type of business and clientele operating at any given time – but Ravnica right before dawn had a certain... calmness that let her wander, going wherever her feet took her. It didn't come as a surprise, however, that they ended up bringing her to a place in particular. A place that she kept coming back to, with a frequency that wasn't quite obsession but neither was it entirely healthy. The wall of a currently closed inn. The Traveler's Noticeboard.

What had once been a magically-warded bulletin board, always filled with notes but nevertheless big enough to fit one more, was now an impromptu memorial wall, a place for all planeswalkers that had witnessed and survived the phyrexian invasion to put their hopes and sorrows.

She let her eyes wander among the notes, taking it all in. One message, signed only with a rune she could not identify, assured their intended reader that its writer was ok and would be staying in Ravnica for the forseeable future. A pattern repeated all over the noticeboard.

But for every message like that, there were three or four with a more desperate tone. One, its writing rushed and barely readable, begged for a "T" to please reach out if they were ok. Another mentioned that a funeral would be held in Kamigawa for an "M".

And then there were the messages left outside the noticeboard itself. In the wake of losing their spark and realizing they were now on the other side of the wards, so many walkers had turned to placing things just outside of it, using memory to sidestep magical protections.

Of course there were more of the same messages as before, but they are accompanied by a new type: planeswalkers stuck away from their home, asking (sometimes begging) someone able to reach out to their family and friends beyond the blind eternities to tell them they're ok.

But overwhelming in their numbers are the mourning letters. Farewells that could never be shared, epitaths of those lost in the fight, drawings and paitings, some flowers she knows are magically protected because they have been blooming for months. In this section, she'd left a message of her own.

She focuses, looking for her own handwriting, and her heart skips a beat when she can't find it... before she forces herself to calm down. It would not do to give herself hope when the message could have simply been blown away by the wind, rather than reach its intended reader.

So she pulls pen and paper out of her pockets and writes a replacement before affixing it to the wall:

J, L said you "don't fail." I want to believe that. If you read this, reach out. If you can't, just replace this with a message of your own. You know where I keep watch. -K

That done, she turns to leave, the first rays of sunlight just starting to hit her and the note-covered wall behind her. She knows she is a fool to maintain any hope, that her note probably did not reach its target, but she still walks back to her home with a spring in her step.

[jungle-angel]

Master Of The Earth (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: Out of all the Daggers, Bob has the biggest green thumb of all

Tagging: @floydsmuse @callmemana @attapullman @bradshawsbaby @withahappyrefrain

It was one of those spring days where you knew summer would be right around the corner, bright and sunny, the birds singing and the fresh early morning air making its way into the house. You had been sitting out on the front steps, enjoying your morning coffee and relieved that your lesson plans for your class's sixth grade year were finally done and that all you would have to worry about were the Greek Games and the spring fair at the school you taught at.

You heard the faint playing of music coming from somewhere around the corner, just having finished a phone call with Bob's grandfather and wondering if your mind was playing tricks on you.

You wandered around the back to the backyard where the garden was already beginning to bloom, noticing that the greenhouse door was cracked open just a little to let in the fresh air. A cheeky grin played with your lips when you heard the bluetooth speaker playing "Shambala" by Three Dog Night and your eyes laying upon Bob who was dancing shirtless as he shoveled some of the bagged soil into the clay pots on the long wooden table.

"BOB!!"

"Jeebus FUCK!!!" he blurted out, jumping a little.

"Have you been in here all morning?" you asked him.

"Since five in the AM," he chuckled, drawing you in for a tight hug.

Oooh he was warm, so warm and a little sticky from the greenhouse humidity, smelling of fresh dirt and wet leaves. You kissed the curve of his neck and the tops of his pecs before he gladly and eagerly returned the kisses you had been giving.

"Oh, I've gotta show you these," he said excitedly.

He gently guided you to the bench where a whole pile of seed packets were waiting to be opened. "Oh my God," you chuckled. "Did you raid the entire Home Depot garden section?"

Bob had opened his mouth to say something. "I......ya know......it's funny you should ask that....."

"Robert Joseph......"

"(Y/n) I swear half of it was my dad's idea, I'm not lying."

You laughed and rolled your eyes. Bob, his dad Joe Floyd and Joe's father, Lowell, were the only three people on the face of the earth who would have willingly raided a Home Depot garden section and not given a single fuck hereafter. "Alright Professor Floyd," you said. "Continue with the lecture."

"Ah ok," Bob said. "Now we have here an assortment of plants that will be first put into clay pots and then gradually into bigger ones until they are ready to root in the ground. Now if you would like to flip through the pile of seed packets, you may feel free to do so."

You laughed and gladly flipped through the pile of packets, amazed at what Bob had been able to get. Calendula, oregano, cayenne pepper, chamomile, poppies, lavender, rosemary, mint, marigolds, valerian and a whole host of other herbs and flora that you swore weren't even native to where you lived.

"Ooh, yarrow," you said.

"That was always Meemaw's favorite," Bob explained. "I've also got tulsi, catnip and mugwort too."

"What else did you plant?" you asked him.

"Maybe a peach tree," Bob said, blushing a little. "For my sweet, juicy little peach of course."

You giggled, the heat filling you from head to toe.

"I've also got a few bushes too," Bob continued. "Blackberry, elderberry, raspberry.......maybe a camellia bush. Black cohosh will help with mom's hot flashes and keep the pests away. Nasturtium will grow hardy but they need wood dowels to climb up. I'd like to see about some mullein and nettle but I'm not sure where we'd put it. Hawk said he would come by later and give me some white sage seeds that he extracted from his daughter's garden too."

You could have listen to him babble on for hours about the plants and the experiments he was trying. You made a mental note to introduce him to Mr. Jenkins, the high school science teacher who was teaching his ninth graders some of the principals and techniques involved in holistic farming, as the two of them would have a day long conversation.

You and Bob set to planting the seeds, scooping the dirt and putting it into the pots along with the seeds and properly burying them just enough so they could push through to the surface when the time came. You watered and fertilized as you saw fit, taking pictures of new sprouts or buds and adding them into Bob's journal full of his drawings, writings and observations. You both had lost track of the time until you realized it was already noon and time for lunch. But thankfully, the day wasn't over yet and you could do as much more planting as the day would allow.

[lilspacewolfie]

would it be possible to do a cardinal copia x reader first date but the day of the date copia ends up forgetting due to a stressful day, and expects them to be mad but ends up telling copia its ok and ends with them cuddling copia and making sure he gets a good night sleep.

Thank you for being my first request! I really hope you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it! <3

Content: 1.6k words, gn!reader, very little description to keep it as gender-neutral as possible, soft copia, failed date, sweet ending, just all around very soft and fluffy, no beta we die like nihil!

The little Italian place in town is quaint and surprisingly busy given its midweek. It’s a small hole in the wall, cramped but lively, with beautifully arched windows and candles dotting each table that give off a warm, intimate ambience. 

Arranging a date with Copia had proven to be tougher than expected with both of your busy schedules. But when you managed to figure out the time, Copia had insisted on this place.  

You arrived early—about thirty minutes to be exact, not wanting to be late for your first date. You’ve gotten all dressed up and probably spent a little more on a new outfit than is warranted for a first date, but you want to make a good impression. 

There’s faint music playing above you, slow and swaying. You try not to think about how long you’ve been sitting there, growing increasingly more awkward as the minutes tick by. When you finally do give in and pull out your phone to check the time, you can’t help but feel a bit troubled. It’s close to seven. Anxiety rolls through you like a storm cloud and you swallow, debating on sending him a message. You had agreed to meet at six so you could eat, and then have enough time to take a casual stroll to the Ministry together. You had hoped to enjoy the spring air, but now that's starting to feel like a dream that sadly won't come true. 

You slip your phone back into your pocket and lean on a fist, drumming your fingers anxiously atop the red and white check tablecloth. It’s probably nothing, he’s a busy man, after all. Maybe he just got held up with some last-minute things. So then why hasn’t he texted? 

Copia is the last man you would expect to stand anyone up without reason, and you know he would alert you if he was running late. He’s sweet and thoughtful—you’ve been with him for long enough to gather that he’s one to commit a bit of self-flagellation when he thinks he’s messed up. 

Around you, couples cosy up and laugh, sip wine together and indulge in the restaurant's luscious food that smells divine. Your jealous stomach growls and you swallow thickly when the waitress approaches you for the second time that evening. You can see on her face that she’s hesitant to ask if you’re ready to order, and there’s something akin to pity in her eyes. Not that you need it. 

You’re staring at the rose in the little red vase on the table when she asks: “Are you ready to order?” 

Maybe he isn’t coming. Maybe he forgot? No, no, that's a stupid thought. Even Copia would tell you that himself. You’re a priority to him. 

An idea hits you. 

“Actually,” you say, turning over your laminated menu, “I think I am.”

She smiles, pulling out a little flip book and a pen. 

—

The Ministry is quiet when you make it back, carrying hot, precious cargo in a white paper bag. Your footfalls echo on the marble floor as you traverse the old halls, passing preserved paintings, stone statues of your Dark Lord and stained glass windows that bathe the halls in colour even at night. 

You know where Copia’s office is located, near Imperators just down the hall, and so you make your way over. When you get there the hallway is darkened, but you see exactly what you expected. His door is closed and there’s a thin slither of light spilling from beneath onto the oak flooring. So, he has been held up. 

When you knock, loud enough to be heard but receive no response, worry sits heavy in your chest. You knock again and wait, but still, there’s no response. Your gaze falls to the brass doorknob which you grasp and turn, the door creaking a bit when it’s open. 

Inside is warm, the light from the beautiful Tiffany-styled lamp bathing the room in a cosy orange. His desk is at the far end in front of a massive arched window and there’s a stack of papers on his desk. When you do finally see him, you’re suddenly not vexed or hurt anymore. In fact, you have to bite your lip to keep from giggling. 

Copia is snoring softly, slumped over his old desk with his pen still balanced in hand. He looks so peaceful that you don’t want to wake him, but you know his back and shoulders won’t be thanking him tomorrow if you don’t. 

Carefully you close the door, tiptoe over to the front of his desk and set the paper takeaway bag on the chair. When you round to his side and get a good look at him, you bite your lip again and something uncoils in your chest. The black paint around his eyes is a bit smudged and his handsome face is picturesque, the wrinkles across his forehead softened by the light. 

You touch his arm first, squeezing and rubbing his bicep through his red cassock. You rest your other hand on his wild, mousy brown hair that's sticking up and stroke it down gently. 

“Copia?” You whisper, shaking him a bit. 

He stirs, inhaling and stiffening before his mismatched eyes blink open. He’s awake in an instant, flustered and a bit out of it, and you step back to let him get his bearings. 

“Amore?” He blinks at you a few times, forcing himself to sit up in his leather desk chair. He glances at the clock above the door, then at you, then back at your clothes and his shoulders slump. You watch the horror and recognition play across his face.  

“Oh, cazzo,” he swears quietly, scrubbing a hand over his face, as he looks back up at you with big, glossy eyes. “Amore, perdonami, ti prego… I… Sister wanted me to finish some last minute things and I must’ve fallen asleep and—merda…” he says, anguished. 

“Copia, shh, it’s okay,” you soothe, taking his face in your hands and stroking your thumbs across the hair of his sideburns. He leans into your hold, wide-eyed. You shake your head, smiling and he deflates, pressing one of his leather-clad hands to yours on his face. 

“But you got all dressed up and—“

“It’s okay,” you say again and you think he might actually start crying, but you’re not about to let him catch the self-flagellation train tonight. 

“I’m so sorry, amore,” he whispers again, sadly. 

“Don’t apologise,” you chide gently, “you’re tired. It’s okay. I figured something was wrong when you didn’t show. Don’t be sorry, I know Imperator has been hard on you lately.”

He winces a bit, but you lean in and kiss him tenderly, soothing his hurt like balm on a stinging wound. He relents, stroking his thumb over your knuckles, and when you pull away he sighs. You know he’ll feel awful about this for a while, but at least you might be able to help him feel less bad. 

“I brought takeout,” you flick your eyes to the paper bag, pulling back. Copia follows, taking one of your hands and you help pull him to his feet. 

He groans, and winces again, muttering a few choice swears that make you giggle. When he looks you up and down with a new form of clarity that isn’t veiled by torment, his expression relaxes. 

“Sei bellissima, amore mio.”

You lean in and press your mouth to his, brief and chaste and Copia hums, wrapping you up in his arms for a proper hug.

You take dinner back to his room, letting the relaxed atmosphere carry you both into its sweet lull. 

You borrow one of Copia’s shirts and his many tracksuit bottoms to change into while he freshens up and scrubs the paint from his face. When you’re both done, you pop Bram Stroker’s Dracula on low in the background. You lounge together on his bed, munching on the takeout pasta and drinking the wine Copia had intended to give you at the restaurant. Every time he attempts to apologise for missing your date, you silence him with another sweet kiss that tastes of wine and creamy pasta sauce, watching him blush sweetly. 

By the time you’re both finished, bellies full and thoroughly warmed from the wine, you’re both too exhausted and comfortable to move. 

Copia’s flush to your side curled around you with his head on your shoulder while you play with his soft hair. You press the occasional kiss to his temple, smelling his zesty shower cream and the heady wine on his breath. You watch, quietly amused, as he tries to focus on the movie, blinking hard and forcing his eyes to stay open. You love it when he’s like this, vulnerable and sleep-warm. You don’t need a fancy restaurant. This is perfect.

“Sleep if you want,” you tell him, trailing your fingers lazily up and down his bicep. 

“Are you sure?” He mutters guiltily, lifting his eyes to yours. There's still small flecks of black around his eyes that never seem to leave. He looks adorable and exhausted. You gently wipe away the smudge of black on the tip of his freckled nose.

“Of course,” you smile at him. “You had a long day, Satan knows you need it.” 

Copia turns his face and kisses the skin of your collarbone, adjusting again before he settles. You tug the blanket that’s haphazardly thrown over you both further up his body and make sure he’s tucked in.

He’s asleep in mere moments, body growing heavy against your side, and the sound of his slow, laboured breaths mixes with the buzz of the movie as it slowly plays out.

masterlist ⛧ Ao3

[dawn-moths]

*set in my cerulean gaze au.

Rain pattered against the windowpane, drumming out a violent rhythm as each fresh wave of the storm was slammed against the glass, tempest winds whipping a thick curtain of fat droplets across the cityscape for the fifth day in a row now.

The worst part was how, despite the storm, the temperature had actually remained consistently warm these past few days, the first taste of the approaching spring settling slowly over the atmosphere like a fawn carefully tucking its long, spindly limbs beneath it to rest over a patch of lush grass.

You couldn’t stand it, being trapped inside for so long, and you and Touya had watched nearly every movie you could think of, even binged a season or two of a tv show you’d been meaning to get around to, and finished your most recent book, unable to make it to the bookstore with the roads as flooded as they were to pick up a new one.

And that was before the power went out.

That had happened a day and a half ago, the city officially entering a state of emergency with a widespread outage that wouldn’t even begin to be able to be resolved until the harsh winds and unrelenting showers died down, which wasn’t forecasted to cease for another two days.

At least you were with Touya, you thought, everything felt easier when you two were together. 

Currently, the entire kitchen and living room area was filled with candles burning to chase away the darkness that loomed just as heavy and ominous as the storm, every board and card game you’d brought over from your grandparents house when you’d first moved in together littered across the living room floor and coffee table where you were currently in the middle of about three different games, some of which you’d made up by combining various pieces and boards from your collection.

And when worse came to worst and the boredom and restlessness became too much, you and Touya would just curl up on the couch under a blanket and nap, forgetting all about the storm and the way it still had a habit of scaring you, even if just for a little while. But each time you felt the apartment complex creak and groan as it fought to stay standing against a vengeful gust you would flinch or tense slightly, Touya feeling anxiety creeping over your form even as you lay there safe in his arms.

“Hey…” he muttered, sounding half asleep, raspy voice low and soothing. “It’s ok, I’m here…” Slowly rubbing a big, warm hand up and down your thigh, he attempted to calm you. “I promise we’ll be fine as long as we stay inside. Only another day or two and it should all be over, ok?”

You shifted to face him, lying chest to chest now and nuzzling in closer to breathe in his familiar, comforting scent as he gently pulled you closer, smoothing a palm down the back of your hair.

You knew it would be over soon. Rain or shine, nothing lasts forever. But that didn’t take away from the fact that this type of weather still scared you, some deep childhood fear that you just couldn’t seem to abandon.

At least there wasn’t any thunder and lightning though. That would’ve just made things all the more worse.

A little while later, as you were nearly drifting off to sleep yourself, you heard Touya mutter, “Remember that day when you came by the old condo and it just started downpouring out of nowhere?” There was something soft and dreamlike to his tone, a certain kind of fondness-in-hindsight veiling a memory that, in reality, had not been entirely as sweet. “It was around the time we first met. God, you were soaked…” He sighed out a breathy chuckle, still able to picture you as you had been back then perfectly in his mind. Tank top. Sweatpants. Stunning no matter what you wore.

You turned your face up towards his, blinking open bleary eyes, and grinning as you recalled, “Yeah, and you let me borrow your clothes. And we were watching that movie but then the power went out.”

“So I got a candle,” he continued, glad that you remembered it too.

“And we ate Chinese food,” you giggled, reliving the parts of that day you still held so dear.

Touya’s smile widened. “And you told me that story about that roommate you hated.”

“Oh my god, you even remember that?” you said, surprised. Even you’d forgotten that detail, until now.

“Of course,” he admitted, as if it would be ridiculous to assume he’d let such a benign anecdote slip his mind. And then, with something a little more teasing lilting through his tone, “And that night you slept in my bed for the first time…”

“Yeah…” you confirmed, drowsy but delighted, returning to where you’d been nuzzling close into his chest, exhaling a slow, even breath. “I did.”

Sometimes, that chapter of your relationship— of your life— still felt like an entirely different reality. Like it had happened to someone else and you’d only ever heard an extremely detailed retelling of it, not actually experienced it yourself. You tried to only focus on the good parts of your beginning together. There had been far too much bad, some pieces of it still haunting you unexpectedly, whether as you went about your day or late at night in your dreams where you couldn’t escape unless Touya shook you awake and reminded you that you were ok, that you were safe, that he was there to protect you until you believed him.

And though you loved Touya more than anything or anyone in the entire world, you never tricked yourself into believing it had all been worth it. What you’d both been forced to endure and survive back then had been nothing short of a traumatic nightmare and there was no amount of optimism or romanticizing that could change that. But in those lighter moments, the times you’d shared laughs and traded griefs and learned to trust each other…

Those were the times that made what you’d been through— what you still sometimes had to relive— a little easier to bear, at least.

“Seems like it was just yesterday…” Touya murmured, adjusting his position around you so you could both be comfortable and letting his eyes fall closed once more.

And yet, you thought, drifting off to sleep, also like an eternity ago.

***

Half a day earlier than expected, the rain finally calmed to a steady drizzle. The roads were still flooded in most places and the power had yet to be fully restored, but the worst of the storm was over and you and Touya could at least make a run to the nearest convenience store for some provisions on foot. The sun was still too shy to break through the clouds but some semblance of dulled, grey daylight was perceivable through the afternoon hours, at least.

You and Touya walked arm in arm, him carrying your transparent bubble umbrella over both of your heads to and from the store, happy to see your mood having lifted a little with the excitement to share the snacks you were carrying in the plastic bags printed with bold red THANK YOU’s down the front.

The walk from the store at the corner and back to the complex was a short one. Ten minutes, tops, and on a nice day, the two of you might even take a detour through the park that sprawled for a few miles across the street. Even with the rain, you were kind of curious to take a quick loop through, survey the damage of the fallen trees and overflowing ponds, but due to those reasons the park was currently closed.

Touya then noticed a frown tugging down the corners of your mouth and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing,” You said, attempting to conceal your worry with a wobbly grin. “It’s just… the animals. With all the trees falling, their homes, y’know?” You gave a little shrug, voice shaking a bit towards the end as if you were talking about people you knew personally and not a bunch of little forest critters.

Touya was caught off guard by the way you thought sometimes. It would never occur to him to have sympathy for the birds and squirrels post-hurricane. Your sensitivity to such matters was just another thing he loved about you though. But you seemed genuinely troubled by this matter, so he tried to comfort you by giving your shoulder a light squeeze and assuring you, “I’m sure they evacuated to another park, baby.”

You weren’t so convinced, but by then you were nearly back at the apartment complex and something had suddenly caught your eye and made you gasp, your prior thought slipping from your mind.

“Hey, look!” you announced, pointing one of your periwinkle-painted fingers skyward to where a ray of light beamed through the clouds, a promise for the sunny spring days to come. You let out an adorable little giggle and Touya wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you in closer to his side.

It was still drizzling, but suddenly Touya was compelled to close the umbrella, earning a confused look from you and a curiosity of what are you doing on your lips, but he granted you an answer before you could even speak the question into existence.

Pressing his lips to yours, your mouth instinctually parting to let him in, Touya’s lithe fingers gently cradled your jaw as he leaned in to deepen the kiss, a misty spray of rain clinging to your hair and lashes like thousands of tiny crystals. You let the grocery bags slip from your loose, dangling grip, the snacks hitting the pavement with a soft thud as you reached both hands up to twine them through his damp hair, the taste of him sweeter than any hard candies or mochi ice cream that now sat forgotten at the bottom of the bags.

When he finally broke away, the pupils at the center of his half-lidded cobalt gaze were blown wide with nothing except absolute adoration for you, one of those charmingly crooked smiles spreading across his lips, which were now slightly smudged with your favorite glitter gloss.

He let out an amused hum of a chuckle upon your look of innocent bewilderment, still a little taken aback by the sudden and unprompted display of affection, especially in public, but feeling it warm you from the inside out like the sunlight cracking through the clouds.

But then you smiled, big and bright and beautiful, his favorite smile in the whole world, you picking up your grocery bags as he reopened the umbrella above your heads. And as you continued the rest of the way home, the entire time Touya just couldn’t stop thinking about two things: one, how he was constantly reminded how lucky he was to have you in his life, to be able to call you his, and two, how it was never too late to start making new memories in the rain.

[jd-loves-fiction]

𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥 (3)

➢  A new ghoul is summoned, they're small and unsure of who they want to be. The ghouls and ghoulettes help them figure it out while bringing them into their loving arms and showing them that no matter what path they choose, they will be loved.

➢ 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: poly!nameless ghouls/ghoulettes x OC (Ghoulie)

➢  𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: fluff ❤

➢  𝖜𝖈: 1.8k

➢  𝖆/𝖓: POV CHANGE!! ALSO CAN YOU TELL SWISS IS MY FAVORITE YET?? Actually very very happy with this one, lots of mystery~ And if you’d rather read this on AO3 here’s the link :D

➢⚠️: Swiss. Also Swiss being... well, Swiss

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 3 - 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖎𝖙 𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊

Days pass with my only company being Aether and occasionally Rain. I’m starting to feel like that princess in the tower, waiting to be rescued by a prince I don’t yet know. Ok, maybe a prince I do know would be less creepy.

I wake up one cold night, alone in Aether’s bedroom since he decided to sleep in someone else’s tonight to get me used to being alone. Dewdrop, I think he said?

Well, turns out that wasn’t a great idea, considering I’m wide awake at… 2:52 in the night. But what am I to do, wake him- both of them up because I couldn’t sleep? Sounds oddly selfish. 

Perhaps the bond has started to form without me noticing, because I can almost feel something missing from inside my chest as well as a chilling silence inside my mind. Though it’s hard to say if that’s just paranoia.

No, I don’t need anyone’s help to fall back asleep - I’d been doing that for who knows how long in Hell. And if you can fall asleep in Hell, you can fall asleep anywhere.

Or at least that’s what I thought. It’s proven wrong after around 10 minutes of tossing and turning. After all of that, I end up turned towards the door, from where I see light coming through the crack. That wasn’t like that when I went to sleep…

Realizing that I'm not going to sleep just yet, I get up while rubbing the sleepiness out of my eyes.

After passing through the first door, I find the door out of the common room open as well and so I pass through it as well.

Moonlight spills into the abbey's grand hallway from the courtyard in the middle, from where a soft melody sings - energetic and warm. The singer’s voice is sensual and deep, curling like a beckoning hand around my mind, urging me closer to it.

I follow the jazzy tune out to the courtyard, where the moon can be seen clearly as I look up. It’s at this moment I realized I’ve never seen a moon, or a sun! Hell doesn’t have either, only a dark void as the roof that looks suspiciously like the insides of a long-deceased giant creature.

It’s round and bright. So much brighter than I thought it’d be! It looks like the largest, shiniest, roundest pearl in an ocean of stars. It’s breathtaking, so much better than the books described.

The sound of melodic humming snaps me out of a trance, running to quickly and quietly hide behind the nearest bench like a feral cat. I’m not alone.

After calming my breathing as much as possible, look over my cover to find the source of such a lovely sound. Another ghoul!

They lie on the edge of the fountain, bathed in moonlight, eyes closed and expression as serene as can be. Their voice is light and sweet, like a spring breeze, matching the music player so perfectly, it almost seems like it’s their song.

The music player itself is a curious thing - it’s open, spinning a disk as large as a cat and as dark as coal while a needle slides along its grooves. It looks vaguely familiar and interesting in itself, but I’m far more captivated by the unknown ghoul.

Their skin is a dark brown, disaturated like all the others, hair is even darker, strands tightly curled and soft-looking. Lips are plump and turned in a peaceful smile, lines around them indicating an easy-going personality. My eyes can’t help but move down, which makes me feel slightly creepy, which is the weirdest part. This is supposed to be normal for a pack. At least that's what Aether told me… Maybe I feel this way because I’m not truly one of them yet.

The thought makes me drum my claws against the stone of the bench nervously - it feels wrong to think it, no matter how much I’m inclined to believe it.

Lost in self doubt, I fail to notice the humming has stopped, the ghoul’s chest (barely covered by a white tank top) stutters in surprise and two dark caramel orbs reveal themselves from beneath lazy lids, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

I gasp, crouching lower to try and hide myself again - an utterly fruitless endeavor as the ghoul’s eyes remain glued to my form, curious and amused by the lazy flicker of his dark tail and the small flash of white teeth between dark lips. They announce as much, “No use hiding now, cutie.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.” I stand up awkwardly, fidgeting with my nails for something to do. They’re long, could use a trim… do ghouls even do that?

“It’s alright, no problem with staring. What is a problem, is you not introducing yourself. Now that is quite rude.” He’s toying with me, that much I can tell, and deriving quite a lot of amusement from it. He must be Swiss.

“M-My name is Ghoulie… for now.”

"Oh, you're just as cute as they said you'd be. My name is Swiss, but you probably already know that." His words bring heat up to my cheeks, just what have they been saying about me?

“What are you doing?” I ask, moving closer slowly, still looking over his casual pose.

"Bathing in the moonlight~" He responds playfully, stretching with something between a purr and a growl, satisfied, no doubt.

"I see…" I return to fidgeting, now only a step around from the fountain, not sure of what to say. A familiar feeling festers deep in my gut, an old friend and something close to an enemy at the moment.

We've just met, so why the Hell do I feel like this?

Aether's late night ramblings about the rest of the pack come to mind. Swiss was described as 'one horny fucker and far too charismatic for his own good. The Sisters' favorite, for obvious reasons.' 

"You always been this shy, or is it just me?" His hand hovers close to me, I feel something prod at my mind, like knocking on a door in a dream - the bond.

I close my eyes, concentrating to try and break down the wall that separates us, but it’s not as easy as it sounds. It feels vaguely like trying to put an electrical plug into an outlet in the dark - it’s a lot of feeling around and hoping you don’t get electrocuted.

A warm hand settles on my arm, urging me to open my eyes to meet his caramel orbs, “It’s ok, you’ll get there.” 

“So everyone keeps saying.” I grumble, crossing my arms stubbornly. Swiss scoffs, amused, before patting the spot beside himself, urging me to sit down.

“Isn’t it supposed to be working already?” Frustration bleeds into my tone as I sit down, knees tucked to my chest.

“It’s different for everyone. Sometimes it has to do with your personality, sometimes it’s your element - do you know what yours is?” He can’t hide his curiosity, even if he actually tried to, it’d be painfully obvious by the widening of his eyes and how his breath shortens.

“No… no clue at all.” I sigh dejectedly, “What’s yours?”

“Well… did Aether tell you about element combinations and all that?” I blink up at him, combinations? “I guess that’s a no.”

He sits up straighter, indulgent smile on his lips making his fangs peek out from between them, “Alright, so there's the main 5, which I'm sure he's told you about; water, fire, earth, air and quintessence. But there's one more, it's extremely rare so I don't blame him for skipping it… also for… other reasons." His dark caramel eyes dark to the side briefly, remembering something no doubt unpleasant.

What other reasons…?

"Anyways, that last element is shadow or darkness. There's only ever been one full shadow ghoul and plus me. Kinda. I'm a Multi-Ghoul - fire, earth and shadow." His chest puffs out proudly as he says while my eyes widen in wonder. Why didn't Aether tell me? Did he really just forget?

"All of that just so you keep in mind that you might also be a Multi. And to explain what I'm doing out here. I guess the shadow side of me likes the full moon the best, so I indulge every time I can." He looks up at it with a reverence I cannot yet understand, as if all is right in the world when he looks at it. I hope one day I'll get to feel that too.

"Enough of all that sentimental shit, how's your tail coming along?" He grabs it before I can react, making my spine straighten like a bow string. The corners of his eyes twitch as his peaceful smile turns mischievous at the gasp I let out. “Seems like it’s still quite sensitive. That’s normal, don’t worry.” Though his voice is kind, his hands are not as he continues to rub and pinch my tail in ways that make my stomach flip.

“D-Don’t–”

“Don’t what? Don’t stop?” He chuckles, lips close to my flushed ears. "I don't need a bond to know you don't want me to stop."

I hate that he's right. But I also don't, not when it feels so good. I quickly realize that I hate that I'm so easy to read. I've gotten too comfortable being around ghouls like Aether and Rain - gentle and sweet, more interested in leading me by the hand than teasing me.

"... But I guess that's too bad." The warmth of his hands disappear and not even the hand in front of my mouth is enough to muffle the sad, little whine that you make in response. "I'm not risking Aether's wrath when I can be patient and wait for my turn."

"Wait, what are you talking about?"

"You're smart, at least from what I heard. You'll figure it out." That sneaky little smile is back on his face.

A mix between pleading and frustration settles over my face, directed at Swiss, whose grin wavers indulgently.

"Listen, if you haven't figured it out yet then either you're not as smart as everyone thinks or," My nose scrunches, mildly insulted despite his jovial tone, "and I find this one more likely, you're not meant to know yet. Plus, this is a conversation you really should be having with Aether, not me."

His dismissal is beyond suspicious, but I reason with myself that I don't quite know him yet - maybe the mysterious vibe is just his thing. I hold myself back from making a joke about him being shady. 

Swiss shoos me back to my - Aether’s - room, not long after and I go with heavy lids and a mind full of questions.

Perhaps I should check the library when I get the chance.

[latelyanobsession]

Strap In

summary billy’s had his eyes on you for quite some time, but you couldn’t care less. he’s made multiple attempts to catch your attention only to hit a brick wall each time. tonight there’s a big bash at Loch Nora just before spring break ends. is tonight his night, or should he tap out now?

warnings underage drinking, cursing, cat and mouse games

word count 1,046

note in fulfillment of a reader request. took a little bit for me to get some muse worked out for this... but hopefully i worked it out ok. i recognize i took this in a bit of a different direction, but it felt appropriate. the prompt - “I was wondering whether you would be up to write a oneshot where Billy meets f!reader on a party, they r both kinda drunk, but he has been trying to get with her since like months but she always rejected him. But now she finally cracks and gives in and they make out n stuff. And if possible could u make Billy like reaaally flirty and kinda whipped for the reader, bc she is really cocky and gives him all the sass.”

As always any feedback is much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

The music was deafening. Bodies were everywhere. Teens spilling out in every direction onto the lawn and the whole thing was threatening to erupt into a full blown block party.

Nobody was really sure where it had all started. Flyers were fluttering around the school halls all last week. 

Paper airplanes tumbling into the applesauce at your lunch table. Leaflets crammed by the fistful through the slots in people’s lockers. Stuffed so thick that the doors jammed. 

No one knew where they came from, but one thing was certain. The invites were clear. Everyone who’s anyone was gonna be there. Even the wannabes and posers were hopeful of being noticed if they attended.

Being held at one of the largest homes in Loch Nora, it wasn’t clear whom the home belonged to, but nobody really cared as the music cranked louder and the drinks began to pour. 

Such questions were the furthest things from anyone’s mind. Including yours.

You were in your element.

Standing near the speakers with your friends, you swayed your hips in time to the beat. 

A second drink already in hand, a nice buzz humming its way through your veins and warming you up from head to toe.

The night was young and full of possibilities.

Shifting tracks, the beat dropped.

You waved to some newcomers, throwing a wink at an old flame, and another at a potential one for the end of the night.

Bringing the cup to your lips you frowned. 

Empty.

“I’ll be back!” you shouted in your friend’s ear, tilting your cup upside down. 

Fidgeting with the cup in your hand you headed into the kitchen looking for something new to try. The liquor cabinet had been busted open and the variety was endless.

No more spritzers or wine coolers.

Fingering your way along the bottles you eyed the selection.

“Eeny... meeny... miny.” your fingertips dancing back and forth between the coconut rum and lemon vodka. 

“Moe.” you smiled happily at the bottle you had chosen, as a hand wrapped around yours.

“Well, well...” he drawled, pulling his hand from atop yours and tracing it up your arm.

“I was wonderin when you’d turn up.” he slid in close.

You snorted smugly, shrugging him off.

Spinning the cap off the bottle, you carelessly flicked it away.

“I was getting bored without you...” he teased.

“Honey, it’s never a party without me.” you smugly replied, pouring yourself a generous serving, putting the bottle back on the counter and looking for a mixer to add.

“Been here long?” he asked.

“Who wants to know?” you quipped, adding a splash of fruit juice into your cup with some seltzer water.

You brought it to your mouth to taste, smacking your lips in satisfaction.

“Well I for one...” he smirked, pulling the cup from your hand and taking a long drink.

“and for another...” he leaned in attempting to kiss you.

You turned your head, grabbing your cup back and waving at another friend. Or at least someone who looked like her.

“Really smooth...” you taunted, “but points for trying.”

You patted his chest sympathetically before walking away.

Yelling, and crushing cups as you reunited with your friends.

Billy was going to have to try harder than that.

The night went on. And you were feeling more wild by the minute. You had to get some air.

Your head was starting to swim a bit, and you knew from past experience at Tina’s Christmas party that it was time to slow down. Or you would be in for a rough night and a rougher morning.

Coming out to the back porch you found an empty lounge chair, messily throwing yourself into it.

Giggling happily, looking out at your classmates in the yard.

“Down already?” a voice called from beside you.

Blinking owlishly, you looked around.

“Oh! Hey Billy!” you smiled dumbly. “Nah. Just pacing myself”

You slumped down in the chair. Nearly sliding out entirely. Laughing.

He rolled his eyes.

Coming over, he helped you back upright, seating himself next to you.

“I think you’ve had too much.” he stated.

“N’ I think you haven’t had enough!” you replied, poking his chest.

He smiled, a small exhale of a laugh leaving him. “Yeh, alright.”

Making sure you weren’t going to topple over he went to leave.

You grabbed his hand.

“Y’know what?” a great look of concern was in your eyes, as you laced your fingers with his.

“What?” he waited.

“I think it’s stupid that I’ve been so mean to you this whole time. Reeeeaaal stupid.” You leaned on him.

He looked at you, mildly amused.

“Mean to me?” he probed.

“Yeah!” you piped up, “I mean I like you! I just don’t have any guts at all! So I’m mean to you!”

You regarded him with sorrowful eyes, “how stupid is that!?”

“Real stupid...” he replied.

“I know!” you shouted in agreement.

He laughed. “So ya like me huh?”

“Oh yeh!” you nodded.

“How much?” he prompted. He knew he shouldn’t put too much credence into this whole conversation, but he just couldn’t help himself.

“This much!” you mused, cupping his face and kissing him.

Billy froze. He didn’t expect that.

He’d been the one coming after you for weeks on end. Not the other way around.

And now here you were, drunk as a skunk, laying one on him.

There was an internal struggle going on in Billy’s mind. 

Don’t take advantage dipshit.... but she’s gonna forget this by morning. Well maybe...

You were truly causing a panic within him.

Very hesitantly he kissed you back. Gently, with no intent.

He pulled away. You whined in disappointment.

You looked at him questioningly.

His cheeks were flushed, as he avoided your eyes.

“I can’t do this... not when you’re... like this.” He rose from his seat, rubbing the back of his neck.

This was a mistake.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow...” he went to walk off.

“Billy?” you looked up at him.

“Yeah?” he breathed.

“You better ask me out tomorrow...” you warned.

He laughed.

“I’ll be sure to remind you...” he chuckled.

Finding an abandoned pack of cigarettes and lighter someone else had left behind, you lit one.

“You better strap in...” you exhaled, smirking.

He matched your expression. “Ditto.”

[writing-house-of-m]

Sweet Nightmare

Wanda x Reader

Genre: Fluff (I guess...?)

Warnings: Me attempting to be funny

Word count: 1512

Summary: You help Wanda after she has a nightmare. She doesn't expect what will happen the next morning.

A/N: This was a fun prompt that was sent and can be found here. I hope you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it lol

Wanda feels strange.

Warm.

Too warm.

Her bed feels firmer.

Opening her eyes, she doesn't recognise her surroundings.

One thought in her mind, "Where am I?"

It is dark, just a subtle light behind her, and she is scared, "Y/n?"

No response.

Her voice is shaky now. "Y/n? Please answer me." Nothing but silence greets her.

She lowers her voice due to her fear "Where are you?" But still, there is no response.

Even though Wanda feels like she is speaking, it's as though she can't hear her own words. All that is reaching her ears is the sound of a heavy wind.

She looks over to her right.

Then to her left.

There is brown goo on either side of her.

Fear courses through her veins. She tries to get up, tries to move, tries to do anything.

But she can't.

She is stuck, uncomfortable and confused. How could you leave her alone like this?

Suddenly there is light.

The harshness forces her to close her eyes.

She hears the opening of a door. A moment later the whole bed starts to move.

The temperature drops. Wanda realises she is now out of her room but still struggles to open her eyes.

She can hear a scraping noise.

Until it abruptly stops.

Another scrape.

Again and again.

Getting closer and closer.

She opens her eyes, now that they are fully adjusted to the light in the bright room, and blue takes over her vision.

Thinking to herself "What the hell is happening?" She feels like she is in a daze.

Her mind finally catches up to what she is seeing. She's so confused but her fear has her locked in.

The figure lifts her up and finally speaks. The voice sounds animated, childish, "Me eat cookies!" It exclaims as the blue being brings her closer to its mouth.

Wanda feels like she is moving in slow motion.

She wants to scream.

She wants you.

She wants to shout out for you.

But nothing.

All she sees is her end as she gets closer to the abyss she is approaching.

She hears a growl and what sounds like laughter as she enters the darkness.

Next she feels a pressure across her body, the crunching sound of her breaking-

Suddenly she sits up in bed. The room is dark again and she is sweating and shaking.

The sudden movement wakes you, "Wanda?" You ask but all you hear is Wanda's erratic breathing.

A nightmare.

You spring into action and sit up. "Wanda! You're ok! You're ok!" You take her face in your hands and try to get her to look at you. "Shh Wanda, you're ok."

"Y/n," She whimpers, as she leans into your embrace.

You stroke her hair and rub a hand up and down her back, trying to calm her tense muscles, "I'm here Wanda, it's ok. Everything is fine."

You quickly get some water for her and once she is done drinking you place the glass beside your bed.

When she finally calms down, getting a grip on reality she explains what happened in her dream.

You're trying everything in your being to not laugh. "So, you.." you clear your throat, "were a cookie… in Cookie Monster's oven?"

She can see you struggling to keep a straight face, "It's not funny Y/n!" She lightly slaps your arm. "He bit into me and I was scared and you weren't there!" She rushes out. Her eyes start to water again and you feel bad.

It's funny.

But she needs you.

"Oh honey, it wasn't real and I'm right here." You sympathise, kissing her temple and bringing her into your arms once again.

She whispers into your chest, "I didn't know where you were." Your heart breaks but you can't help but find humour in how ridiculous it is.

Maybe you'll be able to laugh about it in the morning.

…

Wanda walks into the kitchen and sees you sitting with your coffee in front of you. Steve handed you a report when he saw you at breakfast time, so you busied yourself reading it.

You didn't wake Wanda when you got out of bed. Considering she didn't sleep much throughout the night, you wanted to let her sleep longer this morning.

As she gets closer you swivel your stool around to accommodate her walking towards you. "You weren't there when I woke up," She pouts as she presses her body to yours.

You give her a soft smile when she pulls away, loosening your hold around her waist. "I figured you could do with a bit more sleep," You explain as you give her a peck on the lips.

Moving out of your seat to give her space, you tell her, "Sit down sweetheart, I'll make your coffee," kissing the crown of her head once she's seated and you move away.

While you're making her coffee Natasha walks in. From her damp hair and flushed cheeks you know she's done with her morning workout she was telling you about earlier.

As you make your way back to Wanda to hand her the coffee mug, you furrow your eyebrows and give Nat a slight shake of your head when you see her smirking.

Nat goes to the coffee maker while you catch Wanda up with the mission brief you've been familiarising yourself with.

A moment later, Nat brings over a plate and nonchalantly asks, "Would you like a cookie, Wanda?"

Wanda, slightly taken aback, shakes her head, "No thank you." When she sees the smirk on Nat's face she turns to look at you and your wide-eyed stare is all she needs.

Wanda sighs and deflates in her seat, "You told her?!" She whines as her face scrunches up cutely.

You go to take Wanda's hand in yours but she pulls away, "Baby, it's Nat! She always knows." But Wanda gives you a look while the Black Widow sniggers behind you both, munching on a cookie.

"Look, it's not my fault, she asked about you and why you weren't awake yet." You rush out.

"So this is my fault?" Wanda says with a frown.

"No! No, that's not what I'm saying," it's your turn to deflate. "What I'm saying is that she asked and when I told her you didn't sleep properly, she got it out of me." You sigh, "I'm sorry honey, but it was just Nat. She knows everything!"

"So, just Natasha knows. Ok. That's fine." She breathes out, relieved. If Tony or, even worse, Sam knew about this, she'd never hear the end of it.

Her relief is short-lived because she sees the grimace on your face and Natasha's continuous chuckles serve as the soundtrack of this whole conversation.

"I didn't know they were all listening!" You let out, "I should have caught on with how quiet it was for breakfast time."

As if it couldn't get any worse, you hear, "Aww the little cookie's finally awake!" The man's voice booms across the compound.

You close your eyes and lower your head.

He was nowhere near done and you both knew this. "Was the dream the aftermath of some bedroom activities we shouldn't ask about?" He laughs loudly.

You bring your eyes up to Wanda and see she's clenching her teeth. The hard look on her face as well as the movement of her jaw, clearly showing her annoyance.

But Tony continues for Sam "Does this make Y/n, Cookie Monster?" He winces and then pretends to shiver, "I do not need that visual."

Even Steve couldn't stop a breathy laugh from escaping.

You turn your head to look at the Captain catching your movement from the corner of his eye, he meets your glare, "Alright, alright, that's enough." He says to calm everyone down.

"But I didn't get a chance to say one." Clint whines.

You hear Bucky's voice from behind you, "Would you like a cookie, Wanda?" He says lifting the plate from the counter as he chews on one.

While the boy's laughter continues. Nat clarifies to him, "Too slow big boy, I already said that one," she claims, sipping her coffee afterwards.

"I'm going to go with that for being the reason she didn't react." Bucky says as he moves off the counter to go take a seat.

You hear Wanda's sharp voice, cutting through the laughter, "Is everyone done?" The quiet is so sudden, "Can I get back to my coffee and this mission brief?" She looks around to everyone.

There's a low grumble, some nodding heads as everyone carries on with what they need to do.

Finally, you think it's over but suddenly you hear, "OM NOM NOM!"

You look over at Sam and see him curl over laughing. A second later red tendrils push him over so that he falls on his face.

The cookies from the plate, offered by Natasha and Bucky, crushed into crumbs and sprinkled on him for good measure.

If there's one thing you shouldn't do, it's to not piss off a sleep deprived witch.

[wistfulenchantress]

it is late and i am sleep deprived and i have worked up the nerve to post part of my wip.

so here goes, this is a scene between my main characters. here goes. posting this for people to see.

“You ready?” I ask. She nods slowly. “Are you?”

“I hope so,” I respond. We walk into the final training room, where Madame Cytherea, our new instructor, is standing in the center talking to the other trainees. “You are late,” she tells us, her voice shrill. “Sorry, ma’am,” I respond, hurriedly. I thought class started at 8:00, it's only 7:53. As if to prove my thought, another group of trainees walks in the door.

“Class starts at 7:50, on the dot,” Madame Cytherea informs them. “I know this is your first day, but you need to be punctual if you want to succeed.” The students nod, hurrying to their places. “Alright. I hope everyone is here, as we are already three minutes behind schedule.” Another group of students walk in, cowering under her glare. “What time were you all told that class starts?” she asks them, her voice shaking with rage. “Eight o clock,” a nervous girl whispers. She nods. “Ok then. We will wait until then. And class will run ten minutes late.” The entire room groans. “Next time, everyone should show up on schedule,” she reminds them. I make eye contact with Nyx, who shrugs. I scoot my chair closer to hers. “What do you think of her?” I whisper. “Seems sleep deprived,” Nyx murmurs, deep in thought. “Seems grumpy and obnoxious,” I add. “Indeed.”

“Nyx, do you have a nickname yet?”

“No!” she exclaims in frustration. I put a hand on her shoulder. “All I can think of is Madame C,” she continues, her volume back to a whisper, “And that is so basic.”

Nyx prides herself on teacher nicknames. She drove our third year trainer into early retirement. “It's ok. I like Madame C.”

“No, you don't. But you are sweet to lie.”

I roll my eyes. “I actually like it. She is so stuck up the abbreviation would kill her. And if you say it in the careless way you do, it will do its job. And I don't do flattery, you know that.”

Nyx nods slowly. “Madame C it is, then. Since you want me to be basic.”

I grin. “Just try it.” Nyx nods, and straightens in her seat, raising a hand politely in the air. “Yes?” Madame Cytherea asks, her voice thin. “Can I use the restroom, please?”

“You may.”

“Yes! Thanks, Madame C.” Nyx springs up out of her chair, and skips out the door. Madame C’s face turns several shades darker, the veins in her forehead starting to show. I cover my mouth to hide the smile. I was right, abbreviation was the way to go. Nice job. She looks ready to explode. I project the thought over to Nyx, careful not to invade her mind while sending the message. Already? Nyx’s voice fills my head, You were right on the money, Vala. Nice work! My face warms slightly at the praise, and I feel suddenly grateful Nyx isn't in the room, her blue eyes locking with mine…

A cold, bony fingertip alights on my shoulder. I look up to see Madame C, speak of the devil, staring down at me. “You and your friend will not receive special treatment because of your… connections.” I nod, “Of course, ma’am.”

“Good.” The woman straightens uncomfortably, and walks away. Nyx slides back into her seat. “We won’t be receiving special treatment, except for when we do because everyone is scared of you?” We both know the speech. I nod, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “They realize that your dad won’t protect you, right?”

“Nope. They are convinced he gives a crap about my happiness.” Nyx chuckles darkly. We both know the truth about my father. Related by blood only. I smile stiffly, starting to feel uncomfortable. She notices, and changes the subject. “How is the phasing working out?”

“I’m making progress,” I reply, glad to talk about something I can control. “I got stuck in the wall yesterday, but I managed to escape within an hour.”

“An hour?” Nyx raises her eyebrows. “But I’m getting better!” I protest. She nods sagely. “But you still chose an over-complicated medium,” she reminds me. I roll my eyes. “You keep reminding me. Yo haven’t even chose anything yet!”

“But I didn’t choose matter manipulation.”

I groan, slumping in my seat. Nyx just rests her head on my shoulder. “I could let your head sink into me right now,” I whisper. “You won’t, though,” she responds. I pause. She’s right. As always. “Shut up,” I shrug my shoulder, forcing her off. “You know me better than that,” she replies, and I can hear the smile in her words.

ok i hope that wasn’t terrible. please give me feedback so i can become functioning as a writer, because this is probably bad. idk. someone tell me, tho

[kotamagic]

Lore Olympus this week answers some questions and creates more...

Persephone sent up a care package (more like a whole-ass shipment) to Demeter as an apology for unintentionally fucking up Spring. At first, Deneter suspects its pity from Hades, but the included note from Persephone clears that up.

In-law tiffy-tiff.... not as comical as "terms and conditions", but we'll roll with it.

While Demeter is signing for the shipment, the nymphs found Hebe in the snow. They immediately bring her in and warm her up.

Once she's stable, the subject of Metis comes up, as well as her strained relationship with her daughters. Metis put a lot of responsibility on Hera & Demeter because it was win the war or die. How the next generation was treated reflects the approaches Hera & Demeter on their respective children.

Demeter micromanaged everything Persephone did so that everything would be perfect. It worked when Metis did it to Demeter during the war, and it worked, so.... why wouldn't it work for Demeter & Persephone?

If you've been reading Lore Olympus this long, then you know damn well that it didn't work.

Obviously, circumstances changed after the war. There was no need to cower in fear from Kronos all the time, but Demeter kept pushing for the same rules and methods, to the point of madness, and that's what drove Persephone away.

Hera, on the other hand, didn't do that to Hebe. She understood that times were different. Hebe, while she had a role, still had wiggle room to be who she wanted to be. The pressure wasn't nearly so crushing.

Also, Cup Bearer? Wasn't that Ganymede's job? Or has he not been kidnapped by Eagle Zeus yet?

We see this kid again. There was mention of something that happened in the past where Demeter was involved in Attica.

The original myth has it that Demeter disguised herself as a mortal while searching for Persephone in the Mortal Realm and was welcomed into the home of King Celeus of Eleusis and his wife. In gratitude for their hospitality, Demeter performed a ritual to make the prince, Demophoon, immortal, but failed when it was interrupted.

But it seems Rachel is making a change to this story...

Lore Olympus has it that Demophoon died of an infected wound rather than burning in the fire of the immortality ritual. Furthermore, his mother is not Queen Metanira...

...but strongly implied to be Demeter herself.

If this happened during the 10 year gap, it would explain why Demeter was so crushed--- she lost ANOTHER child.

But, if these events happened before Persephone's birth, it could explain why she was so obsessed with keeping her safe from everyone & everything.

Demeter never told Persephone about Demophoon because she "didn't want to burden her" with those memories. The truth is, telling Persephone about Demophoon might have provided clarity (NOT an excuse) as to why Demeter was so anxious about her safety.

Ok, I need sleep badly....

Thanks for coming to my LO post!