#she can still have a human form for when she performs in front of her fans and showcases herself to other humans

[spaciebabie]

i watched kpop demon hunters and it was pretty good my only complaints are that rumi's demon form is lackluster and the whole "demons are evil" plot was a bit muddied. like. are demons evil or not. if some of them are misunderstood like the narrative says why are they all banished from the world. why don't some of them get to live? why does rumi get to live and other demons dont?? b/c shes "one of the good ones"? idk im probably looking too deep into it but they literally gave us a character who was a demon but also throughout the narrative it was fed to us that he was "misunderstood" so iyam ☝️confused.

especially b/c the way they set it up rumi was coming to a realization that she didnt like the way the honmoon was set up b/c it was built on the idea that in order to keep it sustained she had to hide her "flaws" (being born as something isnt a flaw and this realization was good)?? but she ended up creating a new honmoon and trapping a bunch of demons down there anyway??? confusion 😭 but only b/c the movie didnt really specify what they achieved with the new honmoon. i assume it traps all those demons + gwi-ma but Stronger. if it doesnt do that ig it leaves it open to another movie?? lol

[humaling]

Hold Me steady.

pairing: finnick odair x victor!reader

summary: how do you watch the person you love most break in front of you—knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it?

warnings: angst to fluff, a small kiss hehe

word count: 4.8k

not proofread!

The plan was simple: keep the girl from District 12 and her husband alive until Plutarch got you all out of the arena. Every move, every alliance, was carefully calculated to ensure survival.

But now, that plan was unraveling before your eyes.

Finnick had disappeared into the woods, chasing after Katniss the moment she took off. The jabberjays had started their cruel symphony, their shrieks laced with the voices of loved ones lost—or worse, suffering. You knew it wasn’t real. Finnick did, too. But that hadn’t stopped Katniss from running toward the sound of her sister’s cries, and it hadn’t stopped Finnick from chasing after her.

Now, standing alone by the water’s edge, you clenched your fists, your patience thinning with each passing second. The arena was a trap, every moment meant to break you, and you couldn’t afford these kinds of reckless outbursts. Cooperation was your only chance at getting out alive, and right now, it felt like emotions were pulling your group apart faster than the Gamemakers ever could.

The distant echoes of the jabberjays still rang through the trees, but what unsettled you more was the silence that followed. No Finnick. No Katniss.

You exhaled sharply, your grip tightening around your weapon.

You never signed up to be a babysitter when the Third Quarter Quell was announced. You hadn’t signed up to go back in, either. But when it came down to choosing a tribute from District 4, there was no real choice at all.

Mags was too old. She’s barely recovering from the stroke she had two summers ago, and if the Games didn’t kill her, the strain of simply being here would. Annie? She was fragile in a different way. She was a survivor, yes, but the arena had left her mind in pieces, and everyone in District 4 knew she wasn’t in the right headspace to survive it again. That left you. The only one strong enough, capable enough, sane enough to go through it all over again.

Finnick didn’t see it that way.

You felt his eyes on you the second you stepped forward, volunteering before Mags could. She had tried—of course she had—but you gently held her back, murmuring that it was all right, that she needed to stay and look after Annie. The poor girl was already breaking, barely able to breathe the second her name was called.

Finnick’s head snapped toward you so fast it nearly made you flinch. It was as if he thought his glare alone could undo what had just happened. But then they called his name, too. Whatever protest had been forming on his lips vanished. His expression didn’t waver, but you saw the shift—the way his fingers curled into fists, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

He didn’t like this.

He made that clear from the moment you boarded the train, frustration rolling off him in waves. First, it was sharp words thrown like daggers over dinner—accusations, anger, his voice sharp enough to cut. Then, silence. The kind that settled thick in the air, heavy and suffocating. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t speak. Not even after the parade when you returned to your apartment in the Tribute Center, the golden glow of the Capitol’s skyline mocking you through the window.

If Haymitch hadn’t come in and told you about the plan, you were convinced Finnick wouldn’t have spoken to you again until the arena.

You weren’t unfamiliar with that silence.

You had endured so much since you left that arena alive—forced to perform for the Capitol, to obey Snow’s orders. But it wasn’t enough for them. It never was. You had to sell your body, let them use you like you were nothing more than a toy, an object for their entertainment. It was disgusting, the way human beings were capable of treating others like that. You couldn’t understand it, couldn’t stomach it. It left you shaking, disoriented, closed-off to anyone who tried to help, to understand.

Finnick was relentless. No matter how much you pushed, no matter how cruel your words became, he refused to leave you alone. He lingered at your side like an anchor, steady and unrelenting. And when you shut yourself away from the world after your Victory Tour, he came up with his own solution—moving in with you, forcing his way into your life just so he could make sure you were still breathing.

You never really liked Finnick when you first met him—even started to hate him the second you stepped out of the arena. He never warned you about what happens when a person is pushed to the brink of death, never told you that survival meant throwing away every last piece of yourself. Every moral, every shred of dignity. You had to learn that the hard way.

And you hated him for it.

But hate had a way of twisting into something else. Something softer. Something more than like, a lot like love.

You knew where the line was drawn between you and your mentor. Finnick only had this attachment toward you because you were the first Victor he brought home. That was all. It had to be.

But it was hard—hard to ignore the weight of his presence, hard to pretend you didn’t care when you’d spent so many nights at his side, listening to his nightmares break him apart. Hard to forget the way he clung to you, desperate and exhausted, when the sobs wracked his body between shallow breaths.

A sigh slips past your lips as you tap your foot against the sand, frustration settling deep in your chest. Johanna should have been back by now. You don’t have time to sit around and wait, not when every second wasted could mean something going wrong. When a minute turns into five, you’ve had enough. Without another word, you step into the jungle, Peeta and Beetee following close behind.

The air is thick with humidity, clinging to your skin as you weave through the trees. You move quickly, your mind already cycling through worst-case scenarios, but when you finally spot Johanna standing in a clearing, you hesitate. She isn’t moving. Her posture is rigid, her brown hair damp and sticking to her forehead, but what makes your stomach twist is the way she stares ahead, eyes fixed on something unseen.

“Johanna?” You call her name, voice sharper than intended. “Where are they?”

She turns toward you, but the unease rolling off of her is immediate. She looks like she wants to say something but can’t. Seconds drag on in silence, and your patience starts to thin. Finnick and Katniss should be here. You can’t hear them, can’t see them. Something is wrong. You try to push past Johanna, but the moment you take a step forward, a sharp pain explodes across your forehead. It’s like slamming into a brick wall—except there’s nothing in front of you. The force knocks you back, sending you stumbling before you manage to catch yourself.

“They’re still in there,” Johanna says, her voice uncharacteristically unsteady.

Peeta steps in between the two of you, his frown deepening as he glances between you and the empty space ahead. You rub at your forehead, barely registering the ache as confusion clouds your thoughts. Peeta, still frowning, reaches forward, his fingers pressing against something unseen. His breath hitches as realization dawns on him.

“What’s with the wall?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you can respond, movement flickers through the dense jungle beyond the barrier—fast, desperate. Your heart lurches in your chest as you see them.

Finnick and Katniss. Still inside.

“Katniss!”

Peeta’s voice is desperate, thick with panic as he slams his hand against the invisible wall. His palm smacks against the unseen force again and again, his breathing uneven as he tries to get her attention. He keeps calling her name, his voice cracking as he pleads for her to hear him, but she doesn’t react the way she should. Her eyes dart wildly, but there’s no recognition. No relief. The realization settles like a stone in your gut.

“They can’t hear us.” The words barely leave your lips, the weight of them pressing down on your chest as you watch Katniss’s frantic gaze finally meet yours before moving to Peeta’s.

You see the way her eyes glossed, running forward to Peeta. She helplessly bangs against the wall, screaming something at Peeta who continues to give her assurance despite the fact she can’t hear him.

Tears streak down her face, her expression twisted in agony as she pounds helplessly against the barrier. Her mouth moves, screaming something you can’t hear, her hands pressing against the force that keeps her from reaching Peeta. Whatever she’s saying, whatever she’s trying to tell him, it’s lost to the cruel trick of the arena. Peeta doesn’t stop trying, though. He keeps talking, keeps reassuring her, keeps reaching out even though she’ll never hear a word of it.

Your chest tightens, but your focus shifts as you search for someone else. Your heart pounds as your eyes scan the jungle, moving past Katniss and Peeta as fear digs its claws into your stomach. Then, through the gaps in the trees, you find him.

Finnick stumbles through the thick undergrowth, his body tense as the birds swarm him. Their sharp cries echo around him, their wings beating wildly as they dive at him again and again. His arms are raised, shielding his face from the relentless attack, but it’s not the physical assault that’s breaking him—it’s the sounds. The voices. You see the way his shoulders shake, his hands pressing against his ears as if he’s trying to block out something far worse than the flurry of wings around him.

Without thinking, you drop to your knees, your hands trembling as they press against the invisible wall separating you. The smooth, unyielding surface is cold beneath your fingertips, offering no way through, no way to reach him. He’s right there, so close that you can see every detail—the way his sea-green eyes are glossy with unshed tears, the deep crease between his brows, the way his body trembles under the weight of something you can’t take away.

A sinking weight settles in your chest, heavier than anything you’ve felt before. You’ve fought beside Finnick. You’ve seen him at his strongest, his most unshakable, and even his most vulnerable But this? This is different from those nights. The Finnick in front of you is breaking apart, unraveling under the weight of something only he can hear.

You press harder against the wall, your fingers digging into nothing, desperate for any way to reach him. But there’s nothing you can do. No way to stop this. No way to pull him out of it.

And that’s what makes your stomach churn, what makes your heart pound against your ribs with something close to panic. Because for the first time since stepping into this nightmare, you realize that you’re helpless. That no matter how much you want to protect him, no matter how badly you want to pull him away from whatever horror the Capitol is forcing him to relive, you can’t do a damn thing.

The hour stretched endlessly, each second dragging like lead through your veins. You could feel the weight of it pressing down on your chest as you watched Finnick unravel before your eyes. He was barely there anymore—his gaze glassy and unfocused as the screams of the jabberjays clawed through the air, you assume. His arms stayed curled protectively over his head, his body shaking under the relentless assault of sound. Each shriek seemed to chip away at him, stripping him down to nothing but raw nerves and desperation.

Katniss wasn’t faring any better. She was curled up on the ground, her silent screams breaking through the humid air as her mind fractured under the weight of it all. Peeta hovered over the barrier, his voice low and frantic as he whispered reassurances she couldn’t hear, his hands grasping the air in a desperate attempt to anchor her. But it was useless. She was too far gone, lost to the terror of the voices echoing through the trees.

And then there was you—down on your knees in the dirt, your eyes fixed on Finnick as helplessness bloomed in your chest like poison.

You hated this. Hated how useless you felt. You were strong, smart, cunning—those were the traits that had kept you alive in your Games, that had protected you through the worst of it. But now? Now you were nothing but a spectator to Finnick’s unraveling. The only person who had ever pulled you back from the edge, the only person who had ever known how to put you back together, was breaking in front of you. And you couldn’t stop it.

You wanted to return the favor—you wanted so badly to reach through that barrier, to grab his face in your hands and pull him back to you. But you couldn’t even touch him. Your fists curled so tightly at your sides that your knuckles burned, white from the pressure. Your jaw ached from how hard you were clenching it, trying to keep yourself from screaming in frustration.

This was cruel. Sadistic.

Your teeth sank into your lower lip as you lowered your gaze to the dirt beneath you. You hated how fragile you felt, how exposed. Snow had designed this arena to break you, and he was succeeding. Because right now, you weren’t strong, or smart, or cunning. You were just desperate.

You cursed Snow in your head, hatred simmering in your veins as you imagined his cold smile watching from above. If not for him, you and Finnick would be home right now. You’d be down at the beach, your feet buried in the sand as Finnick teased you for being too slow to catch fish. The sun would be on your skin, the salty breeze would be in your hair, and none of this would exist. Just you and him, laughing like the world wasn’t a cruel, rotting thing.

But instead, you were here. On your knees. Watching the person you loved most in the world slip further and further away—and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do to stop it.

The moment you caught a glimpse of Peeta stumbling through the jungle, his arms frantically reaching out to pull Katniss into his embrace, your body moved before your mind could catch up. Your head shot up, muscles tensing as instinct kicked in. Without thinking, you reached out for Finnick.

But then you froze.

A low, mechanical hum cut through the tension in the air, sharp and invasive. The sound of the cameras. The Capitol was watching. Snow was watching.

Your breath hitched as you hesitated, your hand suspended mid-air. Vulnerability in the arena was a death sentence. Every moment of weakness was a weapon to be used against you later. Your jaw clenched, fingers curling slightly as you weighed the risk. Did you really want to expose yourself like this—to let Panem see the way your heart stammered in your chest at the sight of him breaking?

But it seemed Finnick had already decided for you.

Strong arms wrapped around your torso, the force of it knocking you slightly off balance as a familiar head pressed into your stomach. You sucked in a shaky breath, your gaze dropping to the boy clinging to you like you were the only solid thing in a world of chaos. His breath was uneven, ragged against your skin, and his arms twitched as though he couldn’t decide whether to hold on tighter or let go.

It was such a simple gesture—a basic human need for comfort—but it shattered something in you. Without thinking, you dropped to your knees, your arms automatically sliding around his neck as you pressed him close. His body was tense beneath your touch, his shoulders shaking from the aftermath of whatever the jabberjays had forced him to hear. Your hand slipped into his hair, your fingers threading through the damp strands as you guided his head to the crook of your neck.

“I got you, Finn,” you whispered, your voice soft and unsteady. The nickname slipped from your lips without thought, weighted with familiarity and tenderness you rarely let yourself express. “You’re safe. I’m right here.”

Finnick’s breath hitched, and his grip on you tightened. His arms locked around you as though he was afraid you’d disappear, his fingers digging into your back with just enough pressure to ground himself. His chest rose and fell unevenly, his face pressing deeper into your neck as if hiding there would make the rest of the world disappear. You felt his lashes flutter against your skin as he squeezed his eyes shut, as though the act of letting go would be too much to bear.

You could feel his heart racing beneath your touch, each frantic beat hammering against your chest. Slowly, carefully, you began to rub small circles on his back, murmuring soft reassurances into his ear. Sweet nothings. Anything that might calm the storm raging inside him.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his temple. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Little by little, you felt the tension start to ease from his frame. His breathing evened out, his trembling less pronounced. He took in your words like they were the only thing tethering him to the ground. Slowly, the chaos that had overtaken him began to fade—not entirely, but enough. Enough for him to feel you. To believe you.

When Finnick finally pulled away from you, the world around you began to creep back into focus. Johanna’s voice cut through the heavy silence, sharp and angry as she screamed at the Gamemakers and Snow, her axe swinging dangerously through the humid air. Her curses were vicious, each one laced with venom, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Normally, you might’ve smirked, maybe teased her for the poor attempt at theatrics, but right now, none of that mattered.

Your attention was fixed on Finnick.

He sat on the ground, his broad shoulders slumping forward, his arms resting limply against his knees. His eyes were distant, glassy as he stared at nothing in particular. You could see the hollowness in his gaze, the same vacant expression you’d seen before—but never quite like this. This wasn’t exhaustion. This was resignation.

Katniss was still on the ground nearby, trembling in Peeta’s arms as he stroked her hair, murmuring reassurances. Peeta’s eyes, despite the tension etched into his brow, flicked toward Johanna’s outburst with a flicker of amusement. But beneath it, you could see the worry—the tightness in his jaw as he held Katniss like he was afraid she might slip through his fingers.

You didn’t bother with them. Your focus stayed on Finnick.

Slowly, you moved to sit beside him. Not close enough to touch, but near enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin. Your knees brushed the dirt, and you sat quietly, listening to the ragged sound of his breathing. His fingers twitched against his thighs, restless and unsure. His eyes, though unfocused, flickered with emotion—anger, sadness, fear—all bleeding together beneath the surface.

You hesitated, your hand flexing slightly in your lap before you spoke.

“Do you want to go to the beach?” you asked softly. Your voice was light, careful. You didn’t want to push too hard.

Finnick’s head lifted slightly, his gaze shifting toward you. For a moment, he said nothing—just breathed. Then, slowly, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

Relief loosened the tension in your chest. Without a word, you rose to your feet, brushing the dirt from your palms. You reached down, picking up his trident from the ground before holding it out to him. His fingers hesitated for a beat before curling around the weapon’s shaft. His grip was shaky, but steady enough.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely louder than a breath.

You gave a small nod, your lips pressing into a thin line as you turned toward the path leading to the beach. Your eyes met Beetee’s across the clearing, and he gave a slight nod, silently signaling that it was all right. You offered him a quick smile before you pushed through the thick curtain of leaves and branches.

Finnick trailed behind you, his footsteps quiet but constant. Every few steps, you glanced over your shoulder to make sure he was still there. You hated how your chest clenched at the thought of losing him, of turning around to find only empty space where he should be. The arena had a way of taking things without warning, and you weren’t sure if you could survive losing him too.

Finally, the thick jungle began to thin, the trees giving way to the soft rustle of sand beneath your boots. A salty breeze swept through the air, cutting through the heavy humidity. The soft crash of waves against the shore echoed in the distance, steady and calm.

You stepped through the last curtain of leaves, the blinding white of the beach stretching out before you. The water sparkled beneath the sunlight, shades of blue and green rippling beneath the tide.

Finnick stepped up beside you, his eyes fixed on the horizon. His chest rose and fell, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. Slowly, his hand brushed against yours—hesitant, unsure. You didn’t move away.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, listening to the waves.

Finnick’s voice was soft, almost hesitant—a quiet vulnerability you weren’t used to hearing from him. "Can I hold your hand?"

It startled you. Not the words themselves, but the way he said them. There was no teasing lilt, no playful edge. Just quiet sincerity, stripped bare of the charm he usually wore like armor. Your instinct was to deflect, to bat it away with a snarky remark, but something about the way his voice sounded—so small, so unsure—made you pause.

Instead of answering, you let your hand drift toward his. Your fingers brushed lightly against his knuckles, and you felt it immediately—the sharp, almost electric jolt that shot up your arm, tightening your chest. His hand was warm despite the lingering chill in the air, rough with the callouses earned from years of fishing and fighting. He didn’t rush. His knuckles grazed against yours, tentative and slow, as though waiting for permission.

Then his palm shifted beneath yours, fingertips ghosting along the curve of your hand before his fingers slid between yours. His touch was careful, almost reverent, and when he interlocks his fingers with yours, his grip was steady but not possessive. It was as if he were memorizing the feel of your hand—every ridge, every scar—like he needed to commit it to memory in case this moment slipped away.

Neither of you spoke as you moved toward the shoreline, your hands still joined. The sun had started to dip toward the horizon, casting shades of orange and pink across the restless water. The sand was soft beneath your feet, the gentle crash of the waves filling the silence between you. When you reached the water’s edge, you both sank down without a word, letting the tide wash over your legs. Your shoulders pressed together, the solid warmth of him grounding you in a way nothing else could.

For the first time in longer than you could remember, you let your guard slip. Your shoulders drooped, the tension you always carried bleeding away as you exhaled. Damn the Capitol. Damn Snow. You knew the cameras were on you. You knew that every quiet touch, every shared glance, would be dissected and weaponized against you later. They’d use this—use him—against you if it suited them. But in this moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Finnick’s thumb stroked the side of your hand, a gentle back-and-forth that sent warmth unraveling through your chest. You could’ve pulled away. You probably should have. But you didn’t. You leaned into him instead, resting your temple lightly against his shoulder as the waves lapped at your legs. His hand tightened around yours—not enough to hurt, just enough to tell you that he was there.

And maybe that was why you didn’t care about the consequences. Maybe it was because Finnick was still sitting beside you, still holding your hand even though he could feel how your pulse hammered beneath his fingertips. They could take everything from you tomorrow, but not this. Not him.

Finnick’s breath hitched, his hand tightening slightly around yours as you leaned into him. The weight of your lips against his shoulder was light, barely more than a touch, but the vulnerability behind it cut through the fragile space between you like glass.

His other hand drifted up, resting gently on your knee. His thumb brushed back and forth in slow, soothing strokes, but you could feel the tension in his grip, the restrained tremor in his fingers.

“You were crying,” Finnick repeated, his voice quieter this time. He wasn’t looking at you now—his gaze was fixed on the horizon, where the water met the darkening sky. “I’ve heard a lot of things in the arena. Screaming. Begging. But nothing—nothing—has ever felt like that.”

Your eyes slid shut, your forehead pressing against the warm fabric of his shirt. You didn’t want to talk about it. You didn’t want to acknowledge it. Because if you did, it would make it real. You could handle pain. You could handle loss. But the thought of being his weakness—that terrified you.

“Finnick,” you murmured, voice low and unsteady.

“I couldn’t get to you.” His voice cracked, the words raw and exposed. His hand left your knee and curled around the back of your neck, his thumb tracing the soft skin beneath your ear. “I kept running, but the closer I got, the louder you screamed.” His head dipped toward you, his forehead brushing against your temple. “And then I realized you weren’t there. That it wasn’t you. But it still—” His breath shuddered against your skin. “It still felt like losing you.”

You forced your eyes open, your gaze catching the way his lashes fluttered against his cheeks. His face was so close now, the salt from the sea mixing with the warmth of his breath. Your chest tightened painfully at the raw emotion etched into his features—the quiet devastation beneath his usually effortless charm.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

His eyes opened at that, the sea-green of them catching the dying light of the sunset. His gaze was searching, cautious, like he didn’t know whether to believe you.

“You say that,” he breathed, his thumb brushing along the curve of your jaw. “But you don’t know that. No one ever knows.”

You hated how true that was. He was right. You could promise him everything, swear you’d never leave, but this world was designed to tear you apart. Still, you couldn’t sit here and let him believe you’d already slipped through his fingers.

Your hand drifted from his shoulder to his chest, where his heartbeat hammered beneath your palm. Steady. Alive.

“You’re right,” you said softly. “I don’t know what’ll happen tomorrow. Or next week. Or next year.” Your thumb brushed over the hollow dip beneath his collarbone. “But I know that I’m here now. I’m with you. And that’s all that matters.”

Finnick’s eyes searched yours, and you could see the conflict there—the part of him that wanted to believe you and the part that was too scared to let himself. His hand slid to the side of your face, his fingers weaving into your hair as his thumb traced slow patterns along your cheek.

“And what happens when that’s not enough?” His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

You smiled faintly, your hand sliding up to curl around the back of his neck. “Then we fight. Together.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sound of the ocean filled the silence between you, the steady pull and retreat of the waves. His breath was warm against your cheek, his lips inches from yours. Your eyes flicked downward, toward his mouth, before drifting back up.

You didn’t know which one of you moved first, but suddenly his lips were brushing against yours. A soft, hesitant pressure that made your heart stutter. His hand at the back of your neck tightened slightly, and you leaned in, your free hand sliding up his chest to rest at his shoulder. The kiss deepened, slow and careful, the weight of it grounding you more than any weapon ever could.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling between you. His hand lingered against your cheek, his thumb tracing the edge of your jaw like he was afraid to let go.

“We survive this,” you murmured. “And then we figure out the rest.”

Finnick’s mouth curled into the faintest smile, but his eyes were still sad, still searching. His hand slipped down to lace through yours again, holding you steady even as the waves threatened to pull you under.

“Together,” he whispered.

You squeezed his hand. “Together.”

[this-resident-is-evil]

Mountain Laurel

Note: I’ve been seeing some people wishing there was more lore accurate Leon, you know the guy who is awkward with women. So… I thought which role is the best fit for him other than the hades the Greek god of the underworld himself. Hope you enjoy.

Pairing: Hades Leon S. Kennedy x Persephone fem reader

Synopsis: You are Persephone one of Zeus’s many daughters and one of the younger goddesses. Your power to grow flowers and them appearing in your hair usually matches your emotional state. Life seems bleak and difficult, until you become the new queen of the underworld.

Contains: Incestual relationships (You know how the Greek gods are), Hinting at nonconsensual intercourse (not from Leon), passionate sex, hand job (m and f receiving), vaginal penetration, praise kink, body worship, unprotected sex, breeding kink (kind of?)

Warning: Minors do not interact.

Leon made his way through the marble building. The ancient Greek gods have accumulated amongst the humans for a long time now and seemed to be respected by the mortals. He stood in front the chambers where he would usually find his brother cheating on his wife with mortal sex workers.

He always felt awkward walking in on him and desperately tried to convince his brother to meet him dressed for once. But he was no king of Olympus and had no place ordering his brother around. Zeus was a stubborn fellow after all.

He knocks on the door hoping that the naked bodies of women wouldn’t greet him the moment he opened the door or was allowed the entrance.

“Come in.” A deep rumbling voice was heard from the other side of the large door and he opened it.

Of course, Zeus was sprawled in the middle of a large bed, his back against the headboard. Four women were tucked into his large frame luckily covered but considering the importance of the meeting he assumed Zeus would kick them out.

“Hades. We were meeting today?” Zeus chuckles.

“It’s Leon, brother.” He speaks up.

“You are not insisting on still keeping your alias?” Zeus mocked with a belly rumbling laugh. “Fine, fine, Leon…” He sighs. “What do you need?”

Leon swallowed a lump forming in his throat. He felt odd talking about this very topic in front of women he has never seen, who were also most defiantly naked beneath the silk sheets.

“I need a wife. The underworld is getting tedious to rule on my own.” He spoke up and Zeus’s expression shifts to a more serious one.

“You are free to go.” He spoke to the women.

While three of them tried to coax him into letting them stay a bit longer or praising his performance there was one that caught Leon’s eye. A woman who was quick to leave the bed and attempted to appear small and insignificant.

It was you. Bare as the day you were born rushing to find clothing to cover your bare body with and you were gone. He noticed your hair filled with Mountain Laurel’s a poisonous flower one even dropped at Leon’s feet as you were making record time in leaving the room.

He bent down to pick it up and take a better look at the flower. The mostly white petals with hints of pink felt soft to the touch. He wasn’t big on flowers but this one caught his attention when Demiter was yapping away about her daughter’s capabilities.

Luckily the said flower distracted him from accidentally making eye contact with the naked women leaving Zeus’s bed.

“So, a wife.” Zeus spoke up the moment the door closed behind the women. He stood up in all his naked glory pulling a silk robe over his shoulders. “You have anyone in mind?”

Leon pocketed the flower as he turned his attention towards his brother. “What about the young lady who left first?”

Zeus’s thick brows furrow at the mention. “Persephone?” He questions and Leon nods. “Brother, you can’t be serious.” He mocked.

“I’m serious.” Leon spoke firmly.

“She is used goods. I will find you a virgin goddess.” He waved it off.

“I’d prefer not to wed a virgin goddess.” Leon spoke up firmly.

Zeus chuckled. “What does it matter? It is not as if you can bear a child.”

This struck a nerve with the king of the underworld. He straightened his posture stating that he was firm in his request. Zeus’s look softened at the sight of his brother.

“Very well then.” He spoke in the end. “You can take her right now.”

It was disgusting. Treating her like a cow someone could just take away and not caring in the slightest. Persephone was his daughter… but this was Zeus. A man with too many children to count both gods and goddesses as well as half mortals. He had a different women warm his bed while his lovely wife was busy organizing banquets and family gatherings.

Zeus gave Leon a general direction where to go to speak to Persephone and he was quick on his feet to formally and officially meet his new wife. It felt wrong to him to just come up to her bedroom and say ‘hi there pack your stuff you are marrying me’. But how else could he put it? He struggled with many different approaches until he finally made it to her door.

A soft knock and a short wait later there you stood. Leon was smitten. All his speeches and offerings evaporating from his mind the moment his eyes landed on you. You looked tired and even broken most likely from all the hardships Zeus put you through.

“Can I help you?” You spoke up breaking Leon’s trance making him blink rapidly.

“I um… How do I put it…” He stumbles through his words your kind eyes making his mind run blank. “Are you alright?” Is the first thing that leaves his mouth after a longer pause.

This question caught you off guard. Before you, stood the Hades, the god of the dead and the king of the underworld and he was checking in if you were, okay?

“Yeah…” You lie through your teeth as you tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear and another Mountain Laurel drops from your locks onto the ground.

“Please don’t lie.” He speaks and your eyes widen. Was he really the scary god you have heard rumors about?

You bite down on your lower lip and sigh. “No. I’m not.” You speak your voice breaking in the moment.

“Do you want to get out of here?” He almost stammers through the question but manages to keep his voice and tone even.

“I’m sorry, what?” You question.

“Do you want to get away from him? He won’t touch you again, you will stay in a safe place, far, far away from here.” He began explaining.

Your expression is taken over by shock and you were wary of his offer. He could just replace your current abuser and be even worse. However, there was just something about him. He was nervous, cautious and awkward as if he didn’t know how to best offer his aid to a person in clear need of some help.

“Yes.” Escapes your mouth before you think too clearly about it. Was it desperation or something else? You couldn’t tell. He was offering a lamp in the never-ending darkness, a hand to raise you from the despair and lift you to the grassy plains you always saw in paintings.

And so, it was… Leon took you to his penthouse in the mortal realm, offered you shelter from the horrible storm Zeus created and treated you with nothing but kindness and care. He was still very much odd in comparison to the other gods you have met but this was a welcomed difference.

The two weeks you rested and took time to process the horrors you went through and those two weeks were refreshing. Leon always stayed in a room of his own while allowing you to give the guest room your own touch. What else could it be but flowers you grew yourself?

Leon was curious and peaked at now your bedroom while you were in the shower. The flowers were vibrant, beautiful and very poisonous. Lantanas on the windowsill were bright red and orange making the window look as if it was painted in the sunset’s colors. Along one of the walls proudly stood the Lily of the Valley as well as several Foxgloves. They didn’t pose much harm unless consumed but what worried him was the Wisteria flowers hanging from the ceiling.

If he remembers correctly those are not harmful for humans but for animals like cats or dogs. If Cerberus the three headed hound was to eat some it would be harmful for him.

“Mr. Leon.” You squeak the moment you saw him in your bedroom.

“Just Leon is fine…” He speaks up now feeling the anxiety forming in the pit of his stomach. “I just wanted to see the flowers…” He adds.

“Okay…” You speak awkwardly. “I’m not letting Cerberus in there. Wisteria could be harmful if he was to eat some.” You add and a hint of a smile appears in the corner of his lips.

“Thank you.”

You nod holding onto a damp towel you usually placed on a radiator in your bedroom. Just then the pitter patter of claws against the hardwood floors turns your attention to the three headed dog that stared into your soul.

He was quick to tuck one of his heads into your side practically demanding that you pet all three of his heads. “He took a liking to you.” Leon speaks up.

“Yes, I suppose he did.” You say as you lower your free hand to pet Cerberus on one of his heads.

“You two will protect the house then.” He spoke. “I have a meeting I must attend tonight… hopefully it won’t take too long.”

You took a better look at him noticing he wore a perfectly tailored suit with a Mountain Laurel tucked into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. It looked as if it was on the verge of wilting away.

You picked one of the smaller lilies now growing among your locks and replace the sad flower with a fresher one. His blue eyes stare into your own at the gesture and he gives you a nod of approval before leaving the pent house.

Left to your own devices you made your way to a bookshelf standing in the living room. Among the old classics and newer works, you run your fingers along the spines. Recently you finished reading The Count of Monte Cristo and now it was time to occupy your time with something else.

Your finger lands on the spine that read The Frankenstein... intrigued you pick it up and open it. What you found inside were newspapers neatly bent and placed between the pages. You take the paper and unfold it to find the flowers that grew in your hair from the moment the two of you met. The Lilly, the Water Hemlock, The Oleander and of course the Mountain Laurel. The very same he picked from the ground as you rushed out of Zeus’s chambers.

He pressed to preserve the flowers growing in your hair. Commemorating the stages of healing you passed in the last two weeks. Your heart warms as you put everything back in place. From that day onwards every time Leon had to leave the pent house you tucked a fresh flower into his breast pocket. Calendulas, Dahlias, Cornflowers, Pansies and lastly Roses.

He was kind and patient with you giving you support and care you couldn’t even dream of receiving while you still lived in the Olympus villa. He even insisted for you to pick a name of your own, one that he would call you and one that you felt comfortable having.

“(Y/N)…” He spoke up one evening tucking your attention away from a book you were reading. “I didn’t want to bring this up while you were still vulnerable and getting better but I think I should now…” He seemed nervous, hands seemed to clamp up as he rubbed them against his pants. “When we met… I came to Zeus to discuss me finding a wife.”

“Is that why you were going on meetings so often?” You question your heart feeling as if a dangerous string was tightening against the beating organ.

“Well yes… um… I asked Zeus for your hand in marriage.” He admits and your eyes widen. “I should have said something sooner and I’m deeply sorry for keeping this…”

“Why me?” The question escapes you.

He is taken aback by the question. “I’ll be frank… I have never seen a woman run for their life from Zeus and I just had to meet you. And when I did, I was…”

You await his continuation and he just can’t seem to find the right words to explain the hurricane of emotions that over took him the moment he saw you. He was enchanted with your beauty, charmed by your honesty when he kindly asked for it, knowing that I would make you vulnerable if you did speak the truth, he was angered by the pain a sweet doe such as yourself carried on her shoulders.

“I was smitten, enchanted, charmed, enamored, as if the fates have decided to bless me with such treasure. I went to those meetings to convince your mother to allow me to take you to the underworld with me. If you of course so wished. And she was a tough nut to crack.” He sighs.

Your brows furrow in confusion. How was your mother in charge of your own choices. Leon was giving you the choice to reject him and to walk away from the marriage he proposed but alas why would you? He treated you like a queen, his queen.

“She demanded that you spend spring and summer with her in the overworld. And you can stay with me in the underworld during winter and autumn.” He clarified noticing your confusion.

“How about a whole year?” You spoke up with determination laced in your tone.

Leon’s mouth opens slightly and he closes it. “You-“

“I don’t want to be controlled. I’m not a puppet. So yes, I will marry you and become your queen of the underworld.”

That was all he needed. The marriage ceremony as a whole didn’t take long and you were adorned in bridal wear as you stepped onto the Charon’s boat with Leon by your side. Demiter of course threw a fit over it all and demanded that you hold up the deal she made with Leon. Which was the whole catch. She made that deal with your now husband, not with yourself.

The boat ride was far from romantic the screaming souls of the dead pierced your ears but you didn’t mind it. This was going to be your life now and you willingly stepped onto the path that will lead you into the deepest parts of the underworld.

The house of Hades was adorned in reds, oranges and yellows it looked beautiful from old statues all the way to a deserted part in the west wing of the main hall where damned souls waited patiently in line awaiting their judgement.

Leon was quick to lift you off your feet carrying you, bridal style towards his chambers. He was practically attacked by workers under his care to get back to work but the fact that he now held and former Olympian goddess in his arms made them grow silent instantly.

“This will be our bedroom.” He spoke the moment he set you on your own two feet taking the room in.

It was spacious and adorned in memorabilia that just screamed it was his. “It looks lovely…”

“You… you can change it…” He was quick to offer. “However, nothing grows in the underworld, nothing really lives… but you could have gathered as much.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” You smile at him and he has that look in his eyes.

He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, now the flowers adorning your locks were the ones of a pomegranate. “You are…. Stunning.” He stumbles over the last word. “I just… want you to feel comfortable… and I know there are expectations… to… consummate the marriage but… there is really no need for it. I… do not expect you to…”

“I want to.” You interrupt his speech and you swore you could see a hint of a blush paint his cheeks.

All of your experiences thus far were unpleasant to say the least. You just needed something much nicer to replace the horrors that made Mountain Laurels begin growing among your locks.

“Okay…” He clears his throat. “Um… if you wish to stop at any moment just say so I will stop.” He clarifies as he steps forward his wedding robes perfectly framing his well-built body making you swallow a lump forming in your throat.

He was careful slowly moving his hand to hold your chin and guiding your head to look up at him. Already you had a feeling this will go differently than when you were violated by your own father.

Leon leaned in closer pressing a gentle kiss against your lips. Zeus would never, he would grab you by the throat and basically suck all of the air out of your body with his lips. Leon was so calm, so slow… his other hand moving to gently trace his fingers up your arms and down.

He took hold of your forearm guiding your hand to press it against his chest. He craved your touch. You took his movement as a sign to lift up your other hand placing it on the side of his neck.

The slow and gentle movement of lips began turning a bit more passionate and before you knew it you were pressed against his chest kissing him to the best of your ability. Your arms wrapping around his neck.

Leon lifted you off your feet carrying you to the lavish bed. His lips not moving once from yours as he laid you down on top of it. “You are beautiful.” He speaks his voice turning huskier.

The warmth you felt in your cheeks seemed to intensify as he spoke those sweet words. Your hair was spread against the pillow the petals falling all over the sheets and the floor. It made you feel vulnerable and somewhat uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong?” He questions the moment he noticed the shift in your expression.

“I- I don’t know…” You stutter.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“N-no… I…” You sigh your brows furrowing.

Leon stills as he looks at you from above… there was a worried look pooling in his eyes. You could see the cogs turn in his head as he was thinking of a way to make you more comfortable. His blue irises were unfocused and until he looked straight into your eyes with determination.

“How about this…” He speaks as he picks you off the bed and switches places with you. He was now sat on the bed against the headboard and he sat you so you would straddle his lap. “You are the one in control…” He offers and your brows furrow in confusion. “Use my body to make yourself feel good.”

“I can’t do that.” You counter.

“I… want you to. I want you to feel pleasure… and if I can make it more comfortable for your I will…” Your heart warms at his reassurance. “So… use me…” He speaks; his tone was slightly unsure but his eyes were filled with determination.

You were sure you can do this. This man was your husband, kind, thoughtful and desperate to make you comfortable as well as make you feel as safe as he possibly could. So, you reach for his hands and place them on your hips.

You then move your hands to his robes pushing them off his body. His chest was full of battle scars. Some of them mere scratches but some deep and gnarly looking gashes. Your hand traces the scarred flesh and he shivers under your touch.

“They must have hurt…” You speak; your mind enveloped in a trance like state.

“Yours too…” He pulls on your clothing revealing some of the marks you had.

“They are not nearly as bad as yours.” You counter him and he chuckles.

His hand moves a strand of your hair behind your ear and cups your face. “Every scar has a story… we don’t need to compare them to acknowledge the fact that we felt pain.”

You lean in closer to him to place another kiss on his lips. This one was far shorter than when he kissed you and you think of what you wanted him to do. “Undress me.” You order.

His hands move up to push your wedding garments off your shoulders and you notice a slight tremor in his hands. He was nervous, nervous to be intimate with someone, nervous that he will hurt you, even if it was unintentional he would never forgive himself for harming you.

“I… don’t…” You sigh… you couldn’t pick where to start, what to do… how are you supposed to know what you wanted when you were never asked… or were never allowed to express.

“I want to kiss every inch of your skin…” He announces… his cheeks turning a shade darker. “Can… can I?”

A nod of your head and he leans in closer pressing a gentle kiss on your lips then moving lower. The feeling of his lips against your neck made you shiver. You held onto his bare shoulders for support as his lips began moving over your collarbone then over your shoulders.

“Can I go lower?” He asks and you hum in approval. He pushed more of the fabric to the side exposing your bare breasts to the slight chill in the air.

He pressed his lips over your breasts and took one of your nipples into his mouth. Your thighs clench against his from the sensation and your grip on his shoulders grows stronger. Before you knew it his mouth was on the other breast making small whimpers of pleasure escape your lips.

“Me… too…” You sigh… “I want to kiss you too...”

Leon leans back against the headboard giving you access to his chest. You leaned closer placing feather light kiss against his neck. He noticeably shivers and you feel a bulge forming beneath you. You look down and you know what is hiding beneath the fabric of his wedding garments.

“It’s…” He stumbles in his attempt to ease your mind but the moment you placed your hand over it his flinches almost choking on his saliva. Wide blue eyes make contact with yours. Your hand moves up and down along the length.

He was half Zeus’s size in length, about half a foot if you had to be specific, but what he was lacking in length or better yet not lacking considering the monstrosity Zeus carried beneath the thin fabrics Leon made up in grith. It was intimidating, the sheer thickness of it all.

“You don’t… have to…” Leon sighs at your movement, his shoulders were turning blush red as well as his cheeks.

“I want to.” You spoke.

“I want to make you feel good too.” Leon sighs as one of his hands moves up your thigh closer to your center.

“You can…”

His hand moves between your legs, his middle finger running along your slit. “You actually want this…” He spoke… it was as if it surprised him that he could feel your arousal.

You nod confirming… of course you wanted it. You were just scared. That it will be the same as it was before. But no matter what you trusted Leon. Your now husband. Your now king…

His fingers moved more entering your most sensitive place. You moaned as he pumped them inside you. First one, then two… then three… it didn’t hurt unlike when you felt this before and you pant against him. Your forehead leaned against his for support as your breaths mix in between.

Your hand began moving more confidently every stroke deliberate as the two of you pleasure each other. Leon swore under his breath several times and sooner rather than later the movements of your hands were in sync.

“I want to feel you… around me…” Leon spoke up an embarrassed tone hiding beneath the husky desire.

“Me too…” You pant.

“You are in charge.” He reminds you as he removes the fabric covering his length. The angry red tip stood proudly somehow; he looked even thicker than when you could barely wrap your hands around him earlier. Every vein that snaked around his length looked to be deliberate as if his whole purpose as a god was to give pleasure.

But alas he was the god of the dead and not love or sex. Not that it mattered. He helped you line up your hips with his length and was there to help you keep your balance. “Easy… at your own pace.” He reminds you.

You slowly lower your hips and feel the tip entering you. “That… is a lot…” You point out and he holds back a chuckle.

You move lower and get to about half way before you have to pause. The stretch was a different sensation that you didn’t expect to feel tonight. It wasn’t bad just… different. Leon patiently waits for you to adjust and the moment you took him in completely he bottoms out with a throaty moan.

“Fuck…” He groans. “(Y/N)….”

You let out a noise that was a mix between a hum and a whine as you attempted to get used to the thick length inside you.

“You… feel… so… fucking… good.” He pants between each word.

His praises and cloudy eyes make you want to see more of it. What expression he will make if you began moving? What if you moved faster? What if you were in a different position? The possibilities seemed to be endless, and you just had to see all of it…

You move your hips up and down and he forces his hands to grip the sheets, he wanted to touch you oh so desperately but there was that fear. You seemed to be so frail, what if he put too much pressure on your body?

“Leon…” You moan his name desperation hidden beneath the surface of your tone. “Touch me, please.” You plead.

And how is he supposed to say no? His hands move to your hips aiding you in your movements and leaning forward to silence his moans as much as he possibly could by kissing your breasts.

The sound of skin slapping against skin feels the room together with needy moans and pants, you swore the room got so much warmer than when you entered it earlier. It didn’t take long for a strange feeling develop in your stomach.

“Leon… I… feel weird…” You stumble to finish the sentence.

“It’s okay… let it go…” Taking his advice you relax and a sensation of pure ecstasy takes over your whole body. “That’s it… come on your throne…” Leon smiles against your skin. The pure huskiness in his voice makes you shiver. “You, okay?”

Your eyes were clouded with lust and desire. The pleasure was all too much for you to speak in the moment so you nod to answer his question.

Leon flips the two of you so you were laying on your back his length barely moving inside you as he held most of his weight on his arms. “Let me do all the work.” The blush on his cheeks was far darker than when you began consummating your marriage.

His hips begin moving in a slow and steady rhythm making you unravel under his touch. Panting and moaning his name you grab a hold of his shoulders to ground yourself. When his hips begin to move in a more rapid pace your nails dig into his skin and he groans. Each time he moves it feels as if he is reaching deeper into your core.

“L-Leon…” You stutter through the moans.

“You are doing so well… my queen…” He moans into your ear making you shiver yet again. Not even the gods know how many times goosebumps formed on your skin from his voice alone.

You can feel each vein and the moment he is about to reach his peak somehow you could tell he was about to feel the same overwhelming pleasure you felt while you were nested in his lap.

“I wish…” Thrust… “I could…” Thrust… “Give…” Thrust… “You…” Thrust… “A child…” He speaks absentmindedly. “Please come with me…” He begs.

Leon uses one of his arms to rub your clit and it takes seconds to get you to the same state he was in. You mumble under your breath and the both of you reach the climax. You spasming around his length and he deep inside you.

He pants as he leans his forehead against yours. He stayed like that for several minutes before his mind cleared and he picked you up taking you to a bath to clean you up. His bare feet walking over the lose petals that escaped your hair.

 The warm water relaxed your tense muscles as he joined you in the bath seating himself behind you and rubbing a wash cloth over your skin…

“Can I ask you something?” You turn your head to the side so your profile is facing him and you can catch a glimpse of his stunning blue eyes from your peripheral vision.

“Anything…” He speaks as he kisses your shoulder.

“You said you wished you could give me a child… does that mean you can’t?”

He tenses at your question. “No, I cannot.”

“Why?” You lean back against his chest.

He clears his throat. “Nothing grows in the underworld… and since I’m the king I cannot bear children by any means… now unfortunately… the only thing that seem to grow down here is the flowers in your hair…” He explains with a sigh as he reaches for the pomegranate flower that fell from your hair and was now floating in the soapy water…

The revelation saddened you but it still wouldn’t make you change your mind on the decision you have made when you married him. You were now his queen and you wouldn’t dare to break his heart by leaving him especially after all that he had done for you.

It turns out that the abandoned and ghostly west part of the house of Hades was a garden with tainted soil. You spent your alone time in there and on one particular day you buried some flowers into the soil.

Many days later you revisited the garden and there it was a single sprout peaking from the soil. Your hand automatically reaches for your stomach… perhaps… it was not so impossible to grow in the land of the dead.  

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: bearded fireworm

Welcome to another wriggly, writhing, worm Wednesday. Today's crawling critter is a common sight in Atlantic coral reefs, where its ecological role is a matter of debate. There's still a lot we don't know about the bearded fireworm, but we know enough to say that if you see one, don't touch it. Now if you see a bearded firewyrm it means you're in an RPG and you might as well go for it. It probably drops good loot.

(Image: a bearded fireworm on a rock covered in red algae. It is a long, thick, and somewhat flattened worm with brownish body segments divided by green lines. Along its sides are red bristles and gills, as well as tufts of very fine white bristles that almost look like fur. End ID)

The bearded fireworm (Hermodice carunculata) is a polychaete worm, the largest group of segmented worms. Polychaetes are known for the bristles called chaetes that grow on lobes on their body segments called parapodia. Different polychaetes have modified their chaetes to perform different functions, such as paddles for swimming, pseudo-limbs for walking, or defensive structures. When asked what it wanted to use its chaetes for, the bearded fireworm said "yes". They can use their for both crawling and swimming, but have also modified tufts of bristles along the sides of the body that are used for defense. These bristles are very skinny and sharp and filled with neurotoixic venom. When touched, the bristles will break off and embed themselves in the flesh on an attacker, allowing them to continue pumping venom into whatever animal touched the worm. In humans, the venom can cause pain, burning, dizziness, and nausea, but is rarely medically significant. In polychaetes, only the head and rear segments are distinct from the others. The head of a fireworm contains the mouth, simple eyes, and a structure called a caruncle used for smelling. The rear portion contains the anus. Fireworms get to be about 18-25 cm long (8-10 in) and come in a variety of colors, from dull brown to red.

(Image: a bearded fireworm crawling over a rock, seen from the front. Its head is mostly red, but no real distinct features are visible. End ID)

Bearded fireworms are found in tropical seas throughout the Atlantic ocean, from the southern USA to Guyana in the west, Ascension Island in the middle, and the Mediterranean sea and the northern and western coasts of Africa in the east. While most famously coral reef dwellers they can also be found in a wide range of habitats, including rocky, sandy, and muddy bottoms, seagrass beds, driftwood, and harbors. They are typically found within the top 40 m (130 ft) of the ocean and prefer coastal environments. Fireworms are nocturnal primarily-carnivorous omnivores that target cnidarians, particularly coral and anemones. They are also opportunistic scavengers that will target almost any form of dead animal. Fireworms largely target corals for feeding, especially staghorn corals. The worm will climb on a staghorn coral antler and engulf the tip with its pharynx. It then consumes the polyps and tissue of the coral, a process that can take several minutes. After a fireworm finishes feeding, the coral skeleton will be exposed. They supplement their diets with algae and seagrass. Fireworms hide underneath rocks during the day. When threatened, they flare their bristles outward and may attempt to escape by swimming.

(Image: a fireworm feeding on a stalk of coral. It has climbed onto the stalk, which is skinnier than it. The lower body is wrapped round the stalk. Its head is engulfing the tip of the stalk. End ID)

Bearded fireworms can reproduce both sexually and asexually. Sexual reproduction typically occurs 2-5 days after the full moon. Females will swim to the surface of the water or move to a hight point on a rock and signal to males that she is fertile by releasing pheromones and bioluminescing. Males swim up after her, forming a swarm as they try to get as close as possible. The female will release her eggs into the water and males follow up by releasing sperm. These swarms often attract predators looking to eat the worms and filter feeders looking to eat the eggs. Fertilized eggs will hatch into larvae that live amongst the plankton. As they age, they will grow larger and eventually sink to the seafloor. When reproducing asexually, the fireworm will split itself into two or more pieces, they then grow new heads and/or tails and become independent clones of each other. This regenerative ability also helps them survive predation. A worm bitten in half by a predator can regenerate and survive. Fireworms live for up to five years.

(Video: a group of fireworms mating. There are multiple worms of different sized crawling and swimming around each other, forming a tight and shifting cluster on top of a rock. As they crawl together, gametes are released on the form white specks and streams. End ID)

Fireworms have often been seen as threats to coral reef health as the damage they do to corals can negatively impact their health and exposes them to disease and algae competition. They are also known to act as carrier for bacteria that infect corals. These bacteria seem to use the worms as homes for the winter and migrate back to the corals in spring. Overpopulation of fireworms does pose a threat to reef health, but more recent studies indicate that in a healthy reef, the worms are beneficial by increasing competition. It is only when the reef is in poor health that the worms start damaging it. Unfortunately, climate change, pollution, and overfishing of the worm's main predators means that most reefs are in poor health. As the oceans warm, the fireworms are expanding their range forth and south, possibly allowing them to enter ecosystems that aren't adapted to their presence.

(Image: a bioluminescing fireworm. It is glowing green. End ID)

The conservation status of fireworms has not been evaluated, but they appear to be abundant in their range. They are not commercially important to humans aside from their impact on reefs. As mentioned above, the burning sensation their venom causes is painful, but rarely dangerous. Tape can be used to help get the bristles out of your skin if you do touch one. Despite their striking appearance, fireworms are rarely kept in aquariums due to their aggressive nature to other tank inhabitants and the likelihood of getting stung.

(Image: a fireworm raising its head into the water. End ID)

[saisuta-art]

THE SILLIES YAAAAAY!!!!! ヾ（〃＾∇＾）ﾉ♪

I've revisited my take on the Koopalings with revamped designs based on their hooman forms and giving them more love than nintendo ever gave them and I think I've finished setting up my AU and don't need to change anything else :0 so I'll tell you all about it under da cut!!!! ٩(◦`꒳´◦)۶

THE BASICS

In this AU, the Koopalings are Bowser's biological children.

Bowser Jr does not exist in this AU.

The AU takes place after the events of Super Mario Odyssey, meaning the Broodals show up in it too.

They are usually in human forms but I will draw their koopa forms occasionally.

Their personalities are vastly different from canon. I've kept some aspects from their canon personalities, but most of it has been rewritten.

CHARACTER INFORMATION

LARRY

Age: 15 | MBTI: INTP

The youngest of the siblings. He spends most of the time listening to his music and not caring much for what's around him. He usually appears listless and uninterested, however, when it comes to tennis matches, he changes completely. He will do anything to win, even cheat, and he is known to be a HUGE sore loser!

WENDY

Age: 16 | MBTI: ENTJ

The second youngest, born after Roy and Morton. She is a spoiled rotten brat who always gets the most expensive clothes, jewels and make-up that she can find in order to always look elegant. If she doesn't get her way, she will scream until she wins! She is extremely jealous of the princesses from Mushroom Kingdom and will go great lenghts to look better than them. However, she has a secret caring side for her brothers.

ROY

Age: 16 | MBTI: ENTP

The middle one in between Wendy and Morton. Roy's your average cool jock type: always flexing his muscles, training all day and trying to impress cute girls but failing miserably at it. Wendy often takes out her rage on him by yelling at him or attacking him, but deep down he knows she still appreciates him!

MORTON

Age: 16 | MBTI: ESTJ

Born before Roy and Wendy. As the most strict of the Koopalings, he is in charge of making Bowser's minions work 24/7 and reinforcing the rules so that nobody is caught slacking off. He is also known for being a loudmouth as he can spend hours talking even if nobody's listening to him, and he's got the perfect lungs for screaming too. Toads often mock him by comparing him to a brute caveman.

IGGY

Age: 17 | MBTI: ESFP

The third oldest. Being the most hyperactive, extroverted and unpredictable, he is a real wild child! There's never a monotonous time whenever he pops in! However, he also has a demented side and often has psychotic episodes where he'll cause rampages and hurt anyone who gets in his way, so Larry and Lemmy have to restrain him by strapping up his straightjacket.

LEMMY

Age: 17 | MBTI: ISFP

Despite his child-like appearance, he is actually the second oldest of the Koopalings, being born after Ludwig and before Iggy. He is calm and mature as he wants to act his age. He also hates being patronised for his short stature and demands to be taken seriously. But he is still interested in the circus and practices all the time to be the best performer in the world!

LUDWIG

Age: 18 | MBTI: INTJ

The oldest Koopaling and the one who'll inherit the throne after King Bowser. He is intelligent, haughty, cunning and cocky. He is also antisocial, a bit of a misanthrope and he hates meeting other people, so he spends a long time shut in his room, playing the piano and writing music compositions. However, in front of Mario and Luigi, he'll act like the leader of the group, which his siblings despise.

[prinzrupprecht]

Hey! Can I ask for Apollo of the RoR? Reader caught his attention during her fight but she doesnt give he any attention cause hes a womanizer except he is real kinda fall for her ❤️

Apollo x Einherjar!reader

Love the request idea! I barely get Apollo requests so my bad if I mess up a bit.

Synopsis: You had been called to ragnarok by Brunhilde to fight for the humanity or else your race would be extinct. It was an honour to be chosen to fight since you were well known from your time.

TW: none—?

WC: 1151

Your round happened to be the 10th round. With barely a victory on your part, you couldn’t help but remember the words of the Chinese god you had defeated. Your fighting style was magnificent before his soul perished. Your Valkyrie had to help you to the infirmary afterwards due to how badly cut you were.

“You— You need to be careful!” Svipul squeaked out as you tried to walk on your own holding your side.

“I’m fine, go worry about yourself.” You croaked but the Valkyrie felt a bit defeated by your stubbornness until a man walked up to you. He was taller than the two of you. He had a smile plastering his face and you recognized him instantly.

Apollo.

“Oh? You look like you need help—"

“No thanks,” you snorted as you tugged on the wall barely holding onto your conscious.

You remember his fight all too well replaying in the back of your mind. You were bored when you watched him fight against Leonidas. You remembered him and it was crazy how he was standing in front of you nervously. Your ears could still hear those fangirls crazily fawning over him during his match at every turn he made, and every moment to exaggerate his poses as if this was some theatre play. You couldn’t exactly remember if you were mad or pissed but you declared to go next after he killed Leonidas. The whole crowd was cheering for him and the humans were in desperate distress over another loss.

Apollo’s mouth gaped and Svipul grabbed your arm to push past him to get you to the infirmary asap. You weren’t in any condition to be stalling in the halls while your wounds have yet to be treated.

Apollo gave a smug look watching your retreated form disappear down the hallway. He was intrigued by your performance. The only reason he watched your fight was because of your beauty, not because of your looks but the beauty of your artistic fighting skills that caught his attention.

It made him lose his composure and ignore the women who easily fall for him. You on the other hand don’t even bother to look at him nor care about his existence. Was this a game for him? He was growing impatient by the minute.

Or could this be him denying he was falling for a human?

~~ while you’re being treated

The doctors were incredible and had already sealed your wounds. You could walk around more freely and there was very minimal pain. So it was true as Sasaki said the doctors here were amazing.

As you expected Svipul had knocked. You quietly mumbled and said it was open. “You look better and bea—"

“I’m sorry! He followed me and insisted on seeing you,” Svipul pushed past Apollo. You could feel your eye twitch. Why? You must look hideous laying in a white gown on a bed that resembles one from a hospital.

You refused to make eye contact with him. “You’re wasting your time.” You flat-out spoke. Svipul kept quiet as she sat next to you. Apollo scoffed at your words but gave you a smug look and stayed in the room.

“I think not, maybe it happens to be that I’m more curious about you. Every single thought running through my mind is about you.” Apollo’s left hand touched his forehead as he spoke so charismatic about you. He even continued his speech.

“They all call me the bright sun god but you even shone brighter when you danced in the arena.” He was smirking but he still managed to make it about him. Were you even surprised? Did he just say you danced? You fought courageously and wanted to win for the sake of your race. He was fighting against your race to be extinct. So which is it?!

Before he came here, he was determined what he was feeling wasn’t a normal desire and that he had fallen in love with your ideals, fighting spirit and beauty. He had accepted the terms with it and didn't care whether you were a human, goddess, deity or demon. Everything about you was beautiful to him which had him drawn to you like a magnet. The most beautiful god of the Greek pantheon likes you? So many questions ran through your head.

“Sh—should I go get my sister—?” Svipul was nervous but you interrupted.

“No.”

You looked at Apollo but it was more of a stubborn glare because he has a fanbase harem that you absolutely detest. So why is he here? He was stubborn like you and doesn’t like being told no.

Deep down you had liked how you caught someone’s attention. Throughout your human life, you could barely even get your parents attention. “I— I don’t believe you. You should leave and find someone else to entertain you,” you were turning read and Svipul wasn’t speaking nor helping you.

Apollo hummed and stepped closer to your bed. His right index finger lifted your chin to meet your eyes. You couldn’t even fight even if you wanted to. Why was he so beautiful and you’re trying so hard to reject him? “You got it all wrong, you’re all that I could think about. Even if I had all the women surround me, you’re the only one that sticks out the most and can satisfy me.” The way he said those words made you turn your head. Satisfy?! Did he really just say those words out loud? Your face must’ve turned a deep shade of red.

“What are you even saying?” You couldn’t even meet his gaze anymore.

“Hmm? I thought it was obvious. I want you to be mine. I can give you everything you desire and in return your loyalty and trust.” Apollo was persistent and you felt like your position was tarnished. Were you being insulted or did he actually genuinely like you?

“Apollo sir, you— you can’t say such things to a human!” Svipul gasped. You were still readily to refuse him but even so, you were certain he was going to be back every day to annoy you. Does he win every woman with this exact line?

“My bad, my bad! Maybe this pretty sunflower will come up with an answer. I’ll leave for now and will return later,” Apollo made a triumph leave. He expects you to answer whether you want to court him?!

How can he be so bold?

“You’re not thinking of courting him are you?” Svipul gave you a questionable look.

“Me? Ha! He can wish,” you were conflicted with what you just said. You were trying hard to resist him but it was becoming harder to.

“Whatever you desire, I’ll support you.” Your Valkyrie was kind and supportive. Thank god she wasn’t like Hlokk or Alvitr who would’ve tried to run Apollo off.

Maybe just maybe you’ll give Apollo a chance.

Note: y’all should give me Qin, Buddha, Hades, or Loki requests! Anyways, sorry again if I messed up Apollo.

[seramilla]

How have yo been? I would like to ask for a story? A Emily and Sera story :3

Sera barely has any time to mourn the loss of the Morningstar before the elders decide it's time to try again.

With a new angel this time, tasked with many of Lucifer's old duties -- bringing joy and creation to mortals, in addition to serving as a de facto "substitute" for Sera, capable of performing all her duties, if such a situation ever arose.

That part - the idea that Sera will be training her own cautionary heir -- does not sit well with her. Sera has not won her place as the High Seraphim easily. She was not created for it. She's earned it by proving her loyalty, her unwavering dedication to the mandate of Heaven, and unlike a lot of her compatriots, not showing how disillusioned she is by the loss of Lucifer. Adonai's favorite child. She tries her best to pretend it doesn't bother her.

If He can banish his favorite angel in all of Heaven, none of them are safe. No matter how much she mourns the loss of her brother, she doesn't show it. She cannot. Not if she wants to keep herself and the other Seraphim alive and well.

When the day she is to be assigned her new ward finally arrives, Sera is ready. She's prepared to be greeted by another beautiful, perfect, devout creature of Heaven's creation, purposely formed with all the knowledge necessary to perform her duties, minus some of Sera's input, to prevent another Lucifer situation. What she is met with, instead, is something completely out of the ordinary.

A child. Not just a small angel, or a cherub, or a soul that died in childhood, but a young angel. Sera has no basis for comparison, because angels are ageless beings, but this one appears to be no older than 7 human years. Old enough to follow directions, and stare at her nervously from behind the legs of some of the elders, but with features so fresh and new to the act of being alive, one might mistake her for a Winner.

She looks so confused, uncertain of where she is and what's going on. She could have been created that very day, as far as Sera knows. That would explain the terrified look on her face.

Sera's suspicions are confirmed when one of the elders pulls on the girl's arm a little too roughly and brings her forward, until she's standing in front of him, facing Sera. The girl looks up at the High Seraphim slowly, knees shaking and the beginnings of tears starting to form in the corners of her eyes.

Now that she's no longer hidden, Sera can clearly see the resemblance between the girl and herself. It's like she was made to be a carbon copy of Sera's own likeness. Same dark skin, same snowy, opalescent hair. Same star-like freckles adorning her cheeks. Sera isn't certain about the purpose of this...design choice. But it frightens her, how alike both of them are.

Then the elder who presented the girl just...turns around and starts to walk away. Panicked, Sera calls after him, voice shaking and fingers wringing together in uncertainty. Her palms are sweaty and clammy.

"Um, sir! My lord! What--what am I to do with her?"

Without even turning around, the elder scoffs, clearly ready to be done with this situation and move on with his day.

"Were you not briefed on your directive? You are to train this one in Lucifer's duties, as well as your own. To be your cautionary heir. She was made simple, and malleable, and will follow all of your commands. If she does not, she can be replaced. Is that too difficult for you, High Seraphim?"

Sera is still shaking. Her body tightens up, heart jumping up into her throat, like she's being choked. The girl is still standing there, in a similar state of distress and confusion, not moving toward or away from her. Sera's not certain if the girl understands the gravity of her situation...Sera hopes beyond all hope that she does not.

"Understood," Sera says. The High Seraphim doesn't even recognize her own voice. She speaks through the fear, not letting the hitch in her throat come through. "Does she...does she have a name, my lord? What do I call her?"

Again, the elder scoffs at her, like she's wasting his time.

"Call her whatever you'd like. Or call her nothing at all. She's just the prototype. She will grow and learn, if she does well. But chances are, she won't last long, and we'll be right back here tomorrow. Good day to you, High Seraphim."

As the elder walks away, the girl appears to sink even deeper into the ground, cowering before Sera like the High Seraphim might hit her, or worse. She does not speak, and makes little more than the occasional gasp or light whimper. Sera's brow furrows in concern. She reaches for the girl, but the little one shies away

She's barely a day old. Was created that morning for a grander purpose, of which she knows nothing. Sera can't imagine how terrifying...how overwhelming that must feel.

Sera kneels this time, as low as she can with her exaggerated height. She was made to be an intimidating, lofty presence before the mortals, but right now, with one of her own kind, she's tempted to shrink herself down to be less of a perceived threat.

Thankfully, she doesn't have to. The girl finally looks up at her from under the hair that's fallen in her face. Sera notices she's in a simple white gown, no shoes, or anything to protect her feet. It's not like angels experience pain in the same way mortals do, but it's considered undignified and unsightly to not be wearing heavenly robes. Not dressing this girl appropriately before bringing her out in public...Sera suspects this was a form of humiliation.

But why?

She's not Lucifer. She hasn't done anything wrong. Why go to all this trouble to treat her this way if she's to be Sera's replacement? It's absolutely horrible...deplorable, what the elders have done! Why would Adonai ever allow such a thing?

Sera doesn't think on it further. There is no point trying to decipher the intentions of the Heavenly Host. With a single swirl of her hand and a wave of Heavenly light, the young angel is suddenly garbed in pearl and lavender robes resembling Sera's, and some simple white shoes. Her wings now look healthy and full, and the girl's halo shines as if freshly polished.

Sera kneels in front of her, slowly, supporting the girl's bottom and lower back as she lifts her off the ground. She weighs nothing. Quite literally as light as a feather, even with her freshly conjured robes, that are a tad big on her. No matter. Sera will get the measurements right for future iterations. There will be plenty of time.

The girl gasps, almost falling out of Sera's grasp before grabbing onto her shoulder to regain her balance. She hadn't been expecting to be picked up, and twists her upper body fruitlessly in an effort to escape, crying softly. Sera doesn't let go and coos sweetly.

"It's okay, Emily. It's okay. I've got you."

The name comes to Sera easily, as if someone had placed it directly into her mind. She doesn't even have to think about it. The girl immediately responds to it, halting her struggle and looking into Sera's eyes like she's just been given the greatest gift a person could receive.

Sera smiles at her, hitching her up higher into her arms so she doesn't fall. She seems to be getting heavier with each passing second. She's also beginning to look far less pale, and there is now life behind her once terrified eyes.

"Emily. Do you like that?"

Emily says nothing, but nods slightly, almost imperceptibly. She still hasn't said a word, but the slight recognition of her own name is progress. She's still looking at Sera with wonder.

It's a start. Sera will take it.

Sera thinks about opening her wings, to fly them somewhere, but isn't certain if Emily has been taught to use her wings yet. She doesn't want to scare the poor girl, any more than she already has been. Walking is fine for now. The High Seraphim hasn't mingled with the people in a while anyway, so staying on the ground will do her, and Emily, some good.

"Do you like ice cream?" Sera asks. "Or...have you had ice cream yet? With sprinkles?"

Emily looks at her, confused, as if she's just grown a second head. Sera laughs. There is so, so much Sera will have to teach her. She holds onto Emily tighter and takes them out into the street.

"It's so delicious! It's sweet and creamy. The humans brought it here from Earth some years ago, and it really took off. It's my favorite. Let's get some."

[wardenbloom]

Zayne: A Walk with you

The unforgiving fire enveloped her house as she cried for help. She was only eight years old when her family home crumbled into ashes due to a political dispute which resulted in arson. Her father timely rescued her from their burning home then stayed with her until help arrived. 

A man with tall stature, wearing an all-black wardrobe approached the two of them. 

“You.” He coldly uttered as his emerald eyes stared at the father. 

Her father attained third degree burns all over his body. His skin looked like it was melting, but even so, she held on to her dear father, her only surviving relative. 

“Dad…?” She tapped and hugged her dad but there was no response. 

“Me?” The dad asked, then looked at the man who called him. 

“Yes. Come with me.” He then turned his back from her father expecting him to follow but the father stood his ground. 

“I can’t go…” Her father said with a strong tone. “I can’t leave my daughter alone. We do not have relatives anymore, she doesn’t have a sibling… She’ll be alo–” 

“That, sir, is none of my business.” He turned around and looked at him. He was crying and worried about his daughter; his voice was shaking and so was his knees. He knelt down and wept. 

“Your wife is already waiting for you.” The man uttered and activated his ice evol to mimic a mirror and showed him his wife through it.

Her father stared at the mirror and looked at it – yearning for his spouse. 

“But… my daughter… please… I’d do anything…” He still was stubborn enough to want to stay despite knowing that someone was waiting for him out there. 

The man sighed and deactivated his evol. He looked at the child whose almost half of her body was covered with burns. She was now being taken care of and sedated by the medics while the father was being enclosed in a body bag. 

We’re getting nowhere. I still have a schedule of reaping fifteen minutes from now. 

He thought and finally gave in. “I can only watch over your daughter, if that makes you feel better.” 

The father’s face lit up and felt relieved. He now has no regrets and followed him wholeheartedly, looking forward to seeing his wife, who has been deceased for almost five years. 

Zayne had been doing a grim reaper’s job since he passed thousands of years ago. He was given only one job, to walk with the souls of the dead from earth to their next destination and to make his work more efficient, he was also given both human form and spirit form. He knew that if he deviated from his sole job, he'd be meted out a punishment of eternal damnation.

The situation where the deceased won’t pass peacefully without a condition is not new to him. He tries to avoid such conditions, but whenever he gives his word, he faithfully performs his end of promise. 

A year later, Zayne decided to visit the child he promised he’d be watching over. She now has healed burns but there are still scarring, and a house was also built for her using her father’s estate.

Her right arm and a part of her face was burnt and scarred but Zayne noticed that it didn’t stop her from being cheerful. She always visits her parent’s mausoleum and talks to them as if they were alive. 

“Well, my burns hurt sometimes, dad. But I think I’m doing better! The doctors were really nice.” Her small gleeful voice said. 

An orphan, but she doesn’t realize it yet. 

Zayne’s sight went from her to the graves in the cemetery. He remembers each one of them and their situation before they died as he walked with them to their next destination after their life on Earth. 

“Are you looking for someone?” The girl was suddenly in front of him and looking up at him. She was beaming with a smile as if her burns were not stinging. 

Zayne took a closer look at her and noticed that the burn affected the right side of her face as well. Her right eye was closed shut and her right cheek was completely burned. 

His eyes widened. 

… I forgot that I’m in my physical form… 

“No, I’m just looking around. It’s peaceful in the cemetery.” He replied in a soft tone. She tilted her head and nodded. 

“I agree with you, sir. It’s quiet here but it sometimes stinks of death.” She giggled but her eyes looked sadly at her parents’ mausoleum. 

“It’s… a natural process of life.” He replied. 

“Say…” She smiled. “Why do good people die early? My parents were good people… they fought for people’s rights… they like to include me whenever they do charity work but they were taken early… why is that?” 

Zayne did not know the answer because he only followed orders. 

“I don’t know.” He honestly replied and took a deep breath. 

“I see. Whether I find the answer or not, it doesn’t matter anyway…” She said then went back to the mausoleum. 

Zayne continued on watching her from afar for years. Somehow, he felt happy when she graduated from college then proceeded to do social work. The fact that the death of her parents were a result of other people’s greed did not let her change her outlook on life. 

He always wondered why she didn’t have many friends despite being good. He tilted his head while he watched her talk to a charity volunteer. She was still as cheerful as she was before. 

Why don’t people get near her? 

He looked at his pocket watch. 

I still have time to spare. I’m quite curious. 

For her birthday, she organized a feeding program for the orphanage in her area. They made lots of delicious foods and packed several hygiene kits for the children. She also made it a point to buy them different toys that they would like. 

At the nearby park, Zayne saw some of the volunteers for today. They were smoking and were engaged in a group conversation. He decided to listen in. 

“She’s so nice. Imagine doing all these for your birthday.” A girl said. 

“She looks ugly though. If she was a bit pretty, I’m sure people would flock over her.” A man said while laughing. 

“I agree. I also read before that her family used to do money laundering and shit. They all died except for her.” The other man added as he puffed his cigarette. 

“Huh? Are you sure it was money laundering? I thought her dad had done some corrupt practices as a politician before?” The girl asked. 

Where do they get their news…? Her dad was a good man… I was there when I led him to his destination… 

Zayne thought and furrowed his eyebrows.

“One thing’s for sure, that woman is gaining track of the limelight.” The man said confidently. “If she keeps this charity work up and being visible to the media then runs for an office, she’ll dominate.”

“I doubt that, bro. The people in power are just dynasties. Her dynasty died before she could even do something. Plus, look at her, ugly as fuck.”  

They laughed out loud. Shortly, a woman arrived at the park and called on the resting volunteers as their program was about to start.

I see. No one really bothered getting to know her. 

Months later, Zayne received the list of names for the reaping. He read the list as always and the first on the list was a name he didn’t expect. 

Zayne’s eyes widened as he read her name in the list. If he had a physical heart, it would’ve pounded rapidly. 

THIS EARLY??? WHY?? 

He read further into the document and it stated stabbed to death. 

He took a deep breath and looked at his pocket watch. 

I still have time… I can still… Can I save her? Should I? 

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

The gentle ticking of the watch reminded him of her time running out. Despite his doubts, he decided to save her. He arrived at her place and found her body laying down in the kitchen in her own pool of blood. Several stab wounds also hit her vital parts. 

No… I… I’m too late… 

Zayne held his breath and looked at her soul sitting on the table, looking at her dead body. She turned to look at Zayne and her face didn’t have any scars. In fact, she was the most beautiful soul he's ever seen.

She was never ugly… 

“It's you… The man at the cemetery… You’ve been watching me, have you, sir?” She childishly smiled. 

Zayne didn’t reply. It was unusual that she was so calm about it. She giggled. 

“Well, I don’t plan on living long anyway. This world is too cruel. I don’t want it.” Her eyes looked sad and had regrets. “But I still… I want to live…” Tears fell from her eyes. 

Zayne took a deep breath and approached her then awkwardly petted her head. “You did really well. Helping a lot of people at such a young age.” 

“The world is beautiful as well… I’ve met lots of nice people too… and the kids were very loving.” She forced a smile. He wiped her tears with his thumb and smiled at her.

“Shall I walk with you?” Zayne offered his hand and she nodded; he gently squeezed her hand then they started walking.

“Say…” She smiled. “If I’m good, then why do good people die early?” She asked again. 

Zayne smiled and answered: 

“When walking in a garden… which flowers do you think gets picked first? The rotten ones or the ones that are beautiful and blooming?”

[goodnightoilcountry]

you must like me for me - quinn hughes (a sneak peek !)

a/n: another fic idea i've had in my head for ages ! i started writing it the other day when i was sick and it's currently at 3k words. i'm CONFIDENT that i'll smash this one out quicker than my aho fic so it's the only reason i feel like i can post a sneak peak. but also let me know if you have any requests or ideas you'd like me to write about - i'd love to hear from you 🤍

summary: twelve months since the incident and you're ready to let yourself re-emerge into the public eye in the form of a hockey game. the plan was simple: appear, smile, leave unscathed. easy, right?

The theory of fight or flight has always fascinated you. In the face of adversity, no matter how complex the situation, millions of years of evolution still dictate that humanity will always revert to its oldest survival mechanism: to either assert and neutralize, or: evade and withdraw. 

What you’ve come to learn is that there’s a third strategy nestled between fight or flight, often overlooked because of its passiveness in comparison to its overt counterparts: to freeze. 

And that’s the instinct you’ve found yourself falling back on time and time again. As if you’re hoping to blend into the very fabric of the environment where you can pause amid the chaos, weigh the risks, and soundly determine the best course of action. 

The downturn? 

You’re left vulnerable and exposed the longer you wait. 

But it’s a tactic that you’ve grown familiar with, and it’s the one that’s currently in motion. 

“You can’t do this to her, she isn’t ready.”

“It’s been over a year, we can’t let her hide forever.” 

The commotion of voices being thrown around surrounds you but you’re too swept up with the memories and emotions battling out in your head. They’re leaving you dizzy and disorientated. 

One year. Had it really been that long? God. It feels like one month since you first signed your contract in front of a roomful of lawyers and high-powered executives. Back then, you were too naively charmed by the golden promises of stardom and fame that they were selling you. Promising that your talent for lyricism, bordering on poetry, would resonate with the hearts of girls who all seemed to unanimously share the parallel experiences of all things love and girlhood. That you needed a team that could provide you with the right connections and the right opportunities to get you there. 

And to their credit, they didn’t fail you. As soon as you signed your contract, the label had you in the studio effective immediately with the release of “your” song debuting four weeks later. 

“But I didn’t write this and it doesn’t really sound like me…” 

“Don’t worry about it, honey. We just need to get you on the charts and then you can write about anything you want. Trust us - this is how it all works.” 

And trust them you did.

Your song topped the charts for twelve consecutive weeks. The events that took place after your overnight success were a whirlwind. You released a music video. You did media interviews. You collabed with DJs to release remixes. You performed as a guest on endless TV shows. And when you were done, you thought that you would finally be able to sit down with your producers to start developing the library of ideas and single-line lyrics you had swimming around in your head. 

But they had other plans for you in the form of a studio album, and then rinse and repeat. You felt like you were a human cannonball: shot out, forced to perform carefully curated tricks, and to always stick the landing. 

Your team had done everything they could to meticulously craft your image; selectively allowing journalists to access certain stories whether it be about your work or your life. You were America’s Darling. Until you weren’t. 

A sharp trill of your name grounds you back into reality. You blink and recompose yourself, finding the same four people you entered the boardroom with, staring expectantly back at you. Your mom, your manager, Megan, your publicist, Bec, and sat opposite you across the insanely large table is the VP of your label, Joe. Their expressions are ones you’ve grown used to: sympathetic and slightly defeated.  

“Sorry, what was the question?” 

Megan sighs and shifts slightly in her chair to meet your front. “Darling, I know how hard this year has been for you,” 

Do you? 

“But it’s time for us to come back out. We need to face this.” 

In all the years you’ve worked with Megan, she has never offered you such softness in her voice as she has now. As a manager, a female manager in this industry nonetheless, she had been nothing short of headstrong, sharp, and commanding. Her confidence and demeanour never wavered and, if you were being honest, you were thankful that she held you to the same standard as the rest of your team. It equipped you with a thick skin, something that you wouldn’t have survived your young career without. And it leaves you to wonder where you would be now without her to guide you through this situation. 

“Megan is right,” Joe says. “The world hasn’t forgotten, you know.” 

It comes out so matter-of-factly that it feels almost accusatory. 

“You’re not the first celebrity to be wrapped up in a scandal and you certainly won’t be the last.” 

That line is enough to make your mom snap into a fury again. 

“A scandal? She did nothing wrong,” she chastises. “What that boy did is not her fault.” 

Joe’s impatience is growing evident with every turn of the conversation. As warranted as your mother’s protectiveness is for this particular circumstance, her resistance was stopping one of his biggest artists from bringing in the label money. You can tell he's trying his best to level his demeanour but you also know that the higher-ups are breathing down his neck. He's balancing it as well as anyone could.

“This wasn’t just any boy. And your daughter is not just any girl. The reality of the situation is that just because she wasn’t responsible for what happened, doesn’t mean we can simply erase her from it,” Joe breaks, voice raising ever so slightly.

“She cannot keep silent on this anymore and the longer we stretch this out, the more intense the backlash will be upon her,” he presses on. “With all due respect, we have been extremely patient and have afforded your daughter twelve months. But this is a business first and there is a contract to be upheld. We are giving you the opportunity to write the narrative or have it forced to be written for you.” 

“He’s right,” Bec interjects. She’s always had a good gauge of when to step in when tensions start rising. It’s what makes her such a great publicist - always mediating at the right time. 

“But we don’t have to rush either. We can take it slowly. Start off with a public appearance in a controlled environment. 

The juxtaposition of that sentence could have made you laugh. Controlled environment? If the last few years had taught you anything, it was that no public appearance was ever fully in your control. Your phone number had been leaked more times than you could remember; the media showed up at your house at all hours of the night; private family events were invaded by obsessed “fans”. 

Your mom was quick to make the same connection, “where could we possibly let her go that guarantees her safety?” 

“The suite at MSG has their security system locked down to a tee. We could place her in there with a few friends and guise it as a quiet night out to show their support. Maybe work with the organisation to show her on the scoreboard during a break, totally candid of course, and maybe meet with their guest of the night for some fan engagement. We don’t want the public to misconstrue the appearance as a total cover-up.” Bec rattles off like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

Megan and Joe start nodding in agreeance, chiming in with additional tweaks to the plan that’s now been laid out, and it becomes apparent to you that they’ve had this meeting before without you. Your requested input and presence on the matter was just an act of courtesy. But as vexed as you are with this realisation, you know it makes sense. You were tired of the pitied looks your family and friends gave you, afraid to broach the subject as if it would send you into a spiral. You felt like the public owned you; shunning you into silence with all your actions picked apart and psychoanalyzed everywhere you turned. 

You missed your fans who called for you every day, writing sweet notes of encouragement and rebuffing shallow attempts of hate accounts concocting false stories. You wouldn’t be half the artist you are today without them and they deserved more than just radio silence. And it’s this last thought that makes you believe it’s the only reason you say:

“Just tell me when.” 

[horizon-verizon]

Interview with a Vampire: Claudia

I watched this series a long time ago, both season, but I remember that I never expressed my disdain for Claudia-hate.

Some people argue Claudia had no right to be angry at Louis for telling Armand about Lestat...ugh.

While you may be part of a community, I don't think that means that said community has a right to force you to dehumanise yourself or to dehumanise/infantilize you. Or to ignore and dismiss what are very deep core, defining wounds in favor of their own "order". They know she is an adult and a community very much can change or shape itself towards some members' emotional needs as long as there's a unresentful understanding amongst all.

That play, if you notice, is basically describing--metaphorically--Claudia's existence, how others see her, how the coven members can and might abuse her, as well as foreshadowing the end of this story Claudia may have chosen to be a part of a coven, and specifically one in theatre, but she did not ask for infantilization. It's like if you have an insecurity and then tried to find a group to "belong" to, say a church community, but you find out right after you joined that you have to basically hone or perform your insecurity many times a week. For Claudia, that's x50. If you go back to the last episode, in the after credits, the directors and actors reveal that for the vampires, performing's only purpose is for them to be as they are (killing humans for glee, blood, etc.) while in front of the very humans they have to hide from so as to not be hunted or else.

Claudia has another layer of tragedy--her being a vampire adult stuck in an immortal body. And she has been forced into posing as a child for all of her vampire life, AND she has never been a human adult. While every other vampire she has met has at least experienced--even if they don't remember--what being a human adult was like and have carried whatever makes one "adult"/become physically "mature". Claudia is arrested in childhood not just physically of body but partially of mind, as you said. She has been trying to understand what it means to be a vampire and to be a realized vampire all this time, which is why she was so single-minded in finding other vampires--to find any frame of reference as well a a community that knows and appreciates their own vampire "self". So she could then find what she can be without it always going back to her entrapped state. Who is she, what is she? The girl who has never been "fully" mature? Who has only known adult" life as a vampire but is trapped with the form of the human self she no longer has any real attachment to? She quite literally doesn't have much clue what it's like being a more comparatively complex "human" (kids are still people, still complex, and have good cognitive skills) and has had no mental grasp or sensory experience of "humanness" to actively use when defining-measuring her own actions and self. Or others'. Other than the memories of an abusive aunt and a father who neglected her that are diluted to its most potent foundation of fear that obviously she nor others would want to dwell on, thereby making her even more focused on being a "vampire". There is quite literally nothing like the "leftover" shame Louis has from his mortal life in her, nor something else in the same "family" in potency.

Therefore she has no real interest or feeling of proximity or stake in understanding humanity nor her own proximity to the possible meanings of "humanity"--which explains her lack of patience or care or empathy for humans. She has nothing else but vampirism. So yes, there are more sticky, overlapping motivations for her "demanding" is not strictly the same sort of demanding as the kind of a child's natural forwardness, curiosity, & self-centeredness. Rather, this is a separate, related, and mutually informing phenomenon to how she is partially always a child with impulsive, demanding self-concern of a teen/child.

No one else has this sort of condition, even if they are also trapped in some ways and by their own actions. Only for her to be forced into playing a child in front of the very mortals she and the others do not think of as actual people. It is also like they are excluding her from their own process of self-actualization of vampirism, even inadvertedly. The effect is cruel and unnecessary. She can play a little person, or Armand can do as she asks and relegate her to the back, but he specifically states how he wont' bec "he said so", she should be "grateful", and that they are making a lot of money. As if that is actually why they perform in the first place. So, it's also form of exploitation. In a way, the coven is "feeding" off of her or she is going through special "punishment" before Armand actually punishes her. Child star, anyone? It's also interesting, considering how she is a walking violation of their laws, how they already show that they hate when their precious rules are broken, and how they resent Armand for making Louis just walk around breaking rules...she likely will/would have always been an outlier--socially--in the community she looked for all her life. So, they could also be said to take pleasure in her de-personing similarly to how they take joy/self affirmation when they kill humans onstage--"look at how we enforce our own laws, watch us punish this girl and watch as how we mock 'innocence', how opposed we are to the very concept." And they literally sucked the joy of performing from Claudia by trapping her in the performance she wanted to use to "free" herself--a thing she would have loved and thrived in, used to destroy her.

Claudia is in the most danger if the coven finds out abt Lestat, since Louis is at least in Armand's favor by having slept with him/Armand being in love w/him. And she is physically weaker, smaller as well as a literal "abomination". Louis using the reason of "you were unhappy" is simply not enough in the face of this danger mostly stacked against her, so his superior motivation is that he wanted to keep close to Armand. He had a whole year, mind you, to tell her Armand knows. S2Claudia is not the girl who kept secret the bodies of people she indiscriminately killed after her breakdown last season, which itself again was, as self-destructive and messy for not just her but Louis and Lestat, was a mental breakdown from THEIR actions in turning her as she is now that lead to her killing her first crush/how Lestat handled that. Yes, she needed to know her actions' consequences; however, with Lestat & Louis having not actually not engaging with her as a person but more an accessory-child so they could properly discipline her teenage-child stage, that was also most of their own doing. They needed to connect the consequences of their own actions to their actions that have lead them all to that point--w/o them, Claudia wouldn't have had to live as she did, and that will never change or not matter or not define why she does what she does! (btw, the first crush kill has its own plethora of meaning: it is when Claudia first really comes to realize that she is too dangerous to even that who she could love/value [like a child who's finally broken a much-loved thing what it did not fully internalize was the same as all the other things they did not "love"]).

Having read the book, this TV iteration Armand is not at all interested in really incorporating Claudia into the coven on her own merit, but just to keep Louis around, so he tolerates her emotions and psychological state even less. In fact, it works toward his benefit, bc it isolates her from Louis. I think it's good to remember that these people/vamps are not really trying to act in good faith to each other and might=right is what they really respond to unless they actually like you. Which isn't often.

Then there are those who question why Claudia is so fascinated and comes to trust Madeliene. And vice versa.

Claudia is fascinated by Madeline bc Madeline is a woman who really lives in her womanhood with no trace of self victimization or apologizing for it. Madeline actively listens to her, to her pain, Claudia is the interested in her own. Madeline is not distracted or putting anyone else above Claudia and is interested in what she has to say. It began with Claudia seeing how isolated the woman was in the other episode, how people tried to "warn" her away from her, and defying that boundary to see for herself what made this woman so ostracized. Like a teenager who doesn't like being told what to do (like Lestat), but also bc she had already desired to see herself in a dress that the woman was making that she wanted to use to see herself as she thinks of herself--a woman. You can compare it to how a trans person will wear clothes they/we see as "feminine" or "masculine" to identify and see their denied inner selves outwards. And the guy telling her not to enter likely re-reminded her of her limitations & childness. Also, Claudia cannot talk to other vampires both bc they are not interested and she would have to divulge information that could get her killed. Which makes Louis' telling Armand all the more enraging for her bc it's not just his secret but hers, she has been keeping the end of the silent deal they have to do so, and he never told her he was thinking of telling anyone--much less the vampire who could destroy them both consequently. In fact, Claudia is so much alike to Lestat. It is true that Claudia is trying to go back to Louis with how the coven is doing what they are doing, but she is very valid in that considering all the above and how we still expect our loved ones to have space for us when we see that the space we found with others is actually not conducive to our happiness or safety or mental stability--as the coven has proven to be and she instinctively knows but is clinging onto she has also felt Louis to be so unhappy even before they arrived at Paris (remember how he talked about wanting to go back home, how she was incessant in her search as if he resented her for the constant movement). In fact, it can be literally be life saving.

No, Madeliene is not a pedo nor does she only love or is attracted to Claudia bc she reminds her of her younger sister who she lost and their relationship re-fulfills a lonely failed-protector need in her. Just because you may not like her or understand why she has any appeal to anyone in the series or in real life, doesn't mean she has none nor that there isn't real meaning people get from her character.

Madeleine loves her, is loyal to her, and wants to be her vampire companion in any way--platonically or romantically--bec Claudia similarly rejects nothing about her when quite literally most people in Madeline's life has rejected-abused her or has died. Gender and sexism is a huge part of that; we see how Mad is dragged to the public and had her hair shaved in a public shaming for sleeping with the Nazi guy, and no I don't think sleeping with a Nazi soldier is morally unquestionable (at best), but the crowd's fury was not at her seeming inhumaness but them deciding to re-enforce a control over the female body. think Cersei's walk of shame, how that was clearly not about her murdering people but punishing her sexual decisions culturally denied to women. Would we really have seen a mal townsman be similarly shamed in public if he had slept with a Nazi lady spy or office worker, or the wife of a Nazi officer? A female Nazi officer?

Madeliene loves Claudia because despite all that Claudia has been through and still goes through, she is defiant and relatively easygoing (if people leave her be) and is as defiant as she is. She loves her strength and humor; is impressed by how Claudia is herself and relatively steady in her convictions to be herself. This inspires not just admiration but a faith that Claudia has an emotional steadfastness to be a "permanent" fixture in her life when change in Mad's life has mostly always been negative AND constant. Claudia is both intriguing, never boring, as well as immortal. Which goes back to why the book Mad wanted to be changed and be bk!Claudia's eternal companion--having lost her daughter and having lived her life forever haunted by the regret, she saw Claudia as a self restoration. With show Mad, she's also eager to leave behind human life not just for her lost sister but everything else on top of that. Where she would not have to be beholden to tragedy and have the vampire beauty and strength to be her "optimal" self. Humanity offered her nothing but pain and with the war, and thus far into her life as a dressmaker, she didn't seem to feel there was hope for an actually satisfying life...and without Claudia saving her from being raped, she def would have had an even worse life.

And she likes/is grateful for that Claudia is not put off by her own weirdness; Madeline is weird, she invited a vampire to suck her blood without really knowing beforehand what could happen to her aside from Claudia perhaps losing control and killing her accidentally. (No, I don't include her being dismissive and flippant with Armand when he was questioning her abt her readiness to become a vampire. One, she might have learned from Claudia abt his treatment of her and we already know that she puts Claudia before literally everyone else. Two, Armand may have been sincere in his desire to assess her and impart vampirism's bleakness, but he also was very clearly trying to intimidate her and it is very clear Madeline is not a person to take such things for long & unchallenged...she was nearly raped for it before. She's quite literally the definition of protecting any shred of dignity & happiness over he very life, she's just very...hard as reflective of her "dead" and disillusioned era. We have to remember that this is a time where people are coming back from a terrible world war and brought out the very worst in people--survivors aren't going to majorly be exactly pleasant to be around nor emotionally accommodating but challenge people to assess worth of personal investment.) If you really think abouu Claudia as a person instead of as an attachment or "obstacle" to LouisxLestat or some sort of "child", it's really not difficult at all why anyone could admire her. She could have folded at any time but she pushes on.

They match each other's "freak" AND sense of survivorship, basically.

Was it at first a little strange that she took an interest in Claudia before she ever saw her as a vampire or knew of her nature since Claudia is supposed to look like a teenager? And is Claudia's trappedness as adult-in-body define much of the material that developed into those traits I described? Yeah. But she's hardly a pedo if she has proven herself to see Claudia as an actual woman and treated her like she was one as if she instinctually knew she was (which is what I think happened)...unlike book Marius' weird attraction for kids.

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love (Book 1) Chapter Five

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Five: One Hell of a Viscount

Summary: (Y/N) and Ciel meet Viscount Druitt, and (Y/N) and Sebastian give the people a dance performance to remember.

            “Are you sure you insist on the black?” sighed Madame Red as she picked up one of the dozens of dresses she’d forced (Y/N) to try on.

            “Yes, Madame,” said (Y/N), putting a strained smile on their face. They were a demon for hell’s sake, and here they were trying to hide from a human woman. (They were forceful when they wanted to be).

            Madame Red sighed at the red dress in her hands before tossing it to the side. “I think you’d look darling in red, but I suppose we shouldn’t both be in red or Lord Druitt wouldn’t no which of us to look at!” She laughed gaily as she walked out of the room, leaving (Y/N) to put on the black ballgown.

            (Y/N) turned to the corset first and stretched out their arms. Sure, they could put it on and tighten it on their own (what type of demon would they be if they couldn’t?) but it was going to hurt for a moment.

            A knock sounded at the door. (Y/N) opened it, only their apron removed. It was Sebastian.

            “Sebastian,” said (Y/N), blinking.

            Sebastian gave them his usual closed-eye smile. “I have finished assisting the Young Master with his…dress. I have come to offer my assistance to you.”

            (Y/N) smothered an amused chuckle at how he kept up the act in front of them. “You know I can handle it myself.”

            Sebastian smirked. “And yet I also know you often complain about the contortion required of you.”

            (Y/N)’s nose twitched. Sebastian knew them a little too well. Still, they weren’t sure how they’d handle him seeing them…undressed. It had nothing to do with their current form (they were a demon, of course they were attractive), but idea of Sebastian seeing them in such a state sent a shiver down their spine that was one part anticipatory and the other part dread.

            “Can you still work blindfolded?” asked (Y/N).

            “Of course,” said Sebastian.

            (Y/N) considered. They could handle that. Right. And maybe getting a little bit of…whatever it is they wanted from Sebastian would clear the issue up. “Very well.” They stepped to the side and let Sebastian step in.

            The door closed, and Sebastian flourished a blindfold from his pocket. He tied it smoothly around his head. Once (Y/N) was certain he’d finished, they removed their maid’s uniform, letting it drop to the floor. They were swift to put on a shift, and then they picked up the corset and set it around their middle.

            “I’m ready for the corset,” said (Y/N) in the silence.

            In the mirror, Sebastian’s reflection stepped up behind them. The blindfold kept him from actually looking, but he maneuvered as easily as when he had sight. Sebastian’s hands landed on (Y/N) waist, and there was a minuscule hitch to their breath as they felt his gloved hands.

            Sebastian expertly fought back a smirk at their reaction before attempting to block out the satisfaction he’d felt at eliciting to the sound. He couldn’t help himself from trailing up their waist as if searching for the ribbons to tighten the corset, though. Sebastian smoothly tightened the corset, and before he let go, his hands lingered, smoothing around (Y/N)’s waist. For a single moment, Sebastian allowed himself to consider what it would be like without his gloves or the corset and shift in the way.

            Sebastian stepped back. That was a new thought about (Y/N).

            “I’ll leave you to finish dressing,” said Sebastian, turning and leaving. As soon as the door shut, he pulled off the blindfold, and his eyes flashed. His attachment to the younger demon was more deeply rooted than he had realized.

            Inside their room, (Y/N) stood in front of the mirror. Their hands moved to their waist where Sebastian’s hands had lingered. There was no warmth for Sebastian to leave there, being a demon, but that didn’t stop the tingle beneath the corset as (Y/N) traced over the spot. They shook their head.

            This was foolish. (Y/N) needed to control their thoughts. This was just their attachment to and respect for Sebastian running a little too wild after not seeing him in a few centuries and now spending quite a bit of time with him. It would fade quickly.

l

            (Y/N) pulled their long black gloves up tightly before stepping out of the carriage. Sebastian, hair slicked back and sporting spectacles, took their hand to guide them down. (Y/N) smoothed their gown down before walking up into Viscount Druitt’s ball. Eyes followed them, but (Y/N) paid them no attention. They were there to do a job.

            “First, we must find the viscount,” said Sebastian, standing beside his “charges.”

Ciel, fighting not to fidget with his wig or pink dress, shivered. “The last thing in the world I’d want is for Elizabeth to see me like this…Thank goodness she’s not here.”

            “Ah! That dress is so pretty!” came an excited remark. (Y/N), Ciel, and Sebastian froze and whirled in alarm. Elizabeth was at the ball. “There are so many people in lovely dresses! They’re all so cute!”

            Ciel began to panic (very entertaining). The mortification he would experience if he was caught…He could hardly bear to think of it.

            “Young Ma—Mistress,” said Sebastian. “Please calm down.”

            “Let’s escape while we still can,” said (Y/N), and the three tried to step away. Keyword: tried.

            “You, in the pink and black dresses! You look so cute!” said Elizabeth excitedly.

            “Over here, for a moment,” said Sebastian, guiding Ciel, whose entire face was blank.

            “This is a problem,” said (Y/N) as the three hid amongst the crowd while Elizabeth searched.

            “If it was revealed that the head of the Phantomhive household had dressed up like this…” Ciel swallowed hard.

            “It would be an embarrassment to future generations of the Phantomhive as well, would it not?” said Sebastian.

            (Y/N) nodded grimly. “Dishonor on the entire family.”

            “Let’s move towards Madame Red and the others,” said Ciel hastily.

            Madame Red, however, was already lounging at the edge of the room with a dozen men around her. An irk mark appeared on Ciel’s forehead.

            “She’s enjoying herself…” he muttered.

            “Viscount Druitt is as refined today as always,” said a young woman.

            Ciel, (Y/N), and Sebastian perked up.

            “His platinum-blonde hair is like gold,” sighed another woman.

            They looked around and saw several women gazing at the man in question, dressed all in white.

            “That’s Viscount Druitt,” confirmed Sebastian.

            “I take it we’re going to ‘accidentally’ bump into him?” said (Y/N).

            “Precisely,” said Sebastian, holding out his arms.

            Ciel took one, and (Y/N) took the other as they walked around the edge of the ballroom as couples danced and chatted. Sebastian elegantly maneuvered them so that as a couple spun to close, their “avoidance” of the pair caused (Y/N) to “stumble” in front of Druitt.

            (Y/N) allowed Druitt to “catch” them and guide them to their feet before smiling with wide, innocent eyes. “Why, thank you, my Lord,” they said, putting a “shy” hand to their face to hide their “blush.”

            Druitt smirked and kissed (Y/N)’s gloved hand. “For a beauty such as yourself, it is no issue.” His eyes traveled the length of (Y/N)’s body as they stood before him. “And now that you have recovered, I can see your true elegance and grace, as ethereal as a raven in flight.”

            Raven, huh? (Y/N) glanced at Sebastian with a smirk before returning to Druitt. “Thank you, my Lord.” They smiled. “Oh, I’ve been so heard. Allow me to introduce my sister.” (Y/N) calmly stepped to the side to gesture to Ciel, who paled.

            “A-ah, good evening, Viscount Druitt…” said Ciel.

            “Hello, my lovely robin,” said Druitt, bowing once more.

            “My dear,” said Sebastian, stepping up behind (Y/N). “If I may steal you for a drink? I believe that may calm your nerves after your fall.”

            (Y/N), interpreting this as the way to get Ciel alone with Druitt since that was the whole point of bait (and they couldn’t play the helpless human part quite right since they were neither of those things), nodded. “Yes, thank you. Good evening, Viscount Druitt.”

            “Good evening, my lovely raven. If you’ll save a dance for me, I shall find you soon,” said Druitt.

            (Y/N) smiled. “Of course, my Lord.” Not even if you offered me your soul.

            “We can watch for issues from the dancefloor,” said Sebastian, his hand on the small of (Y/N)’s back as he escorted them through the room. He smirked at (Y/N). “We just have to ensure that he doesn’t get distracted from the ‘robin’ due to the ‘raven.’ ”

            (Y/N) let out a light laugh. “Are you referring to yourself or me since apparently I’m your motif now?”

            “Which do you think is more distracting? You or me?” said Sebastian as he took (Y/N)’s hand and drew them onto the dance floor.

            (Y/N) watched Sebastian’s eyes flick over them. Something twisted within them pleasantly. “Considering I’m the one in the dress, I’d assume me, but with a man like that his tastes could lie everywhere.”

            Sebastian spun (Y/N) around in time with the music, him moving with the grace of a soaring raven, them swaying with the elegance of a cat. Though, Sebastian wasn’t against Druitt’s comparison of (Y/N) to a raven. There was something satisfying at the idea of (Y/N) and his motif being entwined. Even if Sebastian did like cats more. But, then again, (Y/N) also had that.

            “True. Mortals are such strange beings,” said Sebastian.

            (Y/N) chuckled and smirked. “All the better for us. If they weren’t so odd, they wouldn’t need to call on us.” They drew close with Sebastian in time with the music. “Though I suppose they also have one another. It is the only advantage to being human I can think of. There are so many of them that they can often find some company, if only for their brief little times on this plane.”

            Sebastian’s hand smoothed down their back and waist as he continued the dance. “Are these observations from your own time as one?”

            (Y/N) considered as they bent back before drawing back up to Sebastian. “Perhaps. We are much more solitary than humans, and that was an adjustment.” They grinned at Sebastian playfully. “I am fortunate that you taught me. It is nice to have someone to look forward to seeing every few hundred years.”

            Sebastian’s grip on (Y/N)’s waist tightened. Every non-demonic word they spoke was frustrating as it hit true at his own attachment to them. “Yes. I suppose it is.” The words were out before he quieted them.

            (Y/N)’s smirk grew wider, and their dead heart twisted. Before they could speak, though, they caught a movement. “Sebastian. Elizabeth has caught sight of Ciel.”

            Sebastian’s gaze broke from (Y/N) to see Elizabeth hurrying around the edge of the ballroom. On the other side, Druitt and Ciel were standing close. Ciel was close to succeeding.

            “Then we shall become a true distraction,” said Sebastian.

            Both his hands went to (Y/N)’s waist. They nodded, and Sebastian lifted them into the air, successfully stealing the show as the other couples and nobles in attendance watched the sudden professional performance. (Y/N)’s hands stretched out above them as Sebastian effortlessly spun them through the air. As watchers clapped, Sebastian lowered (Y/N) slightly, letting them do a backbend over his shoulder as he continued to support them. The music swelled once more, and as it came to a close, Sebastian “dropped” (Y/N). The people gasped, but (Y/N) calmly fell until Sebastian dropped to a knee and caught them in a dramatic dip. They smirked at one another, faces close, as the audience clapped for them.

            Even Madame Red was applauding excitedly, and she knew that her nephew’s maid and butler were strangely talented. The most exuberant watcher, though, was Grell, whose whole face had turned red, and he had watched with his hands clasped together in awe as he imagined being in either Sebastian or (Y/N)’s place. He really didn’t care which.

            (Y/N) and Sebastian stood and bowed. They had successfully distracted Elizabeth and the rest of the mortals. Behind them, Druitt and Ciel had disappeared. As people shook their hands and gave them congratulations, the demons glanced at once another. They just had to wait for Ciel to call for Sebastian.

            Sure enough, a few minutes later, Sebastian straightened as he sensed his Master’s call. “(Y/N).”

            They looked at him. “It’s time?”

            “Yes. It appears my Master is in a spot of trouble,” said Sebastian, strolling over to a side door.

            (Y/N) followed as they stepped through into a small staircase. “We should help him, then.”

            Sebastian waved a hand, and in the room below, the candles blew out. He smirked. “We should.”

            On the stage, Ciel sat, bound, staring out at the nobles gazing at him. (Y/N)’s nose twitched in distaste. Human traffickers. Foul creatures.

            “Kill them?” asked (Y/N) eagerly.

            “Just incapacitate,” said Sebastian. “The Queen will be irritated if so many nobles die during the Young Master’s investigation.”

            (Y/N) sighed. “Fine.”

            The demons slipped into the shadows, and as Druitt looked around in the darkness in fear, Ciel calmly sat while waiting for Sebastian to finish. The sounds of cries and screams as creatures came from the shadows to knock the nobles to the ground caused Druitt to gasp and stumble back.

            The candles flared brightly once more with more…well, hellfire heat, and Druitt’s eyes widened. All of his buyers lay incapacitated on the floor.

            “Boo,” said (Y/N) playfully behind him.

            Druitt cried out and went to turn towards them, but he was knocked out and on the floor before he had another thought, and (Y/N) looked down at him in satisfaction.

            “My, my,” said Sebastian, dusting off his gloves from the minimal effort he’d exerted. “You really have no talent for anything but getting captured, do you?”

            “As long as we have a contract, whenever I call you, no matter where you are, you will find me,” said Ciel.

            “The contract proof is a mark demons put on their prey so that they will be able to find them wherever they are,” said Sebastian, stepping onto the stage. “The more obvious the location, the stronger the contract is. In exchange…it becomes impossible to escape from the demon.”

            Sebastian’s tone caused a shiver to run down (Y/N)’s spine. It was no longer of fear or apprehension as when they had first learned what it was to be a demon, but of…something else. Sebastian was enjoyable both when he was demonic and when not, but there was something special about his demonic side. Perhaps it was just (Y/N) being a demon that caused that interest, but they couldn’t deny how…satisfying it was to see Sebastian’s demonic side slip out.

            Sebastian bent the bars of Ciel’s cage. He smirked at the boy. “Yes. I will follow you, no matter where you go, until the end. Even if this body is destroyed, I will not leave your side. I shall follow you into the depths of Hell.” As he pulled Ciel to his feet, Sebastian’s eyes flicked to (Y/N). “I do not lie.”

l

            “Jack the Ripper strikes again,” read Ciel from the newspaper. He gritted his teeth.

            “So, it wasn’t the Viscount?” said Madame Red.

            Ciel was trembling in anger. (Y/N) and Sebastian exchanged looks. Druitt had been the only human capable of the killings. That only left the inhuman.

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[collegiatesins]

──   (  savannah lee smith. twentythree. cis woman. she/her.  ) thank god you’re here, man - have you seen LEONA REMINGTON-CARR anywhere? i totally lost them after their rendition of uber by leia jules & dim ebbo last night. no? they’re like, aye - high and go to LANGSTON - i think they’re a SENIOR studying ACTONG & THEATRE + LINGUISTICS ? but who knows, these days. all i know is that they’re MERCURIAL, WILLFUL and a VIRGO . last night they kept going on and on about how they won MOST LIKELY TO GET AWAY WITH MURDERING THEIR FIRST HUSBAND last year, which is cool and whatever, but i just wouldn’t expect it out of them, considering they’re so, like, INDECISIVE, BEGUILING, you know? anyways - i’m going to check down by the maze garden, i think that’s where they like to hang. text me if you see them, okay? bye! / as penned by lulu.  28.  she/they.  cst.  n/a.

BASICS

full name : leona magdalene remington-carr .

nickname(s) : leo , nana .

age : twenty - three .

date of birth : september 19th , 2001 .

birth chart : virgo sun , aquarius moon , cancer rising .

hometown : atlanta , ga .

gender : cis woman .

pronouns : she / her / hers .

sexual orientation : bisexual .

DISPOSITION

myers - briggs : the virtuoso ( istp-t )

ennegram : the achiever ( type three )

moral alignment : chaotic neutral .

likes : classical literature . foreign films . gourmet cuisine . stargazing . botanical gardens . calligraphy . ocean sounds to fall asleep . when the practice room is empty & she can monologue alone . performing in front of a crowd . vintage thrifting . candle / perfume making . finding new mom & pop coffee shops . board games / trivia . using dating apps as an ego boost but ghosting all her matches . long showers (sorry mother earth) . acting surprised when she gets a lead role in the play . making niche and very specific playlists . etc .

dislikes : reality tv shows . fast food chains . loud parties . unkept spaces . sudden changes . excessive swearing . unreliable / disloyal people . wastefulness . invasive questions . overly spicy food . true crime podcasts / documentaries . astrology . impersonal gifts . etc .

quirks : maintains a regal and upright posture at all times . intense mood swings , going from extreme excitement to deep melancholy in a short span . often tunes out information they find uninteresting . tendency to use hyperbole to emphasize their point . frequent wardrobe changes . always has nails with unique and striking shapes , from stiletto to almond . creates a unique scent by blending multiple exotic perfumes to form their. signature fragrance . etc .

CHARACTER ASSOCIATIONS

blair waldorf ( gossip girl ) , celine ( before sunset ) , sharpay evans ( high school musical ) , chanel ( scream queens) , alexis rose ( schitt's creek ) , cece ( new girl ) , amy march ( little women ) , love quinn ( you ) , cordelia chase ( buffy the vampire slayer )

REPUTATION AROUND PALLADIAN

resident hurricane in human form, she’s always doing the most. starring in three productions, directing a fourth, and somehow still finding time to argue about chekhov's gun in act III. she's got a dry wit that cuts sharper than any stage dagger, and a stare that can stop egos in their tracks. the planner. the prepper. the one with a color-coded google calendar and an emergency sewing kit in her bag. a chronic overthinker. infamous for writing long, unsent drafts of texts. collects ticket stubs and saves voicemails. keeps her circle tight, but once you’re in, she’ll fight for you with the quiet ferocity of someone who’s been let down before. playlists for everything. reads stage directions like scripture. drinks tea with judgmental elegance. has a secret soft spot for dumb rom-coms and cries at the same part every time. her sarcasm is dry, her hugs are rare but meaningful, and her disappointment is devastating.

CHARACTER SUMMARY

you don’t remember a time in your short life where your parents didn’t fight. they display a united front in the public eye but within the walls of your childhood home lies a warzone and your existence is collateral damage. the only solace you find is in the treehouse in your backyard and vhs tapes of your favorite movies.

you’re thirteen, drunk off wine coolers ( stolen from your mother’s not so secret stash ) and spite when you put pressure on the wrong branch and find yourself spiralling downward toward cold hard earth. the paramedics that rush you to the hospital tell you that you’re lucky you only broke an arm but the only thing you can focus on is your mother’s threats to tear down “that god forsaken treehouse.”

it’s a threat that she makes good on because you’re barely released from the hospital before she’s hired help to pull your haven apart plank by wooden plank. as if that weren’t enough, a couple weeks later she chops the entire tree down to make room for a gazebo and coy pond. your loss has always been her gain hasn’t it?

unfortunately for mother dearest, taking your treehouse hardly did anything to keep your feet planted on the ground. some people, after all, were born to have their head in the clouds.

your mother never wanted children, it’s a fact that she never bothered to hide from her only child. and your father? well, he wanted an heir which meant your mother could only do one of two things: give him one or agree to a divorce. in the end, his monetary value meant more to her than her lack of a maternal instinct and you were brought into the mayhem of their bizzaro love story.

while your mother’s affection and attention has always been a faucet that turns off and on, your father’s interest in you has been anything but inconsistent. he has doted on you since you were a child. the apple of his eye your mother would always recount with a touch of bitterness.

unlike your mother, your father has been very lenient toward your imperfections. he doesn’t mind that you aren’t quite dubuntante material and that your hobbies are odd and borderline eccentric. all that matters to him is your intelligence and artistic ability, he cherished you in a way that only a man starved of affection in his own youth was capable of.

he promised to love and protect you forever, but that promise was broken shortly after you fifteenth birthday wasnt it? his death was sudden and life altering. leaving you in the care of the parent who never wanted you in the first place. at least he'd left a decent sum of money behind. a comfortable home for you to spend the rest of your adolescence, that is if your mother hadn't burned everything.

when she had no more in her bank account, the house had to go as well. you were devastated but she? well, she'd already moved on to her next target. a wealthy european man willing to sweep her off her feet and relocate the pair to england. if she could have gotten away with leaving you behind, she probably would have. but her new beau was a family man with kids of his own. it would have been a bad look if she dared to drop the caring mother act. so, off you went, to join a new family when you were still mourning the loss of the only person in your life who made you feel like you belong.

you're sixteen and a half by the time you relocate, and though your world opens up more, you're still lonely. the only companions you find are your new step siblings but even their company can't shield you from the toxicity that festers within the world of elite and old money. you start to understand why your father had wanted to keep you from it.

perhaps that's why you're always trying on different versions of yourself but no matter where you go leo, you feel like a fish out of water. you only know how to adapt, not how to be. and you constantly wonder which version of yourself will ultimately prevail and come out on top.

you'll never admit as such but you exhaust even yourself sometimes. all you want to do is rest and finally be yourself....whoever she is.

[11queensupreme11]

I saw the comment about Percy's teething and I loved it

humanity is being destroyed in biblical tsuname style, the world is in chaos

humans are desperately performing rituals and giving offerings to the sea gods, regardless of their religion, in hopes of calming these floods

perhaps the valkyries and some gods (after having their egos softened by the offerings) will ask (no one is crazy or suicidal to demand something from Poseidon) the reason for his fury and if they can do something to calm him down and convince him to stop the tsunamis that are devastating humans

maybe there is an agreement in which the gods cannot kill humanity without there being a consensus, so Poseidon alone could not kill humans with tsunamis without there being a council in a meeting that takes place every 1000 years (remembering that the percy baby au happens a few years before ragnarok)

All the gods, especially the seafarers, are tense at the meeting not knowing how to approach the subject until they realize a crucial fact:

Poseidon is not holding the trident correctly,Poseidon would never hold his trident in such an undignified way, why would he act so imperfectly? initially they thought it was because he also had Baby Percy on his lap but they soon realized that this didn't make sense, that's when they realized that the position of the trident allowed Percy to nibble on it comfortably in the middle of the handle

still not taking their eyes off baby percy (because she is absolutely adorable) they watch her bite the staff at the same time they feel a tsunami forming

Just imagine the face the gods would make when they realized that all the destruction and death humans are going through is the result of a baby's teething pains

some gods would be scared of Percy becoming a poseidon 2.0, some would find the situation ABSOLUTELY HILARIOUS but some gods like Buddha, the valkyries and the human fighters would probably be hysterical knowing that all these tsunamis are being caused by a baby that I haven't even had yet crawl

Trying to take Percy's trident away is impossible, trying to discipline him would only attract the fury of the Norse and Greek pantheon (and possibly all the other gods conquered by her cuteness) so there is only one alternative:

find something Percy likes to chew on more than his father's trident

just imagine Poseidon sitting with Percy on his lap and in front of them is a crowd of thousands of humans and perhaps gods offering different objects as an alternative choice of teether for Percy

They place the teether on an altar and pray for the offering to calm the teeth tyrants in Baby Percy's birth, the items are first tested to see if they are dangerous and then are evaluated to see if they are fit for a princess

If they pass the test, they are placed in front of Percy, who will be distracted by them and put them in his mouth, but like the other offers, the item is spat out and rejected and Percy bites the trident again, which generates another tidal wave in somewhere in the world

i don't think any baby has ever been as worshipped and prayed to like baby!percy has and that alone, should be enough to tell everyone how powerful she is 😌

i also love how literally no one has the guts to try and discipline percy not just because of poseidon, but because of THE OTHER GODS TOO 😭

(also, poseidon probably has those baby-proof soft covers that parents put on sharp table corners and shit, except poseidon has them on the tips of his trident so his baby doesn't accidentally cut herself 🥺)

[kydrogendragon]

6 with Dreamling for Valentines

We had two for this one, but decides to flip it around so this time it's Dream saying "Should I Write You A Poem Instead?" Thanks for the request, nonny! Hope you enjoy!~

Pairing: Dreamling Words: 569 Warnings: Some sexual tension bits Ao3 Link Here

Midterms, Hob has decided, aren’t nearly as terrible as finals, but that doesn’t stop them from still being awful. It’s never-ending questions and office hours and while he does love his students and his coworkers, he’s just one more question that could have been answered by his email last week or in the syllabus away from snapping. So when Dream knocks on the door to his office, Hob nearly weeps.

He stands, ushering his lover in, makes his apologizes to Diana from the Art History department as she steps out (thankfully) with a smile. Closing the door behind her, he all but collapses into a puddle on the floor beside it. He doesn’t, but the temptation is there. Instead, he just leans against the sturdy wooden door and stares at Dream with a doe-eyed smile.

“Thank you,” he says, taking a deep breath in and out. “Pretty sure if you’d been just ten minutes later, you’d have walked in on a massacre.”

“Oh?” Dream says, raising a brow. “And would it have been you or Diana that performed the act?”

Hob shakes his head. Pushing himself off the door, he falls into his lover’s arms and nuzzles his face into the crook of Dream’s neck. He’s warm, but not overly so. Given the warming spring weather, it’s the perfect temperature, though Dream almost always is. And he smells like home, which is the more important part. Hob can still detect a faint trace of his own body wash on the Dreamlord’s skin from last night’s shower escapades.

“So what do I owe this lovely visit?” Hob says, not bothering to lift his head.

He hears a faint shimmering noise, one he’s come to know means Dream’s used some of that dream magic of his. Hob lifts his head slightly to see a large bouquet of flowers in Dream’s hand. They’re of all sorts of fantastic colors and shapes. Some, he’s pretty sure, he’s seen on their walks through the Dreaming.

“These are for you.”

Hob reaches out and takes the bouquet from his hands, lifting the flowers to his nose. They smell as things do in dreams: like ideas rather than scents. There’s love, most predominantly there, affection and adoration. Devotion, patience, and care. It’s like knowing the language of flowers with a sniff.

“Flowers?” He mumbles, still listing into Dream’s side as he strokes a petal. It’s soft, impossibly so. He expected nothing else.

“Should I have written you a poem instead?” Dream asks, a smirk on is lips. “Waxed lyrical upon your features which haunt my mind and inspire newly created dreams?”

Hob chuckles, tucking his face into the wool of Dream’s overcoat. “Would that have been a better gift, my love? Or perhaps you would rather me show my affections physically instead.” Dream’s voice is dangerously low, a phantom hand trails along Hob’s spine, making him shudder.

“Or, perhaps, knowing how greedy my lover is, you would wish for all three. Gifts, words, and touch, yes?”

“Dream,” he moans as something, some part of Dream that’s not contained to his normal human form, presses against his front, stroking the shape of him into hardness. “Dream, please...”

“Please what, my dear?”

Hob looks up, two twin stars blaze bright as they stare down into his own eyes. Dream look positively ravenous and Hob would very much like to be devoured. “Fuck me, please.”

Dream smirks. “With pleasure.”

[decoy1]

Had a dream I was watching season 3 of Rottmnt, it was so vivid and now I’m sad that it isn’t real. So I’m writing some highlights from the dream before I forget.

Draxum and Casey focused episodes on what they were doing during the movie. There were really cool action sequences with original music and everything. It was so cool. There was one scene where the screen divided in half to show both battles.

Music during action scenes. There was a lot of it. I suspect it might have been because I watching Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur before going to sleep tho.

An episode premise: April finally had a good stable job. She was going steady for a whole 2 weeks setting a new record. The turtles got a little suspicious since April can never keep a job for long. Cue investigation, it turns out the job is a front. A front for a cult. April accidentally joined a cult. By the end of the episode April accidentally destroyed the cult in the same way she usually ends up losing her jobs. Alas the curse of April losing her job was too strong.

Another Episode Premise: Splinter and Draxum go undercover for an intel mission at a fancy club. The cover story being that they’re two friends who are trying to reconnect. They’re kinda bad at it since both argue like a married couple. This actually works in their favor tho as the person they’re trying to spy on to get info on is a huge romantic who is super invested in trying to get the two to “reconnect”. Both are forced by the turtles to play along for the sake of the mission. By the end of the episode Draxum and Splinter have performed a proposal, a wedding, a divorce, another re proposal, alongside with a remarriage, but not another divorce because they have to book it away because the turtles got captured. Which meant by the end of the episode Draxum and Splinter were still married.

Over Arching Story: Bishop was hunting down the remaining Foot Clan members. Which included trying to find former Foot Clan members for any information. Of course leading Bishop to Casey. Casey sends him on a wild goose chase as she goes on her own mission to find her former bosses. Being the B plot for a lot of the episodes. In one instance she teams up with Piebald in a gambling ring to win some info.

Running Gag: Casey Jr tries going into the dating world but has trouble since most people who are his age now, were adults during the apocalypse. So if he does find someone to date who he doesn’t recognize they usually end up being some form of “not real”. Highlight examples being: an alien who assumed a human persona to lure specimen to experiment on their ship, a demon with similar motives to the alien except it wanted to eat Casey Jr’s soul, an ai made by Bishop made to find potential Foot Clan members. What was funny was how obvious a lot of them were, like the alien wore a “I believe” shirt but with sharpie added “don’t”, changing it to “I don’t believe” (real master of disguise right here). The demon’s “flirting” was something along the lines of “if souls were edible and had taste, I bet yours would be a delicious meal that would amplify my demonic powers. If I had demonic powers, which I don’t because I’m a perfectly normal human. But in the hypothetical where I do-”. The ai when asked it’s favorite hobby responded with “breathing and being human”.

Bishop had an entire episode where he beat up different clans in his attempt to find the Foot Clan. Making some leave their old clans to join Bishop since he bested them in battle. But Bishop didn’t want a bunch of ninja (idk why not, that sounds incredibly useful) so he sent them on a wild goose chase but every time he did they came back having accomplished the goal. (Again I don’t understand why he kept acting like they were an annoyance when they were getting him things like THE GOD DAMN ELIXER OF EVERLASTING LIFE)

That’s all I have the energy to write. If I remember anything worth adding I will but I think these were all the highlights.

[sakuraspages]

sasusaku snippet #12

[Mermaid!Sakura AU - #7]

“You’d better have a good reason for dragging me here so early,” Tsunade grumbles when he guides her inside his house.

“I do. I just… I need you to be discreet about this…”

“What’s going on?”

“Don’t freak out,” he says as he opens the door to the bathroom and reveals Sakura's whole tail, tiredly resting over the edge of the tub as she lies with her eyes closed barely above the water.

He had considered taking her out of the water and hiding her true nature from the doctor but he feared she might not receive adequate treatment if he hid her wound, and he was too scared that her health would get worse. Tsunade might be old and with a collection of addictions but she has experience and she remains one of the best doctors in the country.

She flinches upon seeing Sakura and takes a small step back, but Sasuke stands between her and the door.

“She's hurt,“ he says. “I think she has an infection. Please help her.”

Tsunade glares at him but he doesn’t budge.

“Please just take a look,” he asks again. Out of duty or out of curiosity, Tsunade slowly walks up to Sakura. After a few seconds of silent shock, she squats to examine her wounded fin.

She gives Sasuke a severe, exasperated glare when she sees the poorly done suture with military thread.

“Does she change when she’s out of the water?” she asks Sasuke.

He nods.

“Can you take her out of the tub?”

He drains the water and wraps Sakura in a towel. She sleepily nestles against his chest when he takes her into his arms.

“She saw me…” she whispers weakly.

He holds her closer. “It’s ok, she won’t tell.”

Tsunade performs a regular medical examination on Sakura in her human form.

“I gave her antibiotics,” she says as she hands Sasuke a small bottle of pills. "Make sure she takes them every day. The fever should go down, but I can't guarantee anything considering… the circumstances.”

She walks out of the bedroom into the main room as if she were leaving but stops before reaching the front door. “How long has she been here?” she asks him seriously, low enough that Sakura can’t hear them.

“Two days.”

“How did you find her?”

“She washed up on the beach. It was very early in the morning.”

“Were you alone?”

“Yes.”

She pauses. She looks like she is worried about something other than Sakura’s health. “She's not good news,” she says with a dark frown. “You should put her back in the sea before she regains all her strength.”

He freezes. Why would he do that? “You just helped her!”

Tsunade frowns even more. She seems mad that he put himself in this situation. “You know what she is,” she says sharply. “They smell desperate sailors from miles away, they seduce them, and they drag them to the bottom.”

He wants to kick Tsunade out of his house. How dare she suggest that Sakura is a monster? “To the bottom of my bathtub?” he says with cold irony.

“This is serious.”

“These are legends.”

“Well your legend is on a week of antibiotics."

He remains silent. Just because one part of the myth is true, doesn’t mean the rest of it is, right?

“Be careful,” Tsunade says before she turns around to leave. It sounds more like a plea than an order.

He calls out of work. He hangs up the phone while his boss is still screaming. He stays by Sakura’s side all day. He pats her forehead with a damp cloth to try and make her fever go down. Her cheeks are still pink with heat. He watches her sleep with concern. He cannot stop thinking about Tsunade’s words. He looks at Sakura’s resting face, her pink lashes brush against her cheekbones, her long hair is messy on his pillow. How could such a beautiful and soft creature be evil? Is it true, did she come for him? Is she here to put him out of his misery?

He catches himself wondering if he really would rather stay on this earth alone with his nightmares than follow her into the abyss. He gently brushes her hair away from her face and a thought comes to his mind and gives him a chill.

What if it’s already too late for him?