#should call it Shadow brainrot

[michdoodles]

Me: comes up with some Sonic the hedgehog AUs

Also me: barely thinks about the blue blur even tho he is the main character for most of the AUs

[lumisverse]

✦ incoming call

scaramouche x gn!reader

cw: masturbation, cybersex, public setting (reader is in public during the call), light exhibitionism, sub scara, light brat-taming, whimpering, begging, edging idfk im gone

a/n: haiii i’m finally back (^_^;) sorry for disappearing for a bit, i’ve been super busy and also… ngl my mental health is in the trenches rn LMAO 🙏 anywayyy i hope u guys like this lil drabble (??) idk what this is exactly but yeah !! this is based on this gorgeous art + a request from my beloved xia <3 she gives me the brainrot and i make it worse 🤤 also fun fact i wrote this semi-high off antidepressants and antipsychotics so. enjoy 💯

you were laughing. like, genuinely laughing. someone just made a terrible joke and everyone groaned but you — you cracked up, head thrown back, the summer air sticky-sweet against your neck as a popsicle dripped down your wrist.

you were sitting on the picnic mat with your legs crossed, half a daisy crown in your hair courtesy of your friend sitting behind you, and you were about to launch into that story — the one from last week. the one where you nearly got hit by a bike because you were too busy texting your boyfriend back.

and then your phone buzzed.

kuni is calling you. video call.

you frown. he never video calls. you squint at the name, your thumb already moving.

“hold on,” you say, cutting yourself off mid-sentence. “he never video calls. maybe he’s dying or something.” you joke about it — kinda — but there’s a little tug of worry in your gut. you hold your phone up to your face and accept the call without thinking.

and then. and then.

“h-hi—mmn, fuck—hi,” he stammers.

your stomach drops.

the camera is shaky at first — just a flash of pale skin, dark sheets, shadows — and then it focuses.

he’s shirtless. flushed. breathing hard. and oh.

oh.

he’s flushed. really flushed. face pink, hair stuck to his forehead, and his hand — his hand is wrapped around his cock, slow and clumsy, like he can’t keep a rhythm. his lips are parted and wet, and his thighs are twitching. you can tell he’s been edging himself for a while. he looks like he’s about to cry.

your breath catches.

“hurts,” he whines, voice breaking into a whimper. “need you so bad, you weren’t texting me, you were taking too long—”

“i—i needed to see you,” he gasps. “i was thinking about you and i—nngh—i couldn’t stop, i—i didn’t mean to—”

your brain stalls.

“kuni?” you hiss, eyes wide. “what the hell—”

your eyes go wide. you slam your thumb down on the volume button, but your friends have already heard something. someone gasps. someone leans closer.

“was that—kuni??” “was that moaning??” “what the hell are you watching—”

you’re panicking now. your phone clutched to your chest, your heart racing, face burning. fuck. he called you like this? he was just going to touch himself on video with no warning? you tilt the screen down, half horrified — half lightheaded.

because he keeps going.

“please—please—i kept thinking about your voice,” he hiccups, “about your thighs—fuck, i wanna be between them, i’d be so good, i’d be so—so good if you let me—”

he’s whimpering. breath hitching, hips stuttering, like he’s overwhelmed and still not getting enough.

you should hang up. you don’t.

you mute the call. you don’t even realize how tight your grip is on the phone.

“hey,” your friend asks, gently, “what’s wrong? are you okay?”

“i—i think i forgot something at home,” you blurt. “like, really important. life or death. medical emergency. sorry—bye—”

you don’t wait for them to respond. you’re already halfway across the park, phone clutched to your chest like a live wire. your thighs are pressed tight. your pulse is everywhere.

you duck behind a tree. unmute. he’s still there.

wide-eyed. flushed. still touching himself.

“i missed you,” he whispers. “i wanted you to see.”

you bite your lip.

“…you’re pathetic.”

he whimpers.

you don’t hang up. you just start walking. fast.

toward home.

[revelboo]

Pls give us an update on D-16 and Megatronus 🙏 The TFO’s brainrot is getting out of hand

Sure!

Give It Up Pt 5

Megatronus x Reader

• Not sure what to make of the fact that he’d bothered to learn your language or that he’d done it instantly, you have so many questions. So many things you want to know, even if the looming shadow of impending suffocation is hanging over you. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s not harmed you so far. You’re not sure what it is about him that makes your instincts so sure he’s safe and trustworthy. You’d given him your name and he’d introduced himself as Megatronus Prime, his low voice a silken rumble. “Please, little one. Prime is a title, Megatronus will suffice,” he says after you address him by his full name, those optics bright behind his mask. Amused with you.

• “Megatronus,” you reply, voice so soft and how long has it been since any but his siblings have called him that without the honorific? Understands it’s a sign of respect, but sometimes it feels like a shackle. To be adored and respected by the masses to the point where he’s become unapproachable, where they’re afraid to even try to talk to him. Afraid of bothering him. And some of his fellow Primes would be scandalized that he’s asking you not to use his title, to be so familiar. But he’d never asked to be worshipped or put on a pedestal. “I’m not supposed to be here. Our tech malfunctioned and I got thrown through the gate.” Domed head tipping up to look at him, your real face is a hazy shadow behind the tinted material and he wishes he could see you. Are you talking about a space bridge of some sort, maybe?

• “I didn’t find the coordinates to your home world while scanning your device for your language,” he murmurs as he opens a drawer on the desk he’d set you on and pulls out a small, round object. Watching him fiddle with it before points of light bloom throughout the room, startling a gasp from you. A projector? Realizing you’re looking at galaxies, your lips part as he gestures. “Can you recognize your home galaxy?” It’s a map. And your hope just withers as you turn in a slow circle, staring at the galaxies lazily spinning in miniature. You should know this, but you have no idea.

• Watching your little shoulders slump, you reach up and the back of your hand bumps your helmet. And you seem almost surprised before you make a noise. “I don’t know which one is home,” you admit, voice so soft he almost misses it. Despairing that you’re lost. Maybe afraid you’re never going to be able to find home and his spark aches with your distress. Reaching out, he hesitantly brushes the tip of a servo against your arm and you look up at him. Reaching to lay your tiny hand on him, seeking comfort. Always been the guardian, the shield and sword for his people. And even though you’re alien, you need him.

• “We’ll figure this out.” You’re not his problem, can’t understand why he’s even trying. Doesn’t know you and doesn’t owe you anything. The cynical part of you whispering that the big alien could just be interested in conquering your world. Exploiting it and you. Except, you don’t think he’s like that and you’ve learned to trust your gut instincts. But he must be after something, right? People aren’t kind for no reason. They always want something. Looking up at those kind optics, you’re afraid to hope that he can actually help you. That you’re not going to die on an alien world far from home.

Previous

Next

[iheartmira]

hiiiiiiii!!!! i saw ur smilk/reader posts and js wanted to start off by saying ur writing is amazing and it inspires me, i think ure one of the coolest ever x reader blogs out there

crk selfshipping brainrot has fried my brain so hard……. i am unsure if you write polyamorous fics (character x reader x character) as i was thinking fem!reader catching both yan!shadow milk and yan!mystic flours eyes while travelling through beast yeast and their love for reader becomes this undying obsession so they both team up and kidnap???? take in??? reader with them. suggestive content is preferred for this one too, e.g. they just think reader is too beautiful for them to not keep their hands off with reader being fine w that ofc. and its fine if you prefer writing only one character, if you refuse poly ships then just yan!mystic flour x fem!traveller!reader is okay (~_~;) i am sososo excited 2 see what u can come up with for this one!!!

"star-crossed" yandere!mystic flour x reader x yandere!shadow milk cookie

✧ ✧ ✧

the ivory pagoda and the spire of deceit: two places no wanderer should dare step foot in. the first, a realm draped in eternal mist, where time itself felt as insubstantial as a dream. the second, a spiraling abyss of whispering echoes, where light struggled to exist.

yet, despite the suffocating stillness of these lands, you ventured through them, oblivious to the gazes that followed you.

a whisper in the darkness. a lingering breath in the fog.

they watched.

shadow milk cookie, concealed within the twisting spire of his domain, observed your every movement with predatory delight. the way you walked, unhurried, untouched by fear. the way your form, so fragile and delicate, caught the dim glow of his cursed eyes. how could a being such as you simply exist, so unburdened, so breathtakingly beautiful?

he grinned, sharp teeth glinting in the cold light. mine.

from the veiled halls of her pagoda, mystic flour cookie stood in unshaken silence, eyes only half-open, her apathy an ever-present fog around her. yet, she saw you. your beauty, unmarred by greed, by the filth of worldly desires. untouched. a vision of purity among the waste of existence.

for the first time in centuries, something within her stirred. not quite emotion, but something dangerously close. a pull. a need.

she would not let you slip away.

and so, they agreed. shadow milk cookie, ever the weaver of deception, and mystic flour cookie, the prophet of apathy, an unlikely pair bound by a singular, unrelenting desire.

to have you.

to keep you.

you never realized when you stopped walking.

the world around you was shifting. the mist thickened, curling around your limbs, weaving through your breath like a lullaby. the flickering shadows on the ground elongated, stretching unnaturally, wrapping themselves around your feet.

a voice, low, saccharine, familiar yet foreign, poured into your ears like honeyed venom.

"why do you wander?" shadow milk cookie’s voice coiled around you, and though he was nowhere to be seen, you could feel him. "what is it you want, little doll?"

a second voice followed, softer, eerily steady. mystic flour cookie. "it matters not. the outcome is the same."

something cold and weightless ghosted against your skin. you tried to turn, to move... only to realize you couldn’t.

the shadows were gripping you. the mist had solidified around your limbs, holding you in place as gently as a lover’s embrace, yet as unyielding as fate itself.

and then, they appeared.

shadow milk cookie emerged from the abyss like a nightmare given form, his mismatched eyes glinting with something far too hungry to be called affection. he was close, impossibly so, his breath tickling your ear.

"i should have taken you sooner," he murmured, voice dripping with amusement.

"you've walked so far, yet you never realized you were walking straight into my arms!"

you shuddered, the weight of his presence pressing against you like a promise unspoken.

from the mist, mystic flour cookie descended, as if stepping from a place beyond reality. she gazed at you with her distant, unreadable expression, her fingers tracing along the side of your face with the ghost of a touch. it was the kind of touch that felt less like an embrace and more like a claim.

"such beauty," she mused, tilting her head slightly. "wasted on a world of impermanence."

a hand brushed your wrist, fingers curling around it as shadow milk cookie’s grip tightened, possessive, possessive, possessive.

"you belong with us now," he whispered, his voice so sweet it was sickening.

"there is no escape," mystic flour cookie added. not a warning, nor a threat, just fact.

the weight of inevitability settled over you as the mist rose higher, the shadows entwining with it until you could no longer see where one ended and the other began.

shadow milk cookie’s lips barely ghosted against your skin as he chuckled darkly, and mystic flour cookie’s breath lingered against your neck like the cold promise of eternity.

too beautiful to let go. too precious to be allowed freedom.

you belonged to them now.

forever.

✧ ✧ ✧

‹𝟹 ‎ ⠀⠀ˑ˚₊ ·⠀interested in requesting? check out my pinned!

© 2025, iheartmira

[safination]

The Wrong Competitor

|Masterlist| Ao3| NOW WITH A PART 2: |The Actual Competitor| Pairings: Alastor x wife!Reader. Platonic! Vox & Reader Tags: fem!Reader, AFAB, Established Relationship, , Alastor is in hell for a reason, Reader is in hell for a reason, being a simp for your partner, husband! Alastor. demon! Alastor, drinking,flirting

Vox approaches with a steady and confident smile. There are two drinks secured around one hand. The other reaches out for a handshake. Alastor takes a step forward, using his body as a barrier. “Just a friendly one,” Vox says, a charming smile on his screen. “It would be a shame to ruin the Princess’ evening. The music is lively and the food and drinks are delicious.” Alastor’s eyes twitch from underneath the mask as he sees you reaching out. Well, that won’t do. He takes the handshake intended for you, shaking Vox’s hand with a firmer grip than needed. You’re determined to enjoy yourself and Alastor prides himself on being a husband. So, he won’t cause a scene—not today at least. The handshakes last longer than handshakes should last. Vox slides his eyes towards you, a smug smile displayed on the screen of his lips. You tighten your hold around Alastor’s arm, leaning to his bicep to hide your scowl. TLDR: The Hazbin Hotel decides to hold a masquerade party. Despite his better judgment, Alastor invites his wife even if he’s aware of Vox’s attendance, who’s keen on competing with Alastor for his wife’s attention….If only Alastor knew how much you and Vox would gag at the idea of him flirting with you. It’s not his wife’s attention that Vox competes for. It’s not even Alastor who he’s competing with. Actually… Alastor isn’t part of the competition.

Have a little brainrot of mine. Lol just pure on crack of the silliest shit. Tell me what you guys think because I found this so fucking hilarious that I had to write it down. Anyway, have my heavily unedited brain rot. I tried a different writing voice today instead of my usual third person-second person pronoun pov, and tried like an all around pov. Update: *6/19/2024 We lost electricity at home so instead of studying, I decided to polish my un-polished crack. Everything's the same, it's just written better and I didn't add much.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Alastor slithers out of the shadows below, stepping out from the darkness that pools underneath you. There are hundreds  of shadows to pop out of, still it’s your shadow that Alastor chooses to spring out from. There’s a smile painting his lips as he materializes. A deer mask covers half his face.

“Goodness,” you say, mirroring his smile. “What am I supposed to do when strange yet handsome Sinners pop out of my shadow without a warning.”

Alastor steps further into the light. “Handsome?”

And oh…oh.

(Oh, indeed. Alastor is wearing a tail-coat, a vest hidden underneath. Oh god he’s wearing a vest. One side of his hair slick back, allowing stray strands to flutter around the deer mask. When you run your hand across his biceps…you feel it underneath your touch—Sleeves garters.)

The smile on your lips widens, and you’re thankful that a mask covers your own face. “I’d call you handsome any day, sweetheart,” you tell him. “If it’s alright with your wife, of course. Such a charming little thing like you surely belongs to someone.”

“I think I like you better than my wife.” Alastor inches closer to press a kiss. “She never compliments me as much as you do.”

A delighted humm escapes you. “Then she’s quite the fool, for you are quite the charmer.”

Alastor shakes his head, a small laugh escaping as he smoothens some feathers that stick out your head. “You didn’t have to join me tonight,” he says. “I’ll be too busy with work to be next to you.”

“Then you should have thought about that before you gave me an invitation to Charlie’s party.” You reach out to smoothen the lines of his tail-coat, pulling on it to adjust its fit around his body. “And I’m already here, wearing a very, very, expensive dress.”

“Do you even enjoy such parties?” Alastor grabs your wrists before your hands can trail any further. “It seems your mind would rather be somewhere else.”

“There’s food and music, and I get the excuse to wear such a lovely dress.” You pull your wrist from his hold, catching his hand to intertwining your fingers with his. “Do you like it? I hope you do, considering I received it along with the invitation.”

Alastor lifts his arm, twirling you underneath to flare the skirt of the dress. “You look almost as dashing as I do.”

“Ha! And that’s precisely why I must join you, deerest.” You smack his bicep in good fun, barking out a laugh. Dear god, he’s wearing the leather sleeve garter tonight.) “With such dashing good looks, I’l fear others may try to take your attention.”

He flicks your nose. “Stop it.”

Alastor slips off the deer mask, gazing straight into you. Those eyes of his shine brighter than the stars above this Hell. He reaches out, and pulls on the ribbon that secures your own mask to your face.

There are feathers on your mask. It mimics the bird you are. Alastor inches closer, staring straight into you once there’s nothing to obstruct his view.

“That’s mine,” you say, trying to grab your mask.

Alastor shoves the deer mask on your face. The force causes you to stumble back a little. He’s such a nuisance, honestly…but …but well, his fingers brush over your feathers as he ties the ribbon on his mask. 

Strands of your feathers flow between his fingers as it lingers. Alastor presses the feathers to his mouth, brushing them with his lips. “I think our masks are a bit too on the nose,” he says, and each word caresses your feathers. “Deer masks suit you much better, and this way, I can spot you from even across the room.”

Alastor inches lower until you meet his eyes. You take the bird mask and tie the ribbon around his head, securing it on him.

There’s a feather that sticks out your head. Alastor picks it out. The stray feather gets waved around until he tucks it within the mask.

You reach out to remove the feather, but Alastor catches your wrist and presses a single kiss on the inside.

“The color of my feathers are different from the ones on the mask,” you tell him. “Come on, take it out. It sticks out a bit too much.”

“I’ll have you know that I quite like the feathers.” Alastor plays with the feather on his mask. “More importantly—tell me about your day. I want to know every second of every minute…it’s been a while since I’ve heard from you.”

“You would know all about my day if you were living at our home with me,” you tell him, crossing your arms. “You know, the home that we’ve built together for the past few decades?”

Alastor plays with the edges of your pinky before intertwining his fingers around your hand. “Or…” he begins, and presses a single kiss on the wedding ring around your finger. “I would known if you lived at the hotel…with me.”

There’s a smug smile on you. “Are you asking me to live with you?”

“Would you?”

“I would.”

“I’m still rather hesitant to involve you with the hotel…yet I found myself sending an invitation anyway.” Alastor presses a kiss on the edge of your lips, letting himself linger. 

“An invitation?”you say, faking a gasp. “That’s weird because I swore the invitation came with a dress as well. Hmmm, now I’m wondering who sent such a piece to me.”

“I found myself sending an invitation…and a dress.” Alastor rolls his eyes. “But the point still stands, it’s safer if you are at our home. It’s quiet and secure and doesn’t have a giant sign pointing straight at its door.”

“Ah yes…that,” you say. “I heard about it on the televisi—newspaper. It must be tiring to be attacked thrice in one day.”

Alastor shakes his head, pulling you into a tight hug. One hand presses on the back of your head, cradling you gently. “Just before I lose you to my job.”

You steal a kiss from him. “As if you could ever lose me.”

Music beats through the cracks of the Hazbin Hotel’s door. Alastor escorts you inside, a bird mask on his face as he runs his thumb up and down the skin of your hand. You adjust the deer mask on your face before following him deeper inside.

The door opens easily, and you walk inside, arm in arm with the Radio Demon. The fun about masquerade balls is being able to hide behind a mask.

 Except from those who really pay attention.

Vox approaches with a steady and confident smile. Two drinks are secured around one hand. The second reaches out for a handshake. 

Alastor takes a step forward, using his body as a barrier.

“Just a friendly one,” Vox says, a charming smile on his screen. “It would be a shake to ruin the Princess’ evening. The music is lively, and the food and drinks are delicious.”

Alastor’s eyes twitch from underneath the mask when he sees you reaching out to shake Vox’s hand.

Well, that just won’t do! Alastor takes the handshake intended for you, grabbing Vox’s hand before you can reach it, and shakes his hand with a firmer grip than needed.

You’re determined to enjoy yourself, and Alastor prides himself for being a Husband.  (Rosie tells him that there’s a difference between ‘a husband’ and ‘a Husband’ with one clearly better than the other.) So, Alastor won’t cause a scene—not today at least.

Vox slides his eyes towards you, a smug smile displayed on the screen of his lips as he shakes Alastor’s hand. It forces you to tighten your hold around Alastor’s arm, leaning into his bicep to hide a scowl.

The handshake lasts longer than handshakes should last.

Vox offers you a glass. “I brought drinks to start,” he says, keeping the second glass around his hold closer to him. “I hope I’m remembering this correctly—but you still enjoy lemony flavors, correct?”

“How delightful!” Alastor tries to take the drink intended for you.

Vox quickly retracts the drink, taking a single step backwards. “It’s for the lady.”

Alastor’s smile widens ever so slightly into a snarl.

You take the drink from Vox, smiling as lemony goodness fills your senses. Not many bartenders keep such flavors. Part of you wonders if Alastor organized the bar to keep your favorite drink in stock.

One hand trails up Alastor’s back as static emits from his skin. It snakes around until it hooks behind his neck to pull him into a kiss. It’s just a quick peck of the lips, but Alastor places a hand around your waist to pull you closer. Such things are reserved in the confines of privacy, but it seems he doesn’t mind tonight.

There’s an imprint of your lipstick on his skin. It’s something you don’t bother mentioning to him

“Just before I lose you to the crowd,” you say.  “I’m sure you can’t leave your post for so long, and I’ve already kept you for far too long. Don’t worry about me—I won’t be too far from your gaze.”

Alastor presses one last kiss on your cheek before walking away.

With a scowl on his screen, Vox turns the other direction.

You trail behind him, smiling at the second untouched drink around his hand. It seems he’s also wearing a tail-coat tonight, but it doesn’t suit him as handsomely as it does for your husband.

“So, it seems you're here,” Vox tells you, that proud Overlord puff on his chest as he walks around the room. “And here I was wondering why the life in the room suddenly became dull.”

“Funny,” you say, matching his steps. “It seems you’re still pining for my husband—Will you ever give up on him?”

“Ah yes…the same husband who disappeared on your for seven years,” he says, casually swirling the second drink in his hand. “He left you once, he can leave you again.”

You take a sip of your drink, letting the taste of lemon slide down your throat even as your eye twitches from underneath the deer mask. “It’s quite hilarious to know you still remember how my husband hates lemon undertones in his drink.”

“Well, I didn’t want him choking on such unrefined tastes.”

“Is this meant for Alastor?” You grab the second glass from his hand, bringing it closer to your nose. “Whiskey. Ah… it was meant for him. What—were you too scared to give it to him?”

Vox barks out a laugh, crossing his arm. “It’s for me, actually.”

“Then drink it.”

“It’s been compromised by your stench.” Vox takes the glass and tosses it away.

From across the room, Alastor swirls his whiskey and allows his eyes to wander across the crowd. In a room full of Sinners, he can never be too careful especially when you’re involved. It’s then that his eyes catch Vox inching closer to you, and it’s then that his grip on the glass tightens.

Charlie smiles at Alastor as he doesn’t seem to be listening to her. That’s alright—it’s quite loud and drinks often tend to loosen him up. Alastor’s looking at her, but his body faces the crowd as he leans on one of the tables. It’s almost as if he’s looking out.

It’s been the same pattern for almost fifteen-minutes ever since Alastor came back with a bird mask instead of his own deer mask. Charlie would say something, and he would nod. From time to time, Alastor would glance out into the crowd in the same direction his body is facing.

“So, I had an idea to get more sponsors,” Charlie tells him, tapping the glass for her soda. “We can do a whole music number with flowers and dancing and singing, and I just thought you could be our main lead! The genre would be rap music.”

Alastor’s eyes slid to the crowd once more. “What a spectacular idea!”

Charlie follows his gaze until they land on you. Well, that certainly solved the mystery of where his deer mask went and where the bird one came from. One of the feathers on Alstor’s mask matches yours perfectly.

“Do you think we can get more TVs for the hotel?” she asks. “And I don’t mean the old ones, but the flat-screens that are about fifty-inches.”

You glance over at Alastor and Charlie when you notice their looks, and offer a small smile and a wave.

Alastor smiles back, giving you a wave as well. “Perhaps.”

“How about some digital cameras?” she says. “All of us could take a happy family portrait.”

“Of course.”

Wait-staff carry trays of different types of appetizers. Vox snatches a couple tiny platters, offering some to you. The first bite causes you to hum with delight. It’s quite delicious…but quite small. Vox offers another tiny plate to you, and it’s grabbed enthusiastically.

It’s great that Vox took more than one.

He bites into the cracker with some kind of seafood on them, humming at the taste. “You’ve aged.”

“Yes, it seems I have.” You laugh at him, shaking your head as you take another sip of your drink. “I’m quite lucky that I’m in the company of my husband to grow old with. It’s quite the treat to be able to live day to day with Alastor.”

Vox offers you a bite of the cracker.

You take it, nodding and humming with delight at the taste. “Oh, that’s quite good—here, taste this one.”

At the sight of your laughter, Alastor’s drink shatters into tiny pieces of broken glass. It shatters to the floor.

Charlies raises an eyebrow at him. It only takes a snap of her fingers for magic to work its wonders and clean the broken glass and replace his drink.

“Apologies,” Alastor says, smile widening just a fraction. It doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “I forgot my own strength.”

Once more, Charlie follows Alastor’s gaze until it lands on you, and once more, the glass in his hand shatters when he sees Vox inching closer to offer you some appetizers and then your laughter.

Charlie snaps her fingers and a new drink appears in his hold. “I’m going to run out of glasses eventually.”

Alastor takes a turn around the ballroom after Charlie kicks him away from the corner. It’s all he can do to call his growing ire to keep the guests happy. Afterall, it’s him who controls his emotions and not the other way around. There’s also the matter of his job.

A Sinner blocks his patch, a doll-like smile on her face. “Do you happen to be the Radio Demon?”

“In the flesh!” Alastor’s smile widens to show off the yellow in his teeth, giving a little bow.

“I wasn’t sure with the mask,” she says, motioning towards it. “My friends said they spotted you earlier with a deer mask, but it seems you’ve changed it. I quite like the feathers .... Although, the one that’s different kind of sticks out.”

A muscle in his cheek tightens. “I’m quite fond of that feather,” he says. “It means quite a lot to me, and I don’t take kindly to those who insult what is precious to me.”

“Oh…of course,” she says. “It suits you quite well.”

She points a finger towards his bowtie. It seems it’s a bit crooked. There’s a smile on her face as she reaches out her sully hands to fix it.

Alastor takes a single step back, making it a point to show it off to her that he’s doing so.

The doll-like smile on her face wobbles a little. That’s fine. Alastor always hated dolls. “Oh…um…,” she says, scrambling to recover. “There’s a stain on your lips.”

His ears flicker for a moment, but he runs his thumb across his mouth. Red stains his gloves. It’s the color of your lipstick. “It seems I do.”

“Been drinking too much wine tonight?” She offers him a handkerchief.

“No need.” Alastor takes out his own handkerchief. It has his initials carefully embroidered on them.  He goes to wipe your stain on his lips, but decides against it. “The wine they serve here is quite bland, but luckily there’s something much sweeter on the palate.”

Her smile fades into a frown when she notices the embroidery on the edges of his handkerchief.

Alastor continues to stand with a smile as she tries her best to compliment him in the smallest of ways. It’s quite nice to hear such compliments that inflate his ego.

Although… It's a bit weird.

The thrill of sudden recognition doesn’t hit as high as before. It’s just stagnant now. Praise doesn’t thrill him like they should.

Alastor allows his mind to wander, and his ego inflated to the highest degree when he imagines you standing before him instead, saying the things this random Sinner tells him. (He should figure out a way to get you to compliment him more.)

Plates of food and dozens of empty glass litter the bar table. It’s the aftermath of downing unlimited alcohol and enjoying some appetizers as insults are hurled that not even a merciful god can forgive.

Vox takes a bite of the olive and flicks the toothpick that came with his drink. It lands between your feathers.

A curse escapes your mouth as you try to dig it out. “Why are you even here?”

“It’s a party.” Vox hands you another drink. “I like the music, the drinks are unlimited, and this is quite fun.”

The drink gets downed in one gulp, and you flick the toothpick at a passing Sinner’s hair. It lands between the strands of his hair. “That’s one more point for me,” you say, pumping your fist. “Come on, TV boy—give me my point.”

Vox’s head flashes. It goes from his face to a screen with both your names on it. The number below your name increases on point before his face returns once more.

You shimmy a little dance as your point increases.

Vox makes a face, cringing at your dance. “You’re such a fucking loser.”

“Ha! His loser,” you say, sticking out your tongue.

“You’re still five points down,” he tells you, scowling as he grabs a passing drink from a waiter. “Why suggest this game if you’re not even good at it.”

You shrug, grumbling a little. “I always win against Alastor.”

“Are we not going to get in trouble?” Vox swirls the drink in his hand. “This is still a royal’s party.”

“Aren’t you an Overlord?” you say, taking another bite of a cracker. “Act like it. I mean, it’s not like anyone’s going to call you out.”

The music catches your attention, and it pulls your focus to the dance floor. Oh…Alastor’s dancing. His broad back puffs out as he moves across the floor with purpose and grace. There’s a charming smile on his face as he dances along the beat of the music.

That looks fun.

 It would certainly be a shame to waste such a beautiful dress by blending in with the decorations on the walls.

You turn to Vox. “Care to dance?”

Vox takes another toothpick, flicking it. It missed the Sinner’s hair. He curses while you pump your fist. “With you?” he says, making a face “Ew—no, that’s disgusting.”

“Alastor’s dancing right now,” you say. “It looks fun.”

Vox raises an eyebrow and glaces to the dance floor. A snarl appears on his lips when he notices that smug smile on the woman dancing with Alastor. “A new challenger?”

You tilt your head, and feathers slide across your face as you observe Alastor dancing. Oh, Vox’s right. There’s a woman with him right now. “Oooooh, who’s that? She’s quite the belle—smash.”

Vox turns to you, making a face. It’s quite funny to see. “Do you even know what that mean—”

“I know what I said.”

His screen shifts and paragraphs of information appear on his face. “Oh…she’s one of the daughters of the Ars Goetia.” The scowl on his face deepens as he continues watching, and he offers an arm towards you. “Come on—let’s dance. Game on, bitch.”

“Just ignore her,” you tell him. “She’s no threat to me, and I allow you to flirt with Alastor all the time.”

“That’s because I play fair,” Vox says, rolling his eyes. “We have our rules, and it creates order. This bitch doesn’t know that…and hasn’t someone ever told her—three’s a crowd.”

Once more, you turn to the dance floor. Alastor’s graceful movements catch your eyes and a delighted hum escapes your lips. His body dances with control and power. There’s awe in the woman’s face as Alastor dances with her. 

That’s alright—she’s only doing her due diligence.

Only a blind fool wouldn’t appreciate how Alastor’s hair sways with each side-step, or how his tail-coat fits handsomely across his back, or how charming his smile paints across his lips, or how the dress-pants he wears compliments how long his legs are.

Vox may be a fool but at least he isn’t blind.

“Holy fuck! Woman—get it together!” Vox points towards the dance floor, to the Sinner dancing with Alastor.

There’s a triumph in her smile. She dances with Alastor as if she won.

Vox watches your expression carefully, chuckling as a cold look steels your face despite the gentle smile. Oh, it is so on.

“Well, this just won’t do. If there’s one thing I hate—it’s those who don’t know their place,” you say, snaking your arm around Vox with a smile. “Game on, bitch.”

Vox escorts you towards the middle of the dance floor, that proud Overlord puff back on his chest. It’s quite easy to match his movements when he always was quite the talented dancer.

“Hey…,” you say, eyes twitching. “What are you doing?”

Vox’ hands hover above your skin, refusing to make contact. “I’m afraid that if I touch you, my life would turn to ruin like everything else that has had the misfortune of meeting you,” he tells you, a triumphant smile on his lips. “And you’re doing the exact same thing!”

“That’s because I’m married. It would be improper of me to be touching such a slimy Sinner.” You slam the point of your heel right on his shoe. “My apologies…it would be much easier to dance if you’re actually holding me.”

Vox steps on your toes, and you snarl at him. “You first, witch.”

“As you say whenever Velvette tells you to take a bath—no thanks.”

“The I guess you say the same thing about shampoo—”

“May I interrupt?”  There’s a wide smile on Alastor’s lips that show off the yellow in his teeth. He stands in the middle of the ballroom, not caring as others give him weird looks for blocking the path. Alastor stands proud as his hand offers itself to you.

Across the dance floor, there’s an irritated look on the woman’s face when Alastor abandoned her mid-dance. There’s a smile on your lips as you show her what real triumph looks like.

Vox smiles at him, and hands you towards your husband. “Of course.”

He takes your hand, playing with the tips of your fingers before intertwining them. A hand snakes around your waist to pull you flush against his chest. The music flows slowly across the room. It’s sweet melodies forcing you to lean your head on his chest.

Alastor squeezes your hand.

You squeeze back.

His legs slide between your as Alastor dips you low, a hand on the small of your back to support your waist. He takes the lead in this waltz, spinning and twirling your around while pressing himself as close as possible to you.

The side of his cheek, nuzzles into the crown of your feathers as you’re swayed around the ballroom.

“I’ve found myself in a bit of a corner,” you say, snaking your hand up and down his back as if to pet it. “I owe Vox two dances. You interrupted the first, but there’s still the matter of the second one.”

Alastor’s hand tightens around you, and shadows flare around the room. It causes dancing couples to instinctively take a step away. “Did he force you into a deal?”

“Not at all,” you say, nuzzling into his hold. “I lost a bet, that’s all. You know me, I get rather competitive, and got a little bored a while ago after getting my fill of food and drinks.”

 “I’ll take your place so just stay far away from him.” Alastor’s smile turns into a snarl. “Don’t worry, he won’t bother you again after this.”

You go on the tip of your toes to press a kiss. “Thank you.”

Alastor twirls you underneath his arm. “I never got to ask…,” he begins. “How do you like my outfit?”

“It suits you very well, my love,” you tell him. “In fact, I have to say that you are the most handsomest of handsome, and those pants really do you some justice.”

Alastor flicks your nose. “Stop it.”

“Should I really?”

“No…,” he says, leaning into your ear. “I want to hear more.”

The dance ends eventually, and Alastor behind you with one hand on your shoulders and the other holding you to escort you like a gentleman.

Vox greets you with a wave, another drink around his hand.

You step out of Alastor’s hold and press a hand on Vox’ shoulder to whisper into his ear. “As you dance with my husband, I want you to know that he’s taking your hand only because I allow it,” you tell him with a smile. “I want you to know that it’s only possible because of the permission I grant you.”

Vox snorts and offers a hand out for Alastor. “Understood.”

The musicians play their instruments and music once again fills the dancefloor. Sinners stay paces away as Vox and Alastor dance, especially given the threatening expression on Alastor’s face. It’s funny how Vox doesn’t seem to mind Alastor’s darkened gaze.  The irritated look on your husband's face makes you a bit guilty. Oh well, you’ll make it up to him later.

The dance ends, and both Vox and Alastor go their separate ways once more. There’s a twinkle in Vox’s eyes as he gives you a small nod of farewell. It has you shaking your head.

Alastor wipes his hands before taking your hand once more. “Let’s go.”

“Already?” you say, frowning. “We’ve only had one dance so far.”

“We can dance to your heart's content, my love…just not here,” Alastor says, fixing the straps of your dress. His hands ghost around the zipper, and it lingers there for more than a moment. “Apparently, I’ve maxed out my working days. Charlie told me it was in my contract and I have to spend them before I can go back to work at the hotel. She practically kicked me out. So, I have the next few days off.”

“That’s good.”

“Shall we go?” Alastor brings your hand closer, pressing a kiss on the ring around your finger. “Home—our home.”

“Really?” you say. “You’re going to go home with me?”

“For the next two weeks.”

Alastor watches your smile brighten as your eyes crinkle. It’s the most precious thing in this ballroom, and its radiance can light up the whole room. You spring up to hug him, squealing as you wrap your arms around his neck. The force of your hug causes him to take a couple steps back to keep from falling over. Alastor places a hand on the small of your back to steady you.

His bowtie is crooked. 

You point towards it,and reach out a hand to straighten the fabric. Alastor takes a single step forward, leaning down to allow more access. The pads of your thumb smoothen his crooked bowtie.

Vox catches your eyes and he toasts a drink in your direction.

You remove the wedding ring around your finger, slipping it over your middle finger instead. The ring and the finger are presented to Vox as you leave with Alastor’s arm around your waist.

Game on, bitch.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Alastor whenever someone flirts with you : hiss hiss, get away from my wife. Reader whenever someone flirts with Alastor: Fucking understandable. Finally, someone with good fucking taste. This is so funny and silly. Vox and Reader are so sibling-coded that it wonderful. I love fan-fiction. I love how unserious it can be

[materlux]

Sunlight on Snow.

Jiaoqiu has me in a chokehold, I love me a pathetic (affectionatly) man.

Location for this fic is heavily inspired by my latest brainrot fic: Star-shaped by Milksnake-tea (go read it, it's very good!!)

CW: 2nd person perspective, reader called 'little star', fluff? Idk it's pretty tame.

Honkai Star Rail | Main Masterlist

The wind pulls at your loose t-shirt, it nips at the exposed skin of your legs and arms. Snowflakes gently fall around you and the snow coating the ground deepens. You should be feeling cold, actually you should be dead, frozen to death by the harsh winds and low temperature. 

   If you were dead, maybe your frozen corpse would be used like a landmark on a mountain, guiding fools through a snowstorm.

   But you aren’t dead and it’s weird, you admit that it must be freaking out the wild life, a small group of deer trail after you. If it were possible for animals to feel like humans, you’d think it was a kind of morbid curiosity to see how long you’d last, but they don’t, you think.

   Truth be told you don’t know much about mortal lives, you have encountered them before in your endless life, made friends with them, even lovers. But that doesn’t mean you understand them all, for every planet you find, new forms of mortal life greet you, all different in nature and belief.

   You have yet to encounter any living mortal life that you could speak to on this planet, the ones you have found in the fields of white were all frozen solid.

   Snow crunches under your feet, cold air fills your not-really-there lungs. A smell you recognise comes with each breath, smoke, you conclude, a common smell associated with civilisation.

   You look out over the horizon spotting a line of dark grey cutting into the pale clouds, like flint splitting an otherwise clean white rock. The deer trailing you must smell and see it too, cause they turn and leave.

   Going towards the smoke, you find a camp of tents: Primitive housing made of fabrics or furs, wood and a kind of rope, often used as temporary homes. You wander around the outskirts of the camp, behind the tents. They seem to be in a horse-shoe-like shape, curving around a large fire pit. Above the fire sits a dark metal cauldron, a new smell fills your senses, it’s strong and burns in a way you haven’t felt before.

   The camp is empty, lights inside the tents cast long shadows across the fabric and reflect on the pearly snow. With the coast clear you move closer to the cauldron, keeping your hands to yourself, you peer over the edge into the red liquid inside. The smell becomes stronger, it burns your nostrils all the way into your bones, it’s electrifying. It makes your eyes water in a familiar sensation, but this time you don’t feel it in your heart.

   A young man exits a tent with a small bag in hand, he reminds you of other mortal beings you have met before. A pair of tall ears twitch in the harsh wind, a large fluffy tail flicks from side to side, sending snowflakes flying. He stops short of the cauldron, his eyes open and his brows furrow, you wonder if something has upset him. You look over your shoulder, but see nothing but endless white, snowy plains blending in with white clouds.

   “What are you doing out here?” The man questions, his other hand comes up to his chin as he tilts his head. “Did you wander over from a nearby village?” He wonders quietly, his eyes close again.

   “No,” you answer simply, you haven’t seen any villages nearby. “I was walking and then I saw the smoke, and I came to investigate.” You rattle off your walk through the snow, the animals you encountered and the dead you saw. He looks at you, perplexed by your presence.

   “Are you not cold? It’s freezing out here, even I could use some more layers.” He looks over your flimsy, loose clothing. He’s dressed in a heavy red jacket that’s closed all the way up to his chin, large fur lined boots peek over the snow.

   You shake your head, he walks over and studies you closer. He undoes his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, the tail of it grazes the snow and the weight makes you sink. He sits down on a log and picks up the little bag again, he opens it and begins adding things to the cauldron.

   “Won’t you get cold without this?” You gesture to the jacket, the fabric is dense but soft.

   “Maybe, but you need it more than I do.” He smiles at you, kindness, compassion, these are common qualities among mortal beings.

   “But I don’t need it,” you say deadpan. He looks at you, his brows furrow again and his smile disappears.

   “You aren’t dressed for this weather.” He’s becoming more confused by the minute, which makes sense you suppose. You shrug off the coat and throw back over his shoulders, you sit down on the log beside him, the skin of your legs meeting the cold wood and snow.

   “Okay, so, I’m not like you,” you start off. “I’m a star, a sun, a stellaron? Why I have a mortal form and not a celestial one, I don’t know, but I do know that the cold doesn’t affect me.” You smile. He stares at you for a while, then his eyes open again, light gold scans your face. 

   “A star,” he mutters. “Well, what is a star doing here on a frozen planet?” He turns back to the red liquid in the cauldron, stirring it in a clockwise motion.

   “Nothing really, I just found it.” You shrug.

   “Well little star, my name is Jiaoqiu,” he tells you. “I’m a foxian healer from the Xianzhou Yaoqing, and you are?” ‘Xianzhou’ is a name you have heard before in your nomadic life, but you have never encountered one.

   “I don’t have a name.” It’s true, you weren’t born to a loving mother, no one was around for your creation. The aeons call you the celestial child, but that isn’t a name by mortal standards, more like a title.

   “Then what should I call you?” He asks, his head tilts and his ears droop with the motion. “Whatever you like! I have had a lot of names.” Every planet you have traversed has given you a new name, something fitting to them.

   “Whatever I like.” There’s a sly smile on his face, something very fox-like you note. “Then I will continue to call you ‘little star’.”

   The wind and snow picks up around you as he cooks something, you ask him about it and it’s bright colour. You ask him a lot of things actually; about himself, about foxians, the Xianzhou Yaoqing, and so on. He asks you things in return; about the galaxy, the aeons, your nomadic life, where you have been, and so on.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

I've been seeing a couple of monster!Jason and reader, with reader still loving him no matter what.

Look, I'm not sure if this has been done before, but I'm offering this: Monster! reader and Jason Todd.

It's not really a request, I'm just sharing a little bit of a brainrot that I got somewhere while reading a couple of your fics. Sorry if this is too long, you don't have to read all of this.

So in the interval where Jason died - came back as Red Hood, reader was either a vigilante or a scientist working on a project that should have the security system updated or something. An accident happens and reader transforms into a mostly mindless beast that drives on instinct.

I'm saying mostly, because they can still recognize some faces or are aware of their situation to a certain extent but they can't really do anything to stop it.

So when Jason comes back as Red Hood and suddenly finds out his crush/ significant other got turned into a monster, the first thing he does is searching for you (if you aren't already confined in a prison or used as some kind of guard dog, this is Gotham, I can actually picture one of the rogues - mob bosses doing something like that). Jason takes off the helmet (after making sure no one is watching) hoping that reader could somehow recognize him and surprise, surprise, they do. Like, they are going full blown attack and suddenly freeze last second, recognizing the boy they always loved, changed, yet the same at the same time.

So monster!reader becomes tame at the presence of Jason, almost like a puppy or a very affectionate housecat while Jason takes care of reader while searching for a way to cure them and bring them back to their original form while also pampering them as best as they can.

I'm mostly picturing this out with werewolf!reader, but hell, I feel reader can be an eldritch horror abomination and still be all soft with Jason. I mean who wouldn't.

Anyways, sorry if this is too long, but if you read all of this then thank you so much. Your writings are really inspiring and I hope you are taking care of yourself. Stay safe.

Nonnie, pleassse, you never have to apologize for length or asks like this because I always adore seeing everyone's ideas. And this one is just fantastic!! Seriously, I love the idea of Jason seeing past the appearance of a 'monster', the same way you would for him!

Off the top of my head, @/sanguineterrain has something vaugley like this called Angel of Small Death, where the reader is a shadow monster! I literally want to sink my teeth into that fic every time I think about it. (If you're looking for a fic rec)

Now, I'm actually going crazy at the idea that maybe you got a little too involved in your lab project, and something goes wrong, and you're more or less in a ManBat situation. Being the equivalent of a werewolf is hard, and you're mostly focused on food, staying warm, and plain survival.

If you end up sinking your teeth into a few goons with less than pure intentions of getting you under their bosses control, you don't think anyone can blame you. You're not sure how long you've been like this now, really, could be days, could be years. You mostly stick to alleys, the docks, and the sewers if you have to, even if the smell hurts you sharpened senses.

But it's your heightened smell that shakes your usually cloudy and reactive mind. Not even your tendency to act more wolf than person can keep you from recognizing Jason, even under the new, shiny helmet. He takes it off any way, ever cautious, and offers you food, water. But he didn't need to do any of that to get you to follow him to his base.

Red Hood 'taming' the Wolf of Gotham is feat that sends shock waves through the cites underbelly. But Jason, for his part, could care less about what people think of it. His one priority when it comes to you is to help you get back to yourself. (And if he needs to hand scrub your fur, file your claws, and wash you down with a hose, he will, in fact, do that)

And it turns out you are a very good guard dog! You chase off Batman, snarl at and attack the assassins Black Mask hires and rehires. But you're an even better lap dog, especially when Red Hood scratches your ears just right. Being a wolf is still hard, but at least you have someone who really cares about you to see you through it.

(Jason does believe in letting pets/friends turned into werewolves sleep on the bed. Even if you'll be embarrassed about it once he finds a way to turn you human again)

[morganas-pendragons]

The Prophecy | Celebrimbor

Guys. The brainrot is all consuming. Send help.

I was listening to the Tortured Poets Department the other day and felt like this really fits with what I’ve written for him so far. I know I’m writing this plot out of order, but it will eventually all make sense. I am still training at work, and while that constitutes nothing for me, it means I have too much time on my hands.

This will fit into the 3 part fic called Where Are You? that will cover 2x06-2x08. I haven't rewatched 2x08 yet, but that's coming. I have so many ideas for you guys that I may just start rapid fire releasing the drabbles first.

next fic is for High King Gil-Galad

Secondly, this concept is turning into an OC fic. It will be on Ao3 by the end of this year!

Tag: @pentaghasm @celebrimbormylove @thesolarangel @wild-typo-turtle @ladyoflindon @sandwichmustbetasty

Song inspiration: The Prophecy - Taylor Swift

Prompt: You ruminate on what little you remember in your purpose of being in Eregion while Celebrimbor sleeps at your side. The Valar may grant mercy on occasion, but you wonder if this ends in doom for you both.

***

Things are beginning to come back in pieces. You aren’t exactly sure why. There are flashes of gentle eyes and gray hair. Whispered words in Quenya as you perfect your natural healing ability. Your name, the real one given to you, but you don’t remember by who. Not yet.

You prefer the name given to you by Celebrimbor.

Said elf lays beneath your palm, breathing steady even as he sleeps. You had been the one to seek him out for comfort this time. It was a rare night of him succumbing to sleep early, and so you had sought him out in desperation, aching for the comfort of Celebrimbor’s embrace to shelter you from your memories.

You’d forgotten until you’d fallen into his bed how far away he was. It didn’t matter that you could feel his heartbeat, or touch his skin. He was worlds away from you.

And all because of Annatar.

Now you lay here, head pillowed against his chest, fingers tracing shapes against his abdomen, too distracted by your racing thoughts to sleep. Annatar’s constant demands and high expectations in the crafting of the Rings had put you both on edge. Celebrimbor had been elusive as well. So much of his time was spent locked away in The Forge, just out of reach.

He’d never deny you. Not even with the distance between you both.

No one but you could feel the dark magic in that room. The shadows that shrouded the elf you love, even now, so suffocating that it remains difficult to breathe.

“Please,” You whisper. No one may be listening. You have no idea. You would beg whatever entity did listen for this. “Please do not let this end in doom.”

With the trajectory of what was occurring, you had been trying to fight the impending sense of doom lingering in your heart for weeks. The nagging feeling in the back of your head that you are to be preparing for a funeral for you or Celebrimbor by the conclusion.

Or both of you.

You shiver at the thought and bury your face in Celebrimbor’s shoulder. His arm tightens around you instinctively, like the elf you’ve fallen in love with still resides deep within the recesses of the mind he’s been made prisoner in.

Please, I’ve been on my knees

Change the prophecy

“He’s so good,” You whisper. “Everything he does is from the goodness of his heart. A kind heart.” You hold your breath as your tears collide with Celebrimbor’s skin, causing him to shift beneath you and press his face into your hair with a quiet grumble. You don’t dare speak again until you’re sure he’s asleep. “All of Celebrimbor’s intentions have been pure. He wants to do right by his people and rectify the sins and shortcomings of the House of Fëanor. This should not end in ruin. Not his.”

Don’t want money, just someone who wants my company

Let it once be me

You wish you could pull him out. Use your magic to break through the darkness that has settled upon this city, settled upon him, and force your way through the walls Annatar has erected to keep him complacent. It is Celebrimbor’s own chains that keep him prisoner.

Chains built by pride and ambition.

No. If anything, Celebrimbor will have to awaken from the depths of this illusion when the stakes are too high and he has something to lose.

Who do I have to speak to

About if they can redo the prophecy??

You run your free hand to rest your fingertips against his temple, smiling against the curve of his cheek as Celebrimbor begins to stir beneath you. Heavy lidded eyes flutter open to meet your own. In those few moments of silence, you can see him.

“Why-“ Celebrimbor starts, cut off by a yawn as he buries his face in your neck and rolls to slot a leg between yours. The action has you blushing as you raise your hand to tangle your fingers in his hair. The action usually puts him right back to sleep. “It isn’t even dawn yet, love. Why are you awake?”

You contemplate an answer for several seconds. Part of you wants to tell him, to confide in him about that underlying fear of ruin, but you don’t. You don’t know what he’ll say if you directly mention Annatar.

You don’t even know if you could trust in him not repeating what you’ve said to Annatar.

So you instead allow him to place a lingering kiss at the corner of your jaw, humming softly as his fingers soothe your body's aches by massaging at your hip.

You’re so tired.

“Too much to ruminate on. My mind will not let me rest.” You reply. Celebrimbor frowns, the furrow in his brow deepening as concern flashes behind his eyes. “I will be fine. You sleep, my love. I will be here when you wake.”

Celebrimbor does not complain. He can't. Too many times have you been the one to hold him, to shelter him from the storm of his own mind as he wakes briefly enough to seek you out. Too many times have you been the one to leave food at his table, to bring him tea, to offer him your company when his solitude becomes too great to bear.

Too many times have you fallen back asleep while Celebrimbor wept in the silence.

You hear Celebrimbor whisper his, "I love you." before settling again, this time with his hand pressed against your stomach and his hair tickling your nose. The sheer vulnerability of being so willing to sleep in a position like this when you've been apart for weeks has tears burning the back of your eyes.

Who do I have to speak to To change the prophecy?

You hold him there on the precipice of sleep and allow, for just this moment, your fear to breach the surface.

"Please," You whisper. "Please, just this once, grant us mercy."

***

And far above the reaches of Middle Earth, she heard you.

The Lady of Mercy and Grief did not ignore the suffering of those who dared to reach for her.

[sato-riii]

Dealing with a writers block sucks so bad, cause I know what happens in the plot but the little connective scenes that make everything cohesive? Those make me want to pull my hair out, and damn none of it feels right! Or it does and I’m just not seeing it. :/

Anyway, while I deal with that here’s my updated mental harem (characters that take way too much head space, should be paying me rent but oh well) - and I’m ranking them cause I can! Ya know what? I’ll add a song I associate with each of them too! (ALSO ADULT LANGUAGE AND SMEXUAL THEMES, MINORS GTFO) also this isn’t proofread and I’m not wearing my glasses either so if anything is off… well :/

Characters mentioned: Vergil Sparda, Sephiroth, Gojo Satoru, Sukuna, Enjin, Clive Rosfield and Yami Sukehiro.

At number 7. Yami sukehiro! Oh my…. I remember watching black clover for the first time and I legit was that meme “blah blah blah proper name, place name, backstory stuff”, yeah that one… AND HES VOICED MY MY FAVOURITE VA?! AND HES HUGE AND BUFF?!? GODDAMN! I get it Charlotte, I too I’m smitten by this himbo!

8/10 only because black clover needs to come back so I can obsess again!

Song I associate with him: I still burn by fozzy

At number 6 we’ve got Clive Rosfield! Woooow, now, do I love this man? Yes! Am I attracted to him? Yes! But I’m not thirsty, (yes his shirtless when I play him in tekken but thats besides the point!) ff16 is probably my favourite game like ever because of how amazing of an mc he is and yes Jill is our wife. What would Clive do? I ask myself when I’m in a difficult situation. Clive is what every man should STRIVE TO BE, the standard for sure and thats why I love him!

As a character he’s definitely a ten but he gets an 8,5/10 cause obviously I’m not that healthy :/

Song I associate with him: Even in Arcadia by sleep token.

At number 5 we have good old sephiroth. I was obsessed for months! Watched edits at work to make my day, replayed ffvii both remake and rebirth to no end and I convinced myself he would’ve turned out fine if it weren’t for hojo. Also got lot more theories about him, I love this unhinged mamas boy.

9/10 one of my longest hyper fixations loved every second of it!

Song I associate with him: The world is darker by neverending white lights.

Number 4 rightfully goes to sukuna! I was obsessed with this man since I first layed eyes on him, college was fun cause I would just drink at home and kick my feet at fanart of him, brainrotted so bad I imagined him as a tattoo artist!!

9,5 just because I was a traitor in the end!

Song I associate with him: silence like the grave by paradise lost

Number 3 goes to satoru gojo,(told you I’m a traitor) the crush out I experienced two years ago?!? (Was it two years ago? I have no actual sense of time)I was crying like a baby and honestly still not over it, I love that man!!!! Like too much, if you ask me hes my buddy and we gossip on the phone every week. My favourite fic ever is a gojo fic and it altered my brain chemistry!!! Funny thing is I didn’t get it at first, didnt get the hype at all actually but I was a manga reader and idk what happened but it was like a switch flipped and suddenly I did get it.

9,8/10 I still save edits of him!

Song I associate with him: ultraviolet by spiritbox

Number 2 goes to Enjin from gachiakuta. Yes I started reading the manga. You can’t show me a man with tattoos and a smoking habit and expect me not to fall head first?! I too have plenty of tattoos, The gender envy I get?!? It’s seriously no joke HES so damn cool :0 also my current hyper fixation. Tall blonde and tatted and his expressions? Man’s funny as fuck! TAKE ME ALREADY HES GOT ME FERAL

9,9/10 I’m in limerance or whatever thats called.

Song I associate with him: shadow in the sun by Joe p.

Number 1 goes to my man, Vergil sparda. GOD DAMN! I gotta say 10 year old me had taste! Then dmc5 came out and ahh… My man! I recently played the games again and I’m so in love. Also currently writing for him, so you know I’ve got it bad! Criminally misscharacterised too. I know this fucker loves deeply, so do I come here pls. The amount of content ive consumed on him is probably illegal in some countries I’m in so deep, I can talk about him for hours and hours and never get tired! My family knows about Vergil my coworkers know about Vergil and when that Netflix anime came out I was yelling at 3am when he came on screen and I nearly accused every other male character of being him. Is it dmc 3 Vergil? Dmc5 Vergil or nelo Angelo? I do not give a flying fuck cause I love every version I ever layed eyes on! I’ve got so many ideas for this man, and quite honestly he’s an insanely written character!

11/10 I JUST KNOW HES A YEARNER TOO AND GOD DAMN PLS VERGIL GIVE ME ONE CHANCE!

Song I associate with him: Thread the needle by sleep token. Also look to windward by sleep token too. I can actually write a whole thesis here… you can not tell me that sleeping with this man doesn’t feel like that first song I’ll leave it at that.

That concludes my list, I may or may not have tattoos for most of these characters.

[mieanme]

Merman x Siren au

Hualian - (part III)

Another short update of the brainrot! Hope you guys like it ^•^

Previous parts: PART I, PART II.

And now let's go~~

***

With the octopus attached to him like a backpack, Xie Lian carefully approaches the outskirts of his pod's territory. The sea floor has already deepened here, so even if the day has already come, it's as bright as Xie Lian is used to. He rarely comes to collect trash in here, because no-one else beside the hunters would dare to get so close to the 'cursed' territory of a siren, so he already feels uneasy.

Xie Lian stops for a second when he reaches the small stone formation that works as a landmark for their border in this area. He looks around, as if he wanted to spot the so-called monster siren waiting just around the corner to greet him as soon as he enters its territory. However, all Xie Lian sees are stones, sea floor and a shadow of pitch darkness further away from the border.

The ocean trench.

Quick calculation occurs and Xie Lian comes to the conclusion that it's probably going to take him until the sun is in the half of its journey through the sky today to reach the trench. Even if it's visible from afar, Xie Lian is aware it's only an optical illusion. So, without wasting any more precious time, he launches from his spot, staying as close to the bottom as possible to not attract any unwanted attention to himself.

"Ruoye, if you see anything approaching us, let me know, please," he clicks, additionally tapping the octopus on the tentacle wrapped around his shoulder. Ruoye taps back, as if trying to say 'roger that', making Xie Lian a little less anxious. The octopus has an excellent vision and sense of the surroundings, so if it warns Xie Lian, the merman should have enough time to flee or hide, if they actually stumble across any danger.

Although Xie Lian expects the host of this territory to appear sooner or later, the only creatures he passes on his way to the trench are a few crabs, fish and a silly looking squid. He swims through a rather small kelp forest too and he finds himself feeling as if he was watched, but Ruoye doesn't alarm him and he himself doesn't see anything around, so he just keeps swimming as fast as he can.

Soon enough, he arrives at the entrance of the trench.

The enormous crack is probably a kilometre or so wide. As for the length and depth, Xie Lian cannot tell and is afraid to guess. He grabs a rock from the sea floor and gently tosses it inside the trench, watching is horror how it disappears in the dark. He gulps, waiting for the quietest sound of the stone hitting something, but nothing comes to his ears.

Only silence all around him.

"Guess I will have to find out how deep it is myself," Xie Lian clicks more to himself than to Ruoye, but then he turns his head to look at the animal at his back. "Maybe you should stay here? I will probably have to dive very deep, I don't know if you're gonna be fine with it."

But, just as he expected, Ruoye only hugged itself tighter to his back, silently refusing to let go of its favourite merman.

"Okay, I get it," he says, knowing very well he cannot argue with the octopus. He probably couldn't even free himself from its grip even if he really wanted. "But if you start feeling like you cannot take it anymore, just let go and swim back up, okay?"

The octopus agrees, pulling gently at Xie Lian's hair again. The merman smiles, actually feeling a little more at ease that he doesn't have to dive so deep all alone.

However, before he can make his mind on finally swimming into the darkness, Ruoye suddenly squeezes him and pokes his chest a few times with two of its tentacles.

An alarm.

Xie Lian quickly looks around, but he doesn't see anything approaching them. Ruoye must have sensed something then, but if it's not in their sight yet, there's still a chance for him to complete his mission without fleeting, right?

He looks around again, but the only hiding spot he can think of is this dark trench. However, after a moment it doesn't seem like such a very bad idea - in the darkness his white tail won't be visible too!

Without another thought, Xie Lian dives into the trench as Ruoye keeps squeezing his back and chest.

"It's okay, I'm not going deep, I will just wait for whatever it is to pass by us," he clicks quietly, but the octopus doesn't seem comforted at all. It even pulls harder at his hair and lets out a strange noise, as if really trying its best to call Xie Lian a 'very stupid merman'.

Ignoring the fuss Ruoye is making, Xie Lian sticks his chest to the sharp wall of the trench, only a few meters below the entrance. He really hopes it's enough for his scales to stop shimmering in the daylight and even Ruoye changes color as much as it can to hide in the darkness.

So Xie Lian waits... and waits, but nothing appears at the top of the trench. Ruoye has already given up on trying to convince him to escape back to his pod's territory, loosening its grip on the merman's body in case it would have to attack, or at least Xie Lian thinks so. He knows very well the octopus would try its best to defend him if there was a need for that. However, with how much time has already passed, the merman thinks there won't be any fight at all.

He slowly moves up to peak out of the trench, but sure enough he doesn't see any moving creatures all around. He steals a glance at Ruoye, and even if the octopus doesn't have any particular mimic muscles to form an expression, it looks deeply displeased with Xie Lian's actions.

"What? Seems like it's gone, so why are you looking at me like th—"

Xie Lian stops clicking in the middle of the sentence, when he finally feels it himself - the other being's presence. The water seems to move somewhere near him, so he backs down to his hiding spot, only to get his hair pulled by Ruoye once again, as if it was saying 'I told you so'.

Xie Lian desperately tries to see anything around him - but there's still nothing above.

Then the realisation hits him. But it's already too late.

Because if it's not above, it has to be underneath.

The second Xie Lian understands why Ruoye was trying so hard to make him leave the area of the trench, he senses another water movement right below himself. He looks down, but sees nothing beside the pitch darkness. Then there's another movement behind him. Xie Lian follows it and turns that way, only to spot nothing yet again. This repeats a few more times, before the other creature finally swims above the merman, casting an enormous shadow on Xie Lian's figure, and, to Xie Lian's terror, it halts in that spot, as if mockingly waiting for the merman to finally be able to see his enemy.

In the meantime, with the corner of his eye, Xie Lian managed to catch a glimpse of a bloody red fin decorated with sharp spikes. He doesn't have to turn his head up to know how badly he screwed himself up. Because now, without further questions, he knows exactly what creature Ruoye tried to warn him about.

The siren itself.

***

Xie Lian and Ruoye meet the Siren finally! Who's excited???? Lemme know how you like it so far ^•^ And what do you think the Siren is gonna do to the silly merman? 😱🫢😏

PART IV

[acrula]

Baxter Ward one shot: Regret

Quick context: basically the cove wedding dlc with baxter as the wedding planner but this time baxter disguises himself since he had a whole panic attack n stuff abt mc and cove getting married,, yea this was just an excuse to write angst that's what a baxter brainrot does to u </3

Tw: panic attack, brief mention of suicide during it, angst,,, I'm sorry there's no aftercare

Baxter Alexander Ward believes he's a stable man. He has a stable job, a few acquaintances and colleagues he can count on, a nice, well-furnished apartment in the heart of South California–what more could he ask for?

Well–that’s what he tells himself on most days. But on others, it lingers, gnawing at the edge of his mind, haunting him like an ever-lingering shadow.

In recent days, he’s been waking up to the same dream. Some might call it premonition, however, his pride would never allow him to entertain such a preposterous idea–his parents certainly wouldn’t.

Not like it mattered, he scoffed,  his lips curving into a small smirk at the thought of a younger version of him running to his parents about a nightmare he’d had. They’d bluntly told him to grow up and get over it, outrightly dismissing it. No more no less. Perhaps he should thank his parents for instilling that mindset in him since his younger days, but when the relentless dream continues to claw its way into his normally dream-less dreamscape, he’s willing to bite the bullet and admit–it might be more than just a ‘dream’.

Should it even be called a dream? 

He’d woken up in cold sweat on the first day. The faint hum of the fans in the air-conditioner had alerted him that he was indeed in reality, yet everything from the dream felt all too real. He’d bitten his tongue at the time while pondering over it, before glancing over at the clock once again to ensure he was actually awake. 

5:30 A.M.

Baxter Ward has never been wrenched from his sleep by something so trivial like a mere dream at such an ungodly timing.

This ‘dream’ had brought him back to a moment 5 years ago–one he swore he’d forget. One he tried everything in his power to erase.

Spoiler alert: he didn’t. 

He hadn’t forgotten. Not a single bit of it. 

It was as if he was stuck in a loop, his mind constantly replaying the scene over and over and over again in his head, like a broken recorder.

5 years had passed, and not a single detail of the memory had deteriorated. Clear as day, he could still see it in his eyes. 

The haunting look of pain, the trembling lip as the person’s teeth bit down on it so hard he had once felt the urge to ask if it hurt–until he realised he had caused it.

The endless pools of light in their eyes everytime they talked to him, whether it be about their day, or someone close to them, or that attentive glimmer as they rapt on every word he talked about, clinging to every detail as if it had mattered. He had unwittingly opened himself up too much, before he knew it, they were tearing down his walls. Those iron-clad walls that seemed impenetrable from miles away, but once knocked on, came crumbling down like a wooden-straw house. 

They had that effect on him. 

Baxter wasn’t sure what it was–still isn’t– but something about them had been so mesmerizing. It enraptured him, and ensnared him in their web without them even knowing. From their little mannerisms, to their body language, to their micro-expressions, he’d gotten to know them so well in such a short amount of time.

That was his first mistake. Getting too close and letting them in.

And he’d never blame them for it. It was his own weakness that allowed him to be ensnared. A buried longing that he thought he’d locked away in the recesses of his heart for a long while, and until that person showed up in his life, he thought he was doing a good job at it–fantastic, even.

Until they unraveled him.

Before he knew it, he was falling. Hard. Fast. faster than any hurricane could have swept him off his feet.

And before he knew it again, he had lost them. Like every other relationship in his life, he had failed to securely grasp onto them.

It was too late now.

The dream had been a startling reminder of that. That he’d never get them back now. 

But a part of him hopes.

And hopes.

That somewhere on earth, he’d get to see them one last time.

And he’d get that one last chance.

But he knows he won’t.

And he’s not okay with that.

===

Baxter Ward strolls into the building, a paper cup of black coffee in hand. He keeps his posture straight and his smile polite as he walks up to the receptionist. Upon hearing his footsteps, the receptionist glances up, her glasses tilting askew at the speed she had glanced up. She passes him a small smile and greets him with a twinkle in her eye.

“Good morning, Mr. Ward!” She greets him sweetly, clicking her pen off to pause whatever she had been furiously scribbling.

“Ah, what a fine morning to you, too, Ms. Chloe,” he returns her greeting, his smile nothing less than the very picture of a composed gentleman. He catches the faintest red tint on her cheeks for a few seconds, before she yelps quietly to herself, jumping in her seat.

“Everything alright?” He inquires, leaning over the desk just in time to see her vanish beneath it. A muffled sound from under the desk and the ruffling of papers tell him she’s only busy being attacked by the endless stack of documents threatening to consume her workspace. She resurfaces shortly after, a stack of papers in her hand–miraculously uncrumpled and still in pristine condition. Chloe places the stack of papers down on the table, gently gesturing to it.

“We have a list of important clients!” She explains, removing the paper clip binding the small stacks together as she swiftly shuffles through them. “I know you’ve just finished a pretty big wedding for your client, but these–” she cuts herself off, hesitating as she tugs on the collar of her blouse. 

“They’re paying a little more than the usual package considering their tighter deadlines…” She glances to the side sheepishly, almost embarrassed to admit the last part of her sentence aloud.

Baxter tilts his head to the side inquisitively, and before he has any chance to speak, she interjects hurriedly. “W-well, you don’t have to if you don’t want to! I can speak to other consultants, or refer these clients to one of our neighbouring firms, s-”

“It’s perfectly alright, I’ll take a look at it and get back to you with one that I’ve selected,” Baxter cuts in gently, plucking the papers from her hands. With the polite smile still on his face, he reassures her it’s no trouble, and he sees her shoulders sag with what looked like relief. She sends him off with a weak smile as he bids her goodbye and heads towards the elevator leading up to his office.

As soon as he enters his office, he takes a seat at his desk, internally groaning at his silly, on-the-spur of the moment decisions. Most wedding deadlines were tight enough already, and the way that Chloe had brought up the list meant that these clients were somehow expecting a full-blown wedding to be prepared in an even shorter time? He scoffs at himself, or rather, the absurdity of the requests. As much as possible, he’d always tried to pre-prepare everything in advance, he despised rushed, last-minute planning.

He heaves another sigh to himself, feeling a migraine already forming in his temples. He glances at the papers, skimming through the time he had to prepare before the wedding. Majority of the clients’ requests were still.. Somewhat reasonable, considering how they ranged from 2 weeks to a month. However, a specific request catches his eyes, and his eyeballs almost pop out of his head comically.

4 days??

He slaps a palm to his forehead. Now that was an interesting and almost idiotic way to ask a wedding planner for help. Most wedding planners wouldn’t even begin to consider such a tight request. 

But fortunately for this couple, (and unfortunately for him) he wasn’t ‘most wedding planners’. 

Even he normally wouldn’t take up a request of this caliber in such a short amount of time, but something was nagging at him to do it.

He makes up his mind, internally deciding to help the couple. Plus, the sum of money they were giving wasn’t small either, however monetary gains were on the lower end of his priorities.

With a resigned sigh, he picks up the phone off his desk, ringing into the lobby. If he was going to decide on this now, he’d rather confirm it before his mind had the chance to even question him. In less than three rings, the line was picked up.

“Hello, Chloe, you can book me in with one of the couples.” A relieved sigh crackles on the other end of the speaker.

“Great! Which one have you chosen?” 

“Client fifty-fi…” he trails off, his words getting caught in his throat as he sees the black inked words printed on the paper under the row of client 55.

“...Hello? Mr Ward? Is the line on?” Chloe asks, confusion evident in her voice as Baxter trailed off. Silence filled the space and seemed to drag on for eternity for Baxter. He barely registers her voice as he’s absorbed into the letters on the paper. His mind turns.

And turns.

And spins.

And–

“...Mr Ward?”

He snaps out of the trance. Realising where he is and he’s still on the phone with Chloe, he pointedly clears his throat, forcing the last of his words to spill out before he loses his voice once more.

“Yes, Chloe, I’ll take client 55. Please let them know I’ll meet them for dinner at the usual spot.” With that, he barely registers her confirmation before abruptly ending the phone call.

Panic. 

He sucks in a sharp breath.

And another.

And another.

And another.

Too fast. Too shallow.

And– he’s gasping for air before he realises he is. 

Underneath him, the paper crumples with a crunching sound under the weight of his hand. He scrunches the paper, feeling the edges of the crisp sheet cutting into his palm, attempting to ground himself in the sharp sensation. Yet, he doesn’t focus on the uncomfortable, sharp texture of the paper in his hand.

He can’t.

He’s aware that his jaw clenched and his tongue feels like sandpaper. He wants to scream, but there’s something stuck in his throat. Something holding him back. He’s trying to swallow, but it hurts.

It hurts so much.

Or was that his heart? Pounding. Slamming. Hammering. Relentless against his ribcage.

He makes an attempt to get up from his chair–but fails miserably as his knees abruptly gave way and hits his carpeted floor with a loud thud. There’s a sting in his palm, a sore throb in his knees, but the ringing in his ears drown everything out.

He hears everything and nothing all at the same time. He’s made hyper aware of each shaky and unsteady breath he tries to take, trying to gulp in every bit of oxygen there is, while he’s struggling to breathe out. He’s aware of the running air-conditioner in his office. He’s aware how the rest of the papers in the pile have been strewn across his usually organised desk and how half of them should be scattered across the floor around him.

Through his haze, he fumbles for something–anything, to cling on. If they were here, they would be–

No, stop thinking about them. His hand goes to his chest and he subconsciously grips the front of his clothes, uncaring if he rumples his usually prim-and-proper attire.

They’re gone. 

There would be no one to comfort him of that fact. 

A cold-hard fact, that’s what it is. It’s like a bucket of ice-cold water has been doused on him, somewhat snapping him back to reality. The stark realisation that everything has changed, and will never go back, slowly starts to seep into his psyche.

Into his veins, into his blood vessels, into his arteries, into his heart, into his mind.

And he doesn’t know why he feels this–no, he does. 

And he regrets it. 

He hates it.

He regrets. Every bit of his past self, the self he hates, the self he still continues to despise even after all these years of him telling himself it was all ‘just a phase’. His old shadow had never left him, it had only lurked, taking a backseat in his mind. It never did. It was only waiting for the opportune moment to show itself again.

He hates himself.

Every staggering breath he manages feels like he’s swallowing up fire and smoke. Bile rises up the back of his throat and he feels like retching, but he knows if he does, nothing will come up. 

The ringing starts to fade ever-so-slightly. But the nagging thought in the back of his mind doesn’t shut up. 

He wants to die. He wants to die. He wants to die. 

Oxygen is depleting. 

Fast. 

He can't breathe.

He can't scream.

The chill makes its way down to his arms and legs. It encases his motor neurons from moving his arms and limbs. Trapped in a thick layer of unbreakable ice, his blood runs cold and he loses all feeling in his body.

He can't move.

He doesn't. 

He won’t.

~

When Baxter comes to, his vision is still blurred. He’s sprawled on the ground, papers scattered around him in a heap all over the floor. Disoriented, he blindly reaches for his phone, trying to blink away the grogginess out of his eyes.

He feels like shit. He feels like he’s been run over by a truck, was sent flying through the air into a garbage landfill, and had been fished out of it by a garbage tow truck.

He ignores the metallic taste in his mouth as he crawls on the floor towards his phone–somehow on the other side of the room, he doesn’t know how–and he’s faintly aware of the stiffness of the dried tear tracks on his face as he moves, a stark reminder of what just happened.

He looks like shit. 

He knew if anyone saw him like that, he’d die of embarrassment and would rather crawl into the seventh layer of hell than let anyone ever catch him in such a pathetic and humiliating state.

Except for them. 

A laugh escapes him–dry, broken, lifeless, hollow. Lacking substance and all vital signs of life. 

He feels like a shell of what he once was.

But life has to move on, right? 

That’s what he’s been telling himself for five years.

So he shoves it all down, every last splinter of himself. Picks up his phone. Gathers the broken pieces of himself off the floor, not caring if they bled into his hands, not bothering to stop to repair them.

And heads out of the door.

~

[Your POV] 

“Cove! I’m so sorry I’m late!” You huff, skidding to a stop after a full blown sprint from one end of the parking lot to the other. You placed your weight on your knees, gasping for air as your eyes locked onto the pavement, trying to regain your bearings. 

A sigh from above you. Soft and amused. This causes you to look up, only for you to be met with a set of familiar, bright, aquamarine eyes. The sigh was nothing short of affection, even if you had kept him waiting out here for a few extra minutes compared to your agreed meet-up time.

He grins at you, ruffling your hair gently as he patiently waits for you to collect your breath.

“Have you been waiting long?” You wince as you check the phone. “Sorry for being 10 minutes late… I kept you and the wedding planner waiting.”

“Oh, it’s fine!” Cove reassures, though his expression changes to one of sheepishness as he scratches the back of his head, “But I’m not sure how our wedding planner would feel about that…”

You cringe. “Hopefully, he’s fine with it.” You weren’t one to be late, but the trip to the restaurant had been slightly delayed due to you sleeping in for a bit longer than you should have been–jetlag was the enemy of many, afterall. 

Then it hits you–“Hey! You left the wedding planner there all by themselves?” You teasingly punched Cove in the arm.

“Ow,” he yelps, pretending to be hurt as he rubs the ‘sore’ spot.

“W-well, he won’t mind!” Cove mumbles under his breath as the two of you walk into the restaurant after your mini banter. 

Inside, Cove signals to the host who nods in recognition before leading you to the seating area. The spot that Cove and the wedding planner had chosen was one towards the back of the restaurant–one with a glorious view of the sun setting over the ocean and a fair amount of privacy.

At the table, a young man is already seated; his legs crossed primly, with his chin resting ever so delicately against a hand.

Swept hair and a tailored suit–every detail immaculately refined. In the reddish light of evening, his brown eyes shone like rich pools of dark honey. A living portrait of class. You were almost intimidated by him.

That was the wedding planner.

As you neared the table, the planner seemed to sense your presence and glanced up at you. You swear his chestnut eyes seem to falter as he gazes at you for a split second too long–but the moment was gone so fast you weren’t sure if you had hallucinated it. He moves to shake your hand, his chair dragging silently against the floor as every movement he made exuded one of grace.

You stuck your hand out, a jovial smile on your face as you introduced yourself.

He shook your hand, his grip was firm, yet… tender? At the same time. You weren’t sure if you were imagining it again, but you swore his touch felt so familiar. The quick shock between your hands as they met sent a thrill through your body, almost as if it was reacting on instinct.

Had you… met this man somewhere before?

All thoughts of that were thrown for a loop as he introduced himself.

“Hello, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Alexander.” He gives off a polite smile, however, when you meet his eyes during your handshake, it feels like you’re staring into an abyss.

And the abyss gazed back.

An abyss… filled with memories. The look was so warm, so comforting, so familiar.

Yet, you didn’t know of anyone with the first name ‘Alexander’.

Before you could open your mouth to vocalise your inquiry, the man answered it for you.

“I believe this is the first time we’re all meeting–” He paused abruptly, surveying you and Cove, who were still standing up. “Ah, my apologies, please take a seat,” he gestures to the two chairs in front of him.

The two of you sat down, fingers still laced together. There’s a sparkle that doesn’t exactly meet Mr Alexander’s eyes, and if you looked away for a second, you would see his smile falter out of the corner of your eyes, but you didn’t think much of it.

“Congratulations on your wedding.” Resigning yourself to ignoring why this man felt so familiar, you decided to shift your thoughts to other things.

What you never caught on was–

The way his eyes had flicked over to your joint hands.

The way his jaw had tightened with each lie he spewed about congratulating the two of you.

The way his other hand had been clenched in his pocket, nails digging into his palm, hard enough to draw blood.

The longing gaze in his eyes as he stared for too long at how you conversed with Cove.

You never caught onto any of it.

Nor the faint birthmark on his neck, covered by a few layers of foundation, yet still visible if you paid enough attention.

You didn’t, though.

And he was fine with it.

He would be fine with it.

He had to be fine with it.

After all, it was too late.

You weren’t the person he had chosen–and yet none of it could be attributed to your fault. It never was. It never has been. It had always been him and his self-loathing.

5 years ago, he wanted something, yet he let go of it.

And now, he’s lost it forever.

“Really, congratulations on your wedding.” His brain moves on autopilot in his most professional mannerism possible.

“Thank you!” And your smile was so wide, he couldn’t dare to even attempt to blame you or Cove for it.

It was his mistake.

His loss.

And as he moves out of his chair, with the meeting all wrapped up, he casts one last glance back at you–to see you sharing a short, yet loving kiss with the other man that could have been him…

And his heart shatters.

He doesn’t look back.

=END=

[mrpeepington-peep]

Solo Leveling Week 2025

Day 5: Secret Identity.

Came in late but still gonna try, never done one of these ‘week of’ prompt stuff before so tell me anything you think I can improve! 

Just in case, its hosted by Solo Leveling Brainrot Corner!

A look into a silly AU where Ashborn has decided to stick around and Jin-ah thought it would be fun to introduce Ashborn to The Internet.

Story:

Really it had all been Sung Jinah’s fault. 

See, it all started the day Sung Jinwoo died, and came back of course. He didn't just ‘Arise’ himself without consequence though. 

Said consequence is namely one Shadow Monarch that didn't start out as human. Yes indeed, it was Ashborn that decided to hitch a ride. In a sense. Descending onto Earth the moment Jinwoo returned to consciousness in form with a striking resemblance to Jinwoo himself.

When Jinwoo had questioned Ashborn on why he changed his mind about sticking around, Ashborn had responded with a simple “Because I want to.”. Jinwoo was unimpressed.

Leading to the present. Ashborn sticks around the Sung residence for lack of anywhere else to stay. 

Sung Jinah lazied about her soft bed after a night of hard studying. She scrolled through her latest fanfic recommendations. Jinah came across one Song-Yi had wanted her to see. Jinah sat up. “No way.” It was about her brother. Not that surprising, considering Jinwoo was THE S-rank hunter. But the tags. A pairing of him and fellow S-rank, Hunter Cha Hae-in. Nah, she just didn’t see it. Jinwoo is so not interested in women, even if he was, he was way too oblivious. Jinah glances at the other tags. Slice of life, Romantic fluff. Okay, innocent enough. But… implied sexual content? Yeah Jinah didn’t think she wanted to see stuff like that about her own brother. Jinah debated a moment to decide if she should take a peak. It was only implied after all. 

Hours later Jinah realized she found the whole fandom dedicated to her brother. All kinds of forums, photos, fanart, fanfics, the whole shabang. Honestly Jinah should have expected this, but wow, people can sure be thirsty. Not water thirst either. One thing did interest her. There was one writer who had gained quite a following. Different people recommending them, the fics being discussed in different forums. This one writer seems to have popularized the pairing of Jinwoo and Hae-in. Not the pairing that Jinah had imagined becoming the OTP.

The writer just went by Yamii. He or she had great writing ability too. Jinah didn’t exactly regret going down this rabbit hole. They were just that good. 

Jinwoo turns off the stove, tea he was preparing, finished. Jinwoo poured himself a cup. Jinah has been in her room a lot. He’s pretty sure he’s seen Ashborn spending more time with her. Jinwoo wonders if he should have let her teach Ashborn about the internet. Jinwoo takes a sip. Jinah does know more than he does, not that Jinwoo is going to admit he’s behind on internet culture. 

Jinwoo sets down his cup, hearing a giggle from Jinah’s room. A very suspicious, scheming girly giggle. He could check through the shadows he left in Jinah’s shadow, but it would be more fun to do it himself. He walks to her room, pushing the door open without bothering to knock. “Jinah, you're not showing Ashborn weird things are you?”

“Oppa! Knock first!” Jinah protests. Jinah sits on the floor. Ashborn looks up from where he is sitting from across Jinah. Jinwoo narrows his eyes. Suspicious. “What are you doing?” Jinah rolls her eyes. “Why do you think I did anything?” Ashborn speaks up. “Your sister was merely explaining how your interconnected net of information assists the individual with creative expression.” Jinwoo stares at Jinah. Definitely suspicious. Jinah looks offended. “What? I told you I didn’t do anything. It’s just like he said. Just exploring creative stuff online.” 

“Creative stuff, huh?” Jinwoo shakes his head. Probably not too bad. Probably. “Though I did not know, what you call ‘Fanfiction’, could make such an impact within your online communities.” Ashborn comments. Fanfiction? “Jinah…” Jinah looks away from Jinwoo’s eyes. “What, it's not like fanfics are bad things. Besides, I didn't even teach him about that.” Now Jinwoo is curious. “You found fanfiction on your own?” He doesn’t know how to feel about that. Ashborn nods. “I was fascinated with the way individuals can express each of their own views of a character’s personality. Though I may not understand human obsession with sexual expression.” Jinah smothers a laugh. Jinwoo sighs. “RIght…”. 

Jinah smiles. “Can you believe he’s actually a really good writer for not being human?” Jinwoo sputters “He what?”

And that's how Jinwoo found out about the previous Shadow Monarch’s, his predecessor, a former king…can apparently write fanfiction under the name Yamii. And gain a following at that.

[lonely-parrot]

Masterpost/ Presentation

I haven't really presented myself, so here we are!

You can call me Sky, my pronouns are he/they, and I'm 19. I'm a history student, in France, and my main fandom is the Marauders (obsessed, if we're honest), but I absolutely don't support JK, because trans lives matter, as well as the ones of all the queer people <3

EDIT:

Coming back here due to the latest jk abomination.

I absolutely DO NOT condone any of that. Unfortunately, that fandom is also my biggest safe place these days, and i'm not ready to let it go.

I just want to be clear that i do not support jk financially speaking, i don't buy official merch, i don't buy books, do not watch the movies and do not plan on watching the reboot.

I want this space to be as safe as it can be, and i'm here for anyone who might need to

END OF EDIT

My ao3 username is Lonely_Parrot !

And now, for a quick presentation of my fics:

My WIPs:

You're The Closest To Heaven That I'll Ever Be 3 chapters/?

So, this one is a Jegulus and Wolfstar ff, modern AU, without magic, and Sirius stayed with the Blacks for Regulus, and the fic is on how it impacted their lives, and how they get out. Reg is trans in this one, and misgendered for a while, bc he doesn't even know he is trans. Once he knows, pronouns are adapted.

Finished works:

Don't Let The Sunlight Blast Your Shadow One shot/ 15k

It's a Sirius centric fic, with eventual Wolfstar. It takes place during the Marauders fifth year, and i didn't include the Prank, because I didn't want to.

Just Remember Lovers Never Lose 3 chapters/3

Sirius and Remus adopts a little werewolf girl. A little bit of angst, but mostly fluffy.

And I Thought Of Ma' And I Wanted To Get Back There 5 chapters/5

It's the continuation of Just Remember Lovers Never Lose, in which Sirius gets in therapy, and it's his trials before he find someone adapted to him.

When You Rock'n'roll With Me/ No One Else I'd Rather Be One shot

Sirius with a collar and a leash (wolfstar)

That's it, that's the plot

I, Carrion 8 chapters/8

It's a Regulus centric fic, where he is trans. There's no pairing in this one, but once i finish this one, it will be in a serie, and the rest should have a Jegulus pairing.

It's rather angsty, and we see the Black brothers rekindle, bc despite everything, Sirius wants to protect Reg

Stars That Burn The Brightest/ Fall So Fast And Pass You By One Shot/ 12k

Black sisters character study!

It's a canon compliant story, so it's angsty, but there's also exploration of who they are, them falling in love, falling away from each other, autistic and aro Narcissa, Sybill and Bellatrix relationship, Andromeda and Ted! a lot of fun :)

Le désir fou d'une minute enlacés 11 chapters/11

Sirius Black is an artist, Remus Lupin stumbles into him, they fall in love.

Very angsty, talks of grief, suicide attempts

Pairings: Wolfstar + past Jegulus + present Jily

I Ain't Got The Power Anymore One shot/ 2k words

Sirius gets his hair cuts as a punishment - muggle au, with a happy ending

So He Laid Me Down And I Felt Happy One shot/ 3k

Regulus is having a bad day, luckily, James and Sirius are here for him

Jegulus, and good Black brothers

I Do Amazingly Bad/ I Make Magnificient Trash 6/6

Barty is transmasc and starts going out with Lily :) t4t bartylily in a non magical au, mostly character study

Uncontinued because of a lack of time:

The Light Catches The Mirror In My Brain, It Gives Me Shade 3 chapters/?

70's without magic AU. The Marauders arrive in a boarding school all at the same time in their fifth year. Features BPD Sirius, ADHD James, good Peter, stammer Remus. Oh, and French Sirius, Desi James, Welsh Remus.

I really want to continue this fic, if anyone is interested in brainrotting this fic with me, dm me, I'm all for it!

And that's it (that's already a lot, I know)! Hope you can find one that you'll like! Don't hesitate to reblog if you think more people should see it (that's how the algorithm works, and i desperately need more people to interact with my ff to find the motivation to finish them 😭)

[rei-does-stuff]

EXTREMELY LONG Cream unicorn cookie thoughts bc i have brainrot

—

-Okay so this whole brainrot started when I thought abt an evil version of Cream Unicorn A corrupted/distorted version of their ideals would be interesting ESP SINCE THEYRE ALREADY A LIL FUCKED UP LIKE AGAIN THEY WANTED TO KIDNAP CHILDREN

And it would be rlly easy too, just make it so they don’t change their mind the only reason they let them leave is because they didn’t want them to be upset, making it so they don’t care about that fact and it isn’t about their wants its about them, THEY WANT THEM STAY and it doesn’t matter how much they cry or how upset they are they’re staying with them no matter what

-I like to think that Cream Unicorn cookie in canon is still a little fucked, and has those moments of not wanting people to leave them, and has to just physically stop themselves from acting on those selfish feelings,

They just put on the front that everything is fine and normal and that they’re fine and normal because they don’t wanna scare anyone

“They love it here, they love me so ergo they don’t wanna leave YIPPIEEE EVERYONE IS HAPPY” meanwhile the kids are like “I wanna go home to my parents” You could also do the coraline route where cream unicorn is like “IM your real parent now :) im the one who should be taking care of you”

-(Also I need more cream unicorn interactions that ARENT with their extremely sanitized version, bc theyre so interesting and I hate that its never brought up how fucked they are

Bc others interactions with that version of them would be so interesting

Bc kingdom!cream has no real sense of loneliness, or much beyond happy dreamer because they don’t wanna acknowledge that they were kinda fucked up which I get WHY but still :/)

-Them and Shadow Milk cookie would get along I feel mainly bc Shadow would see right through Cream’s facade and see that aren’t as innocent as they seem

I say they still held people hostage but still left after in hopes of finding cookies who could inhabit the amusement park, maybe more than those just pure of heart bc theyre desperate Again a coraline other mother situation where they lead cookies in with the promise of fun and happiness, and try to convince them to stay with them willingly, though not exactly telling them the whole truth,

Because its okay if they WANNA be trapped <33

-imagine shadow calls cream out for lying just for fun

Shadow seeing right through creamuni and cream unicorn desperately trying to cover everything up with more lies is soooo!!

Shadow: Y’know cookieland is supposed to be for the pure of heart only but you don’t seem pure of heart yourself, or does that rule not apply to you? :)))

cream unicorn cookie: You can’t hurt him in front of the children you can’t hurt him in front of the children you can’t—

-Also hc that dozer was just in cookieland the entire time he was gone and cream finally let him out and thats why theyre finally back in the spin off games

He gets into those fuck ass scenarios in that puzzle game and each time hes like “I SHOULD HAVE STAYED WITH THE UNICORN I SHOULD HAVE STAYED WITH THE FUCKING UNICORN—“

-“It is unclear how long Cream Unicorn Cookie has been alive, but they are potentially one of the oldest in the game.”

Thought.

Cream unicorn cookie being a sort eldritch creature, more of a concept than a real person, representing the happiness and memories of being a child, its why they are so old, its bc theyre ageless and cant rlly die, additionally maybe they knew most of the cookies from when they were children but when they grew up they couldn’t see them again and forgot about them

They’ve been there since the beginning but no one remembers them because they’re only a memory of childhood and that pure heart you had when you were a child fades as you age

-I don’t remember if we ever see pure vanilla as a kid, but my brain immediately thought about the two meeting, Cream remembers him and is very happy, Pure doesn’t remember them and is very confused and uncomfortable and cream isnt very happy that pure and everyone else don’t remember them

Cream is very insistent that theyve met

Cream: You DO remember me! I know you do! Remember the carousel! You loved it! We were best friends! You have to remember!

Pure: No, I would have remembered that! We never met…!

I think after a while, cream starts to get angry when no one remembers them, they feel like they’re owed SOMETHING, they helped all of them so much and not a single one of them remembers them, it frustrates them

They get a bit desperate on convincing and proving to pure that they’ve met, that they’re friends

Being alone for that long messes with your senses, they probably don’t even realize how long it’s really been

They probably get rlly easily and overly attached to others, unhealthily of course

-[Shadow milk and Cream Unicorn toxic yaoi]

-I imagine cream looks at the kids who’ve grown up with a sort of sadness, they aren’t “pure” anymore, they don’t have that innocence and are jaded by the harshness of the world, they wish they kept them by their side so they wouldn’t have to grow up, they cling to the past and don’t understand that you NEED to grow and move on eventually

And what happens when cream unicorn ‘grows up’ will they cease to exist, because something greater entirely? They don’t know, and that’s what scares them, they’re the embodiment of childhood, if they have to move on from that, what even are they?

And if they’re not around who will be there to help the kids when they come to cookieland, when they need them one day, sure no one has shown up in so long but they might! They can’t grow up, they have to sit there and wait, wait for someone to eventually show up

Cream unicorn is basically a child in a grown up’s body, terrified and unwilling to grow up and move on

-Cream unicorn sees shadow and thinks “is that me? Is that who I am going to be?” And it scares them, is that how the kids see them? Because shadow milk is the result of what happens when you don’t move on

Cream unicorn doesn’t want kids to be afraid of them, is why they let apple cookie and co leave in the first place, they want to be that comfort, that blanket you hold when it’s thundering at night, but the more desperate they become for love and any sort of companionship they realizes that they aren’t the blanket anyone, they are the thunder, they’re the one who is driving everyone way, it’s all them

Imagine the kid their trying to get stay with them screams at them, they look terrified and scream at them like bloody murder desperately just trying to get away from them and it finally hits them a bit, they’re stunned, not even knowing how to react

-this song and mikages arc in general are heavy cream unicore

“Freezing cold in the dark, puppets become human, is in the way of everyone”

“Ah just tell to me when and where is it that I am?”

“Destiny! Formless! Illusive! *Stagnating!* I am an imaginary living body waiting for the end”

“I need more time in this world, I will never be resting, clinging to existence as a hallowed out form”

Stagnating is really the word to describe Cream Unicorn honestly, theyre clinging to something that isn’t there anymore, they aren’t needed anymore, theyve served their purpose but they dont want to rest, they need needs more time, they needs to be there for some imaginary child that might need them one day, they can’t grow up, they can’t leave, not yet

-I think Shadow Milk will make Cream worse, and Pure Vanilla could possibly fix them,

-Apple cookie is the only person cream unicorn really trusts so imagine she sees cream unicorn cookie becoming worse and tries to help them not realizing how much danger she’s putting herself in by doing that

And imagine if Shadow Milk messes with Cream Unicorns memories to make him believe that Apple cookie hates their guts, they couldn’t handle it…At all.

[osc-brainrot]

This is just me pointing out all the background details in TNM 6 (that I could find) cuz I’m a massive nerd for background details lol

This is probably a reference to Hfjone when back pack sent the frech tooth paste guy back to earth

Or maybe it’s for shadowing to the prolong episode

Mini tost from tdos because sketch pad was originally a tdos recommended character before TNM also there’s a tdos short where sketch pad appears and mini tost and them hang out all day and that’s sketch pads back story

Sketch pad has different captions than anyone else in the show I remember on the wiki it said he talked in comic sans but this doesn’t look like comic sans to me idk what it is

There’s a fire extinguisher in the car because sketch pad loves arson

And the plate says “GP5X1H4T” and I think that’s typing quirk for gps x top hat :>

North creek has a national park that is mentioned in the embers short and later in the episode it’s mentioned that gps and top hat and folder go to north creek high school

In this it says that the new file is to big and it had to spilt it in to and that’s why Cody and binary are to different people

This is the door to the store in episode 4 I think

For shadowing to the fact gps has 2 viruses in them

Folder calls gps jeep :>

So tumblr mobile doesn’t let me put more then 10 pictures so I’m just gonna leave timestamps now

[6:21] I already made a tumblr post about the lyrics of the song and you should go read it :D!

But I got one thing WRONG in it 💔

in the “my post modern Prometheus just won’t die” part that’s actually a Frankenstein reference

Thanks to this user for pointing that out

[6:23] gps has a picture of tophat and folder in his office

[6:29] gps is in the elevator with paperclip from Spraypaint and mouses gang so this might mean gps has some connection to the gang

[6:44] folder is playing wackamole with all the characters that get killed in the manor

[6:48] this was the same Photo Booth used in the trailer for this episode

[7:16] “the green one was teaching the short armless one how to drive and stuff”

[7:21] they are all at the same bar Spraypaint was at in episode 5

[7:23] gps saw the forest fire that happened in the short embers I feel like that’s gonna be plot relevant later

[7:25] the date in the left corner of the video says it’s 2003 June 6th I don’t know when this video takes place in the timeline but I think it means TNM takes place in the 2000s-2010s

[7:38] you can see on the can gps in holding that it has a little doodle on it that can also be seen on the dancing in my room video on the channel and I think that’s Allen persona

[8:26] you can see strings of code on the mountain their on and gps is sitting on some sort of computer part

[10:07] the car accident was from gps trying to teach top hat how to drive (that can be seen in the song montage and speaker got punched my spray paint both taking place/mentioned in episode 5

[10:12] rings mom is seen in the short embers and she dies from having a tree fall on her and embers forshadows this episode by the last scene showing the museum burning down :>

[10:19] puzzle piece and pan flute are wiping off the mustard that fell on ball guy(?) in episode 5 

[10:24] those guys are walking out of the room after making the news papers for the embers short

[11:00] here’s what all the files (I can see/read) say

“gpswere 2.1” “tophat <3” “my drawings” “diary” “clock” “recycle bin” “funny stuff” “empty folder” “facesim 98” “memories” “canvas” “music” “documents” “movies to watch” “grocery list” “pool” “worm” “command_1” “command_2” “unknown device”

All the pop ups say

“Delete “meetingfolder.mem”? “Delete balloonride.mem”?

“Running script C5P6PS8E” “running S5Q78TSFDSWC” “running CDCQEWVFDR” “running CHCPW”

All of the commands on the command log thing in the top right says

-Personally pector “6a6179”—————-_LOGS

-debug mode enabled

-system sener process 03 has been created

-ERROR: Syntax error_ unexpected token

-disabled fast string operations

-cache “644” cleared

-ERROR_ could not read /sys/user/diary.txt. (i really like this cuz it looks like binary tried to read gps’s diary)

-signalcontroler. Process [0] complete

-signalcontroler. Process [1] complete

-signalcontroler. Process [2] complete

-onrobotfocusgained method called

-ram ???? “107 105 108 108”

-cache “101” cleaned

-Sensors recalibrates

-gpsware 2.1 operations ceated

-personally sector “6c617665” overran???

-[angel_commit_id] 66M2QXESDT

-[passthrough command decoder] (null)

-[initializing time] 1073

-rsn string “56 50 54 48”

-ram string “53 53 54”

-[initializing time] 688

-cache “161” cleared

-[initializing time] 903

[11:04] binary says the hallway is rigged implying that they have control over the mansion/they know who does

Idk where to put this but Cody and binary are both made using ascii art :D

[12:26] the computer gps has in their room looks old I don’t know how to identify computers but this adds to my idea that the show takes place in the 2000s-2010s

[12:31] folder is glitching out in the picture here because binary deleted the meetingfolder.mem file :)

[12:58] OH BOY MORE COMPUTER STUFF

I’m not typing all that shit on the screen again but all of the pop up’s asking to delete.mem are all memories that were shown in the rewind replay song :)

[13:43] all of the recovered memories also show up in the rewind replay song

[14:13] OK THE COMMAND LOG IS ACTUALLY IMPORTANT

It says

-keyboard controls: added Route to “ cr/micrwave.sys”

-fail safe activated

-malicious entities detected

-lilicit activity’s detected

So yeah that’s a little detail because binary used the microwave to start the self destruct process

And on the pop up it says “self destruct sequence must be set in place this is to ensure that the spread of malicious code is prevented in a accordance to north creek national law”

Implying that there’s like code in every technology object put there by law to blow themselves up if their code is acting up … yeah I don’t like that

[16:18] I saw a theory that gps and folder were actually going to the dance together because their wearing the same color accessories and gps left her for tophat and I really like that so I’m taking it as canon

[16:32] it’s making me cry I don’t like it

[16:50] the reason everyone is looking at them is that is the show takes place in 2000s-2010s then they went to high school in the 90s (if we assume they finished college before the show) and gay relationships weren’t common yet

Also Party hat from boto is in the crowd

[17:35] OWOWOWOOWIWIWOWOOW THIS SONG HURTS (in the good way) I don’t have anything to say here except if you think about it the lyrics can apply to both gps and Cody :]

Kay im done good night

[pixel7777]

Cold Comforts - Chapter 1

Work Summary: The Shadowcurse creeps into undead flesh like frost. Gale applies the most logical solution to save Astarion: full-body contact. For science. Obviously.

Gale can cuddle Astarion warm through their first night in the Shadow-Cursed Lands—but if he thinks he gets to save someone else while planning to sacrifice himself, Astarion has a few objections to make.

Canon compliance: Takes place in Act 2 just after arriving in the Shadow-cursed Lands and is mostly compliant except for the way the shadowcurse works

Work Content Tags: During Canon, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Consent, POV Alternating, POV Astarion (Baldur's Gate), POV Gale (Baldur's Gate), Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Humor, Astarion's Past Abuse (Baldur's Gate), astarion is his own warning, Gale Needs a Hug (Baldur's Gate), Mystra Bashing (Dungeons & Dragons), Huddling For Warmth, Cuddling & Snuggling, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Astarion Manipulates For Good Actually, Suicidal Gale (Baldur's Gate), Panic During Sex (Resolved with Communication & Care). ~12K words.

Note: This fic was written as part of a Flash Writing event (48 hours from prompt to post) on the Bloodweave Brainrot Discord server for the prompt "Gale needs to keep Astarion warm through the night"

Read this chapter below the break here or the full work (already completed) on AO3!

Fic is 3 chapters and the other two will be posted on Tumblr over the next two days. Head to AO3 if you're impatient to finish!

Chapter 1: Baby, It's Cold Outside

Hours had passed since the party had dispatched Karniss at the goblin camp. The drow's body now lay somewhere behind them, another casualty in their increasingly desperate journey. Gale found himself oddly detached from the violence of late—perhaps a side effect of knowing his own end approached with each step toward Moonrise Towers.

Gale watched his step, picking through cracked earth and shadowroot curled like skeletal fingers across their path. His staff provided minimal illumination beyond the radius of their captured moonlantern, which Tav carried ahead like a silent sentinel.

"Any sign of civilization?" Karlach called from behind, her voice uncharacteristically quiet in the oppressive stillness.

"Only death," Lae'zel responded flatly.

Gale consulted the rudimentary map they'd cobbled together from Halsin's recollections, but the place was so altered. "Moonrise Towers should be northeast, but these blighted trees—" He gestured at the twisted, towering spires of dead wood surrounding them. "It is difficult to find any meaningful landmarks."

What he didn't say was that part of him hoped they'd remain lost a while longer. The Netherse orb pulsed within him—a timer counting down to his inevitable sacrifice. Logic dictated that destroying the Absolute was worth one life, especially his. Yet some stubborn, selfish part of him clung to these final moments.

A soft hiss drew Gale's attention. Astarion had fallen several paces behind, keeping his distance from Tav and the moonlantern. The vampire's normally immaculate appearance had deteriorated over the past hours—his skin ashen beyond its usual pallor, lips drawn tight against his teeth.

"Are you quite all right?" Gale asked, slowing his pace to walk alongside him.

"Perfectly splendid," Astarion snapped, though the brittle edge to his voice betrayed him. "Nothing like a jaunt through a necrotic wasteland to lift one's spirits."

Gale studied him more carefully. While the others seemed merely uncomfortable in these surroundings, Astarion looked genuinely ill—if such a thing were possible for the undead. He noticed how the vampire spawn winced whenever the moonlantern's light swung too close, how his elegant fingers trembled slightly at his sides.

"The moonlantern," Gale mused, lowering his voice to avoid being overheard. "It affects you differently, doesn't it?"

Astarion's crimson eyes flicked toward him, suspicious and defensive. "Your observational skills are breathtaking, wizard."

"Is it causing you pain?" Gale persisted, scientific curiosity momentarily eclipsing his own preoccupations.

"It's... unpleasant," Astarion finally admitted. "Like being pulled in two directions at once. The shadowcurse wants to claim me, but the moonlight—" He gestured vaguely. "It repels the darkness, yes, but it's hardly friendly to the undead."

Gale nodded thoughtfully. "A peculiar paradox. The very thing protecting you also harms you."

Something in Astarion's expression shuttered. "Story of my existence, really."

Gale studied Astarion's face, noting the tight clench of his jaw and the uncharacteristic rigidity in his normally fluid posture. Something about the vampire had always caught his attention, even from their first nights at camp in the wilderness. His quick, cutting wit paired with undeniable charm formed an intriguing combination—and Gale had never been able to resist interesting people.

He opened his mouth to offer some comfort, then stopped himself. What was the point? In days—perhaps hours—he would be nothing but scattered atoms across the Weave, a necessary sacrifice to prevent catastrophe. Building connections now seemed unnecessarily cruel, both to himself and to others.

Still, basic compassion wasn't attachment. He would offer the same practical care to Shadowheart or Wyll or any of them.

"The interplay between necrotic energy and moonlight is fascinating," Gale said, falling back on academic detachment. "There's a treatise in the Candlekeep archives about convergent magical fields and their effects on various extraplanar entities. One might hypothesize that your condition creates a unique vulnerability—"

"Spare me the lecture," Astarion cut in, his voice lacking its usual playful edge. "Unless your scholarly insights include something useful, like how to make this blasted cold stop seeping into my bones."

Ah. Of course. Astarion wasn't interested in theoretical discussions about his suffering. Gale couldn't blame him—academia often served as his shield against uncomfortable realities, but it rarely helped anyone else.

"Gosh, sorry," Gale said, genuinely contrite. "I don't have any practical solution for you at the moment. The moonlantern is our only protection here, despite its... side effects."

Astarion gave him a sidelong glance, then looked away. "Yes, well. Carry on, then."

Gale hesitated. He could almost hear Mystra's voice, chiding him for his instinct to want to have the solution for everything—a habit that had led him to disaster before. What could he offer Astarion anyway? Empty platitudes? False promises?

"Let me know if it worsens," Gale finally said, feeling the inadequacy of his words. "Perhaps I can at least provide a theory worth testing."

Astarion didn't respond, and Gale took it as his cue to fall back into step with the others. The vampire clearly preferred to suffer alone, and Gale had his own thoughts to contend with. Better to leave the spawn to his solitude than pretend he had anything meaningful to offer.

The hours stretched on as they wound through the blighted landscape. Gale's feet ached, his lower back throbbing from hours of trudging through uneven terrain. He noticed Astarion had fallen further back, moving with uncharacteristic stiffness.

"There," Tav called suddenly, pointing ahead. "Some kind of campsite."

Through the gloom, Gale spotted it—a rough circle of enchanted torches piercing the twilight with steady, cold flames. The arrangement was deliberate, clearly meant as a ward against the encroaching shadows.

Shadowheart moved cautiously toward the perimeter. "Someone's been here recently."

As they drew closer, Gale saw the bodies—at least four of them, sprawled in various positions of final terror. Their faces were frozen in expressions of horror, skin blackened and withered like husks left to dry.

"It appears the torches weren't enough," Gale murmured, examining the nearest one without touching it. "Though they seem to still be functioning."

"Better than nothing," Karlach said, already moving to drag one of the corpses away from the campsite. "Let's clear this place and rest while we can."

Lae'zel snorted but helped remove the bodies, unceremoniously hauling them beyond the ring of magical light. Wyll attempted to start a proper fire at the center of the torch circle, but even with kindling gathered from their supplies, the flames refused to catch.

"Allow me," Gale said, kneeling beside the fire pit. He summoned a small flame to his palm and directed it toward the carefully arranged wood. For a moment it caught, dancing hopefully—then sputtered out with an unnatural hiss. "Fascinating. The shadowcurse seems to be extinguishing natural fire."

Tav sighed heavily. "We'll have to make do with the torches then. Let's set up the tents—I'll put mine in the center with the moonlantern to maximize protection."

The party moved with the efficiency of people who had made and broken camp together countless times. Gale deliberately chose a spot near where Astarion was half-heartedly preparing his tent. The vampire's hands trembled visibly as he worked with the canvas, his movements uncoordinated.

Without making a show of it, Gale positioned his own tent adjacent to Astarion's. Close enough to keep an eye on him, but not so close as to be obvious about his concern. He'd noticed how the vampire had grown increasingly withdrawn as the day wore on, his usual barbed comments giving way to prolonged silences.

Gale unpacked his rations—hardtack, dried fruit, and cured meat—with a wistful sigh. Without fire, they'd have no hot meal tonight.

"I don't suppose anyone packed a magical self-heating kettle?" he asked, attempting to lighten the mood. "I could certainly use some tea about now."

His attempt at humor fell flat. Everyone looked too weary, too cold to manage more than halfhearted smiles. Karlach broke her hardtack between strong hands and chewed methodically. Wyll and Tav spoke in low voices, while Lae'zel kept her eyes on the darkness beyond the torches, eating quickly between vigilant glances.

Gale's gaze drifted to Astarion, who sat slightly apart from their circle. The vampire wasn't eating—of course not—but Gale suddenly wondered what he would do for sustenance. The shadowlands seemed devoid of wildlife; they hadn't seen a single living creature since entering this blighted place.

He considered asking but thought better of it. Astarion looked miserable enough already, huddled into himself with his shoulders hunched against what appeared to be genuine cold. The vampire spawn had never struck Gale as someone who appreciated probing questions about his condition.

So instead, Gale ate in silence.

After, he retreated to his tent, carefully arranging his spellbook and components before settling into his bedroll. The persistent twilight made it difficult to gauge time, but his body's exhaustion told him it was late indeed.

He was drifting between wakefulness and sleep when a muffled curse pulled him back to consciousness. Then came another sound—the distinctive whoosh of magical fire attempting to ignite, followed by a frustrated hiss.

Gale sat up, listening. The sound came again—whoosh, followed by more cursing.

Curiosity piqued, he pulled on his boots and outer robe, then slipped from his tent. The enchanted torches cast their cold, unwavering light across the camp, revealing a hunched figure by the failed fire pit.

Astarion knelt there, one hand extended toward the kindling. His fingers shook violently as he attempted to form the gesture for a fire bolt cantrip. Another whoosh as a spark of magical flame shot from his fingertips, only to sputter and die shortly after it reached the wood.

"Bloody useless—" Astarion's teeth chattered as he spoke, his entire body wracked with tremors.

Gale moved closer, alarmed by the vampire's condition. Astarion's normally perfect hair was disheveled, his face drawn and paler than Gale had ever seen it. His body convulsed with shivers so intense they seemed to prevent him from maintaining the precise gestures required for spellcasting.

"Astarion?" Gale called softly, not wanting to startle him.

Wyll and Tav glanced over at the commotion, but seemed to decide it wasn't worth investigating. They resumed their quiet patrol around the perimeter, occasionally checking the darkness beyond the torch ring.

"What are you doing?" Gale asked, approaching carefully.

Astarion's head snapped up, eyes flaring with irritation. "What does it look like I'm doing? Attempting to get warm." The vampire spawn's teeth chattered audibly between words, undermining his attempt at haughtiness.

Gale knelt beside him, genuinely concerned now. "This isn't normal, even for these lands. The others are cold, yes, but not like this."

"Brilliant observation," Astarion said, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. "Perhaps it has something to do with being undead in a place that feeds on death."

Gale reached out tentatively, stopping short of actually touching Astarion. "May I?"

After a moment's hesitation, Astarion gave a jerky nod. Gale placed his hand gently on the vampire's forearm and was shocked by how cold it felt—colder than the ambient air, colder than uneven undead flesh should be.

"I can't even trance," Astarion admitted, voice strained. "Too cold to focus. Ironic, isn't it? A vampire freezing to death?"

Gale's eyes widened as he noticed something alarming—delicate crystals of frost forming on Astarion's eyelashes. Not metaphorical frost. Actual, physical ice.

"Gods above," he muttered, mind racing through possibilities. Fire magic didn't work here, but perhaps... "Wait. I have an idea."

He focused on the bedroll Astarion had dragged out for his failed fire-making attempt. With a familiar gesture, Gale cast Prestidigitation, focusing specifically on generating warmth without light or flame. The spell took, and the fabric began to radiate gentle heat.

"Look," he said, reaching for the now-warm bedroll. "Prestidigitation works—at least the warming aspect."

Astarion touched the heated fabric with trembling fingers, exhaling sharply at the contact. "That... helps."

"The effect is temporary," Gale explained. "But I could cast it repeatedly. We should get inside your tent, away from the moonlantern—it seems to be exacerbating your condition."

"No," Astarion said immediately, drawing back. "Not my tent."

Gale should have anticipated this. Astarion guarded his personal space zealously, never allowing anyone near his quarters.

"Mine then," Gale offered pragmatically. "The spell will work better in an enclosed space to trap a little heat anyway."

Astarion hesitated, pride visibly warring with practicality as another violent shiver wracked his frame.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, though it wasn't clear if he meant the situation or his own reluctance. Finally, he nodded. "Fine. Your tent. But only because I refuse to be claimed by something as pedestrian as cold."

"Of course," Gale agreed, helping gather the warmed bedroll. "Purely practical."

They moved quietly toward Gale's tent, Astarion stumbling slightly as they walked. His usual grace had abandoned him entirely, replaced by the jerky movements of someone trying to control uncooperative limbs.

Gale held the tent flap open, and after one last moment of visible internal debate, Astarion ducked inside.