#i love how his colors fade into the heart silhouette

[mrs-hatake]

JJK Men Crying

genre: hurt/comfort. warning: mentions of injuries, grief & loss, and self harm. relationship: m x afab reader. a.n: i love it when pretty men cry. also i didn't put sukuna cause i don't think he'd cry. he'd make you cry lmao

Toji:

Disinfected clinging heavily in the air has Toji’s nose scrunching at the foul odor. Though it is a scent of cleanliness, to Toji, it smells like death. 

Patients, doctors and nurses blur into faceless silhouettes as Toji hurries down the hallway, a sickening wave of terror welling up from his stomach with each steps. 

He stops in front of the room the nurse has directed him to earlier. Toji’s chest grows tight, making it hard to breathe, at the sight of the room number; gold faded around the edges. 

Toji’s hand slips when he grabs the door handle, his palm too clammy to grip anything. Trying again, he pushes the door with so much force that it nearly bangs against the wall. 

The rhythmic beeping reaches his ears yet Toji doesn’t move an inch. There’s a haunted look in his eyes as they stare at the unmoving form on the hospital bed. His tensed muscles only relax when he catches sight of a chest rising and falling. He moves to the bed. 

“Toji?” A voice calls his name, sounding rough from disuse. “Hey.” It continues. 

Toji stares at the woman in a catatonic stupor. Though the woman is smiling weakly at him, vibrant blues and purples steals her beauty. 

“I was worried.” That one simple statement, loaded with so much care and love, has Toji closing his eyes, going silent as he tries to drag emotion back under where he doesn’t need to feel it. 

“What’s wrong?” The woman asks, so scared, her tone voicing the fear Toji is feeling. 

A cold hand cradles his cheek, shocking Toji, forcing him to open his eyes. Her usually soft thumb is dry, riddled with tiny cuts, as it caresses his skin.

“Don’t cry.” The woman sounds distressed now, the heart monitor showcasing her heart palpitation. 

Toji doesn’t know when he started crying but it is at that moment that he cries harder, his legs giving out, forcing him on his knees as he desperately holds onto his lover’s hand, “I thought I lost you.” His fear is hidden by his lover’s palm, as if ashamed to show the world his bleeding heart.

“Oh, angel,” the woman breathes, “I’m right here. I’ll never leave you.” Though her words are quiet, small, the warmth burns bright, like the early morning sun Toji sees every day at the construction site.

Toji doesn’t stop crying but his heart does feel lighter at the promise. 

Satoru

Opening his eyes, Gojo Satoru is greeted by the concerned stare of his lover.

“Were you crying?”

Satoru blinks slowly, processing her question. A hand tentatively reaches out to him, brushing a stray tear. Satoru’s blue color is the teardrop on his fingertip. 

In a blur, his lap is occupied by a small frame. His lover’s arms wrap around him tightly like a warm blanket protecting him from whatever nightmare that has been haunting him the past several nights. 

Gojo Satoru doesn’t usually dream when he sleeps, let alone have any nightmares. But every year, every summer, for the entire season, Satoru’s concerningly short hours of sleep are haunted by the ghosts of his past, making his sleep even shorter. Yet, he never lets them affect him. 

Until today.

“I’m fine.” Satoru mutters but his body betrays him as he presses his lover closer, burying his nose into her hair. Coconut and vanilla replacing the stench of his fears as Satoru inhales the intoxicating aroma. 

“You sure, baby?” Comes the woman’s muffled question. She tries to push herself off of his chest but Satoru has her trapped. Eventually, she gives up.

They don’t know how long they remained sitting in that expensive leather chair Satoru insisted on getting despite having any free time. Though the room is silent, Satoru’s lover’s reassurances are loud. They remind Satoru that he is not alone, everyone, including herself, is here for him. That whatever has happened in the past is not his fault.

Though the words don’t breach through his thick skull, Satoru appreciates the effort nonetheless. 

Kento:

Spring, the season of love and pretty flowers.

When the cold retreats into the void and warmth slowly starts spreading its way across the air.

The trees gaining their leaves, the floors showing off their pretty petals. 

Spring, the season that symbolizes rebirth but, to Nanami Kento, reminds him of death.

Which is why he finds it incredibly ironic for the living to gift the dead flowers. Regardless of the language they spoke, the message they tried to convey, the dead cannot hear the living and Nanami Kento hates this tradition. 

A soft hand sliding into his larger one does not startle Kento. The gentle squeeze to his hand doesn’t blow away the dark cloud hanging over Kento’s head. His world is painted gray despite the colorful palette next to him.

“Ten years…”

Her voice is distant and near, whispered yet screamed. It’s all that it takes to have Kento choking on a sob. 

Kento’s head is heavy on her shoulder but she continues to support him. Kento’s gasps between cries is a haunting melody that she cannot bear to listen to yet she continues being the rock Nanami Kento leans on. 

Haibara Yuu’s gravestone is decorated with Kento’s tears and flowers from his parents. It’s a pretty sight but to her, it is disgusting. Oh, if she can only remove it and hide it somewhere far, far away where Kento cannot find it. 

Suguru:

The banging on the wooden door is a translation of her heart beating erratically. They speak of fear and dread, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. 

She tries the door knob again and again but the door still won’t open. 

She shouts Geto Suguru’s name repeatedly like a mantra asking for salvation but her prayer is lost in a song she doesn’t recognize sung in a foreign language.

It is only when the landlord of the apartment complex that her boyfriend is residing in that she is able to rush into his home, screaming his name as she frantically searches for him.

She finally finds Suguru in the bathroom, sitting on the cold tile floor by the bathtub. Crimson liquid is dripping down his arms, falling like tear drops on the same shirt she has seen him in a week ago. His often shiny hair is matted and greasy. The shine in his beautiful purple eyes have diminished, they look empty.

Swallowing the thick bile that threatened to spill over, she takes cautious steps to where Suguru is staring into space. 

“Baby,” she kneels in front of him, gently prying the razor blade from his hand, “Suguru?”

The shell of a man turns to face her but his eyes are unseeing. They don’t even notice how her dainty hands are now painted with his blood. 

“Let me see.” The woman speaks in a calm and controlled voice, masking the turmoil roiling within her as she fights back tears at the sight of her lover harming himself. 

Suguru’s wrists are marred by a disturbing array of cuts, lines slicing across the milky skin. Though the wounds aren't deep, the sight of them is enough to plunge her heart into despair. 

With a steady breath, she kneels over Suguru to open the cabinet under the sink and retrieves soft hand towels. Her hands move quickly but with deliberate care as she wraps them around Suguru's wrists, staunching the flow of blood, transfixed over the white fabric instantly turning red.

“Why would you do this to yourself, Suguru?” Though her voice is steady, a faint whisper of heartache lingers beneath the surface.

When Suguru doesn’t respond, she continues, “My sweet baby boy, why?” she chokes on a sob as she pulls her lover into her warm embrace.

“I hate it.” 

Quickly but with gentleness, she pulls back to stare into Suguru’s eyes that are rapidly filling with tears, “I want it to stop.” he continues.

“What…” The woman still refuses to cry. She needs to be strong to help Suguru. “What do you want to stop?”

That one simple question has the words cascading from Suguru’s lips like a rushing waterfall, each one tumbling forth with an overwhelming force and vivid clarity.

“My thoughts…too loud…I can’t take it anymore.”

Suguru’s desperation feels like a fist is slowly closing over heart. Her heart cries for him and she can’t help but to pull him back in her arms, lovingly kissing his forehead. 

“Suguru,” she chokes on his name, but she continues, “give it to me.” She pulls away to cup his face, staring deep into his eyes. “Okay?”

It is hard to see her past the tears clouding Suguru’s eyes but her words reached his ears, his soul. 

“Your pain, your suffering, give it all to me.” Her thumbs wipe away his tears. “I can handle it.”

Suguru’s breath hitches, his heart fluttering at the fierce determination radiating from his lover. It’s bright, so bright that he looks away. 

A small nod but it is enough to give her hope.

[squiddy-god]

Captured

(King! Malleus x reader)

Re upload from terminated blog squid-god-supreme, so the way that this is written, kind of makes it confusing, but basically Malleus is king, reader is not yuu, I wrote this based on a piece of art that I saw that I doubt I will ever be able to find again, but I want to so bad, because it was so good

CW : a little bit of Yan! Malleus, implied kidnapping, short.

Maybe old legends have merit, to not cry wolf, to not throw stones in glass houses, and most of all not to trust cold hands that spin sweet tales, or the elegant faces of looming fairies. Yes most of all to not trust a gift to be given without a price to be paid.

To not drink wine brewed with magic and desire, and to not eat bread with hungring beasts. To not catch the eye of a king long broken by a lonely heart. Yes, that rule of old is most hallowed of all. 

Perhaps the head atop which sat a gilded crown thought of guilt. Thought to ask not your forgiveness with empty words but how to make it right. 

Atop that head and obsidian tresses cascading like rivers black however, was a pair of horns. That head thought not of guilt but of joy that the heart beating behind cageing ribs would now be devoid of loneliness.

Rivers of tar colored feathers gave way to a silhouette slender and looming. Like the moon he, the lonely king, loomed over the sleeping body of the one he fancied his lover. How so enchanting candle light sculpted your face, and how so haunting was the glass goblet reflecting that same light. 

How gentle the fabric lye on your body, so still but so warm. How harsh the red spill of that wine on the floor.   

he had you now, captured and tricked by the gift he gave. He, the lonely king of fairies and of thorns had you now his slumbering lover, his sleeping beauty from old tales of love. 

As the scene removed from glamor once again showed only your small cottage and the candles flickered out to wisps of smoke, the lonely king took up into his arms the dreaming form of his dream come true.

And when you awake you will truly be at the castle he spoke of, and the lovely illusion he showed you will be illusion no more.

Yes heed tales of caution, do not deal with fae folk. Do not dance in moonlight with that shadowed figure tall and slim, do not trace the curves of his grooved horns or sip the wine his cold hands offer. Do not hear the tales he tells as before your eyes your home becomes his. Do not seit his lonely heart no matter how it may ache for he may wish and dream to whisk you away. 

Heed these tales as the wine passes your lips and the glass falls to the floor alongside you. As the magic fades with your vision and your cottage returns from castle walls never truly having left. As that figure you've befriended, that lonely king you've loved, looms at the dream he's now captured.

[rin-fukuroi]

𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 [𝐋𝐮𝐨𝐜𝐡𝐚]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

If you want to support me and read my other works that won't be on Tumblr, you can always do it on my Boosty~

Part 1

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Pairings: uncle!Luocha x niece!fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, modern AU, a hint of incest, yandere, some wet fantasies of Luocha.

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. 黄龄 - 只有猫知道

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

I'm sorry, i completely forgot to upload the second part to Tumblr, although i wrote it a week ago, ahahahah. Someday i'll stop forgetting that i have a Tumblr, and will upload here all the dozens of works that i have written, but were too lazy to translate it into english XD

He thought you were mature enough to realize who really cared for you. A cruel time separated the two of you, but Luocha knew it would be good for you. Separation breeds longing, and longing spreads the petals of dormant feelings. You missed him, and it would be foolish to hide it, because Luocha could see in your face how much you missed him. Of course, because he was the only one who supported you, the only one who cared about you, and the only one you could depend on. And that is the unchanging truth.

Luocha acted rashly as he continued to chastise himself for impatience, which was uncharacteristic of him. With your departure, you left him in a slight state of confusion, covered with a fleur of inexplicable enthusiasm. He replays in his memories the silhouette of your figure, the velvety softness of your skin, those lovely cheeks powdered with embarrassment, and doesn't understand how everything could end so badly… Luocha is a reserved person, patient and compliant when the situation demands it, and he never planned to act so abruptly with you, now wondering what prompted him to do exactly that? You were too beautiful in your loss and gray apathy, which he skillfully decorated with bright colors with just your presence. It's very pleasant to realize that, like life-giving water and light that make fading flowers bloom, he has awakened the old warmth in your wounded heart. You are indeed like the enchanting white lily flower, pure and innocent, that he tried to defame.

And Luocha has no regrets. His only regret is that he made the first move too early.

You both need a little more time. You should get over the stress, calm down, and then you're bound to come to the conclusion that your beloved uncle simply couldn't have wanted to hurt you. And Luocha needs to tame her demons. It's not time to set them free yet, because then he risks destroying what he has been building so diligently for years. And how lucky that you left him a small gift, thanks to which he holds on for a whole week, so as not to snap and show up at your doorstep.

Luocha can clearly see his long fingers sliding over your skin, squeezing your seductive sides as he makes his way to your breasts. Oh, if you only knew how much effort it took for him to restrain himself from falling into that elastic warm flesh. Luocha wanted so badly to feel your nipples harden on his tongue, wanted to know what your naked breasts would look like when you lay beneath him, wanted to hear what your voice would sound like, relaxed and quiet, soaked in pure pleasure. And only these thoughts keep his insane impulses in check.

It's so exciting to be standing at your door. No, not because Luocha feels guilty, but because he can't wait to see you again. He knows you're home, he's seen your car parked outside, but you take so long to open the door that your uncle gets worried. You couldn't have known he was coming, couldn't have seen him coming up to your house, could you? And if you did, do you still hold a grudge against him?

— I'm coming, coming... — Luocha hears your tired voice outside the door and your slow footsteps after the next bell rings, and all worries seem to melt away in sweet anticipation. He'll see you again.

As soon as your footsteps are hushed and your uncle realizes you've come to the door, an uncomfortable silence hangs. You must have seen him through the peephole, but he doesn't hear the click of the lock or any other sounds. As soon as this door opens, he'll be reunited with you, his beloved niece, whose separation lasted like an eternity, but why are you delay? Should he say something?

— What are you doing here? — you ask quietly, and Luocha hears your hand press against the door on the other side.

— Y/N, I'm sorry. I know I've been acting weird, it won't happen again.

«And I'm not lying to you, Y/N»

— Now everything will be different.

«That's right. Now I'll do everything I can to make you want to reach out to me»

— Open the door, let's talk. I'm worried about you.

«No one else in this world cares more about you than I do»

After a few seconds of stifling silence, Luocha hears you cough and his heart flutters in his chest. Are you sick?

There's a loud click, and the doors slowly swing open in front of the tall blond man. Luocha has prepared much better today than in your last meeting. He wants to erase the line that separates you, so he chose the best suit he had in his wardrobe. The black color contrasts so vividly with the white robe that you are usually used to seeing on him, and a small sweet gift in a bag in his hand should cheer you up and diversify the list of familiar treats that he shared with you after the reception.

— I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting guests, so the house is a bit of a mess, but you can come in if you want, — you open the door, and Luocha’s gaze is instantly drawn to the way you wrap your palms around your shaking shoulders, leaning unnaturally against the doorjamb. Your face looks so exhausted, your hair is disheveled as if you haven't touched a comb in days, and your t-shirt and homemade shorts look untidily rumpled.

— Y/N, are you shivering? — long fingers tighten on the handle of the paper bag while worried green irises run over your tired face.

— It's just a cold, nothing special. Like I said, I just wasn't waiting...

— I'm sorry... — your uncle whispers unintelligibly, and just as you're about to ask what he's apologizing for, Luocha leans forward, suddenly placing her palm on top of your head before bending down and pressing his lips to your forehead.

— W-what are you...!

— You have a fever. How long have you been sick? Have you taken any medicine? We need to get you to bed, — Luocha grips your hands anxiously, reflexively pressing his index and middle fingers against one of your wrists, feeling your rapid pulse.

— I don't… I don't know, a couple of days. I thought it was a cold, so I just slept and…

— Where's your bedroom? — your uncle doesn't even seem to be listening, hurriedly slamming the door and casually leaving the package on the table in the hallway.

It's not exactly what he was hoping for.

✧ ✧ ✧

Luocha involuntarily remembers you when you were very young, when he also helped you cope with a cold, hurrying from work as soon as possible after your mother's call. You've grown up, but you still look charmingly helpless when he puts a pill in your mouth, holding a glass of water to your lips. A small, sweet creature, shivering under the covers. Your uncle's heart is splitting apart at the thought of you feeling bad, but surely you can forgive him this little sin of enjoying the fact that you need him?

— Why didn't you call me?

— I didn't want to bother you about nothing.

«Lie»

— Y/N, whatever happens between us, I'll always be ready to come and help you... I know it's hard to forgive my transgression, but you are my family, and that's always the case. Please don't take on any more burdens that you can't carry alone. You're not alone.

There is some peace in wiping your forehead with a damp towel while you pout guiltily, hiding your lips under a fluffy blanket. Luocha wanted to take the first step towards changing your attitude towards him, but in the end he remains for you only a caring uncle who worries about your health. If it wasn't necessary, he would have hated himself the second he allowed his intentions to falter, but now… now he will allow you to see only your close relative and a doctor in him once again, saving your fragile life.

— Thank you... — you mumble softly into the blanket, guiltily averting your gaze, and Luocha's hand stops hanging over your forehead, and the light green eyes widen, fixing their gaze on your trembling eyelashes. — I'm sorry that I, well… ran away then.

Oh, are you really apologizing to him? He didn't hear it, did he?

— I think we were both out of our minds that day. It's okay, — Luocha smiles softly, tucking the wet towel back into the small bowl of water on your bedside table.

— I always thought you were too kind, — you chuckle wryly, then cough and wrap yourself even tighter in the blanket.

— Is it bad?

— I don't know... I'm not sure I deserve it.

— You deserve all the best in the world, Y/N, — did he really say that out loud? For a moment, Luocha’s heart froze in his chest with a prick of consternation, but another of your laughs made the man relax. — Ahem... Okay, you need to rest.

He really should leave you now. Although your uncle really doesn't want to leave you so soon, you'll hardly be happy if he continues to sit on your bed until you fall asleep. He'd like to see you sleep...

— W-wait! — as soon as Luocha gets up from the edge of your bed, you suddenly take your hand out from under the covers, wrapping it around the man's wrist, forcing him to sit back down. What's gotten into you? Do you want him to stay? Why?

— Do you need something else? — he regains his composure, as does that eternal charming smile on Luocha's lips when he covers your palm with his own. Your hands are so small and so cold. If only he could hold them in his for a little longer, but it will definitely make you uncomfortable...

— Since you've traveled so far to see me, maybe... Will you stay the night?

Oh, are you afraid to be alone? Luocha wanted to offer you the same thing, but it would sound… a little awkward from him. But if you ask him to do it yourself, how can he refuse his sweet niece?

— If you need it, Y/N, of course I'll stay. On my way to the bedroom, I noticed a sofa in your living room, so I'll spend the night on it.

— No! — you squeeze Luocha’s wrist harder, suddenly exclaiming loudly before you cough again, burying your nose in the blanket. — I... Can I ask you to lie down with me?

Your uncle allowed for the possibility that you might miss him, but this… Why are you asking him for something like this after the way he behaved in your last meeting?

«Do you really...»

No, no, your attitude towards him couldn't have changed in a week, it's just impossible. But even if that's the case, he still shouldn't let his guard down. You are so seductively asking him for something like this, probably completely unaware of how he feels after such an innocent request that fell from your lips, but he should keep his cool.

Luocha opens his eyes wide and raises eyebrows, looking at you peeking out from under the warm blanket.

— I'm not sure if that would be a good idea...

— P-please... I'm so cold, — you say pitifully, and Luocha falls silent with his lips open before he closes mouth, slowly running his thumb along the back of your palm.

He'll be able to touch you. He'll be able to hug you. He'll be able to inhale the smell coming from your body, and not the things that you recklessly left in his house. He'll be able to hear you breathing steadily, slowly sinking into sleep.

You're probably not yourself because of the fever. What if in the morning, when the temperature drops, you get mad at him again? Luocha can't take that risk, but he's so damn eager to agree to your tempting offer. He's not a gambler, he's used to sticking to a premeditated strategy, even if it will lead him to the goal only after many years. Luocha was willing to wait as long as it took, but wasn't his goal to make you want him? Doesn't what you're asking him for mean that your attitude towards him has already begun to change?

— Okay. I'll stay with you.

Though Luocha can't see your lips, your eyes tell him much more when you loosen your grip on his wrist, tucking your hand back under the blanket. You're glad. And he's the one who makes you smile again.

Luocha gets out of bed, carefully shrugging off his jacket. His hands reflexively reached for the belt on his trousers, but suddenly only paused for a moment on the buckle before moving to the tie, carefully untying it around the collar of the white shirt.

It's so unusual to get on your bed while you crawl closer to the wall, giving up your place on the next pillow and turning to face him. You've never spent a night together before, although Luocha would be blatantly lying if he said that he never wanted this, especially since the day you returned to him two years later.

You sniffle softly, huddling on your side of the bed as Luocha lifts the covers, settling down next to you before covering you both again now. Ah… your bed smells exactly like that bra he keeps carefully under his pillow. A sweet, alluring scent that envelops his heart with warmth, like this very blanket. Everything here smells of you.

— Luocha, your suit...

— Don't worry, I'll come home before my shift.

— You're leaving in the morning? — you ask in an almost upset voice. Probably, Luocha is already asleep and has the most charming dream of all possible.

— If you want, I can try to take a day off...

— No, no, no! No need, I can handle it on my own.

He didn't answer you. He should probably just close his eyes and try to fall asleep, but how hard is it to do that when Luocha hears your breathing so clearly… But it gets even more difficult when you move closer, pressing your forehead against his collarbones. You're shaking, desperately holding onto your own shoulders, and your uncle only hesitates for a couple of seconds before succumbing to the irresistible urge to hug you. He knows like no one else that the chills will stop tormenting you only when the antipyretic takes effect, but his heart breaks to shreds when he sees you so defenseless and reaching for him.

— Thank you… — this is the last thing Luocha heard before the silence in the room was filled with your charming snuffling, and your body relaxed in his arms, gradually ceasing to tremble.

Luocha is a little ashamed that he was coming to you with the intention of destroying this wall separating you from him, however… Why did he feel it crack so clearly at the moment when you first called him by his name?

— Good night, Y/N.

[beelsbignaturals]

🦂DEMON FORMS: ASMODEUS 💄

AN: Unfortunately, the concept of hypnosis is a major theme for my OCD so I can't really write him as creepy as I want to. Alas, I tried. Fucked up Asmo supremacy. also I was tryna keep this sfw in terms of *spicy* content bc thats for a different post hehehe. As always, feel free to check out my obey me world building tag for more demon headcanons and since con is over I can work on requests!

Inspiration for this part: literally everyone who has ever drawn Asmo with a scorpion tail like he DESERVES also @noecoded bc they have the BEST Asmo art ever. Also @princessasmosprincess has been such a major help in writing this! ily Michi 😘 thank u for letting me pick ur brain bby

TWs: Bugs (scorpions), mind manipulation, alcohol (part 4), vauge reference to nsfw stuff (part 3), demons being demons, body horror? Maybe?

● Level 1.5. you know, in the Percy Jackson books, how Aphrodite appears as whatever you think is most beautiful? Asmo is kinda like that. Not fully, but if you are more attracted to say, dark hair, he will have darker hair. (Cute note: if you fall in love with him for realsies, this stops happening, and you just see. Him.) Like Belphie, he is alot more… mental with how he freaks people out. Even without hypnotism, if he asks you to do something, you feel like you want to agree. Only Asmo can make you think taking out the garbage when it's his turn is YOUR idea. He glows under blacklights because… scorpion. His teeth look normal from a distance, but up close, you can see how sharp they are. His eyes shift through every possible color, changing each time he blinks. His pupils are heart shaped. He gets cold really easily and will make it everyone's problem.

"MC! I'm going to freeze to death, please, save me!" The overly dramatic Avatar of Lust drapes himself across your lap, intent of using you as a personal space heater. Nights in the Devildom just get so cold! His poor, beautiful heart can't handle the subzero temperatures! And of course the last argument between Levi and Mammon managed to complete destroy the heating system. So it's your solemn duty as Asmo's favorite human (don't tell Solomon) to keep him warm!

● Level 2. His nails get longer and sharper, and even when talking, it sounds like he's singing. If he actually starts singing, you will find yourself dancing or lulled into a false sense of security depending on the song. He actually caused the dancing plague this way! He is capable of using his carapace as a sort of natural corset, controlling each segment to give himself the desired silhouette. Somehow, Asmo is wonderful at knowing exactly what you desire. Not just in a sexual way, he can figure out your ambitions after one conversation. If he decides to talk to you, everything else will kind of...fade away. How can you focus on anything when his eyes fade from pink to purple to blue... What were you talking about again?

Asmo thought the house was empty, that it was safe for him to sing without consequence. Unfortunately, you came home early, which led to the awkward incident where you began dancing the moment you walked inside. At first, you thought you were hit by some curse, screaming in surprise as your body moves on its own. Hearing your shrieks, Asmo rushes downstairs, fussing over you. Luckily, you weren't under his spell long, so when he stopped singing, you stopped dancing. He was very apologetic after that.

● Level 3. He grows several extra limbs on his sides. They are small little insect legs that are basically useless. He likes to annoy his brothers by tickling them with his weird lil bug arms. But otherwise, Asmo is EXTREMELY self conscious about them because bugs aren't stereotypically cute. He can keep his wings bc they are cute. BUT HE ALSO HAS A SCORPION TAIL. The stinger is heart-shaped. It's adorable. It also has venom capable of making you so horny you die! Which is... slightly less adorable.

It was quite the sight, seeing Asmo, shirtless with several small arachnid limbs, covered in a hard exoskeleton as he chases Satan around the house, claiming he needs to be less grumpy. Satan threw a pillow at his brother, causing you to laugh. Bad move. Now Asmo has locked his eyes on his next target. You.

● Level 4. You know how so many Greek monsters are giant creatures with the face of a beautiful woman? That's Asmo. He has the body of a scorpion-if a scorpion was the size of a horse - and face so gorgeous, you might cry or go blind. He sings so sweetly to lure in prey. Basically, he's a siren-scorpion monster from hell! He usually won't take this form because, honestly, he thinks it's ugly. So for the most part you are only going to see a scorpion with Asmo's face scuttling around if he is feeling particularly emotional. Like when he gets a little bit too tipsy and his insecurities plague his mind.

It was rare Asmo would get properly drunk. At least the type of drunk where he is miserable. Usually it's a very... drunk girl in the club bathroom who just LOOOVES your shoes and wants to know who did your eyelash extensions 🥺 sort of energy. So hearing straight up wailing from his room after a long night at the Fall was...unexpected. What was even more surprising, was what you found when you opened his door to try and comfort the demon. A large scorpion with the head of the Avatar of Lust, standing in front of a broken mirror with mascara streaming down his face. You only hesitate a moment before making your presence known. Asmo starts to cry more, sobbing about how terrible he feels having you see him like this. In the form that he considers the definition of ugly. You are quick to reassure him, naming each thing you find beautiful about his more demonic looking self. Like the way his armored body catches the light, reflecting rainbows across each segment. Or how his stinger is heart shaped. Or the fact that even without proper hands, his hair and makeup is still flawless. Aside from minor damage due to his tears. Soon enough, you have a giant scorpion sleeping on your lap like an overgrown cat. You decide not to mention it in the morning.

[ladyxskywalker]

A Beautiful Pleasure

Klaus Mikaelson x Werewolf OFC

falling in love happens when least expected, even faster when your dreams seem to have plans of their own

rating: T | word count: 1.5k

a soulmate au for the moon in may challenge 🌙 hosted by @lavenderursa 🌸

prompt - perfume (week one - new moon)

Just before nightfall, when the Summer air is calm, all else seems to fall away. The sky becomes a softened shade of blue, fading with a certain kindness beneath all the clouds. It makes it so that a rose colored glow marries all of the water when the sail boats pass by. Their sounds, as vivid as the ones in your dreams, awakening your mind to something – or rather, someone you’d once seen before.

When your eyes finally close after having been so restless from your days spent running or hiding from yourself, there’s always that certain distance to be found there, throughout every shadow covered corner. There is only a small inkling of light in your slumber, fanning past – waning. Like an overcast morning where your sight tends to squint throughout a mask of fog.

And so, you wander. Slowly, and the slightest bit unsure. Set out upon a path toward nowhere beneath what soon will be a universe of stars. A darkened sort of magic that reveals a silhouette waiting for you amongst the forest shore line – the bayou’s river passing right through where that mysterious figure tends to stand amidst your mind’s eye above it all.

There’s a man forlorn in his stillness, his back turned away from you, so pensive and brooding. An enigma who from what you’ve been sensing, has been holding onto centuries worth of demons made all his own. His hands, all the while, wound tight inside his jacket’s pockets, as if he couldn’t make sense of what to do with them there at all.

should I call out to him?

You wonder.

But you don’t – silently hoping for this vision to become more clear so that perhaps you might not have to.

Is he someone I know?

and why does this endless stream of water glisten here so peacefully? despite all that I sense here that he might feel?

how is it then, that this gentleman always seems so lost, when it is me who has longed forever to be found?

For a single moment, you had wished that he’d been real.

And in those vivid dreams, amongst every uncertain eclipse he had been.

Atleast…

That’s what you’d like to believe...

Every night when looking up towards all the cloud cover, hoping for the rising of a new moon to come, you had yearned for him. Even through the pain and struggle of when you turned. Your emotions felt completely heightened and deepened by an immortal heart unseen. An unexplained, possible manifestation that you hadn’t realized you’d been conjuring up for yourself for far too long.

And maybe that’s all that it was – a pure and senseless bit of imagining.

Hanging onto each cycle of the moon, until it was time to transform yet again, and you’d wake up shrouded by your tattered clothes in a mess of dirt and brush, entirely unable to forget all about whoever this person was...

That is until you’d gone to the cobblestone square one evening just to paint – to look upon the fountain at the city’s center as though it had been the only thing to fill your heart’s most precious cup.

The one thing that spoke to you – the falling water, and how it traced every stitch of your memory with the trickling of its sound; a song left adrift just as much as you’d been meandering all alone in your thoughts...

A quiet artist who’d sought emotional release in a blank canvas, finding it easiest just to settle on one color in particular. Cool and steady strokes evoking all hope to be found inside a visual story of depth and shadow, forever told by way of sight and fingertips.

Depictions of possibilities perhaps you had been missing in the time you’d be focusing on the thoughts entwined by strangers.

…

“Ah, prussian blue, one of my favorites…”

Beside you there is an elegant whisper to be felt – a gentleman, sharply dressed, yet somehow casually timeless, who sits down with his own work to fold into, interpreting all of his surroundings in ways that speak to having intricately spent time with all of them there once before.

He’s gleaming with a sense of arrogance and an overall insufferable kind of certainty. A prominent, modern day renaissance man who knows exactly what he’s doing. Incredibly handsome with a subtle grin to be shared only in the quiet to be had amongst yourselves. Waves of light hair to accentuate the features you secretly wish for in those seconds to spend an irrational amount of time with. And now you’ve begun to fully understand what your confusing dreams had been about…

The act of stumbling upon someone in the daylight who just might have taken all your breath away…

An accent and capable lilt to his speech that has you hanging onto every word, no matter how simply put the sentiment…

And you wonder then whether or not you should keep talking to him.

…

He notices how you’ve been looking – far too strange, and excited; curious even, as if you’d been caught up all the while in your staring. Smiling lovingly as if you’d known him in many passing lifetimes there before. A slip of amused laughter, and a shake of your head in disbelief, sifting through secrets you only wish to tell, had you been yourself.

But it’s those deep shades of alizarin crimson that have you all but forgetting who and where you are, watching him as he begins dampening the tips of all his brushes once he’s started on a picture just waiting to unfold. A handsome grin written across his face, as though he just couldn’t quite keep it all to himself.

If his eyes hadn’t been so startling and breathtaking in those passing moments, you probably would have let something slip by now.

And so he breaks the weightlessness of which you feel with the trailing off of something else.

A good kind of different to make up for the wordless shift you’d been taking on all by yourself...

But not anymore.

“...a remarkable pigment used by…”

“Van Gogh. Starry Night – I know.”

You smile, playfully, hoping that there’s the slightest chance he’s caught on to your hint of flirting. That when he gives it to you right back, you aren’t worried anymore about the possibility of ever having been rude.

“Apologies. Perhaps I’ve forgotten that there are other people in this city that do in fact appreciate fine art.”

Looking down upon his palette, your stranger for the time being begins to swirl his brush around in a mason glass jar of water, grinning once more – relaxed, and revealing nothing; intrigued.

“Mm. What is that?”

"I'm sorry?”

“Something truly divine…that scent. Can you place it?”

Honing in on the softened breeze that passes by so freely, your senses seem to cloud what’s left of all your better judgment. Sensing the inner lady wolf inside yourself, and letting her take over.

“Hm. Citrus, Spice…an intense hint of Lavender?”

He shakes his head, setting down his brushes. Shifting against the small table in front of him that’s been housing all of his pleasantries and wildly drawn marks.

“Magnolia. Jasmine, then…Lotus flower.”

Looking toward him then, it feels as though there is a powerful pull between you; his eyes, alight all at once with a mysterious and youthful sense of wonder, changing incredibly from a piercing tint of blue toward a brightened, honeyed gold.

A glimpse of something you’d only ever heard about in tales told along the river when you were little…

Woven stories kept safest with many generations of your elders.

soul bonds.

twin flames.

wolves meant for one another who’d been separated by ages of anguish and millennia…

had your sight just done the very same? had he known?

“I am wearing perfume, but usually it’s very subtle. I’m surprised you’ve picked up on all of its underlying notes…I’m rarely one to be seen as something other than invisible.”

“You are far from that, sweetheart.”

And then, there’s a pause to be had where you’d both left your forgotten artwork.

darling, bashful girl…

“You’re kind…”

“Doubtful. Some might even say otherwise…”

“Really?”

“Care to find out?”

The gentleman stands, offering his hand to you – cheeky, though welcome and completely old fashioned. A sudden glimmer of blind faith to set you both free from the torment of small talk. Discussing fragrances as if all of that had been normal.

he can’t be human.

another wolf, perhaps?

an ancient alpha?

or something else?

Nodding in the closing space between you, your hand settles down into a perfect fit inside his own, smooth to the touch, and somehow entirely unbreakable.

You want to know what it feels like to breathe again, but this impenetrable feeling bearing down upon your chest right now seems so overwhelming – both too much, and not enough at the same time.

It’s him.

the man by the glistening dream river.

“Forgive me for not introducing myself…”

It’s her.

the young woman I somehow could not bring myself to turn around for…

“Klaus. Perhaps you’ve heard of me, Little Wolf …”

he knows…

“Such a beautiful pleasure.”

…💞

a/n – thanks so much for reading 💫 this is my first piece of writing that i’m posting since nov. been on hiatus for a while. felt the spark ! hope you do too. all the love always xo

[rotworld]

9: Meat Market

(previous)

you end up somewhere you'd rather not be. a familiar priest wants to make you feel welcome.

->contains gore, mind control, non-consensual touching, religious content.

.

.

.

You need a shower. 

You’d like to wash your clothes, bandage your knees and palms and lay down to ease the pressure on your sore hips and core, but all of that pales in comparison to your visceral need to rinse the grit and disgusting sticky sensation from your skin. You tilt the rearview mirror, examining the throbbing, tender bites and scratches adorning your skin. There’s a mark right where your neck meets your shoulder, not flushed and irritated like the rest. It’s faded like an old tattoo, just barely visible; symmetrical symbols, twin forking arches.

Antlers, you realize. Just high enough to peek out of the collar of your shirt.

It’s a long way to the University. You wouldn’t make it there tonight, even without this awful ache in your lower body. You scan the roadside for signs promising lodging or even a rest area, desperate for somewhere to stop. There’s nothing for a long time, even when you escape the lingering grasp of Verlinda and the treeline falls away. You see foggy plains and farmland, rows of ripe corn behind a wooden fence. For the first time in a while, you encounter other cars on the road. You see the finger-like silhouettes of factory smokestacks, a blocky city skyline in the distance.

You notice the smell as you drift into the exit lane. Sharp and savory—spices and dried meats. Your mouth waters. A shower, you think, and then maybe a hot meal. It’s a small town, you notice, more like Henley Creek than Prismville with its sleepy main street and quaint coffee shops. You drive slowly, looking for courier signs, but you see something else first; something that makes your heart skip a beat.

A metal sign straddles the road. A bridge gently arcs over a stylized river, colorful text following the curve. It says, “WELCOME TO NELTON.” You consider for a moment how desperate you really are.

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: I ADORE YOU BY QUEEN ADREENA]

A river squirms through Nelton from north to south, sandy paths and old, soggy docks lining the bank. The city is a spacious, small town sprawl, meandering avenues dotted by benches, kitschy local shops and garland-wrapped streetlights. There’s some sort of special event or holiday coming up, implied by the colorful banners and 50% off sale signs, but not one you’re familiar with. 

Downtown is bustling. You’ve arrived just in time for the lunch rush, watching hurried foot traffic stream through cafe and diner doors. Churches pop up like weeds every few blocks but they’re smaller and in poor condition than you expect, white, wooden buildings that look like they might topple in a strong breeze. You park on a busy avenue, walking slowly by the windows of a florist, an antique shop, an apartment building, looking for courier signs. You’re starting to lose hope when you round the corner and nearly run into someone. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t looking—oh, hello again.” 

You stare at the man in front of you. Have you met before? He’s smiling like you have but nothing about him is particularly memorable. You feel like you’re flipping quickly through a product catalogue and all the models are blurring together, pleasing to the eye but unobtrusive so as not to distract from the rest of the image. He wears a white shirt and black slacks, suspenders curving over his shoulders. And gloves, you realize, black leather gloves. You ran into him in Prismville. 

“Courier! What a pleasant surprise!” There’s another man with him who you recognize immediately. Malachi is dressed in the same cassock as the last time you saw him, hands clasped together in front of his chest. “I’m so glad you’re here. Was it a long drive? Why don’t you join Mr. Bachman and I for lunch?” 

“I’m afraid I can’t stay, but I’m sure the two of you will have a lovely time.” Bachman smiles and slips past you gracefully. He claps a hand on your shoulder as he goes, leaning in just slightly. “Don’t eat anything they offer you,” he whispers. He walks unhurriedly to a small, silver car parked by the florist. When you turn back around, Malachi is slightly closer, his smile just a bit wider.

“I had no idea the two of you were acquainted. What a small world!” he says. 

Anticipating his charisma, the way he draws you in, doesn’t help. You feel yourself relaxing, the tension leaking out of your shoulders. The glow of his eyes is even fainter outside in the Drift’s weak daylight, but you notice the slightest golden hue rippling around his face. “We’re not, exactly. I saw him a while ago. Didn’t have time to introduce ourselves,” you admit.

“Ah, that sounds about right. He’s an anchorware repairman. Always rushing off to the next place, a bit like yourself. We just had to recalibrate our whole stabilizing array and I wasn’t sure it was done properly. It was kind of him to rush out and take a look—” Malachi cuts himself off suddenly, eyes widening in surprise. He hooks two fingers beneath the collar of your shirt and tugs it slightly to the side, staring, no doubt, at the mark of the Stag. “What happened here?” he says softly. 

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, leaning out of his reach. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I could really use a shower—”

“Goodness, of course,” he says, his hand resting gently on the small of your back. You’re walking before you’re fully aware of it, letting him guide you down the street. You’re leaving downtown, ambling down a long, green path to what looks like an industrial park. A massive complex of metallic buildings, steel walkways, and gaping delivery bays greets you at the end of the path. That spicy, savory smell you first noticed on the way into town is stronger here, almost cloying.

“Employee showers are in this building here. And no, nobody will mind,” he says, steering you towards a smaller, rectangular building with its own parking lot, separate from the rest of the factory. “You’d be more than welcome to use my bathroom if we were closer, but I live quite a ways from here. I’m sure you’d like to get cleaned up sooner rather than later.” 

Before long, you’re walking down a long, echoing hallway, passing people in stark white uniforms. Everyone smiles and nods or waves to Malachi, a few exchanging cheerful greetings. They’re polite to you but not overly friendly, seeming to sense your unease. The shower room is clean and spacious, and thankfully unoccupied when you arrive. There’s a plastic bench against the wall with clean towels stacked in a pile. The stalls are around the corner. You can’t help but notice Malachi lingers, leaning against the wall beside the bench. “You can leave your clothes with me. I’ll make sure nothing happens to them,” he says, smiling innocently. 

You’re too tired to argue. You go around the corner to undress, wrapping a towel around your body and hand off your clothes, extremely aware of Malachi’s fingers brushing against your hands. The lights are dimmer. The glow of his eyes is more noticeable and eerie. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” he asks, winking. “Are you delivering something, or just passing through? I suppose you’re always passing through, regardless.” 

You slip around the corner and into a shower stall, turning on the hot water. It’s heavenly, soothing on all your scrapes and scratches. “Just passing through,” you call over the hiss of running water. 

“Ah, the exciting life of a courier. Doesn’t it get lonely?”

You don’t answer, lathering some soap in your hands. The presence of amenities, several different scents and varieties of shampoo, makes you curious. “What is this place?” 

“Nelton’s biggest employer,” Malachi says wryly. “Food processing, meat packing, and animal feed manufacture, all under one roof. Or, well, a series of connected roofs. It’s a big complex. If you noticed a particular odor around town, this is where it comes from.”

“And it’s got showers,” you marvel. “Nice ones.” 

“Food is the heart of the community. Those who work with it are afforded the highest respect.”

You’re waiting for the invitation to lunch but it never comes. Are you being paranoid? There’s something odd about Malachi, and Bachman’s whispered warning is lingering in the back of your mind, but you towel off and get your clothes back without incident. 

“You’ve got plenty of daylight left,” Malachi says. “So I suppose I can’t convince you to stay a while longer.” His eyes flick down to your neck when you come out of the showers, an irritated twitch at the corner of his smile. “That’s a stubborn spot of dirt, isn’t it?” he says. 

You saw it in the mirror. The mark of the Stag didn’t come off, but you didn’t expect it to. “I’m sure it’ll come off eventually.”

He insists on walking you back to your car and you let him because it seems harmless, and you’re not sure you could navigate out of the factory complex alone anyway. You’re still a bit sore but you smell clean, at least, and your mood has lifted. Nelton’s peaceful scenery puts you at ease. The belltower spire of a courthouse periscopes from the center of downtown. A fried, buttery scent wafts from a seafood restaurant along the river. Wind skims across the surface of the water, stirring gentle waves.

“It’s a nice place, isn’t it?” Malachi asks, ambling along the sandy riverbank beside you. 

“It is,” you say. A pair of fishermen seated at the edge of a dock wave at the two of you. 

“Have you seen much of town? I meant to show you around. You might’ve noticed there aren’t any courier signs, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t welcome. Just the opposite. Everyone in Nelton is more than happy to help a courier. Food, lodgings, supplies, whatever you need, you don’t need to worry about finding it here.”

“That’s generous,” you say. The suspicion must be evident in your voice or on your face. Malachi laughs softly.

“The law of Nelton is hospitality. It’s simply what we do here. We’re especially appreciative of couriers, of course, but anyone who comes all this way would receive the same treatment.” He pauses, gazing across the water. You stop beside him, watching the waves lap at the rocks and meandering tree roots on the far shore. “Our most important holiday is in less than a week, the Feeding of the Multitude. Are you familiar with that particular story from the Bible? It was one of the miracles of Jesus. He took a couple fish and a few loaves of bread, gave thanks for them, and distributed them among the faithful and needy. This blessed food fed thousands.” 

He’s watching you, you realize, studying your face. “Ah,” you say, unsure of what sort of reaction he’s expecting.

“That spirit of generosity is the essence of Nelton. Whether you follow the faith or not, it’s good to give, right? To feed the hungry and shelter the lost.”

He reaches for your hand and the thought that you should pull away passes through your mind, fizzling out just as quickly. It’s fine, isn’t it? You know he means well. He just wants to take care of you. His gaze is steady and warm, full of affection, as he tugs you closer. It occurs to you that this is strange, improper somehow, that a stranger and a priest of all things shouldn’t be holding you like this, but that thought, too, melts away.

“The truth is, a miracle happened here. Just like the fish and loaves,” he says quietly, so quietly you have to lean in closer. You get the sense that this is a secret he’s telling you, something not often given to outsiders. His hand is on your face, his thumb stroking your lips. His eyes are beautiful, gold like honey. “Are you hungry, courier?” 

“Yes,” you say without hesitation. You think that this isn’t right, that you were leaving, weren’t you? You were going to get back in your car and keep going south but that seems too difficult now, not worth the risk. Where is your car? Where’s the florist and the antique shop? Isn’t that where he was supposed to take you? Hunger rakes through your belly. You’re ravenous. You could eat everything you have, all the eggs and junk food the Singer gave you and still not be satisfied.

Malachi is still watching you. You don’t know what he sees but it’s something good, something right, happiness blooming in your chest as soft and sweet as spun sugar when he strokes your cheek. “Then I should feed you, shouldn’t I?” He holds your hand, lacing your fingers together, as he begins to walk again. You’re leaving the river behind, ascending a steep, grassy hill. Town is far away, small in the distance. How far did you walk without realizing it? 

There’s a church here that’s not like the others. It’s much bigger. It’s the same old style, the same white paint flaking from the exterior and the same dead leaves and spiderwebs gathered in its gutters, but its walls are wider, its steeple taller. Soft, golden light flickers beyond the windows but all you can make out are vague shapes and silhouettes. You stumble, your feet suddenly refusing to work. 

You can’t go in there. The thought is a lightning bolt, a sobering shock to your system. You absolutely cannot go in there. The Stag has a presence like a forest made of eyes, the paralyzing, primal gaze of ancestral predators and the weight of a hundred thousand trees. This is worse. You aren’t glimpsing the beast through a leafy canopy but wandering right up to its maw, engulfed in its hot, butcher shop breath. 

“It’s alright,” Malachi says gently. “Don’t be afraid, it’s alright. I know how it feels the first time.” 

“I can’t…” You shake your head and pull back, away from him, but he doesn’t let you go. His grip on your hand tightens. “I can’t, I can’t—”

“Holiness isn’t as pretty as they make it look in Renaissance paintings. It’s messy. Visceral. It breathes and it bleeds, just like us.” You sink to your knees and he follows you, kneeling in dry, prickly grass—red, you realize, the grass is red and the dirt is red and everything is slick and glistening and red. You are kneeling in the vivisected insides of a thing stretched and splayed across miles. The trees are stiff stalks of sinew and leaves of thin, veiny membranes that pulse and ooze. You smell meat, cooked and seasoned to perfection. Malachi cups your chin and urges you to look at him. 

“Let me go,” you beg him. “I don’t want this.” Fear, too, is a shriveling impulse, weak against the warmth of his hands stroking your hair.

“You do,” he coos. “You poor thing, I know you do. We’re all hungry and we all deserve to eat.” He cups your face in his hands and leans in so the gold of his eyes is all you see. Sharp, searing pain erupts in your neck and shoulder and you shove him off of you, scrambling back in the grass. You touch the spot, feeling for a wound. 

There’s nothing. Just the tingling heat of the Stag’s mark. Malachi looks shocked and then really, truly sad, gaze gentle with sympathy. He reaches out to you and you scramble to your feet, running without ever looking back. 

Nelton flickers around you. Sometimes you see the town, sometimes the flesh. Squirming ropes of intestines dangle like power lines. The road is cobblestone, and then it’s a row of teeth. You can’t tell which is real. People watch you, pausing their routines to peer out of windows and lean out of their cars. All of them frowning, all of them with furrowed brows and eyes emanating the same golden light. They don’t stop you. You’re afraid they know something you don’t.

Your car is where you left it. You screech out of your parking spot and make a beeline for the edge of town. The red fades. The road, stone and sterile, welcomes you back. That savory smell lingers for a while, and then it turns sour. You feel nauseous. The sky darkens and you check your clock, discovering your brief trip through Nelton cost you several hours. The sun will set soon and you feel worse than before, sick and exhausted and dirty all over again. Turning back isn’t an option. You’ll have to settle for the next place you see. Whatever you find, you assure yourself, it can’t be any worse than where you just came from.

(next)

[blapis-blazuli]

Now listen up

I am obsessed with this man. He's got so many weird details about him and I love (almost) all of them.

First, Slim's original concept fucks. Being an undead cattle rustler out for bull's blood due to being trampled to death is fascinating. I don't know how long it took before someone at Disney cried "too dark" at that backstory, but I'm surprised it was even in consideration given the mostly lighter tone of the final product. More than that, Disney could've had a literal ghost rider among their villains! Had that movie been any good, he might've joined Disney's popular villain lineup, or maybe we could've even gotten a boss battle with him in a Kingdom Hearts game. That's not what we ended up with due to Reasons, though, which is a bit disappointing, but not much you can do about that.

Anyway, onto what we did get.

Before Slim makes his formal appearance, he's only seen in silhouette, on a wanted poster, then in disguise, and is finally fully revealed when he rides in on a bison. He is huge, and I don't mean because he's fat, I mean he's a good deal taller than most of the other characters. He's set up to be someone threatening, to be taken seriously.

And then comes his yodeling villain song.

The moment it's revealed that Slim's yodeling can hypnotize cows, the music picks up and there's a literal rainbow of colors for the rest of his number. As I said, he's a big man, but he's also light enough on his feet to dance and jump on and off any of these cows while not missing a beat in his performance. When the men who got knocked out beforehand come running after him, he doesn't threaten them, he just throws his spurs at a precarious bit of rocky landscape with such force that it falls and blocks the pathway to him. That's more badass than if he did draw his gun on them.

Actually, I wanna talk about the music he performs. The movie's set in Wyoming during 1889, so obviously Slim's not gonna be yodeling A Cruel Angel's Thesis or whatever. They could’ve come up with something original for him to yodel to (which, I mean, they kinda do), but they chose music by composers such as Tchaikovsky and Beethoven, which aren't exactly things you'd associate with the wild west. The obvious out-of-universe answer for why those pieces were chosen is "they existed before the year this is set in, and they're recognized even today," but we've no in-universe answer for why he chose them or how he knows them. Regardless, it's kinda amazing that he knows them well enough to yodel them.

His lair in Echo Mine has an area with some nice furniture in it. How'd this shit get there? Who knows. Anyway, this is where he reveals that he disguises himself to buy up the properties owned by the people he's stolen cattle from, which includes his former employers. Why doesn't he work for any of them anymore? He never directly says. According to him, they didn't "appreciate [his] talents," which means they probably hated his yodeling. I don't blame him for being mad about that because why the hell would you tell someone that? If he's doing the job right and well without hurting anyone, then who cares? The idea that he's moved on to use a skill against the former bosses who didn't like it is kinda great though.

(Side note: a nice, small detail about this part of the lair is the faded branding on the map, which shows that Slim has been doing this for quite a while. Shame that it's not more consistent from shot to shot though. I can't take credit for noticing this myself: my partner pointed it out after I posted a screenshot as a joke on Discord. She's so cool.)

Slim doesn't like it when someone calls his yodeling "singing": he thinks singing is beneath him given the disdain in his voice when he says that's what birds, saloon gals, and children do. No, he considers what he does to be an art. He's not entirely wrong, though: it is an impressive skill, especially since he can yodel to certain classical pieces like The William Tell Overture, Ode to Joy, Ride of the Valkyries, and The 1812 Overture. (Also Yankee Doodle, because, well, American. Also maybe Largo al factotum from The Barber of Seville, but I'm unsure of that one: unlike Slim, I am no classical music expert.) There's no need for him to be quite as defensive about it as he is, but his nephews calling it "singing," saying that might be why his bosses didn't like him, and calling yodeling "silly" is enough to make him get violently angry at them. Man's got issues.

Oh yeah, Slim has nephews. They're triplets named Gil, Phil, and Bill, and they're collectively known as The Willies. Unlike their uncle, they're all blond and thin, so god knows what Slim's unnamed and unmentioned sibling must look like.

Slim also has a bison named Junior. I'm not fond of the whole "he's too fat to ride anything else" angle of that, but I do like that they chose an animal that people are constantly told to not mess with because of how dangerous they are. Slim's not afraid of him: he's got this creature trained to listen when he calls for him. I can only guess that Slim is the one who named Junior, so maybe he also raised him. It would explain why Junior appears annoyed with him but still puts up with having Slim jump on his back and the like.

You know what Slim doesn't have though? Kids. Putting together the disdain in his voice when he mentions children, his seemingly low opinion of saloon girls, his big villain number turning the landscape into a rainbow of colors, the queer history of cowboys, and the prevalence of queer-coding in Disney villains... well, I think you get where I'm going with that.

Moving onto his disguise. Don't ask me why nobody figured out this was Slim sooner, given that his wanted poster shows they have the same facial hair, bushy eyebrows, and bags under the eyes. My best guess is because it's in black-and-white and he's in a different outfit, and unless someone's encountered him before they probably don't know what he sounds like. Anyway, His alias is Yancy O'del (yeah, I know), but the one sign we see him with has both "Mister" and "Esquire" in there.

Having looked this up, I learned a few things. First, having "Mister" and "Esquire" together isn't something you're supposed to do, yet nobody in-universe caught this. Second, in the United States, "Esquire" is a title only used for lawyers, so maybe that's why nobody questioned him - fear of a sudden lawsuit for something or other. Third, "Yancy" was not really a name used back then, or at least not a common one. Why'd he choose that name (besides for the pun)? I dunno.

(Also, where the hell does Junior stay whenever he goes to one of these auctions? The world may never know.)

Slim's final defeat at the hooves/wings/what-have-you of several farm animals is pretty pathetic, even by silly Disney villain standards, but I got to give him credit for not wanting to give up even after his disguise is (literally) blown and while he's stuck in a train's smokestack. I have no idea how he planned on getting out of that one, and whatever it was most likely wouldn't have worked anyway, but I admire his refusal to back down in the face of obvious defeat.

Even in his very last scene we see him struggling with the ropes they tied around him while he's carted off to jail. He does not give up.

Anyway, here he is picking up Small Black Market Dealer Steve Buscemi one-handed like it's nothing. (His name is Wesley, but Slim keeps calling him Mister Weasley. That's right, this movie used that joke before Frozen did.)

And here he is lifting three full-grown cows off the ground before tying them up faster than they can react to it. (The cows have names too, but this post ain't about them.)

He uses his left hand to write and aim his gun and seems just as adept with using it as much as his right, which is cool. (There's no frame with both his face and the gun, so you'll have to trust me on that.)

Speaking of his hands

Look at this huge-ass man and his pinkies, I can't with this dude

Look at that smile, sir, who gave you the right

If there were a whole movie about just these two, I'd watch it, I won't even lie.

I've gone on about this guy for probably too long by this point, so to sum it all up:

Babygirl

[herzzgeist]

Prologue

Pairing: Law x fem!reader | Word count: 1.1k | Warnings: none

Dividers by cafekitsune

Safe to say you got his attention. The last few weeks made the surgeon of death realise things he never thought of getting into his head. Sitting at the desk of his compartment inside the Polar Tang, he tries on finishing the latest reports that began to tower over him, yet in vain.

Tired, Law's steel colored orbs shift over the papers. In annoyance he lets out a weary groan and cups his face in his hands.

There she is again. That adorable smile, that sometimes deaf inducing yet charming laughter. Oh, how you piss him off. You out of all people were on his mind. Frequently. Why? Sure you had the looks that made men's heads turn and the best part is, you didn’t even notice what effect you had on their filthy and ambiguous minds.

Heat rises into his cheeks, making him take off his white fluffy hat and set it onto the table. The dim light of an already half burnt down candle dances around the man's face. Attentively he gazes upon the little flame's unrhythmic flickering.

In a swift move his fingers wrap around the handle of the plate where the pile of wax starts to melt into, lifting it to his level. The cold steel of the submarine sends shivers down his spine. Since the heating system failed the heart pirates decided to dock at the nearest island. To their misfortune they crossed cold northern waters, arctic temperatures chilling the crew to the bone.

Law turns to the with books overflowing shelf. Literature of either medical history, anatomy, biology and even some stray book novels, all neatly stacked into the furniture, for the doctor is quite known for his tidiness. To his chagrin, there is a book sticking out like a thorn in his eye. Perplexed he flips it over to the cover: "Love for dummies.." he reads out aloud, sneering in a snort" What the-", Just when he was about to speak out a mockery, a loud thud interrupts his train of thought. Assuming it came from the corridors, Law curses under his breath and carefully sets the candle back to it's previous position, making his way outside his tank.

The heavy metal door creaks open and the raven haired man pokes out his head, cautiously stepping over the frame.

In a low voice Law calls out considering his crew is fast asleep at this hour: "Anybody here?". He figured, hearing those droning snores and steady huffs coming from the neighbour compartments, that his subordinates are completely nackered from today's work. Especially under these freezing conditions.

The hallway is badly lit by only a single faintly flickering halogen lamp, directly above the doctor's entrance. "This really should be fixed some time soon. Shachi...", he murmurs to himself, taking a mental note.

Brooms, buckets and transport boxes lie scattered on the iron floor. This must have been the source of noise that got crashed into.

Observing his surroundings, Law hears footsteps fading into the distance. A silhouette melting into the darkness: "Oi, wait! Are you alright?"

He follows down the corridor, his eyes adjusting to the blackness engulfing him. Just when he is about to recognise the person in front of him, a quickly torn open cold steel door impacts with his face.

"Captain Help! There's a spider in my quarters and-" a big white and fluffy polar bear mink storms out, his paws thrown into the air and screaming in panic. Bepo, Law’s Vice Commander, wearing blue pyjamas with snowflakes on it, stops in his tracks as he sees his Captain staggering in place holding his face. One could clearly tell the man is counting stars, disoriented by the impact. The mink gasps and grabs the doctor by his shoulders: "Captain! Stay with me! Don't go into the ligh-" - „How many times do I have to tell you to open that door carefully, Bepo!"

Taken aback by the harsh voice confronting him, his whole body sacks in and his round ears droop meekly, mumbling a deep: "I'm sorry".

The sudden vibe change in the bear‘s behaviour has always been a curious phenomenon, Law can't fully put a finger on it. Nevertheless, he thinks it is quite a quirky and amusing display of character.

Slowly coming back to his senses, the doctor shakes off the disorientation and gives his companion a salty look: "Bepo, I‘ll get a concussion if this keeps on..."'A soft sigh leaves his lips seeing the polar bear show casing his biggest puppy eyes he can muster. Tension grits around Laws jaw, leaving him annoyed yet slighty flustered. "Stop being a baby! It's fine! Did you hear a loud thud too a few minutes ago?" - " Aye Captain! It woke me up, but when I was about to check it out a spider crawled onto my bed! I hate spiders!" How can such a strong and intimidating creature be afraid of eight legged insects?

It leaves Law rather dumbfounded, but he waves it off nonchalantly: "So I suppose you didn’t see anyone walking by this corridor either?" Bepo shakes his head.

Curious. Law could‘ve sworn he saw a silhouette wandering down the hall. Confused he exhales loudly and turns back to his fluffy Vice Commander: "Go back and take some rest the last few hours before dawn. We’ll need you fit and healthy by tomorrow!" - "Aye aye Captain! You can count on me..." Not sure how this is biologically possible, but the bear just fell asleep standing on the spot.

A snot bubble coming out of his stubby nose, expanding and receiding to the rhythm of his calmed breathing.

It makes Law smile softly, snorting at this sight: "Not here Bepo"'-"I'm sorry“.

The mink answered in his sleep with that uncharacteristically deep voice again, for the man guiding him back to his bed only shakes his head to his amusement.

When heading back to his own compartment, the doctor couldn’t help but wonder who that person practically running away from his own Captain was. Was it a hallucination? Impossible, otherwise Bepo wouldn’t have heard that sound too. Perhaps an intruder? That wouldn’t make any sense, the shadow went the wrong way for it to escape. Besides, the Polar Tang is locked from the in- and outside.

No matter, he’ll find out soon enough. And even after that little adventure, at this point, the surgeon af death takes some well deserved rest aswell . Hissing after his hand touched his buzzing forehead he mumbles in a sigh: "That's gonna leave a big bump.“

[voraciousvore]

The Giant (12/16)

***Contains mouthplay***

------Chapter 12------

When I awakened, I was sore all over, wet, and still fatigued. I groaned, and forced myself up, brushing mud off my pants. The sun was clearly visible in the sky now, and the rain had ceased, but I still shivered from the damp cold. While my current circumstances were not the best, I nevertheless considered myself lucky to be alive and undamaged. I started walking along the road again, careful to stay hidden from the occasional car that drove by.

I wondered how far I had to go. At this size, what was a short drive in a giant car could potentially take days for me to traverse by foot. Days in wet clothes, sleeping on the side of the road, living in fear. I was hungry too. I sighed. As always, I had to be strong.

I wondered if Chester was out looking for me, or if he'd be home when I got there. If I ever made it. He was probably terribly distraught. He had no clue where I was, and couldn't track me due to the rain. Finding me would be nothing short of a miracle. What if he thought I ran away? No, he wouldn't believe that. He might be able to discern with his sensitive nose that I had been taken by force, by that sadistic monster of a man.

I didn't want to be reminded of that. To distract my troubled thoughts, I took in my surroundings. While this world was dangerous to me, it was also strikingly beautiful. I saw a doe with her fawn cross the road. Since I was so tiny, the deer weren't afraid of my presence, and mostly ignored me. I passed through some wildflowers, which leaned over me as tall as human-scale trees and blossomed in all sorts of bright colors. The shadows stretched and deepened as the sun began to dip down towards the horizon behind the trees. The sunset bathed everything in orange and red before fading to a deeper blue. The sun disappeared, to be replaced by the rising yellow moon. Stars unfamiliar to me studded the heavenly firmament like sparkling diamonds.

As I trekked through the darkness of the evening, I saw a pair of large glowing eyes watching me from the woods. The eyes grew closer, unblinking. My heart started to race. A car zoomed by noisily and the eyes vanished. I gripped my chest and let out a shaky breath. I couldn't handle much more of this hell, I really couldn't. I wasn't sure if I could survive the night out here, or another day for that matter.

The traffic of cars had waned with the onset of night, but I noticed one car driving up the road, moving unusually slow. The windows were rolled down. As the car approached, it declined in speed to a crawl. Concerned, I hid in the weeds. The car stopped, and a giant got out on the driver's side. The blinding headlights left the giant in shadow. It couldn't be... my kidnapper? Had he found me? The giant stepped in front of the lights, casting a great shadow over me as he lumbered in my direction. The gigantic silhouette became larger and more menacing as he moved closer, enormous boots crunching on the road.

I wanted to run but my legs felt like they were made of lead. My mouth went dry. For an instant I feared I was going to get stepped on, but the giant stopped in his tracks. He tilted his head down, face still shrouded in darkness hundreds of feet above me.

"Jackie?"

That voice! "Chester!" I yelled. "Chester! Down here!" I ran out from my hiding spot in the vegetation, tears streaming down my face. The giant stooped over and swept me off my feet to his titanic chest.

"Jackie! I've been looking everywhere for you? Where have you been? Are you okay?"

"I-I'm okay, I'm not hurt," I sniffled. "It was horrible. I was so scared." I buried my face in his shirt. He covered me with his warm fingers.

"There, there. You're safe now. I'm here," Chester said gently, brushing me with his hand. "Let's get you home."

He carried me to the car and got in, placing me in his lap. I laid down and wrapped up in his shirt, basking in his warmth. My prayers had been answered. My savior, my love, my protector was here. I fell asleep before we ever made it to the house.

In order to prevent the evil giant from coming back, Chester was far more cautious about locking the doors and windows, both at night and during the day. While the experience had been undeniably horrific and traumatic for me, I did benefit in terms of my magical capabilities. The floodgates had been opened, so to speak, and my abilities had grown exponentially. Conjuring a lightning bolt of the magnitude to incapacitate a giant still drained all my magic for a day or two, but I could still do so reliably.

I was finally able to use blood magic as well. I had not been aware of this development at the time, but when I bit the giant's hand I had ingested a small amount of his blood too. Apparently the blood of a single giant, Chester, had not been enough. I was a little grossed out when I first used the magic successfully, and found myself with blood dripping from my hands. Chester, smelling blood, had been deeply concerned that I had injured myself. However, I ended up being the one disturbed when I learned that Chester liked the taste of the blood. He said it tasted like human blood, exactly like mine would. Sometimes, with him being so sweet and kind, I forgot he was still by nature a ravenous man-eating giant.

Unfortunately, I found manipulating the elemental essence of the magic into a specific spell was more difficult than just manifesting the raw lightning or blood on its own. I knew learning the skills would take time. I was also careful not to deplete my magic to zero, so I would not be left defenseless like before. I decided to focus on the blood magic spells first, since blood magic seemed easier for me to use now that I had overcome the initial barrier. A lot of blood-based spells sounded extremely useful too. In particular, there was a spell to conceal my scent which I urgently wanted to master, for obvious reasons. Other spells included food creation, limited to meat only, healing, and temporary growth.

Once I had recovered my magic from my ordeal, I had quick success with the healing spell, and was able to eliminate the various scrapes and bruises inflicted on my body. The spell to hide my scent was pretty simple too, and didn't require a whole lot of energy. Chester claimed he couldn't smell me at all. He said we could go out together again into town sometime, and I'd be safe, but I was too afraid to go. I wanted to master my spells first, so I could rely on them in case of emergency.

The other spells proved to be more challenging. At first, the meat I spawned with the food spell was tasteless and meager in size. Chester didn't mind though, and wolfed down every crumb, no matter how small, with delight. Gradually I improved, and was capable of manifesting larger and more tender cuts. One time, Chester was lying flat on his back on the couch, watching TV. I was sitting on his chest and got an idea.

"Chester, open your mouth for a minute," I requested sweetly. Chester raised an eyebrow at me but complied. I climbed up on his chin and laid flat on my belly so my top half was dangling over his enormous open mouth. I focused my energy and created a piece of meat, then dropped it into the deep void below. Chester closed his jaws around it and tasted it thoughtfully. This time, he raised both eyebrows in shock.

"Why, that's human meat!" he exclaimed with his mouth full. "It tastes really good too!" I bobbed on his chin as he spoke. He gulped the snack down and opened his maw again expectantly. I dropped another chunk of meat into the great cavern of his mouth. He consumed it with pleasure and opened wide, drooling hungrily.

"Now, Chester, this next piece should be the best yet, but be careful not to swallow it," I whispered. I crawled forward over his lower lip and slid my whole body into his mouth. He closed his jaws gently and cradled me on his huge tongue. As he rolled me around in his mouth, I took off my clothes so he could taste me better. He spit out the clothes and set them aside. Humming in his throat, he played with me on his tongue, teasing me by pushing me to the back of his tongue near his gullet. Then, he ran me over the slippery wall of teeth in his mouth until he had me pressed against his front teeth. He moved the tip of his tongue between my legs and worked some magic of his own. When he was done, he separated his jaws and lifted me out with his muscular tongue, balancing me on the apex above his open lips. With a calculated flick of his tongue he tossed me onto the bridge of his nose. I sat up astride his nose and gazed into his gorgeous green eyes, which were crossed in order to see me. I couldn't help but giggle at the sight, and he laughed too. With the movement of his face, I almost lost my balance and fell backwards into his mouth again, but caught myself instead. Observing my close call, Chester sat up, and this time I did fall off, but he caught me in his large hand. He curled his fingers around me and I hugged one of them in my arms happily.

"You're so much fun, you tasty little snack you," he teased, poking me with one of his other fingers. "I think it's time for us to go take a bath."

Chapter 13

Chapter 1

[theglitterpill]

Southern Nights

By Logan Anthony

Before getting pulled away by his friend, The Boy in Red gave The Stranger one last look as he was swept into the other room to the dance floor. With the thumping beat of the music, the atmosphere was electric with lights zooming through the air, indistinct chatter in a bubbly lilt, and drinks and smoke from people who were happy to get away from their lives for a few hours with close friends they met at sunset.

Chasing after The Boy in Red, the stranger went into the club and was met with a sea of silhouettes, flashes of glitter, and more indistinct chatter in ears already too full of the latest pop remixes.

From the flash of a chrome fan he spotted The Boy in Red in the center of the dance floor, alone, but how could someone like him be alone when everyone was his friend? Every guy around him wanted to dance with him and it seemed like each got their turn, but never for too long. The Boy in Red twirled, seemingly with strands of glitter and starlight that only he was able to see. The music used him as a vessel to channel energy that was primitive, from the time before the Romans, before the ancients, when there was only the rhythms of the earth, the great beats of the sea, the continents, and the pulse of life in every heart.

Catching the stranger’s eye, The Boy in Red gave him a flash of a smile he was always told was enchanting, not missing a beat of the music or letting the guy dancing with him know that his attention was divided. With a clack of his fan he hid half his face trying to make himself more tantalizing to The Stranger.

Rhythmically, like the waves of the sea, the whole room seemed to move up and down and The Stranger dove right into the waters, swimming towards the lighthouse of the chrome fan. He didn't know it but The Boy in Red saw him coming, and had purposefully turned away, confused by his own feelings of desire, hesitation, and wariness.

The Boy in Red was nervous, but tried to convince himself to focus only on the spell of the moment; how ancient he felt, how he thought his ancestors in Babylon and Cairo must have felt on celebration nights after the harvest in September, but he lost track of time with his partner rotation. Opening his eyes, he saw The Stranger in front of him, moving perfectly in sync with the rhythm of the room, and The Boy in Red could no longer use the safety of distance, flirtation, and his smile to hide his feelings of insecurity from himself. He felt emotionally shut-down, he didn't know if The Stranger noticed, if he was as sensitive to energy as he was.

The Stranger was, and did. He was turned off, but trapped by the nature of the rhythmic sea of bodies around him. He had fought to get this far, and he wasnt ready to fight his way back yet.

The DJ faded the mix into the next song and the two faced each other for a passionless dance, both awkward and dissociated, not meeting each other’s gaze for more than a second. The Boy in Red didnt know why he was being so reserved, The Stranger was so beautiful, and his for the taking; he had won, his web trapped the spider, his candy colored clothes had led Hansel to the forest. Was he a bad person because he loved the game more than the winnings?

The Stranger started to turn around, making a vague motion to his empty cup to say that he was going to the bar, trying to make a graceful exit. As if to say “No, stay, I want you”, The Boy in Red grabbed The Stranger’s cup and held it in his teeth before putting his arms around his shoulders. The Stranger was strong, with shoulders that had such a slope that you had to interlace your fingers behind his neck so your arms wouldn't slide off. Like this, The Boy in Red moved closer until the cup was also on The Stranger’s lips, the two sharing a kiss courtesy of the Solo company. Had Solo gotten a picture of this, they would have used it in their Pride campaign.

The Boy in Red, having slid his hands to The Stranger’s chest, took one hand off the moistened shirt and grabbed the cup, setting it on a rail behind them. Turning back, he moved in close, brushing the hair on his cheeks against The Stranger’s scruff, and shouted in a tone that through the music came to The Stranger’s ear as a whisper, “What’s your name?”

The Stranger leaned in until The Boy in Red felt shivers of electric desire run through his body, every organ lighting aflame.

“Alex.”

With a smile Alex pulled back, The Boy in Red’s hands moving to Alex’s lower back.

“I’m Carter.”

With a returning smile Carter pulled himself in, and the two let their bodies ask the follow-up questions.

[shegatsby]

The Last of Us

Warnings; Post apocalyptic world.

Words; 2.941K

A/N; Hi guys! How are you? I hope you're all well. Joel and reader are getting more close to each other don't worry there will be smut in the future chapters. stay safe and love you!

TAG LIST IS OPEN!

Summary; Ever since childhood you had to survive, you were born before the disease so you kinda remembered what was it like, to have a hot shower, clean food etc. You didn’t know what happened to your parents because they were on a vacation and left you with your grandma who passed away during the chaos. You were 10 when it happened, a child who had to be a woman over night. What happens when you are a brink from killing yourself and find purpose again?

Chapter Four- New chance in life

When they reached to Bill and Franks house it was a relief for her because the house had warm water, it had been years since she had a shower with warm water, ‘’Let’s take a shower because honestly we all stink.’’ She announced and Ellie was the first to take a shower, after her Y/N followed, the house was so tidy yet there were dust everywhere, as soon as she made contact with hot almost boiling water she smiled, as a child she loved warm baths and her parents were kind enough to let her take showers or baths for almost an hour, she closed her eyes as she was washing her long hair, even though she was careful with hygiene it was hard to maintain it in this world. She washed her body and hair, made sure everything was clean and didn’t forget to shave, she had spare razors just in case. When she was done she looked at her reflection in the mirror, the glass was blurred with steam but she could see her silhouette, her hands went to her throat, still burning and bruised. She wondered what would’ve happened if Joel wasn’t there to save her, she would choke to death. Why was he there anyways? A question which will be asked later, she found a white towel to cover herself and left the bathroom to face Joel bringing a box full of women’s clothes, when he saw her like that his footsteps came to a halt and dropped the box on the bed, ‘’it’s uhh women’s clothes for you and Ellie..’’ he said and cleared his throat, her body was wet and hair loose, sticking to her shoulders, he could feel his heart beat go faster than usual, this was the first –he hoped it wouldn’t be last- time that he saw her like this, almost naked and she smelled so good he wanted to hug her and inhale her scent, ‘’Thank you.’’ She smiled kindly, and approached to the bed, there was only a small space between them, he looked at her for the last time to carve that image to his brain and he left without a word, on his way out he heard her giggle to herself.

Their journey began, a man whose heart is aching with heavy mistakes, a kind hearted woman who almost killed herself and a little girl who could change the entire world. A perfect trio if you will, the  truck they took from friends of Joel got them so far but the fuel kept dying out every hour. The cars were left behind and the colors of them faded but they had fuel. Joel used a plastic pipe to get the fuel out, ‘’No wandering!’’ he said sharply to Ellie, it had been a few days since Tess’s death and no one talked about it and they were all tense, ‘’Alright! Let’s address the elephant in the room.’’ Y/N said as she stood up from the top of a car nearby, Joel looked confused, ‘’Ellie, would you like to say anything to Joel about Tess or what happened throughout the days?’’ Ellie as stubborn as Joel shrugged her shoulders, ‘’Joel?’’ Y/N asked crossing her arms in front of her chest which caught Joel’s wandering eyes and didn’t go unnoticed by Y/N, ‘’About what?’’ he asked and swallowed, she could see the exact movement on his throat, ‘’About Tess.’’ Y/N, even though she started the conversation confident she wasn’t so sure anymore. ‘’There is nothing to talk about.’’ Joel as usual dismissed her and everyone around him, the car ride was normal, well, normal for Y/N and Joel because they were alive before the pandemic. ‘’So you used to drive one of these to everywhere?’’ Ellie asked, Y/N could see the shine in her brown eyes, ‘’Well, not me. I was 10 when it happened but my parents had their cars. Almost every adult had a car.’’ Ellie found a cassette of Hank Williams, of course she found a magazine that she shouldn’t have. Y/N was sitting on the shot gun, Ellie at the back and Joel driving the car, if it was normal times someone could look at them and think ‘’What a lovely family.’’

‘’Ellie! Put that back.’’ Y/N’s hand went back to get that magazine from her, ‘’Listen to her Ellie, give it back.’’ Joel said trying to focus on the road. ‘’Why are the pages stuck together?’’ and crickets, Joel and Y/N looked at each other, her cheeks flushed deep and Joel’s lips parted. ‘’I’m just fucking with ya!’’ Ellie laughed and threw the magazine out of the car window. Y/N focused on her hands which lay on her lap and they listened Hank Williams. Y/ N laid her head against the window and watched the world pass her by, buildings were covered with ivies and no one was around not even the infected which was good but once these streets and roads were crowded with people but now nothing was left from them. She wondered what happened to her parents she often found herself thinking about them. They were on a vacation, visiting Europe when everything started and she never heard from them again, it had been 23 years… they must be dead or roaming the streets of Europe as infected. Even if they were alive they must be 65-70 years old.  Without realizing, her face fell, since there was silence in the vehicle Joel checked on Ellie first, she was smiling and reading her novel, and Y/N, he gave her a side eye, trying to be not frank about his intentions but he couldn’t help it. He noticed the sudden change in her demeanor, shoulders shrunken and a sullen face, she must be thinking about her past so Joel left her to her thoughts. It was getting late when Joel pulled the car into the forest, thanks to his friends Bill and Frank he got a lot of food supplies. Y/N was the one who cooked in their found family, the first time Joel cooked for them Ellie threw up and frankly said she didn’t like it at all, when Joel looked at Y/N to get reaction she only kindly smiled and finished the food on her plate unwillingly and Joel said that from now on Y/N is cooking. The first time she cooked dinner for them was still in his mind, it was late and he hid the car among trees just like before, placed the heavy equipments for her to do her thing and backed off. When the dinner was ready they sat by the fire and the first one to try was Ellie, at first she had suspicion in her eyes but as soon as she put food in her mouth she closed her eyes, ‘’Fucking amazing! How is this possible with same ingredients and Joel sucked.’’ Joel looked at the plate and Y/N and put a piece in his mouth, Ellie was right. Y/N thought that he didn’t like it or just didn’t want to say anything but later that night while she was at a small pond washing the plates and spoons he came up to her, ‘’That was delicious.’’ That was all he said and before she could say anything he left. She thought tonight would be the same, she cooked and they ate in silence, ‘’Thank you Y/N, that was so awesome!’’ Ellie as usual gave her compliments and went to the car to get her sleeping bag. Y/N stood up to get her now empty plate from the floor to wash the dishes but Joel beat her to it. ‘’I got it.’’ Their fingers caressed for a split second, ‘’But you’ve been driving all day.’’ She protested with her kind and sweet tone, eyes dove, he didn’t say anything to that and changed the subject. ‘’I’m sleeping tonight and drive tomorrow all day all night. I’ll get us to Wyoming next morning.’’ He said as he was walking with the plates, ‘’Why can’t we lit a fire I’m cold as fuck.’’ Ellie complained as she was struggling with her sleeping bag. Few days ago they lit a fire but ever since Joel was persistent of not doing it again, ‘’She is right, why?’’ Y/N asked, ‘’People.’’ That was enough and Y/N thought she saw something in his eyes, something dark and she almost thought he was afraid…

When the night came they went to sleep, Y/N had to share the sleeping bag with Ellie because the house they took supplies from had only two sleeping bags and sharing it with a strange man was not even an option, even though he was insanely attractive… Usually she was a light sleeper so she would hear things around her, and she noticed that every night, it didn’t matter if Joel was tired or not, he would sleep for maybe 3 hours and lay there, awake, sometimes he would get out of his sleeping bag and just sit, take care of his gun, or just stare at her and Ellie. She couldn’t figure out if it was cute or creepy but knowing that he somewhat cares about them made her feel warm.

In the morning Joel quietly packed his things, started to make coffee, poured the coffee into two metal cups and approached to the girls, Ellie was turned to Y/N and hugging her, her head against Y/N’s chest, even though they were out in the middle of the forest and in a shit situation they seemed peaceful within each other, he knew that they had history together which made them even closer now days. He remembered the times where he would wake up and go to his daughter’s room to wake her up, before waking her up he would just stare at her beautiful face and couldn’t imagine a life without her… and now he had to take care of two girls. Bill was right in his letter to Joel, they were alive because they had a purpose, purpose to keep their loved ones safe and they didn’t have to know it. He cleared his throat to wake them up, Ellie didn’t care but Y/N shifted slightly, opened one of her eyes, ‘’Morning Joel.’’ She said with voice like honey, he had to look away to keep a straight face because he almost caught himself smile, ‘’Here.’’ He extended his hand to give her coffee, they both knew it tasted like shit but it made them wake up. She lifted herself up, and reached with both of her hands, ‘’Thank you.’’ This was their morning conversation, nothing more nothing less. Y/N knew that he had more to say but kept everything inside, like locked vault and only he had to key. Ellie woke up to the smell of coffee, ‘’Ew what the fuck is that?’’ she asked, ‘’You don’t like coffee?’’ Joel asked, almost in shock. Without a word she fell back to sleep, Joel was going to wake her up but Y/N stopped her with a gentle hand movement, ‘’Let her sleep for 5 more minutes, in the mean time I can help you.’’ Joel looked at Ellie’s peaceful face and then Y/N’s  and he only nodded.

She got up from the ground and took a large sip from the coffee, it woke her up immediately, and also the cold morning air did its work, he was organizing the back of the truck, ‘’You didn’t answer my question.’’ Joel started the conversation, the birds were singing their morning song and adding a nice undertone to the atmosphere around them, Y/N was confused, still holding the cup with both of her hands to keep the warmth, ‘’What answer?’’ she watched him manhandle the bags and boxes, it was a sight to sore eyes, ‘’That night, when  I broke down your door and-‘’ Y/N immediately cut him off, ‘’I don’t have a purpose anymore, well..’’ she thought better, ‘’I didn’t had one until that night, when I saw Ellie again. I had given up and you saved me. Thank you by the way, last few months were hard.’’ Joel lifted his head to look at her, his brown ones locked on her soft ones, before he could say anything he saw a mischievous smirk on her pretty lips, ‘’Since we’re talking about that night, tell me, why did you come to my flat that night?’’ she was leaning against the truck, coffee finished, arms crossed and smiling a dangerous smile, ‘’She is going to be the death of me.’’ He thought, ‘’Uhhh-‘’ and Ellie woke up, ‘’What are you two talking about?!’’ she literally screamed and Joel turned to face her, which meant the conversation ended.. till next time.

Ellie wanted to sit on the front so Y/N was at the back this time which she didn’t care, as long as Ellie was happy she was happy, Joel did an explanation about his brother and why they have to find him, ‘’I don’t blame you, if I knew any of my family was alive I would look for them too.’’ Y/N said which she didn’t mean it to be sad but it was sad, she had no one… until now, ‘’So you don’t know what happened to them?’’ Ellie asked, Y/N shrugged her shoulders, ‘’I was staying with my grandmother when it happened, the outbreak,’’ she didn’t want to give much detail but Joel’s comforting eyes checking her every once in a while gave her strength, ‘’because my parents were on a vacation in Europe, I’ve never heard from them again. The soldiers came to took us, my grandmother couldn’t take the stress and sadness so she passed away after a year, I’m on my own ever since.’’

When he heard the last sentence he just wanted to tell her that she wasn’t on her own, she had him and Ellie now but he stopped himself, too soon maybe.

Their car ride came to a stop after hours, there was a huge lorry blocking the way to the other side, ‘’Stay inside.’’ Joel said to them and left the car with his gun to check, they were in Kansas City right now, he checked the map again and took a new rout. Things were smooth until they weren’t, they were in an empty street when a injured man jumped in front of the truck turns out he wasn’t injured and it was an attack from the raiders. People on top of the buildings were shooting at the truck and Joel was driving so fast that he crashed the truck into an old shop, ‘’Are you okay?’’ he checked to see if they were injured, they were fine, Joel could see the fear in their eyes, raiders kept shooting at the cars, ‘’Belts off! Fast!’’ he yelled and they left the truck, there was a long and wide crack at the nearby wall, ‘’Go, I’ll cover you.’’ He said to Y/N, and she grabbed  Ellie by the shoulder, he was right he did cover for them and they climbed inside. Y/N could see that Ellie was panicking so she held her hands, ‘’Everything’s gonna be fine Ellie.’’ She reassured her, they could see Joel from the crack of the wall and he looked like he needed help, he was ambushed by a young man, and he was on top of Joel, chocking him, ‘’We have to do something.’’ Ellie said looking at her, ‘’How? I don’t have a weapon?!’’ Y/N cried in despair, Ellie, with shaking hands digged into her bag and pulled a gun she took from Bill and Franks, ‘’You weren’t suppose to-‘’ Ellie cut her off, ‘’Save him.’’

Y/N never had to shoot a guy or even a slap one across the face, never in her life she had to choose violence but right now she had to make a choice, whether leave Joel to his fate or do something.

She slide through that crack in the wall silently, hands shaking, she had to hold the gun with two hands, safety was off, she pointed the gun at the guy whose back was turned to her. With teary eyes she pulled the trigger, and the guy fell to Joel’s side, Joel was still on the ground trying to breath, his eyes met hers. She was still pointing the gun at the guy, ‘’No,no,no its okay please don’t shoot.’’ His back was bleeding, the guy on the floor kept mumbling about his legs not working and his mom but Y/N’s ears were ringing, she could literally hear her own blood pumping in her veins, Joel stood in front of her, blocking her view, he reached out to take the gun from her shaking hands, she felt the electricity from his touch, he turned to face the guy, still blocking her view, he was doing this for her own behalf. Clearly she was in shock, he was in shock too, seeing such a kind woman shooting someone to save him, his debt was paid. Now they were even, and he faced her, ‘’Get back behind the wall.’’ Her vision was blurry, she didn’t notice that Ellie was watching them, she was like a puppet, empty and following the orders, as soon as she went back Ellie hugged her and made her sat, they heard a thud, and the guy stopped crying. Since Joel couldn’t fit through the crack of the wall together they moved the stuff behind the door for him, he walked in, ‘’Are you okay?’’ he asked them and saw Y/N wipe the tears on her flushed cheeks, ‘’Yes.’’ They both sang in harmony, they moved together.

Tag List;

@psychomanias

@stitchattacks

@anxiousbeech

@elmontsmile

@cheyxfu

Thank you for the support, see you on the next chapters! xxx

[bacchanal-if]

1700s Language

Word Count: 1,114

'Tis the end of summer, and London's lively streets bustle with the crowds of St. Bartholomew's Fair. As daylight fades from the sky, a picturesque scene unfolds under the gentle illumination of candlelight. Countless market stalls, brimming with merchants hawking their wares, create an unending fabric of commerce, and the very air carries the fragrant aromas of fresh meats and pastries, while the sounds of musical instruments, actors, and cheerful laughter reinvigorate the city. Diverse guests, representing all walks of life, gather to partake in the festivities, indulging in games, rides, and performances. Among these revelers is Aurabella, her heart filled with anticipation as she eagerly embraces the enchantment of the fair.

She navigates through the bustling crowds and colorful vendors, while in the shadows, a solitary figure observes her every graceful step with keen eyes. His gaze sends a subtle shiver down her spine, yet she dismisses it as nothing more than the heightened excitement that such a fair naturally evokes. Nevertheless, as she continues her exploration, an insistent feeling lingers—a suspicion that she is being followed.

Pausing before a display of exquisite jewelry, a warm and familiar voice reaches her ears, momentarily stealing her breath. "Aurabella, your appreciation for beauty remains as exquisite as ever."

She turns, her heart quickening at the nearness of the man who has long been the subject of her deepest desires. The interplay of light and shadow skillfully masks his features, as it has countless times before, leaving only his silhouette discernible.

"Your words flatter me. Yet, I believe it is your presence that truly enhances the sparkle of any gem."

He steps closer, brushing against her discreetly, still shrouded in the artful play of shadows. "A gem in the right setting shines even brighter. And you, my dear, are the setting that makes everything shine."

Aurabella's cheeks flush with warmth at his words, her heart swelling with affection for the man who possesses the remarkable ability to make her feel like the most cherished and beloved person in the world.

She glimpses a glint in his eyes, the only feature the lanterns seem to touch, and she recognizes that his words are not mere flattery but a sincere reflection of his deep admiration and love for her. She is not just the setting that enhances all things; she is the one who illuminates his life. She marvels at the incredible fortune of having found such a man, one who regards her in such a radiant light.

The mysterious gentleman extends his arm with graceful poise, and she accepts his invitation, her heart racing as she forgets about the jewels and places her hand in the crook of his arm. Together, they depart from the bustling crowd, moving toward a quieter corner of the fairgrounds.

The faint strains of strings reach their ears as they turn a corner. Before them, a puppet stage comes into view, adorned with opulent curtains and softly illuminated by candles.

"Shall we watch?" he whispers. She steals a glance at the man beside her, her eyes brimming with curiosity, intrigued by the thought that he may have had a purpose in bringing her here. Fate, she knows, plays no small role in their encounters. She nods her head in agreement.

Without further words, he leads her closer to the stage, positioning themselves where they can intimately witness the unfolding performance. The curtains part, and puppets, manipulated by unseen hands, make their entrance. They dance gracefully across the stage, portraying a tender courtship—a story of stolen glances, fluttering hearts, and whispered confessions.

"It seems the fair itself wishes to play Cupid tonight, weaving tales of courtship and affection," he murmurs.

"For how long have you planned this?" she smiles. He slides his hands around her waist.

"I have no notion of what you speak," he replies, though a smirk in his voice is evident.

The intricate choreography and the synchronized movements of the puppets—mirroring Aurabella's own connection to her suitor—are too precise to be mere happenstance. It is as though each step and each word have been meticulously scripted to echo their own love story. She smiles as her spirit soars, her heart resonating with the heartfelt narrative of the tale.

"Indeed, it is as if the fair is whispering its own love stories to us," she observes.

He chuckles, and she feels the warmth of his laughter in the air between them. She melds into his embrace, and he is more than willing to be her anchor.

As the wooden figurines draw nearer, mirroring a tender embrace, she feels a gentle pressure upon her hand—his fingers gently interlocking with hers, a gesture conveying volumes. She can barely contain herself from claiming his lips as her own, forcing herself instead to witness the puppetry in its entirety. Yet, as the performance reaches its zenith, with the puppets exchanging vows of undying love, Aurabella's restraint wanes. She shifts her attention, her ears attuned to the stage, but her gaze now wholly fixed upon him. The final scene plays out—a grand and ardent declaration of devotion—and the two puppets transcend from wood and string into flesh and blood.

Their mouths meet in a passionate and long-awaited kiss, reigniting the spark that had been building between Aurabella and her admirer throughout the entire performance. The audience bursts into applause and cheers, and they share knowing smiles between passionate breaths—smiles that speak of a shared secret, a secret known only to them. While the tale may have concluded upon the stage, it remains unbounded by it, continuing to script itself within the pages of their lives.

As the audience disperses, they stand together outside the constraints of time. With an affectionate smile, she leans closer and whispers, "This evening has been a delightful reminder of the days when our love was veiled in secrecy, my dearest."

"It has indeed been a memorable night for revisiting those moments," he responds, his eyes brimming with youthful mirth. "Though," he adds, tracing a finger along her cheek, "I must confess, my dear, as much as I cherished the art of courting you in secret, I am rather relieved to have transcended the intricacies of it."

She chuckles softly, leaning in to place a gentle kiss upon his cheek. "There is truth in that," she concedes. "Yet, there was a certain thrill in the mystery, was there not?"

He nods, a wistful smile playing upon his lips. "Indeed, the clandestine nature of our courtship rendered every stolen moment all the more precious."

Beneath the twinkling lights of the fair, casting a warm and inviting glow, they turn away from the puppet show, their intertwined fingers freed from the shadows of secrecy.

[halonicheart]

Last Smile

Summary: A brief Lovechefant ficlet of certain events in Heavensward, MSQ A Knight's Calling spoilers.

The world around was already twisting into a blurry sunset orange tango, coupled with the figures around him that were his comrades now becoming faceless silhouettes- blobs of sentient colors with faces that sound far off. It was almost comical when he weakly surveyed his surroundings that the only thing, the only person he could still make out more clearly than all else was her. Haurchefant cannot help but let out a weak, wheezing laugh at his own expense. Through his racing memories fogging his mind, he recalls the time he vouched for her and her company… in his fading moments, he admits to himself he mainly vouched for Lovette above everyone else, though he has his suspicions that his own father was well aware of the fact. At the time, he had called her a Beacon of Hope, a grand title for an even grander hero whose tales he will never get to hear. 

He meant every word of praise, he knew now that he had every right to call her such even when she looked at him as if moments away from shattering to pieces and the weight of the world crushing her heart, still she shone brightly in the abyss. Her tear ridden eyes glimmered like starlight, much like the way they did with joy the night they first met. In the midst of his reminiscing, he realizes her lips are moving- likely frantically babbling, a charming tendency of hers that makes him cough out another wet chuckle before reaching out for her. “Lovette…” 

She goes still, wide eyed for only a single heartbeat before she scoots closer to him, hands grasping onto his own. He wished so terribly to give hers a reassuring squeeze but try as might he could not muster the strength. “You.. you are unharmed? F-forgive me… I could not bear the thought of… of… ” Like the lovelorn fool he is, Haurchefant tries to sit up just to get closer to her only to pathetically wince. He cannot bring himself to laugh much more, the pain may be fading but so too is he, that much was evident when whatever remained of his grip loosened just enough that he could feel his fingers slip through her hands. Haurchefant could only smile when she clamped her hands tighter, for a mercy, the pressure kept his consciousness grounded just long enough to muster what he knew would be his last words to her. 

In truth, he wished to cry. The poignant aching his chest hurt much more than the gaping wound in his abdomen. All the promises he made her will go unfilled, the ventures he wished so dearly to be whisked away with her on were not meant to be. A distant thought reminds him he never even got to present the dress he swore to have made for her… Still, even had he known it would all come to this from the day he met her, he would not have changed a single aspect of his life. There was no greater blessing than to have been able to meet his Love and be loved by her in return. She will live past this moment, that was how this was meant to be, and she will shine ever brighter despite the hardships she will face, this he knows for certain. 

He breathes in deeply, one last time. “Oh, do not look at me so… a smile suits you best…” Haurchefant has lost all feeling in his body, he can only pray that he was actually smiling at her. Lovette hurriedly nods as she swipes fiercely at the fresh fat tears streaming down her cheeks. She sniffles, the ends of her lips curving into a strained smile. “... Please don’t forget mine…” His only selfish request of her. 

 “I won’t…” Lovette hiccupped between the sobs she tried so desperately to hold back. He can only hope she doesn’t feel guilty for crying in front of him. “I’ll never forget your smile… Ser Knight...” A single tear is shed from Haurchefant, one that Lovette quickly wipes away. If only she knew how happy it made him to hear her call him that one last time. A silly, misspoken name that was quite frankly redundant in meaning. He recalls fondly how humiliated she was when he had to break it to her. Silly as it was, he cherished it all the same. To be sent off this way… he could not ask for more. 

He wished to stare at her longer, for eternity if he could, but he was growing ever so tired. Haurchefant could no longer keep his lids from falling. The world has gone dark, his body cold. 

He could not see the light leave her eyes. He could not hear the wails of agony that spilled from her lips nor the chanting of I love you… He could not say I love you back. 

[the-void-writes]

Secrets of Lockhart Manor - Painted Fire

Thank you @flashfictionfridayofficial for providing the prompt, and for @jacquesfindswritingandadvice for giving me this idea. I admit, the prompt comes in closer to the end, but I kind of liked how this pre-relationship scene plays out.

Val wandered into the room on accident while searching for their crew mates. They could have sworn that this area led to bedrooms or parlors. Instead, it opened up into a big room with a beautiful red-stained window. Easels and stools filled the center of the room, and Val could smell the rich paints that stained the drawers and brushes.

Canvases of all sizes rested against the easels, filled with vibrant colors and wild shapes that Val had only ever seen in dreams. Streaks of yellow and orange, clashing like flames in a hearth, and dark silhouettes flying across the shadows of their painted homes. They were strange, unnatural… and oh so beautiful.

The door clicked open behind Val, and they were suddenly face-to-face with Cyrus. In the red-tinted sunlight, his deep green eyes shone like precious jewels. His smile was always warm, in contrast to his smooth, pale skin.

“Val,” he said, “forgive me, please. I left this place a mess.”

Val shook their head. “No, sir, I’m the one who’s intruding.”

“Not at all, my friend. You, more than anyone, are welcome in the art room anytime.”

His soft, elegant voice had Val hooked on each word. They wiped their clammy hands against their trousers, trying to hide their flustered face from him.

“Are these your paintings?” they asked.

“Yes, they are. I’m not a professional, I admit, but I’m trying to learn.”

“Cyrus, they’re beautiful.”

His eyes flickered with joy. “Thank you, Val.”

They ghosted a finger over one of the canvases, painting the air to match the flames. A smile grew on their lips.

“You’re very gifted, I can tell,” they said. “If I had to guess, I’d call it Abstract Expressionism.”

Cyrus grinned. “Your mind never ceases to amaze me.”

Val cleared their throat, praying that their heavy heartbeat wasn’t too obvious. They tried to change the subject.

“Can I ask what you painted?”

His smile faded away as he stared into the oil-painted flames.

“Memories,” he said weakly. “Feelings, fears— everything from that night.”

Val looked into his eyes. “The fire.”

“Painting eases the nightmares. I draw what I remember, but so much happened there, and whenever I try to capture it all—” He gestured to the canvas. “It’s fire and ash.”

His face looked heavy, filled with years-worth of pain. Val didn’t even think before taking his hand, squeezing it gently.

“I won’t press for details, and I’ll make sure the others don’t, either— but if painting ever stops helping you, I’m happy to listen. It doesn’t have to be for the show.”

Cyrus stood tall and silent, slowly wrapping his fingers around their hand.

“Your kindness means so much to me.”

Val smiled shyly. “Well, so does yours.”

He smiled back at them, pulling his hand away hesitantly as he walked towards the window.

“Maybe I can watch you paint one day?” Val asked. “Not when you’re upset, of course.”

Cyrus laughed, soft and honey-like, making their heart beat faster.

“I’ll need a place with better lighting for my next piece. The red won’t do here.”

“What will your next piece be?”

“With your permission… I’d like to paint you.”

Val’s breath was caught in their throat. “You— Oh wow, Cyrus—”

He laughed again. “We can save that for another day, then.”

“No— I’d love to.” They chuckled. “But I get to paint you afterwards.”

“Deal,” Cyrus said with a grin. “I look forward to your interpretation.”

[chiwi-la-capybara]

I asked chatgpt to write a Snape/Tonks fanfic and this is what it wrote (really)

Title: Unlikely Connections

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Encounter

Nymphadora Tonks had always been known for her exuberant personality and colorful hair, but lately, her vibrant spirit seemed dimmed. It had been months since the Battle of Hogwarts, and she was still grappling with the loss of so many loved ones. The pain weighed heavily on her heart, and she found it hard to find solace in the world around her.

One evening, Tonks found herself walking through the desolate streets of Spinner's End, a place that mirrored her current state of mind. As she aimlessly wandered, lost in her thoughts, she stumbled upon a familiar figure lurking in the shadows.

Severus Snape, the former Potions master at Hogwarts, stood there, a dark silhouette against the moonlit night. His usual aura of brooding intensity seemed to radiate even stronger than before. Tonks approached him cautiously, curiosity mixed with a tinge of fear.

"Severus?" she called out softly, her voice tinged with concern.

He turned to face her, surprise flickering in his eyes. "Miss Tonks," he replied, his voice laced with weariness. "What brings you to this dreary place?"

Tonks hesitated for a moment before speaking, her gaze lingering on the scars that marred his face. "I... I needed some air. Spinner's End isn't the cheeriest of locales, but I suppose it matches my mood these days."

There was a flicker of understanding in Snape's eyes. "Indeed, grief has a way of darkening everything around us."

Tonks found herself drawn to the enigmatic man, despite his reputation as a cold and unyielding figure. Perhaps it was their shared pain that created an unexpected connection between them.

Chapter 2: Unveiling Vulnerabilities

In the following weeks, Tonks and Snape began meeting at Spinner's End more frequently. They would sit on a dilapidated bench, sharing their thoughts and experiences, finding solace in each other's presence. The more they opened up, the more they discovered their hidden vulnerabilities.

Tonks confessed how she struggled to reconcile the loss of her cousin, Sirius Black, and how guilt plagued her for not being able to save him. Snape, in turn, revealed the immense burden he carried from years of double-crossing Voldemort, all while hiding his true allegiance.

The unlikely friendship that bloomed between them surprised them both. Tonks admired Snape's unyielding strength and his unwavering dedication to protecting those he loved. Snape, in turn, found solace in Tonks' warm-hearted nature and her ability to see the good in everyone.

Chapter 3: Healing through Understanding

As time went on, Tonks and Snape began to heal each other's wounds, their connection growing deeper and more profound. Snape found himself opening up to Tonks in ways he never thought possible, and she, in turn, helped him realize that redemption and forgiveness were within reach.

Tonks, with her colorful metamorphic abilities, would often change her appearance to match Snape's moods, creating a playful atmosphere that temporarily lifted the weight from their shoulders. She became his guiding light, reminding him that even in the darkest of times, there was still room for joy.

Slowly, Snape's demeanor started to soften. The lines of pain etched on his face seemed to fade, and a glimmer of hope appeared in his eyes. Tonks, too, found her spirit reignited as she witnessed Snape's transformation.

Chapter 4: Love Against All Odds

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, Tonks and Snape's friendship gradually blossomed into something more profound. They discovered an unexpected tenderness between them, an un

[paradoxrealm]

A Return Worth Waiting For...~

She didn't pay him much mind as she kept her focus on the moonstone Charm, but her two shadows were close, watching Moon intently from over her shoulder. Just feeling around her magic he could now feel the other two sets of eyes on him despite Astel's gaze being fixed on the stone. The shadows were attempting to run interference without seeming obvious, just while Astel attempts to pin down the last of the lost mementos.

He could almost see vague images in his head as he felt around her magic, almost seeing blurred silhouettes of the shadows behind her. Eclipse has seemed to have taken on a much more modern wardrobe, Moon making out a short crimson dress and a black leather jacket as well as a pair of tall black boots, and her long pointed ears now seemed to be almost loaded with a variety of gold earrings. The other shadow, on the other hand, still seemed to be rather "old-fashioned" by her species' standard with what he could barely make out to be some kind of dress that almost seemed regal or angelic almost, though there were no colors to make out. She herself almost seemed like a living, breathing shadow, everything about her from her body to her clothes being void black. The only reason why he could even seem to make out any details of her face or her clothes was because of this... almost ethereal midnight blue outline, though her most prominent feature was her eyes like fire and embers. He... felt like he knew her name... He just couldn't seem to remember it for the life of him...

Was it Moonlight...? Dusklight...?? Starlight...???

He couldn't remember... He just knew that her name was somehow related to a time of day...

...Yes, Eclipse and I have been on better terms for a few thousand years now. Falling in love can really soften a hardened heart, y'know.~ Then after that, Mikearu and I got married, had our kids, and Eclipse became actually quite a good Auntie to them.~ They would climb on her like a jungle-gym whenever she had control...~ Even more so now that she can safely split off from me. And... as for the third one, you've already met her. You just don't remember... ...She was the girl who came before me. My first life. She was... forced back into being by a demon of the past we both share, and in doing so she became a part of me as a new fragment. A new shadow... The girl that once was, now part of the girl that is. And with her, I... we were made whole. For the most part anyway. There are still pieces of her, of me, scattered across the endless stars, but there was enough to finally complete us. We're stronger now, more powerful than we were before. I have control over my portals. Eclipse can safely split off from me without potentially killing us both. And... we're at peace now. Together the three of us made peace with our past. Now we can keep living in the present, as well as continuing to look to the future.

But you do know her, Moon... You met her shortly before the Reality Check occurred... Midnight sure knows you...

So that was her name... Midnight... How could he forget...? And as he reached out to feel her magic, he could almost see the pair of fiery orange eyes that stared back at him with a sadness he could never know...

...Astel continued to futz with the charm, the stone now acting as a kind of projector, a flat circle of mist like stardust acting as the screen. Images danced across the mist, fading in and out. Hazy, much like the dreamlike memories inside Moon's head. There were shapes and colors that blurred together as the images flashed by at rapid rate so quick that you could simply blink and miss something deeply valuable. Her focus was entirely on these projections, her buttoned gaze fixated on the mist. And as Moon watched over her shoulder, he could... almost make out some of these images.

——————

He couldn’t decide if he wanted to stare at the shades around her or throw his head into his hands and scream more- instead, he ended up staring at the mist, trying to gather and make sense of the images flashing through it. They felt just about as hazy as everything else he was trying to grasp onto right now. “Those are memories, aren’t they?” He wasn’t exactly sure why he was trying so hard to deduce what the universe clearly didn’t want him to know. Probably because they were, at one point or another, his. His memories, his relationships, his feelings- whether he’d decide they were important to hold onto would be his decision, but he couldn’t do that without having them back first.

He sighed after deciding the images were really only serving to make his headache worse, rubbing tiny circles into his forehead.