#i think i'm slowly disintegrating...

[call-me-copycat]

Not even a full month in without school and I'm fixing my burnout ᕦ⁠ʕ⁠ ⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔ⁠ᕤ As much as I can at least

Obviously I know it'll take forever but I'm so so very happy to actually live my life now └⁠(⁠ ⁠＾⁠ω⁠＾⁠)⁠」

(still sleepy....) (summer's a jerk)

[urfavleo777]

WARNINGS: smoking, closeness, kisses, bad vocabulary, fluff.

you find comfort in colby after breaking up with your boyfriend.

"I don't remember the last time I saw you like this, kiddo."

You flinched, not from the wind, but from the hoarse voice of your friend Colby, who was standing behind you. Standing on the balcony in just a T-shirt and jeans would give you a cold, but at that moment, that was your last concern. Before you turned around, you sniffled, trying to disguise the fact that you had just shed a sea of ​​tears.

He gently placed his free hand around the lighter, trying to shield it from the wind. A faint smile covered your lips as you watched him concentrate on it.

"When will you finally quit smoking, Colby?" you whispered, choking on your tears.

"I don't know, you tell me" he sighed out the smoke from his mouth as well and looked at you, arching his eyebrow.

"I still think you should quit." You said softly, turning your head towards Colby who, standing next to you, was leaning back against the railing. He looked down at the night skyline of the city. Such sights were not uncommon for him since he became so popular. He probably spent the night in places you never even dreamed of. You had been friends for seven years, but you never let him take you with them. Maybe it was because your ex-boyfriend, who just two hours ago was the love of your life, was seething with jealousy whenever you spent time in Colby's presence.

"What will you give me if I do?"

He took another long drag from his cigarette before exhaling into the crisp air. You watched the smoke disintegrate into the air as he placed his cigarette back between his finger. Not hearing your answer, his lips curled up into a smirk before he spoke.

"You want to try, don't you?" he asked making you nod slowly.

You've always been against any kind of stimulants, but that day you had to relieve yourself somehow. Cigarettes turned out to be the perfect solution.

He turned his body towards you before wrapping his arm around your waist. Your breath hitched and his cold bare chest rested against yours. His cigarette was held in his left hand and your body in his right. He looked down at you before explaining what to do.

"Just inhale, hold it for a second then let it go" he said making you nod again.

Your fingers lifted up and reached for the cigarette before you realized that he was bringing it to his mouth instead of yours. Okay, maybe he was showing you what to do. He took a smaller drag from the cigarette than his past before lowering the cigarette down. Before you could even reach to grab it, his lips pressed into yours.

You gasped at his kiss, making him breath all the smoke into your mouth and have it go down to you lungs. He pulled back a little to watch as you kept your mouth closed tightly. The smoke had filled your entire chest and was beginning to make you suffocate.

"Y/n, exhale" he said.

You opened your mouth and let all the smoke escape from your lungs. He smirked and closed his eyes as all the smoke had been hitting his face. You began coughing as the smoke was caught up in your lungs. His hand patted your back before you finally gained control of your breathing.

"Did you like it?" he asked with a smile playing on his lips.

"Never doing this again." You said making him laugh out into the air.

His hands tighten around your back and he brought your forehead to his lips to give you a small peck. You gasped slightly making him pull back and realize what he was doing. His hand un-wrapped itself around your waist as his cheeks were tinted red.

"Glad you two broke up. I've always had an urge to punch him in his fucking face."

It seemed he decided not to mince his words.

You rubbed your eyes with your hands, realizing that your makeup was probably smudged. You shuddered once again as you felt the wind on your skin. Colby noticed this, pulling you closer to him. He lowered his voice, trying to be as gentle as possible.

"I'm sorry, baby. He clearly wasn't good for you."

You thought you were about to fall asleep standing up. His touch soothed you, making all your worries go away. You wanted to stay like this forever, in his arms, on the balcony, with the accompaniment of passing cars and the full moon in the sky.

You've been blind all this time. You were looking for happiness and entertainment in pathetic men, not knowing that you didn't have to look at all, because the perfect one was literally at your fingertips.

And his name was Colby Brock.

[mindmelter]

Hollow Justice

It all started when I was passing by a group of logistic workers during my lunch break from the office. They were loud, obnoxious, and unfortunately, also ridiculously hot.

Our office received a new shipment of supplies that day, so the logistics team was busy unloading the deliveries into the warehouse.

One of them—a tall, Brazilian, bearded guy in a reflective vest—caught my eye immediately. But then I heard them mocking a young, shy, office guy who had just walked past. Their words hit like knives, and the shy guy’s face turned red as he quickened his pace.

I knew him from work. We never spoke to each other because we were from different departments, but he seemed like a nice guy.

"Look at that white collar faggot, even his walk is gay" The bearded logistic worker mocked while loading a heavy box into the cart.

"I think he was looking at your ass dude!" His coworker laughed.

"I will teach him to keep his eyes to himself next time!"

Something in me snapped. I wasn’t just going to let that slide. So, I followed the shy guy and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound casual but flirty. “I think you’re cute. Can I get your number?”

He blinked at me, wide-eyed, as if I’d just asked him to marry me. “Me?” he asked, almost like he didn’t believe it.

“Yes, you,” I said, smiling. He hesitated, but after a second, he pulled out his phone and we shared numbers. He looked so surprised like no one had ever hit on him before, and honestly, that just made me angrier at those jerks.

Number secured, I turned on my heels and went back to the group of homophobic workers. They were still laughing, still making my blood boil. I focused on the Brazilian guy—he was the worst of the bunch. Lucky for me, he broke off from the group and headed into the bathroom. Perfect.

I followed him in, keeping quiet as he used the urinals. Once the coast was clear, I made my move. From my pocket, I pulled out a syringe filled with my special bodysuit serum. As he turned to wash his hands, I jabbed it right into his neck. He gasped, and his body started to convulse as the serum took effect. Within seconds, he was deflating on the floor, his muscles, skin, and bones disintegrating away until all that was left was an empty husk—that handsome and tall blue collar worker turned into nothing more than a hollow bodysuit.

I dragged the limp bodysuit into the stall and took a moment to admire it. I lifted his head by the hair. His head was stretched down by the weight of his beard, making him slack-jawed, and his eyes were now just empty holes.

"Not so smug now, are you? I will show you who is a faggot," I mocked him.

I stepped into the suit, feeling his skin stretch and seal around me like a suit. Within seconds, I was him. His voice, his scent, his muscles—they were all mine.

I pulled out my phone, snapped a quick mirror selfie, and sent it to the shy guy's number with a message: *“I’m sorry for being such a prick to you earlier. I only act like that in front of my friends because I’m a closeted gay guy. Can't let them know I'm just a cock hungry whore. Please come and meet me in the bathroom. I will let you fuck my ass as an apology.”*

Then, I waited. As I waited sitting in the toilet, I played with my new thick, hard, brown cock. I would stroke it, and sometimes slap it, watching it bounce. I wondered about how many times he used it to fuck women, probably a lot... I then grabbed his ID badge that was on his neck.

Name: Thiago Henrique da Silva / Date of Birth: March 15, 1998 / Age: 26 / License Class: Class A (Allows him to operate heavy machinery)

I chuckled and then went back to play with Thiago's thick cock. After half an hour, I was starting to wonder if the guy would really show up when I heard the bathroom door creak open. I peeked through the stall door and saw him—nervous but intrigued. I opened the door and called him in.

He hesitated for a second, but the bulge in his pants said everything I needed to know. He slowly stepped in and locked the door. I could tell he was still not sure if the logistic worker was serious or if he was just about to prank him. I needed to show him that there was nothing for him to worry about.

So I kneeled in front of him and pulled down his pants. His hard throbbing cock sprang free and I wrapped the shaft with the worker's big calloused hand. I slapped his cock against Thiago's handsome face and winked at him in a flirty way. His face was priceless, he was shocked that a hot manly stud like Thiago was acting like a slut. I soon wrapped my new thick lips around his shaft and gave him a blowjob that would make him remember it for the rest of his life.

I suddenly felt his hands around my head and he started to facefuck me roughly, so rough that the mask started to slip off. Thiago's face became misplaced over my real face. It was a sight that would make the gay office worker run away and have nightmares forever.

Luckily, he had his eyes closed at the time, so I quickly fixed the bodysuit's mask, placing it where it should be.

After blowing him for some time, I stood up and pulled down my uniform pants, offering him Thiago's tight ass to fuck. It wasn't my first time being fucked, but the man I was wearing was still a virgin, so the office guy had to take some time to loosen the bodysuit's asshole. Once he was sure it was loose enough, he fucked Thiago like he was his personal bitch.

The boy might not be the best looking, but he sure knew how to fuck.

And me? I moaned, grunted, and played the part of the closeted homophobic blue-collar worker who couldn’t get enough of cock. When it was over and he finished inside me, he straightened his clothes, kissed me, and whispered, “That was amazing. I forgive you,” Then, he left, looking happier than ever.

As for the bodysuit, I didn’t need it anymore. I pulled it off and threw it into the toilet. I then grabbed a new syringe, injected the bodysuit with it, and watched as what was left of Thiago dissolved into black goo. I flushed the goo down the toilet and threw his uniform in the trash bin, but kept his ID badge for some reason...

I washed my hands and walked out of the bathroom with a smirk on my face, just as my lunch break was ending—justice had been served on my plate.

[raileurta]

Humanity vs Cybertronians

I see people debate about whether or not humans could defeat the Decepticons without the Autobots' help every so often and I want to give my take on this. To some it up quickly I feel the same way I do about this I do about the gorilla vs 100 men debate. Yes the gorilla would absolutely DECIMATE the first ten or so guys but after that the gorilla would eventually start getting tired and be slowly killed as the hits start to pile up.

Let me explain my reasoning:

It's a very established part of lore in most continuities that transformers are nearly extinct aka critically endangered. Which according to Google means that there are fewer than fifty individuals left. Which I don't believe their numbers are that bad but I won't say I'm surprised if they were. For the sake of this argument though I will assume that only fifty Decepticons will be fighting with Earth. Which in comparison to humans’ EIGHT BILLION population that is a pitifully low number, and that's not even bringing up the whole underestimating our population thing.

I do believe only heavy weaponry like tanks, missiles, or RPGs should be able to kill/seriously hurt a transformer if they are hit enough with it. With small arms unless you hit a weak point, for instance an optic it should not even dent their armor. And nukes just straight up disintegrate them; I don't care how much plot armor the bot has, the average cybertronian SHOULD NOT BE ABLE TO TANK A NUKE. I've seen people argue for this before and it low-key annoys me. They bring up the whole “how technology more advanced they are to use or their robust practically immortal bodies” but that's not a valid argument. Even a trained modern marine would be killed by cavemen with only mere spears if they were jumped by thousands of them. Humans also can reverse engineer their technology. All they would need to do is just take a random decepticon body/weapon then break it down. It also defeats the whole purpose of the “robots in disguise” part of their lore. Unless that Cybertronian has a special ability that lets them survive, cybertronians should be able to be killed by a nuke.

End of story.

There's also other methods of killing a Cybertronian like scraplets or the rust plague, which are significantly less deadly to humans.

Depending on the continuity I feel the biggest problem for humanity would be instant K.O stuff that needs Optimus to combat or the Nemesis ship. Which I think are pretty fair odds. If Decepticons just started blasting humans out of nowhere and take the Earth head on they will lose. It would have to be a slow infiltration type of invasion to actually work, or just straight up glassing the planet from space.

I'm talking about this from a general of point of view as some continuities would do much worse or better than others.

I do wonder which one would be the easiest to defeat though. I guess maybe g1, or earthspark.

[decayedsword]

hey!! me again lol. was wondering if u could write a fic with ronin x reader who has iron deficiency? i have it n im always insanely dizzy and exhausted. i kinda refuse to take meds WELL… i forget to. the scenario could be like reader having trouble sitting up or standing bc they always feel like theyre gonna faint? or idkSORRY

Blood Loss (Ronin x Reader)

I have two scenarios in mind! (First one is fluff, second is pure flirting) Hope you guys enjoy :)

Warnings for slight mentions of blood, murder. Two short drabbles ahead!

"Slowly, Darling."

His voice faded in and out of your ears and your head ached as you half-crashed into him, the warmth of his body seeping through his shirt. A hand snaked through your hair, gentle and grounding, the other firmly on the small of your back.

"R..." You managed to sigh out, blinking your eyes. Your body felt light and numb and tipsy all at the same time. As you inhaled his apple-like scent, you held onto him, albeit weakly.

The burgundy-haired man scooped you into a bridal carry, and you felt your head bump against his chest. Hissing, you stir in his arms and he immediately shoots out an apology. "Shit, sorry. I've got you."

You want to tell him to not get worried. You've been dealing with this your whole life. Ronin settles you on his bed. It's soft and it smells like him. It's all you could dream of, you think as he eases you so you're laying down.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. It's sweet. He's sweet. Your heart clenches in your chest and you want to kiss him back.

"What're you smilin' for?" Oh, his voice is tender instead of the usual deep rasp and you love him, you love him, you love him.

You limply reach for his face, cradling him as he cradled you. You miss his lips and your mouth touches the corner of his mouth instead. You sigh out a laugh.

There's a fondness in his eyes, and even if you can't see it properly, you can feel it when he presses his lips against yours, fully this time.

Your heart was at stake. Ronin's blood was too.

It was a running joke between the two of you after serial killing. Y'know, vampirism. It had started with an offhand comment you had made during one of your calls.

"Do think we could fix iron deficiency if I drank blood?" You had asked jokingly, shrugging off the slight self-deprecation with a flick of your hand, but the way Ronin's grin grew more shit-eating sent shivers down your spine.

He laughed. "Damn darling, you out for my throat already? Got some spunk in'ya, huh?"

And so, it happened. Every so often, he'd throw a joke at you.

"Gonna sink your teeth in me, baby?"

"D'aw, you wanna drink my blood so much it makes your threats sound almost convincing."

"Don't tell me you want my blood in a cup, sweetheart. I'm anything but Christ-like."

"Sorry, forgot you could disintegrate in the sun. Let's meet near nighttime. Heh."

You get flustered every time he mentions it. Oh, well.

His kiss tasted nice anyway.

throws this at you and runs away

[sehruncreative]

Oh! Oh! I did some research on the Purpurschnecke a while back.

You need a Ton of them for one gramm of color powder. Like around 8 000 to 10 000 of them. (Depends on who you use as a source) You also need to (well first you need to catch them) remove the part that containes the dye, then you squash that, dry the secretion for a few days in salt, heat that up but not boil it and you need to do that without sunlight. No sunlight bc the color reacts to it and will not dye the fabric if its already purpur. Now you can dye your fabric, put it imediatly in water before drying it in sunlight. The color goes through a few different stages, I think green and yellow, before setteling on purpur.

It takes a lot of time and attention to produce this color. I think it was worth more than it's weight in gold at some point.

My glance at wikipedia to refresh my memory told me that you need ~ 200g of powder to dye one kilogramm of wool. That's 2 000 000 Purpurschnecken. You don't get far with 1kg wool.

arent scallop shells used for dye? or at least were in the old days

you're probably thinking of Tyrian Purple, which was a red/purple fabric dye of varying shades that was produced from the poisonous secretions of muricidae sea snails!

it was a very involved and expensive process for both humans and snails, as you can imagine.

and while it was an incredibly popular color during the height of the Roman empire due to the whole imperial-purple thing, it drastically dropped in popularity once easier ways of making some cloth purple that didn't involve getting covered in poisonous snail puke were discovered!

both humans and snails are the better for this, I think.

[howi99]

From the Nest 5

Jaune: *quickly plummeting to the ground, waiting for the perfect moment as he concentrates his aura into his weapon* ...! *Slash his wind dust blade under him, creating a powerful gust of wind to slow down his fall, enough to roll safely and get up*

Jaune: *angrily* Tsk, whose idea was it!? *Kick a stone* In what situation am i, or ANYONE ELSE, expected to fall from the sky like that!?

Jaune: *sigh, taking his compass* ... Wait, in what direction are those relics supposed to be again?

_ 15 minutes later_

Pyrrha: *looking at the blond haired girl* Oh...

Yang: *crossing her arms with a smirk* You were expecting the other blondy, right?

Pyrrha: *Slight blush* I saw him land near here and was wondering if he was ok, *pan out to a bunch of dead grimm slowly disintegrating* but i guess he didn't need any help at all, uh?

Yang: Yeah... *scratching her head* Shame though, i had a bunch of questions to ask him. *Sigh* Name's Yang, by the way. *Extend her hand with a smile* and i guess we are partners, right?

Pyrrha: *shake her hand with a smile* Nice to meet you, Yang.

Yang: *smirk* Not naming yourself, huh? Didn't take you for the mysterious kind.

Pyrrha: *chuckle* As if you didn't know who i was.

Yang: *shrug* Eh, true.

_ Meanwhile _

Jaune: *cutting an Ursa's arm after dodging its blow, then cut its head off* Man, i'm really a flame for the moths.

Blake: *jump off the tree* You need some help?

Jaune: *see the faunus girl land near him* Not really. *Sheath his sword* My aura regenerates a lot faster than others because of my semblance... *Looking around, seeing the dead grimms laying everywhere* But it also acts as a beacon for the grimms.

Blake: *sigh* That would explain why the grimms i was fighting stopped attacking me the moment they noticed you.

Jaune: Yep. *Tilt his head* By the way, why do you keep following me?

Blake: *confused* Because we made eye contact? Weren't you listening when Headmaster Ozpin was talking?

Jaune: *scratching the back of his head* Honestly, i'm not even sure i know where to go. He did say north, right?

Blake: ... *Groan*

Jaune: *wince* In my defense, i wasn't aware we were going to be thrown off a cliff... *Pensive* Then again, that would be something my teacher... *Shake his head* Nevermind. But yeah, partner... So we are forming a team or?

Blake: *surprised* Wait, you didn't know we were going to form teams?

Jaune: *Shrug* Until last week, i had never seen a school, so me knowing the rules-

Blake: *taking a step back from shock* You never went to school!?

Jaune: No... *Pridefully* but i did learn from the best!

Blake: ... Can you read?

Jaune: ... I feel like you are underestimating my intelligence quite a lot.

Blake: That doesn't answer the question.

Jaune: *roll his eyes* Yes! Heck, i can even tell you that my teacher loves the same kind of books you like, so much so i had to practice reading with them!

Blake: *Blush* Oh...

Jaune: *continuing* I know exactly what scene you were last night, i can recite EVERY. DAMN. LINE. of that book.

Blake: *trying to hide her face* This is the worst day of my life...

Jaune: *seeing that she's embarrassed* ... Page 67 through 84-

Blake: STOP IT!

Jaune: *thinking* (Oh.... So that's how it feels to be the one doing the teasing... I understand my sisters now... And Vernal.)

[vroomvroomwee]

Aziraphale's vest

I'd like to take a second and talk about his vest because I think it's a really good metaphor for Aziraphale's internal feelings.

At first glance it's obvious the vest is quite old. Really old in fact if you note the way it's practically disintegrating.

And it got me thinking a bit. The way the white practically bleeds from the edges of the neck, shoulders and buttons, going further and further, one day if he's persistent enough to wear it, it might even take over the entire vest. You could say that that, somehow, mirrors Heavens influence over Aziraphale. Slowly, slowly, biding their time, until it has completely ridden him of any colour. Until it has completely washed him of his identity, of his originality, of his character.

Take a look at his clothing when he's up in Heaven.

Completely and utterly white. Every piece of clothing he's wearing is pure and untarnished white. Upon entering Heaven, against his own accord, it has stripped him of his uniqueness, of anything that might distinguish him from any other angel who blindly follows orders and who's sole purpose is to do Heavens bidding.

Now, he could miracle the white patches on the vest away easily. But he doesn't want to.

The thing is. He likes the imperfect. He likes partaking in human activities and pleasures, like food, music, etc. Likes to indulge himself in earthly things Heaven would label as sinful or "sullying." And as someone who bas been on the receiving end of Heavens ridicule and passive aggression for millenia, as someone who for centuries has been told that he's underperforming and needs to do better, as someone who is all too aware of his own impurity by the standards an angel should hold and of the quite frankly unholy behaviour in performing immoral temptations and directly going against Heavens orders no more than a few times throughout the eras, it's no wonder he finds comfort in the imperfect.

He keeps the deteriorating edges because they are a perfect representation of his own internal feelings and image. After all, there's no rule that says he can't. And a big kudos to the costume department, for the patches perfectly encapsulate his religious trauma. Without it, he would probably be a very different person. He wouldn't be the same Aziraphale we know and love. The same way he likes being old-fashioned with his clothes and how that is a part of who he is, his trauma is a part of him as well, along with Heavens influence that has shaped him into who he is today, whether he likes it or not.

Every part of the vest illustrates Aziraphale's character and internal feelings, which brings me to another point I want to draw attention to, and that is the BACK of the vest.

It's DARK. And I don't think I'm mistaken when I say that most of us didn't expect it to look like that from behind. We all just assumed that it would be the same beige colour as the front, which is in tune with the rest of his attire. After all, seeing him wearing a dozen different outfits all throughout history, all of them some shade of white, it was the logical conclusion.

But no.

It's not white. It's a dark, slightly viridian or a dark blue colour. "Dark blue suggests a more mysterious depth or ominous quality. Power and authority: Dark blue signifies power and responsibility. "

Not what we would have expected that colour at all. Similarly to how one wouldn't expect an angel to perform temptations or be gluttonous, or envious, or slothful, or hedonistic. Not at first glance anyway.

Not unless you look carefully.

Not unless you know him.

The coat almost acts like a cover. The light over the dark. Almost as if it's trying to hide something. The only times we see Aziraphale not wearing the coat is in his bookshop. Which is logical, of course. You wouldn't wear a coat indoors, obviously. Except he DOES. He wears the coat when he and Crowley are drunk, he wears it when he's reading Agnes Nutter, he wears it when Gabriel and Sandalphon pop in, he wears it when he's talking to the Metatron, he wears it when he's listening to Shostakovich, he even wears it at the Ritz where it would be custom to take off your coat while dining. And it's worth noting that during the events happening (at least in the first season), the season is summer. Which would make it quite ridiculous to be wearing so many layers everywhere you go and therefore risk boiling. But he still wears the coat.

The only times he doesn't wear it is in the first episode after the sushi, when he's all ALONE, and in season 2 at the bookshop when Crowley comes back and in 1941.

And there's something oh so personal about that.

I don't think it's a coincidence that the darker part is specifically the back of the vest. There's always been this natural human instinct to protect yourself by never ever turning your back on a foe. And I don't think this is a conscious effort on Aziraphale's part, but rather genius writing, directing and costume design, and anyone who's watched and read Good Omens knows that almost nothing is coincidental.

Note this is probably the first time Aziraphale has called Crowley his friend, seeing how uncertain and doubtful he was to even say the word in this scene and how quick he was to deny their friendship in the Shakespeare scene. And the camera immediately cuts from Crowley to Aziraphale, who is turned away, whose back is turned to Crowley oh so casually without a care in the world. Just before he calls him his friend. His back is turned, and so is the dark part of his vest.

The dark part he only shows in his bookshop, when he's alone and there's no one there. The part that he now only shows to Crowley as well. Crowley who knows him so well and who's been with him through everything. "I won't tell anyone if you won't." And "you said trust me""and you did". Just this small motion of Aziraphale depicts exactly how much trust he has in Crowley not only that he'll keep him safe and protected but to accept him just as he is, to not judge him, to not demean him for his imperfections as an angel. Practically mirroring Crowley's self-protection mechanism that is reflected in his motions to hide his eyes with his sunglasses (there's a wonderful meta on this by @simply-brightly-zee here )

And it might just be clothing, or it might just be genius symbolism, but note how self-aware Aziraphale is of his looks when Gabriel pops up.

The desire to impress is almost unconscious in this scene, and how does he go about doing it? By making sure he looks presentable. Presentable, despite the white patches and the vest that is falling apart, he doesn't even realise it. Therefore, it's clear Aziraphale puts thought into his clothes, whether consciously or unconsciously.

I personally dont think any of this (the coat, the patches, the way he turns his back, when, where and around who he's most comfortable) is a deliberate and intentional act on Aziraphales part but rather creative brilliance from the directors and producers. So him being shown to expose the back of the vest only in scenes with Crowley (and the one in s2 infront of an amnesiac Gabriel with the intelligence and awareness of a squirrel) is a master move on the costume department's part. The symbolusm being so small and imperceptible, but holding so much meaning. This small metaphor shows how much Aziraphale trusts Crowley and how comfortable he is around him. Crowley who knows about Aziraphale's transgressions, sins, unholy behaviours, lack of interest and dedication to his job, and overall "incompetence" as Aziraphale might put it and how he's "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing". Crowley, who will accept him and love him no matter what. Not despite those things, but because of those things.

They have found their "own side".

Edit: Not that important, but I just want to mention how, despite being tattered and falling apart, the vest is still in perfectly good condition. No matter the white seeping in and draining its colour, the vest doesn't have a single seam torn, not a button lost, perfect as the day it was bought. No matter what it's been put through, it's still kicking, whether by miracle or sheer willpower. Very much like the person wearing it.

[strawberrymochin]

(in which you enter the demon slayer realm)

Sanemi eyed you for a while, his hands gripping tight on his sword, as blood slowly trickled down to its tip, dripping on the mud, tainting it red.

Well, the lower rank 6 demon, he was supposed to slay, laid dead on the ground, a little far from you, growling on anger as his body disintegrated into ashes, blown by the slow breezes, dispersing into thin air.

Killed by you. Barehanded.

The moon glowed big and bright, over your heads. "Who are you?" Sanemi shinazugawa said in a horrifying tone, "Or shall I rephrase my question....what are you?".

Shit.

You mentally smack yourself for acting like that infront of him, well that's totally not your fault though, you didn't knew, sanemi was going to make his appearance, moreover it's a background plot, not mentioned once in the manga. You open your mouth but close it again, not sure what to answer.

"Definately not a human."

"I am." You can't help but defend yourself, feeling triggered at his question. Having a mere charecter question your existence is quite disrespectful.

"Is it? I haven't seen a 'human' girl ripping off a demon head barehanded." He comes a bit closer, placing the tip of his sword on your neck, pressing it lightly. "Quiet a sight huh!.......you know I hate lies and surprisingly your aura doesn't resemble humans. What shall I do with that pretty girl?"

Wait. Sanemi shinazugawa called you pretty.

"Pretty....? You think I'm pretty? Oh my god, sanemi shinazugawa called me pretty...." You keep on mumbling to yourself, not being able to contain the excitement. Even though you liked the ever sadistic giyu tomioka more, sanemi was still hot. I repeat fucking hot and feral.

You didn't exactly like ending up in the demon slayer realm but didn't particularly hate it. You have, somehow, the ability to enter manga realms. And, this was your second time, accidentally entering one. The first realm you ended up entering was jujutsu kaisen's, and that was pretty messed up, considering that demon slayer was a heck more peaceful. Atleast you believe so.

Meanwhile sanemi was dumbstruck, first of all, according to his point of view, a girl looking weird creature, who claims to be human but ripped down a lower moon without a nichirin sword, was just impossible. You have to be a demon. And you should fear a sword pressed firmly on your neck, however you were there being giggling flustered mess.

"Stop trying to trick me you demon! It's time for you to join your troops in hell.....and how do you even know my name?"

"Yeah yeah whatever, but you called me pretty and I just....ahhh I love you—"

"S-shut up!" And this time, it's sanemi who's getting flustered. "How the heck you know my name? Forget it, I will just finish off you right here."

"Yeah yeah, whatever, but let's first get those kids home. It's quite traumatic for them to be here."

"Kids?"

"What you didn't know?"

The kids peeked out from the broken house, with eyes clouded in fear, tears stained cheeks, shaking. Sanemi gave a look from the side of his eye as he tilts down his swords rushing to the kids, "i won't let you harm them," shielding them from your vision.

"wouldn't it be better if you take them home rather than wasting time?" You say lazily, "you know what I take back what I said— i don't love you."

"Who wants to be in love with you anyway, filthy blood thirsty demon!" Sanemi fumed, sprinting from his position, "wind breathing: first form- dust whirling cutter."

That's it. You would be dead by now.

Sanemi turned around with a shit eating smile; which dropped in a sec. Lol. You were standing there intact. Ofcourse nothing would make you bleed after all you were a real human, unlike them.

You went to the kids, sighing, bending to their level, "hey it's fine, I know the scene over here was quite terrifying and this uncle over here is terrifying too, but it's fine. I will take you two home. Hmm? Come out."

The kids slowly came out, hesitating a bit.

By the time you took the kids home, its dawn, sanemi followed you suspiciously, grabbing the hilt of his sword tight. 'How did she even survived that? I cut right through her neck... moreover she ain't hurting the kids?' he thought.

The sun is about to rise still you show no sign of panic. What exactly is she? He thought

A demon who could walk under the sun?

"Hey sanemi, I'm hungry, can you buy me something to eat, I promise I will pay you later."

Part 2 ?

[earthtooz]

x : AVOIDANCE :*+ﾟ

in which: falling for blade was not on your agenda, so naturally you decide to distance yourself. however, the last thing you'd predicted was blade being upset with the sudden space.

warnings: 2.3k wc, FLUFF, ooc!blade probably bc i'm still trying to figure it out, kafka meddles with the two of you, gn!stellaron hunter!reader who has a past lol, NOT PROOFREAD, idiots in love bc i love that trope, bad writing

a/n: thank you to the anon who gave me this idea :D much appreciated, i had a lot of fun with this one when my angstier fics were draining me af. i hope you enjoy, apologies if it's a little low quality, but it's my child <3

when you first joined the team of stellaron hunters, you didn’t expect to get much out of it, especially since the team looked so cold, calculating, mischievous, and unforgiving, greeting you with vicious smiles and muddy eyes. preemptively, you assumed the most you would receive is acquaintanceship.

however, time has proven you wrong, because on the contrary, you have found comfort, friendship, and stability in the form of this mismatched group.

you never expected to find love either.

but you did, and it might be the worst decision your heart has ever made.

“y/n, there you are. kafka and i are thinking about going out to lunch. want to join?” silver wolf’s voice interrupts your train of thought, disrupting your peace in your private spot amongst the gardens.

“oh, hi silver wolf,” you murmur, shutting your book after shoving in a bookmark. “who else is going?”

“kafka asked blade and he agreed.”

the genius hacker doesn’t notice the way you tense upon hearing a certain swordman’s name. instead, you play it cool by opening up your book again, scanning the pages in hopes of ignoring the racing of your heart.

“i think i’ll pass on this one. thank you though,” you mutter.

“really?” the silver-haired asks, popping her gum before shrugging. “whatever you say. i’m off!”

“bye!”

hearing her footsteps fade, you slump in your seat, your memories with blade hauntingly eminent in your mind. you don’t recall when you fell for him, or why exactly, all you have in your recollection is a series of moments that you look back fondly upon with a full heart, love slowly seeping in to you and causing your affections to grow to the size that they reside at now.

when you had realised, the love had already grown too big to deflate, and dejection struck moments after; a big bang of butterflies in your stomach that all disintegrated straight after.

how brutal- perhaps this was an indication that blade was rubbing off on you too much, and you need to cleanse yourself of his influence.

love, although fickle, was not something that you avidly rejected. despite having lived like a hunted deer, your experiences have been fleeting, building your delicate heart for a life of meeting, falling, then leaving when you least wanted to, needing to run before an arrow pierced you- and certainly not cupid’s one. 

but with blade, everything is different. there is no arrow to run from, not in the life that elio has foreseen for you. for the first time in your life, you can stop running away and try fall into the arms of love with little remorse.

it's just ironic that you fall into the arms of a man who should not be touched.

“y/n’s not coming with us today,” silver wolf reports after meeting up with the other two stellaron hunters.

“oh?” kafka hums, “usually y/n’s always willing to hangout, why’s that?”

“busy or something, i don’t know, i didn’t care to ask.”

the slight scrunch of displeasure in blade’s expression passes by the keen eyes of both kafka and silver wolf. if either of them had noticed then perhaps it would have been a topic of interest, but for the time being, the pair move on (faster than the third member), your unusual absence dismissed in favour of where to get food.

as the days turn into nights and elio issues more missions and mumbles more futures, blade feels as though he sees you less and less.

it’s not intuition more than it is you purposefully ignoring and evading blade in your everyday, though.

“good morning,” kafka’s voice greets when she walks in to the cafeteria, where you were eating breakfast alone. setting down your phone, you regard her with a mouth full of bread. “gross. at least swallow first.”

“screw off,” you murmur. “how did you sleep?”

“fine fine, i woke up in the wrong position though and my neck is killing me, but what about you? seems like you’ve been up a while.”

“i’ve been up since asscrack of dawn.” 

the purple-haired regards you with amusement. “why’s that?”

“body clock or whatever,” you lie, staring down at your glass of water.

“i see,” kafka hums half-heartedly, as if seeing right through you. “well, i’m going to get some coffee, i’ll be right back.”

“mk.”

you’re left on your own for only a few minutes, waiting patiently in silence for kafka to return. the morning is cool and pleasant, and the smell of rain is still heavy in the air as the morning dew lightens the atmosphere. the weather will surely get hotter as the day matures, but for now, you enjoy the gentle caress of sunlight on your back.

or rather- you were enjoying the gentle caress of the sun, but the methodicalness of it all is ruined when you spot a certain figure with dark, long hair beside kafka.

suddenly the last thing you know is peace and calm, and the abrupt, painful scraping of your chair against the floor symbolises that.

“going somewhere?” kafka asks.

picking up your scraps, you avoid blade’s gaze. “yeah! i- uh, realised that i have some documents to drop off for elio by twelve or whatever.”

“won't you stay to keep us company for breakfast,” the purple-haired tempts, “it feels like it’s been so long since we’ve spent some proper time together.”

“has it?” you laugh nervously and kafka easily picks up the pitchiness of your tone. “i’ll make it up soon, i promise, i’ve just been overflowed with things to do.”

“alright. you be off then. don’t work too hard.”

“i won’t. my head is remaining tight on my shoulders, don’t you worry!” you reassure before scrambling away, feeling like your legs could not be any slower as you retreat away from blade’s scrutinising gaze. when you round the corner, you sigh a breath of relief. 

it’s laughable and simultaneously admirable how dedicated you are about dodging every interaction possible, but for the record, you think you’re doing quite well. not that space was doing many favours for your heart, but persistence is key. 

whoever believed that distance makes the heart grow fonder just clearly didn’t try enough, because yours feels like it’s about to hammer out of your chest with how fast it is racing, and the sensation is equivalent to something like pain rather than fondness.

“i’m worried,” blade mutters, gaze lingering on where you’d just disappeared. “and why does y/n talk like i’m not right here?”

“aww, are you upset?” coos kafka, taking a seat. the swordsman mimics her.

“why wouldn’t i be? it feels like y/n has been ignoring me as of late.”

kafka hums thoughtfully, swirling her coffee cup around.

“do you know anything about that?”

“nup. nothing at all,” she answers, feigning ignorance to the many suspicions that are bubbling around in her mind. the last thing kafka is, is blind, your unusual behaviour has not bypassed her perceptive eye at all, but she believes she has uncovered the reasoning as to why; said reasoning being a certain swordsman.

the revelation is definitely interesting, and she might just be able to give the push you both need.

“y’know what, bladie? if it concerns you that much, i’d say you go check up on y/n later,” kafka suggests.

“why not you?”

“i’ll be busy, but i think some support in dire times is just what y/n needs.”

“okay. fine.”

when blade gathers the courage to check up on you, like kafka recommended, the time is nearing 5pm. the sun is beginning to cool, the animals are retreating into their nests, and the big, bad, intimidating stellaron hunter is roaming around the archives, where you’re situated to work, hoping to locate you.

it takes a few laps around to finally find your placement because you’re fast asleep, only identifiable to blade by the jacket you hung on the back of your chair.

the sight of you hunched over your desk over a multitude of forms and papers causes a wave of concern (however much he can feel) to wash over blade, and suddenly, he does something completely foreign to him: dote over someone.

gently lifting your jacket to cover your shoulders, he stills when you shift a little, your eyebrows furrowing in your sleep. deciding to leave you alone, all blade spares is one lasting look at your vulnerability before leaving. 

he wonders what it is that could be making you so frustrated. 

(if only he knew). 

a few days later, kafka confronts you about the suspicions that’s been creeping to the forefront of her mind.

“did you do something to piss a certain bladie off?” 

kafka’s saccharine voice is laced with mischief as she leans towards you, chin resting on the palm of her hand. she certainly does not miss the way you tense up at the mention of the swordsman’s name and her smirk widens when you shuffle away, subconsciously turning away, as if avoiding the subject.

“i can’t think of why i would have,” you murmur, crossing your arms. “why?”

“oh, nothing, he’s just been complaining and crying a lot recently.”

“he does that all the time.”

“so he does,” your fellow stellaron hunter hums. “except he’s mentioning your name a lot more nowadays.” 

you freeze. “what?”

“hm? did i say something peculiar?”

inhaling a deep breath, you steady yourself. you know what kafka wants out of you and you’re not going to give it to her despite how innocent and pretty she spins the web to look. after all these years together, you hope to have learnt a thing or two about how to avoid her snare.

“what is blade saying about me?” you quiz. 

she blinks at you. “why so curious if you haven’t done anything?” 

“can i not ask about something that involves my name? besides, he’s my friend, i want to know what he’s saying,” you lean against the back of the couch, trying to calm the involuntary shake in your legs. you despise that the slightest mention of blade can cause a bottomless pit to form in your stomach and it’s not because of how intimidating or threatening he is. 

no, it’s because you’ve fallen for him, hook, line, and centre.

and blade would have to die before you ever tell him.

“mostly just grumbles about wondering where you are,” kafka expands, waving her hands about to match her words. “he asked silver wolf and i if you’ve been talking to us and when we said ‘yes’, he looked pissed! when i asked why he was being a sourpuss, he just stormed off.”

“so temperamental, that man,” she sighs. then, she looks back at you with those half-lidded eyes that have always gotten her what she wants, and in this case, they’re answers. “so tell me, y/n, what did you do to our bladie to have him all riled up like this?”

“nothing. absolutely nothing.”

“are you sure?”

“positive.”

“positive?”

you avoid her curious gaze. “positive.”

“maybe i phrased the question wrong. has bladie done something to you instead?”

panic settles within you. “no,” you lie through your teeth. “he hasn’t.”

“so if i asked you why you left breakfast so abruptly that day, you wouldn’t say that it’s because of him?”

“i had work to do, kafka, you know how busy my job gets.”

“i know, i know,” she persists, “then why weren’t you in a hurry before blade arrived that morning?”

you don’t know how to refute that, letting silence speak volumes instead.

“and why did you skip out on lunch with silver wolf and i? was it because we also invited a certain someone?”

“okay! fine, you’ve got me. what do you want to know?” you explode, tossing your phone on the couch in frustration. 

“so it is about blade?” questions your coworker.

“yeah. it is.”

“what about him? did he do something to hurt you? you know he’s accidentally mean sometimes-”

“it’s not that, he’s nothing but a sweetheart.”

“so what’s the problem?”

“that is the problem! he’s just… he’s him.”

“is that bad?”

“for my heart, yes.”

“oh my- so you like him?”

you exhale exasperatedly, “don’t act like you haven’t already figured that out, kafka.”

the cheshire smile she then flashes sends shivers down your spine. for whatever reason, an oppressive feeling grows in your gut, resembling something like a warning.

“you’re right, i knew,” she flaunts. then, her gaze cuts to look behind you. “but i don’t think blade did.”

your heart lurches out of your chest with enough force to pull you off the couch and you stumble around to see that, lo and behold, blade was indeed standing in the hallway. the expression he wears tells you enough; he heard you, he knows.

kafka somehow sneaks her way out of the room, leaving you alone to deal with the face of rejection. it’s daunting being in the same space as him after so long, you almost forgot about the intimidating pressure that blade naturally exudes and projects in every space he enters.

“hi,” you start, looking away. 

he stalks over to you, footsteps soundless before stopping a feet in front of you. instead of saying something, the swordsman merely gazes down at you whilst you keep your eyes glued to the side.

“can you reject me already? the silence is kinda killing me,” you snap after a few seconds, crossing your arms protectively. 

instead of obeying to your request, blade does something completely unexpected; he very gently lifts your chin with his hand, and red eyes bore right into yours. is it odd to feel seen in your demise? because blade is looking- no, surveying you with such immense focus and clarity that your heart stills, frozen in position because it wants him to see the most picturesque part of you. 

(he sees it, but he wants to know more of you. the pretty, the ugly, the likeable, and the unwanted.)

“would you like to go on a date?” he asks.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[ppssession]

You will definitely not be disappointed.

Kick is a 56-year-old man who has been a single father for many years. He has never had a wife. He adopted a boy when he was young, Harry, a handsome 19-year-old teenager.

Harry falls in love with his personal fitness code senior named Zack. Harry is anxious because he is going to confess his love to Zack that evening. Kick, seeing his son's anxiety, comforts his son.

Hey son, what are you worried about?

I'm just worried about the consequences after I confess my love to Zack. Hey son, don't worry. Everything will be fine. I'm sure you won't be disappointed.

When Harry finished speaking, he smiled hopefully.

Thank you, Dad. I hope so.

After Harry finished speaking, he walked out, saying that he would go confess his love now.

Time passed and Kick sat in his house. He was a little worried because it had been hours since Harry had returned home. The door opened and Harry walked in with a sad face.

Kick immediately understood the situation and was about to go and comfort him but was stopped by Harry. He told Zack to take some time to think about it before leaving him, which worried Harry.

Harry, who was very worried, walked quickly to his room, making his father, Kick, sad. He didn't want his son to be sad anymore. He walked to the basement, there was a secret door that revealed a strange storage compartment. He took out a bottle of potion from the compartment before walking out of the house.

At Zack's house, he heard a knock on the door and immediately met Kick. Zack opened the door and was splashed with strange water by Kick. Before he could scream, his body slowly disintegrated, leaving only skin that looked like a suit.

Kick continued with his plan, he managed to get into the house before anyone could see him, he took off his clothes and immediately put on Zack's body suit, the figure of the near-retired man disappeared almost instantly as the figure slipped into the body suit.

When he put it on, Kick transformed into Zack, both his face and voice, and he sent a message to Harry.

"Harry I need to talk to you come to my house now it's unlocked come in message sent to Harry" Harry read it almost immediately he didn't reply but ten minutes later the sound of running hurriedly stopped at Zack's door

When Harry opened Zack's door, he didn't find Zack there. He walked to Zack's room, and was shocked to find Zack in a towel. "Hey Harry, I just wanted to say I agree."

Zack got up and came closer to him. If you want I will be….. Before he could answer Harry rushed in and kissed Zack passionately. “Yes I want. I love you.” Good. Zack said as he pulled the towel off to reveal his hard cock. Let’s get started.

พวกเขาเริ่มมีเซ็กส์อย่างเร่าร้อน เสียงของพวกเขาก้องไปทั่วห้อง และเสียงเพลงแห่งเซ็กส์อันเร่าร้อนของพวกเขาก็ดังไปตลอดทั้งคืนจนถึงรุ่งเช้า

เช้าตรู่ แฮรี่และแซ็คตื่นนอนในเวลาเดียวกัน พวกเขาถ่ายรูปเพื่อระลึกถึงวันแรกของพวกเขาในเช้าวันนั้นYes, my love, I won't let you down, Zack said with a smile. แต่แซ็คคิดกับตัวเองว่าเขาจะต้องเปลี่ยนจากการเป็นพ่อบุญธรรมมาเป็นแฟนของลูกชายของเขาไปอีกนาน

[wasteful-sam]

Rolan visits Tav's room at the Elfsong tavern. Disasters ensue.

You know, fellow Rolan fic writers, I assume it's pretty common that if you write a romantic scene between Rolan and Tav, it generally happens at the Ramazith's Tower, Sorcerous Sundries, the streets, hell, even the lower floor of the Elfsong tavern itself.

But I was thinking, what if such a scene was assumed to take place in the party's room at the Elfsong tavern? Yes, in its in-game, completely one-to-one state, unchanged.

Well, that would be diabolical.

Pictured above: Rolan's losing it.

Let's picture it together:

The two lovebirds, just days after confessing their feelings. Tonight, Tav invites Rolan to visit their room at the Elfsong tavern.

Feeling absolutely blessed and exhilarated, the wizard, of course, puts on a fancy suit and spruces himself up. He'd heard before how Tav was bolstering that the party has almost the entirety of the tavern's second floor to themselves and how it is quite luxurious.

Tonight could be oh-so magical, Rolan thinks as he follows Tav into the room.

------------------------------------------------------------------

What does our poor wizard prodigy marvel at before him?

♡ A gigantic room with beds lined up in a row - no privacy in sight.

♡ A nonchalant puddle of blood on the floor that nobody bothers to clean up after that one vampire spawn encounter.

♡ A random red-haired kid (who's child is that???!) playing with a cat.

♡ A naked statue of Tav is standing neatly by the entrance.

♡ The High Harper Jaheira petting her pet (?) rat.

♡ The Aasimar and a divine maiden are making out ferociously in the corner.

♡ An owlbear and a dog are running around the room, knocking everything in their way.

♡ Alfira (?!) playing the lute somewhere from above (??!).

♡ All the party members are in the room, too, of course. Some stare back at him curiously. Others (that pale son of a leech, in particular) grin with devilish amusement.

------------------------------------------------------------------

"Sooo, this is it," Rolan draws out slowly, trying to keep his composure, "This is the room?"

"Yep, all ours," Tav declares proudly.

"And you all live here? Together? In one room?"

"Oh yes, it's very spacious," Tav nods enthusiastically, "Come on, I wanted you to meet everyone properly. They're like family to me."

Rolan sighs, his hopes for a magical evening rapidly disintegrating, "Yes, sure, it's all well and good. I suppose I was hoping for a little more privacy, and... HOLD ON. Is that a common wooden tub in the middle of the corridor?!"

Tav blushes, "Well... It has exquisite curtains," taking Rolan's hand, Tav adds more softly, "I'm sorry if it's not what you expected... If you want more privacy, there's a room right next to ours. We can... spend some time together once we're done here."

"It's alright. I am sorry for the outburst, too," he squeezes Tav's palm, feeling reassured by their apologetic demeanor. "If this is want you want... let's proceed."

As they approach the rest of the party, Tav mumbles, "I guess I'd better mention it now...That neighboring room was recently a crime scene... But I've heard they've cleaned up the blood already!"

Rolan stops dead in his tracks.

"...oh, for the love of gods!"

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi! (It's me again lol)

I can't tell you how much joy your writing has brought me in recent weeks. Your lumine-writes tag is currently my most used bookmark and I do a little internal wriggle of happiness every time I see a new post!

If the writing bug bites you, I have been really enjoying reading your current series with long-hair Alec. (Not to mention, Clary and her lack of adherence to tradition and her stupid dissolving bead brought me so. much. joy.)

I would be utterly delighted to see the reactions of both Alec's people and his family to him openly letting Magnus handle his hair ... say, on the Ops floor for instance.

I love how utterly BAMF and ... aloof isn't the right word, but close enough- you've made Alec in this universe. So perfectly wonderful.

(Alternatively, I think what I like about this idea is Alec being so openly intimate with Magnus in a shocking way to other nephilim. Although, I'm guessing Mirai will high-key approve lol. This would also be entirely lovely with Magnus playing with Alec's wings on the Ops floor if it strikes your writing fancy better.)

Thank you again for all your words!

this has been a while in coming but this is a prompt i've thought about a lot since it got sent in like... 2023. I very much have wanted to show the ops scene because I personally think it's hilarious AND I FINALLY HAD THE SPOONS.

now I have to go write the part before this, which is Magnus practicing the braiding bit for a different prompts! i'm glad to share and happy it's appreciated!!!

last bit here (I mean technically I wrote this part first but that part comes before this).

i hope you enjoy

<3 lumine

my path is set

Alexander’s hair gleams and Magnus feels smug superiority at the knowledge that the extra shine and health to the dark locks is specifically by his deed and hand.  Magnus was right.  The handmade products he creates have turned Alexander’s hair even more lustrous and even better, it now smells like Magnus. 

Alexander smells like Magnus.  

Right now his boy’s hair is in a loose tail with patterned braids throughout it and two of Magnus’ own obsidian clips keeping the hair tucked out of Alexander’s face.

They’re braids Manus had created after painstakingly watching Alexander do it himself. Then he'd memorized the patterns and redone them slowly as Alexander’s firm hands guided him when Magnus’ fingers lost their way. 

A bold green leaf brazenly clings to one of the braids. Caught on a cats-eye bead that Magnus had added, weaving it into the braid without even asking and it feels right, to lift his fingers to brush it away.

There’s silence.

The light chatter that had been the background noise since Magnus’ arrival turns to the kind of quiet that normally is only found with a corpse.

Magnus’ fingers are bold as he plucks the leaf away, letting it disintegrate with magic and if that weren’t enough — and it isn’t — he then strokes his fingers down the pattern of the braid with a bold, claiming touch.

Alexander says nothing, his silence and allowance more telling than any words could be.  

Magnus wants nothing more but to pull Alexander into an impassioned kiss by his hair but alas. However much Alexander may allow Magnus many liberties, he doubts his boy will forgive him for killing half the Institute with shock.

Perhaps in a few weeks, when they’re better inoculated against the sight of their Commander being fondled in plain sight.

Magnus is tempted to summon a flower to twine into a braid, however at that moment a female hunter walks in, catches sight of Magnus knuckle deep in Alexander’s hair and promptly walks off the catwalk instead of down the stairs. 

There’s the shatter of glass and a groan and Alexander sighs.

The sigh is deep, like the swell of the ocean during night tide and heavy with disappointment.

The room seems to swell and groan with the weight of his disapproval and then he just shakes his head, walking away from the room, the fallen hunter and most unfortunately and unforgivably, Magnus.

His hair slips like thickly bound silk through Magnus grip, leaving him with nothing tangible but the ache for further connection and Magnus is by Alexander’s side in two long strides. Magnus’ hand is snug and proprietary as he rests it on the small of Alexander’s back, easily falling into pace with him.

The tension breaks the moment they pass the threshold of the room together and though they’re still in earshot, throats suddenly remember how to work.  When only moments before they’d been broken and stalled, unable to form words.

“No orders for your little hunters?” Magnus asks, pressing close and claiming more of Alexander’s personal space with his body and posture.

“I’m not going to tell them how to sweep glass and that McKenzie needs an iratze.  If they don’t already realize how to solve the current problem, then there isn’t any hope for them at all.”

Magnus can hear the eyeroll of exasperation in Alexander’s voice, and imagines that if he tilted to see Alexander’s face, he’d see an arched eyebrow of disapproval. However Magnus is too busy keeping an eye on the hallways, tracking the other shadowhunters and their expressions and the way they both smoothly move out of the way but also stumble once they see just where Magnus’ hand is.

Alexander doesn’t tell Magnus where the line is.

In fact he seems avoidant of most discussion — until Magnus gets him relaxed and unwound, fuck-drunk and loose-limbed. Words slowly spilling from his lips like gems twinkling in the dark of an unexplored mine.

Yet still, Alexander lets Magnus take without question or concern, almost seeming amused at each moment of daring that Magnus risks. As if it was already Magnus’ to claim.

AN:

Alec is amused.

Alec gave Magnus a braid of his own hair as a permanent bracelet, let him keep it so they’d stayed connected, fucked Magnus even though he could have easily found another way around it (alec’s not stupid he knows how to check a wardstone charge level, he was taking advantage of the system and was very happy to let Magnus take full advantage of him (he signed up for it). Alec lets Magnus touch his hair (FONDLE IT REALLY) in full view of his subordinates and Magnus thinks Alec has a line????

Alec is really just like ‘oh, you’re taking it slow, okay. How chivalrous. We can go at your pace.’ 

Except you know, without actual words. So Magnus just, takes and then Alec’s energy is just ‘cute, it’s already yours’. And then Magnus takes more and Alec’s just like, ‘yeah that’s yours too.  You going to ask for anything that doesn’t already belong to you one of these days?’

Magnus finally at some point: if asking what does belong to be isn’t getting me anywhere, then what doesn’t belong to me?

Alec: well i can’t think of anything so we’ll just have to experiment and have to find out.  

Again, they don’t do a lot of talking except in bed or when Magnus finds out Alec gets tipsy on champagne and get him to brush his hair in the moonlight while singing haunting shadowhunter lullabies because Magnus wanted to catch the moonlight spinning off of Alec’s hair for a spell and also because the vision is captivating.

Like Alec does talk, just he doesn’t if he doesn’t have a reason to and he’s very blunt.

But he writes Magnus like, pages of unashamed adoration.

“You’re making tea for us and yet I’ve been recalled to the institute on the whims of beings who can’t remember to keep their weapons clean. And yet I could be with you still, in your arms and listening to the song of your heartbeat and feeling the echo of my own pulse in contentment.

I long for your touch every moment that i’m away and wish nothing more than to behead some of these idiotic ~ as you would say, minions of mine. Alas. it’s most unfortunate that they are not true minions and that I too answer to a higher authority and as much as I wish that were you alone, the Clave still pulls at my strings no matter how much I cut myself free of their influence.

Yours, Alexander.

Magnus showing up to the Institute and kicking Alec’s office door open, wild eyed and practically frothing at the mouth after reading the first letter Alexander writes and leaves him because: Excuse me??? EXCUSE ME?? ALEXANDER YOU LEFT ME WITH A KISS AND A GRUNT GOODBYE this afternoon AND THEN I FIND THIS ON MY DESK?????

Alec just walking around his desk and bein all calm, with a tiny gleam of amusement in his eyes: It’s not dinner. We weren’t meeting till tonight.

Magnus: Dinner? DINNER?? YOU THINK I”M WAITING FOR TONIGHT TO FEAST AFTER THAT?

Alec absolutely given no fucks as Magnus presses him against his office wall and devouring all the words he doesn’t say

—

Shadowhunter 1: ... i have seen the devil and lived

Shadowhunter 2: wtf are you talking about?

Shadowhunter 3: no, no i saw it too. Lightwood let that warlock, Bane touch his hair.

Shadowhunter 2: 0_O

Shadowhunter 1: no, no you don’t get to sit there and say Bane ‘touched’ Lightwood’s hair.  He fondled it.  He practically claimed Lightwood in the command room!

Mirai: Is this really what you want to be discussing right now? In front of me? When i’m about to assign patrols? Also why did it take half an hour for a dozen of you to clean up a shattered tablet and get someone to the infirmary? Those involved will be doing drills to prove they can work in a crisis.

Shadowhunter 4: so you admit that Bane fondling Lightwood’s hair was a crisis 

Mirai: ... i was actually making fun of you all and referring to the injured shadowhunter and the small yet very broken tablet no one was capable of taking care of. If you fail this badly with this small of a problem, how bad are you going to do when Alec takes you on the field? And will any of you survive finding out?

—

Magnus: i must be touching him at all times so every shadowhunter knows he’s mine.

Alec: i need to have magnus come over more often. My shadowhunters need lessons in compartmentalization.  If they walk into each other and the walls from this, will they just let demons stab them if i kiss him on the field?? Do they think i’m going to refrain from battlefield smooches just so they can live? Their incompetency isn't allowed to get in the way of my kisses. They are my reward for not murdering idiots. 

—

Yes when Alec is bored at the institute or annoyed, in order to calm down and feel better (by doing something that makes him happy) he writes Magnus fire messages and then Magnus has to deal with getting romanced randomly throughout his day and he is THRILLED and deserves it but it is ALSO ruining his schedule! He can’t keep cancelling his appointments to portal to Alexander because his boy said something particularly charming or enticing!

[mambodork]

Hi, me again! In the buttercup HOA au, does Grian need to eat in his code bodies? Or is he like one of Martyn's lore Watchers where he only feeds off of emotions? Or maybe every time he makes a new body, he cannibalizes the code of the old one if Scar doesn't need it for snacking? I assume Scar eats normally with the exception of occasional flesh, and Mumbo, being a sort of parasite, either can make his host eat to sustain himself or just slowly eats the host and changes them every once in a while.

Also is there a reason Grian needs to keep making new bodies, like the code can only hold itself together for a short while before it starts decaying, or maybe because he can't eat it starts to die and that'd why he builds new ones?

I did not, in fact, find motivation to write anything today because my roommates distracted me with watching pirates of the carribean, but the ideas have been bouncing around in my brain all day long.

Anyways, sorry for the ramble can you tell I'm obsessed with your aus <3

In concern of Grian eating... I really like Martyn's interpretation of it with the watchers feeding off of emotions. Would also explain why Grian loves to make games and pranks all the time since he primarily feeds on positive emotions. Although I do believe his primary reason is always to make his friends happy, the benefit of being able to absorb their happiness for his own gain is an added bonus. I like to think the more emotions he gets, the more powerful he can be. Meanwhile, if he doesn't get enough to feed, he'll just dwindle out and fade back to become part of the universe.

My headcanon for the Watchers are that they're the main force to drive the world so it can continue living by making things interesting. Consider it like a book or a movie or even a game. Nobody would play it if nothing good happens, and if they stopped playing, the world within that game would just stop altogether. This is the primary worldbuilding I use when using the concept of minecraft inherently being a game as their actual world. The watchers are creatures created by the universe to keep it going by rousing powerful emotions like sadness, grief, or happiness. In this note, I am also a firm "the watcher's are morally grey" believer. They simply have their own goals and do what it takes to get it.

I think you're quite spot on with Scar and Mumbo's way of feeding! Mumbo is definitely a parasite and I agree with the fact that he makes his host eat for him to eat aswell.

As for Grian's body, my current headcanon of it at the moment is that unlike normal players who treat the world as real life and bodies, etc, as organic, Grian has ascended when he became a watcher and could see the world as what it truly is (code, for simplicity). As such, he treats his body and how he uses it more like an actual minecraft skin. Normal rules of real life and logic that ground a player also don't really apply that much to him now.

For why he has to change it every few days or so... I just think that Grian is just too weak or simply doesn't know that much about code yet to make a sustaining body (think of him like a highschool intern developer that's still learning how to code). I like to think that Grian's current bodies are being held together by duct tape and glue 😭 he doesn't really know what he's doing yet, hence the body malfunctioning or just simply disintegrating back to the universe's code (at this point, he would just give the body to Scar for him to snack on. Just because it's all useless code to him doesn't mean that it's not organic fresh meat for Scar). I also like your suggestion on the body decaying because it couldn't eat... maybe this can also be integrated since the entire organic world & code stuff is separated much like the 4th and 5th dimensions. It would SEEM that the body is rotting due to lack of nutrition, but it could also be a code error on Grian's part, who knows :3

Tysm for the interesting questions and ideas !! These are all just my headcanons atm and you're free to take anything you want from it, or not use them at all ! Again, I really appreciate it that you're willing to expand on this world lol <3 take your time on it !

[mizukihanaki]

Harry could kill with a drop of his blood and heal the dead with a drop of his tears

Because I'm super obsessed with the basilisk and its venom, and the Phoenix and it's tears what if the venom was still coursing through Harry? What About the tears?

just think about it, the basilisk's venom could destroy a horcrux, a piece of a human's soul, i don't think it would leave the human body THAT quickly. And similarly the tears of a phoenix.

They don't cancel each other out but, the venom damages the body and tears heal it just as quickly.

So when Harry was trapped against Tom Riddle Sr's grave and the blood was drawn from him and placed into the potion. everything went as planned, until it didn't.

Peter Pettigrew placed the baby Voldemort in the cauldron. Peter stepped back and letting the plan unfold, when all of a sudden all the death eaters hear screaming.

Everyone started panicking, not knowing what was happening Peter checked the cauldron, not expecting to see baby Voldemort disintegrating. rapidly. his skin was falling off his body and the venom was eating away at his flesh.

He tipped the cauldron over, trying to salvage what was left of his master.

"MASTER, MASTER" he called out but Voldemort continued to squirm in pain. the screaming died down, until everything was still.

Harry just stared at this lifeless form that was Voldemort.

Had he just witnessed his greatest enemy die?

Peter had reached for the baby that was covered with the potion with his cut off arm. the moment his blood made contact with the potion, he seized in pain.

"IT BURNS, IT BURNS, HELP ME SOMEONE HELP ME" His voice shrill.

Harry jerked his head back not expecting the screaming. The moving around had loosened the ropes around him, he slowly started to shuffle around taking the ropes off as the rest of the death eaters surrounded peter and their fallen master, not paying attention to harry.

Harry started to crawl away towards Cedric and the cup. Seeing the body of Cedric had started a wave of tears for his fellow champion.

He grabbed the cup while holding Cedric in his arms, teleporting to the field. Everyone was stunned into silence for a minute before erupting into cheers while harry could only weep over Cedric's body. tears falling onto Cedric's face.

Teachers started walking towards Harry wondering what had happened.

"Harry?" A voice rasped beneath Harry. He opened his eyes to find a pair of grey eyes looking at him.

"Cedric?"

[instant-delusions]

.·:*¨༺𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔥𝔦

wind pillar || shinazugawa sanemi × f! reader

cw! - sanemi behavior, smut (public sex, degradation, unprotected sex)

requests : open

nsfw under the cut

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

green fields, red roofs, a little path leading into a forest. little girls wearing cream colored yukatas while walking hand in hand, chatting happily. those little scenes pass you by quickly, as you sat next to shinazugawa sanemi on the infamous mugen train. it was quiet and empty, probably because of everything that happened here before.

ten minutes ago, sanemi and you boarded mugen train for a mission all the way in niigata prefecture. a snowy, mountainous region, which means excruciating work for your body. niigata - that's a long, three hour ride - obviously, you instantly claimed the window seat of your booth and with an exaggerated sigh, the pillar sat next to you, reading through some details of your mission. and since then, it's been unbearably quiet.

you met sanemi six months ago - mitsuri dragged you along to one of the hashiras drinking parties. obviously, she noticed you eyeing the wind hashira with a blush and instantly pulled you into the women's bathroom. "sanemi?" she sqeaked with a quick twirl, it's no use denying, so you nodded with a bashful smile. quickly, she filled you into his relationship status and gave you a brief overview of his character, "he's a challenge, (y/n). you're gonna love it, though, I know your type, he's that... times a million." with a new-found confidence, (after two peptalks from your friend), you downed another sake shot and made your way over to sanemi, who stood outside, smoking a kiseru.

"that's impressive" you commented, after he puffed out the smoke in a circle. watching it disintegrate into the night, he spoke "it's nothing. my dad, that wretched bastard, could do jellyfishes." turning to look at you, he gave you a lopsided grin. "don't have a good relationship with your dad?" you asked. that question painted the rest of the night, both of you drunkenly talking about your parents for hours, refusing to leave the inn.

the train stopped at the first station of your trip, thirty minutes have passed. you watched as the only other person in your wagon left and nobody else entered. "so it's just us two, huh?" you said, looking at sanemi with a slight twinkle in your eyes. he looked back, watching you blink seductively, and sighed, "what the fuck are you implying, (y/n)?". leaning back, he studied you, waiting for one of your annoying replies. "I'm just saying..." you started, voice barely above a whisper, trailing a vein on his muscular arm, "nobody else is here." you purred into his ear. quickly, you pulled away and turned your attention back to the scenery outside, "not like your would do it here" you added, waiting for him to snap. sighing, he shuffled closer to you, grabbing your waist, "you really think I won't fuck you on this train, bitch? I'd have you bouncing on my cock at the imperial palace, I don't give a shit." sanemi lifted you onto his lap, so you could feel his hardening cock pulsing beneath you, "bet you'd like that, whore, hm?" he pressed, you kept your lips shut, just slightly grinding against his dick with soft rolls of your hips. impatient, he grabbed your face, lowering you dangerously close to his lips, "I asked you a fucking question." you could feel the air of his words blowing against your mouth. "yes" you said, immediately pressing your lips against his. nibbling on his lower lip, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing him closer to you. slowly, he pressed his tongue through your lips, intertwining it with yours, as he moved his hands from your thighs to flip your skirt over, revealing your soaked underwear. "fuck" he rasped, you could feel his dick twitching through his pants.

as you busied yourself undoing his belt, sanemi peeked outside. fortunately, he couldn't see the next station, but decided to hurry anyway. "quick", he whispered hotly against your ear as you freed his fat, pulsing cock. you spit into your hand and began to jerk his girth, watching pre drip down, as he pushed your panties to the side, burying two of his fingers inside your wet pussy. instantly, he pressed his other hand over your mouth to muffle your moans and pulled his fingers, coated in your juices, out. "sit down, pretty girl." sanemi insisted and you wasted no time, navigating his cock to your pussy. feeling his head against your entrance, you sank down, biting one of his fingers to muffle your shout. although you're soaked, the stretch burned ; he filled you to the brim and you were sure he'd penetrate your cervix before your ass even met his balls. impatiently, sanemi pressed his hips up, to bury himself completely in the ecstacy that is your pussy. he wasted no time and started thrusting quickly, the noise echoed obscenely against the walls of the train, mixing with the rattling against rails. quickly, he found your clit, rubbing it in circles, while watching your tits bounce at his brutal pace. your juices dripped down his balls, onto the seat, while you drooled against his hand. as your pussy clenched and pulsed against his dick, your thighs started to tremble and your back arched deliciously, you felt like you were falling down, before an unearthly orgasm hit you. feeling the way your pussy spasmed, sanemi rasped curses under his breath and with a few, messy, thrusts, he spilled his warm, sticky cum deep inside you.

"tickets, please!" the conducter shouted as he entered your wagon. both of your hair was messy and you opened the window to get rid of the smell, although the wind was icy. you're so glad you packed double the amount of panties you usually would.