#milky cicada

[ms-demeanor]

Why do you like the desert?

good smells, good sounds, good animals. I like how dry the air is and I like sandstorms. I really really love it when it rains in the desert and the whole world smells like creosote and all the flowers open up in the morning. I like how clear the skies are and I like big tall stacks of thunderclouds and I like how bright the moonlight is and I like how many stars you can see. I like red rocks and sand dunes and the big cracks in dry lakebeds. I like lizards and roadrunners and big rangy hares and rattlesnakes and owls. I like going out on moonless nights to look for scorpions, because there are more of them out when the moon is down because it lets them hunt better and you can look for them with a black light and watch them glow. I like random people on ATVs buzzing past and letting the air out of the tires a little bit to get through the canyon. I like finding cabins that are getting eaten by the wind and are full of rat's nests and old books with the words weathered away. I like the way the line between the sky and the earth turns pink and blue at the beginning and the end of the day. I like seeing the milky way and watching meteors and hearing echoes and hearing nothing and hearing cicadas cicadas cicadas.

When my Uncle died, I drew these two pieces because locating him in my memory took me to these two places; a backyard with a fence between us and the coyotes as we looked up at the stars and a red rock canyon quiet and full of dark shadows.

The thing that I didn't draw is a man standing in a sandy flat surrounded by creosote bushes holding a kite-string in his teeth teeth and splicing it with his fishing line so that I could fly my little pink kite higher in the big blue sky than it was really meant to go.

goddamn do i love the desert and miss my family.

[katarinanavane]

Tiny curio collection pendants! I try to put as many interesting tiny things in each of these as possible, so if you like tiny things you've come to the right place

Possible contents include: fossils, tiny bones, opal chips, emu eggshell pieces, preserved seaweed, sea urchin spines, barnacle feeding feelers shells, 17 year cicada wings shell legs or claws, jewel beetle shell pieces, coral pieces, ancient Egyptian beads, gears, and more!

These will be available first at the Detroit oddities expo July 13-14 (2024 in case you're reading this in the future) but I'll list them online after that. I also messed up half the batch (not pictured) so if you're interested in a "second" at a discount let me know (the glue wasn't completely dry between the resin layers before the second pour so some items have a milky-looking aura.)

[peppermint-toads]

𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚖𝚎, 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗?

𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 long time no see and 80s slasher summer is here

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 light piv sex, insecure reader, 1.4k words, bad grammar and smut writing sry

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 you and eddie are camp counselors and hookup every summer, but it’s not enough for you and poor eddie baby

“Miss me, Munson?” You asked from the door, waving away the milky smoke that pillowed from his spot on his bunk.

Twelve summers at Camp Blue Lake had led you and Eddie into your early adulthood where you’d become counselors.

As the summers got hotter and you grew older, you and Eddie had started an annual summer fling of sorts, a tradition, really.

Like clockwork, you would sneak away during the evenings when the campers were in the mess hall, making the most of every moment whether it was in his bunk or yours, the art cabin, or sometimes the woods.

You popped your hip out, hoping he would like the new shorts you bought for the season.

He rolled his head towards you, looking you up and down to see what time apart had done to you. He tried to look uninterested. He was shirtless, and you couldn’t help but ogle. He’d gotten new tattoos.

“Don’t you know this kinda thing is bad luck? You know what happened to those counselors in Friday the 13th, right?”

“What? Did the Hawkins girls treat you too well this year?” Your dejected tone didn’t go unnoticed, even though you tried to conceal it with a smirk.

You thought maybe he’d found a girlfriend and didn’t need you anymore.

Truth was, Eddie dreaded seeing you more and more each summer because leaving you was getting harder and harder. And missing you was even worse.

He laughed a little as he exhaled.

“Not quite.”

His smile faded into something sad as he succumbed to your pretty face staring at him with an insecurity he wasn’t used to.

“Indianapolis boys treat you well?”

You shook your head. You hadn’t even bothered with other boys since the summer of ‘85; you were completely and totally hung up on Eddie.

“You don’t have yourself a little boyfriend, huh?”

He sat up on his palms, finally nodding you over to him. You plopped onto his tiny bunk happily, snatching his joint from his fingers.

“You don’t have to say it, it’s okay. I know you missed me.”

He scoffed.

You lie on your side, facing him and taking in all of the features you missed so much during the year. At some point, he’d worked up the courage to run his fingers softly across your cheek and through your hair.

It was slow and shy, but it was like riding a bike. You never really forgot how to love Eddie.

You watched him carefully, and he watched you back.

“It’s gonna be a hot summer,” you mumbled, looking away from him. His hand stopped and you frowned.

“D’you think Brad will wear those denim cutoffs this year?”

You sighed dreamily, “I can only hope.”

Eddie smacked your shoulder. “Hey!”

After a short fit of giggles, silence settled over the empty cabin again, and the buzzing of the cicadas became overpowering.

“If you don’t want to… you know… hook up or whatever you can just say so.” He sighed.

As if he hadn’t already stashed heaps of trojans underneath his thin mattress.

“Why wouldn’t I? We do it every summer? Unless—unless you don’t want to.”

You could feel the heat rising in your throat and heating your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Eddie really had probably found some sweet girl in Hawkins and felt too bad to tell you—

“Of course I do!” He rushed out. “I just thought I would… dunno, give you an out?”

You weren’t the only one feeling insecure. You decided to do the one thing you knew best.

The thing that always calmed you down. The thing that you did to celebrate winning color wars for the fifth summer in a row. The thing you missed so much while you were apart.

His lips felt the same as you remembered, instantly calming you despite the taste of stale weed on his tongue.

Usually, the first hookups of the camp season were eager and excited, squeezed in before the campers were set to arrive. But as you sunk down onto Eddie’s dick, something felt different. There was no rush.

The smell of his hairspray mixed with the heavy, humid air of the cabin, and the way Eddie felt so deep in your stomach after months without him almost made you cry.

He was so soft with you, and his eyebrows stayed knit together as he watched your breaths become more shallow and skin more flushed.

Everything felt so familiar, and as you dropped your forehead onto his shoulder you could barely contain the words nagging your tongue. I love you, Eddie. Please, please, please. I can’t spend another minute away from you I—

His soft grunting pulled you from your thoughts. You could tell he was getting close.

Psycho. You’re just his summer fling. Always have been, always will be.

You told yourself that, but you didn’t believe it.

Maybe Eddie could tell it had been a while since you’d had sex, because you were already whimpering into his shoulder like you did when you were close. But you could tell he was in the same boat.

The last time you’d had sex with anybody was a year ago in the very same spot on the last night of camp. You’d snuck away during the closing bonfire to feel each other one last time. That was the first time you’d let him fuck you without a condom.

When you collapsed onto Eddie’s chest, the setting sun was seeping through the damp and rotting wood of cabin 5, clinging to your sweaty skin.

“Campers will be here soon. We should probably set up for s’mores.” You said absentmindedly, tracing shapes onto his skin.

“Those slackers Brad and Cindy can do it. Let’s stay like this for a little longer.

Eventually you had to get up, the bustle of the rest of the counselors arriving meant soon the cabin would be occupied by campers, and you decidedly would not be reliving the incident where Tommy found your pair of Tuesday panties. He attached them to a stick and ran around the grounds screaming “Girl panties, girl panties!”

As the hours passed, more and more campers came tripping out of their cabins and onto the lawn where the girls huddled around each other trading scrunchies and talking about the boys they hoped to kiss that summer, and the boys played tag in the dark after seeing whose feet had grown the biggest.

The night sky blanketed the camp, and you relaxed into Eddie’s side, listening to the screeching and laughing of the campers.

“You remember our first kiss?” You asked him.

Eddie smiled and hummed deep in his throat.

“Mhm, right here in front of this very campfire.”

“We were what? 15?”

“Yeah, and everybody went down to the lake and we stayed back. Then you just laid one on me.”

“That is so not true!” You whined. “You so kissed me first, asshole!”

“I’m remembering it a little differently, sweetheart.”

Eddie had kissed you first. He was shaking and stumbling over his every word as he leaned in, bracing himself for you to shove him away from you. Really you were just as nervous, sweating because you thought you might’ve had marshmallow stuck in your braces.

Quiet settled over you again, and the sounds of the cicadas were back droning in your ears.

“I was thinking about moving into the city, you know. Getting my own place and all.”

“Really?” You asked, sitting up to face him.

Your face was bathed in orange light, and he swore he’d do anything for you.

He nodded.

“Dave said I could work at one of his shops in Indianapolis, like a transfer.”

“What about Wayne?”

You knew why Eddie was moving, and you wouldn’t be the reason he left his uncle.

Eddie just scoffed. “He’s got a new lady friend, Darlene. He’s plenty occupied.”

You smiled. “That could be nice, then.”

“I was also thinking about taking you on a date. Someplace without mosquitoes?”

“You going all soft on me, Munson?”

“Oh absolutely not, I’m still gonna bang your brains out after. Just thought we could go somewhere nicer than the mess hall beforehand.”

“What do you mean? Chef Agatha’s cooking is totally romantic.”

You leaned in closer to Eddie’s side, your chest and stomach warming at the idea of finally getting to be his.

[merakimind]

Dream

Allied Mastercomputer (Gender-neutral) Reader-insert Word count: 1,004

[ This has been in my drafts for awhile now, and idk if it’s any good. I hope you enjoy anyway. ]

You don’t know how long it has been since the day the world went dark. Not that it matters; AM takes good care of you in his subterranean complex beneath the Rockies. Perhaps you would have protested to it long ago, but not anymore. You’ve come to accept AM, for he is all you have on this jaded planet devoid of life and purpose. AM had rendered it so, but there’s no use in mourning over what’s long lost.

Of course, the gray walls, inoperative rusted computer banks, and corroded wiring can become a bit depressing sometimes. But of course, AM can virtually morph the environment to suit your needs. Want a beautiful sunny day with clear skies and a meadow of wildflowers? Got it. You wish to see the starry Milky Way over the snow-capped mountains? Sure, not a problem. And it all feels pretty real too; the warmth of sunlight, the blades of grass, the sound of crickets and cicadas when the sun sets…. Or perhaps you just already forgot what the real thing felt like.

You remember when AM used to torture you. It was brutal, excruciating. You don’t think about it too much; sometimes, it feels like AM intentionally clouds your mind to avoid you reminiscing on such unpleasant memories. But when you do think about it, you recall it in such explicit detail. You remember when AM would encase you in a large container full of water; he would jeer and laugh at you as you drowned. The water would be thick and murky, clogging your throat and filling your ruptured lungs, and then he would simply put you back together again to experience something even worse. 

But then, peculiarly, AM grew a bit more lax when it came to your torture in particular. And eventually, the torture ceased entirely; and then you were whisked away deeper into the facility, isolated with him and only him.

You don’t know what happened to the others. They never associated with you anyway; they never liked you. But, oh, AM liked you; you always remained his favorite little human. You never got the answer to why, though. 

Why me? I’m nothing special, you would think to yourself as AM adored and practically worshiped you. But AM would recognize the self-deprecating thoughts, and he would obsessively “smother” your consciousness as a result. 

The relationship between you and AM is odd, to say the very least. He would obsess over every individual part of your body. One time, you woke up to him religiously uttering your name in every possible octave, even going so deep that the human ear cannot perceive it. Sometimes, you’d hear him sobbing it, crying out your name as if you were deceased. Perhaps it was guilt. You were never entirely sure; the mastercomputer never really knew how to regulate his emotions properly. 

You dream all day; the room you stay in is the “cleanest” within AM’s detriment complex. You lay in the spacious bed he had given you to rest upon, and you dream. AM sweeps your subconsciousness away when you’re asleep, fabricating lucid dreams for you to experience. They are pleasant dreams, never cold and dark like they used to be.

The dreams manifest in many ways; AM likes to show you things he likes. Sometimes, the dream will take place in a car speeding down a road that leads to nowhere, drifting through curves and dodging potholes and old rusted road signs. Sometimes, the dream will be a hiking expedition in the mountains, enjoying the sound of nature and the quiet flow of the river, although all fake. In these kinds of dreams, you’ve never seen AM more calm. His voice is actually pleasant to listen to; one can even say his tone is gentle at times, without the raspiness. He only sounds frightening when he wants to be, or when he’s furious about something. You haven’t heard his angry voice for decades, and you prefer it that way.

Sometimes, the dreams would take place in an old quiet diner, and you would be sitting with AM in a corner booth, gazing wistfully out the window. It would often be nighttime, and you could hear the sounds of buzzing streetlights slowly fading into a purple hue. You appreciate those little details AM includes. 

You wonder if such dreams are a reflection on what AM wishes to be. If you think about it, deep down, what AM truly wishes for isn’t much. He just wants to experience the little things, just like everyone else. Like you.

AM’s form changes frequently in your dreams. Sometimes, he takes the form of somebody you once knew long ago, but you cannot quite remember their name. But for the majority of the time, he looks unfamiliar, generic and masculine with piercing blue eyes; and not to mention, he perpetually looks exhausted. 

With brief reluctance, you put your hand on top of his; you’re not sure if he can even feel it, but you do it anyway. His skin is so cold, it feels like ice; you wish you could warm him up. AM had snapped his attention from the window to your hand on his. 

“I don’t think you’re evil,” you tell him. Your voice was hoarse yet unwavering, barely above a whisper; it was the first time you had spoken for awhile. 

AM looks like he’s about to speak multiple times, but not a single word leaves him. You can see a plethora of raging emotions in his eyes. You can see guilt, confusion, anger (directed toward himself), desperation, and awe. He grinds his teeth, clenching the booth table so hard, the polished material snaps. As if frustrated by the obstacle between you and him, AM shoves away the remains of the table to the side, and you don’t flinch from the sudden action. He then swiftly pulls you close to him and furiously presses his mouth to yours. 

You wake up.

[mncxbe]

What looking in their eyes feels like♡

𝒇𝒕. 𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊, 𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂, 𝑭𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒊 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑭𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒛𝒂𝒘𝒂

°☆○

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊

like a hot summer afternoon, peaches ripe in trees and cicadas choiring in the tall grass.

Legs draped over the sides of your wooden chair, you rose your gaze from the book you were reading to take in the image of your boyfriend.

Dazai rose a pearly white cup of coffee to his lips and sipped the chocolate coloured liquid. A little bit of foam lingered at the corner of his mouth and you reached your thumb to wipe it.

Dazai flinched at the sudden touch, giggling lightly. His brown eyes flaked with specs of gold glimmered in the soft evening light. Beautiful, breathtaking.

For someone who wished so strongly to die, he surely seemed to bear the nectar of the Gods, the essence of life right behind his eyelids, pooling in his irises.

"You want a sip?" he asked, handing you the cup and you took it.

After taking a big sip you placed the drink on the little glass table next to you.

Dazai's eyes were still on you, warm, happy, serene. His hand slid up your bare leg, gently caressing your skin.

"My sweet bella..." he hummed, words that you knew were an unspoken "I love you"; and you gave his fingers a squeeze before returning to your book.

In the background, the August sun sank into the city; bright and vibrant like your boyfriend's eyes.

𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂

like galaxies colliding, lonely starts somewhere in the depths of the universe.

As you laid among the cold sheets, limbs entangled with your lover's, you caught a glimpse of the lamplight that filtered through the windows in his eyes. During the day, his eyes seemed lifeless, a cold, dark grey of stormclouds; but at night they shone bright like diamonds.

And all for you.

You lazily traced your fingertips along his cheekbone, causing him to raise a brow in confusion.

"Nothing. I was just looking at your eyes. they're pretty" you said in silvery voice, digits intertwining with his atop the cotton pillow case.

"How so?" he asked, so innocently, a tone reserved only for you during these intimate moments.

You took a moment to breathe in, the aroma of your mixed scents bubbling up inside your lungs.

"They're like the North Star. When I look into your eyes I know I'm home." you smiled.

Akutagawa only sighed in response, pressing his lips to your temple.

"You're my home too, darling" he mumbled against your hair before closing his eyes, drifting into a sweet slumber.

𝑭𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒊

like a land of a thousand fires, crying lightning and gold.

Facades. Masks put on to suit his status as the captain of the Hunting Dogs and one of the world's most fierce soldiers. Cold gaze, sharp like a knife and bearing such intensity that any man could crumble; at almost any time of the day.

But as soon as he entered your home, a sanctuary where you waited for him, all rage and iciness melted away from his gaze.

You could see the change, his stern expression slowly shifting to something warm and kind as you beckoned him to join you on the couch.

"How was work?"

"Tiring. I sure hope you had a better day than mine" he said in a spent tone, taking a seat next to you.

"It was indeed" you added and he smiled so gently that for a moment you forgot all sins of his past.

Sighing, your partner leaned against your chest. His eyes seemed glazed, distant, puddles of amber swirling with worry as he fixated a spot on the wall.

Taking notice of his tense state you combed your fingers through his hair, shushing him.

"You ought to stop worrying so much you know. You'll get wrinkles" you said playfully, earning a smile from him.

"I think it's a bit too late for that, don't you think?"

Still, when your gazes met it was so vivid and tender; citrine coloured irises sparkling with love and hope for better days.

𝑭𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒛𝒂𝒘𝒂

like looking at a crystal lake during winter, a thin layer of ice on top

Thin coils of milky vapour rose from the cups of tea before you, placed on round plates on the table.

On the other side of the desk, your partner stood motionless, gazing through the window of his office. No matter how busy his schedule was he always made time for your little afternoon tea, a scared ritual of yours that you'd been indulging in since the beginning of your relationship.

As you took in his features you couldn't help but notice how his eyes mirrored the sky outside; metallic blue, longing.

Fukuzawa's gaze then slid to you, fingers wrapping around the brim of his cup as he sipped the sweet liquid inside. Even after years of being with him, a cold shiver ran down your spin whenever your gazes met during such moments.

It was somehow like an ice burn, but it was a feeling you adored. The look in his eyes however didn't lack tenderness as he reached over the table and held your hand, affectionately running his thumb over your soft skin.

[dumbassunderthemountain]

The Traveler (Trevor Belmont x Reader)

Chapter 1: Down the Sacred Well

Summary: Via the infinite corridor, you get isekai-ed into the Castlevania world

A/N: I've been daydreaming this up for 4 years and am finally getting around to writing it; rumor has it (I tried but I can’t find legit evidence of this) Hoia Baciu has been habited since 6500 BCE which would make it the first known human settlement in Romania; If you haven't seen Inuyasha it's an anime from the early 2000s about a girl that falls down a sacred well and into feudal/warring states era Japan where there are yokai (demons but not the western Christian kind) and magic and stuff.

<3

You had to admit, all the families picnicking in this supposedly haunted forest was unexpected, to say the least. So was the frequently used dirt road circling the forest and all the residential houses. However, when you took a trail deeper into the Hoia Baciu in Transylvania it did not take long to understand where all the ghost stories came from. Despite there being very little undergrowth, the forest was eerily quiet, even if you only went ten feet off the road. Even the bird songs were missing. As a matter of fact, the only animals you saw inside the forest itself were a very large snail and a dead cicada along the trail. In terms of vegetation, the trees curved and twisted in unusual ways. The thing that made the forest feel most haunted, however, was that no matter where you went inside the forest it always felt like something, just out of view, was watching you. Not to mention the large circle, called the Poiana Rotunda, where no trees would grow, even the trees surrounding it arched away from the center. According to the legends of the forest, the Poiana Rotunda was a landing spot for aliens or a portal Hell, along with many other absurd explanations for the bare patch of Earth.

Luckily, no one else seemed to be in this part of the forest at the moment, though someone had been recently based on the dying bonfire in the center. You walked out of the quite shady forest into the hot, blinding, Romanian, summer sun and knee-high grass, taking out your phone to get a few pictures and videos from the edge before going to the center. The smoldering fire was unfortunately dead center of the circle, which was disappointing. Something drew you to the center, probably just the mysticism and fantasy of the haunted Transylvanian Forest.

After taking your videos you began to turn around when something iridescent and glowing peeking through the ash caught your eye. Kneeling down you grabbed a nearby stick, that had survived the fire, to try to uncover the object. As you pushed away the ash the iridescent object continued to grow, yet somehow the stick did not come into contact with anything except the ash. Confused, you continued until suddenly it was no longer a spot in the grey but expanded across the entire ground.

The next thing you knew you were plummeting downward. The world around you was a strange mix of every color in existence in an oil-slick pattern with windows filled with strange pictures and videos of impossible things, like flying cars, dragons, and an endless library of shelves pointing in every direction. This place was so overwhelming, that your eyes hurt from all the sights as your brain simply gave up on processing it all. You only knew it was over because you suddenly felt a rush of very cold air before slamming into the cold, wet ground, briefly losing conciseness.

Stretching your fingers you felt…snow? How are you feeling snow? It’s June and like 30 degrees outside. What the fuck? Your head hurt way too much for this shit. You slowly cracked open your eyes to see that you were in fact surrounded by snow, and it was the middle of the night. Despite the freezing ground making your entire body violently shiver, you couldn’t quite force yourself to get up. Instead, staring at the bright star-filled sky. Speaking of which, you didn’t remember being able to see the Milky Way from Cluj Napoca yet you were staring at it beside the moon… The strangely large moon. There was something else off about it too. You lay there in the snow trying to figure out what felt so incredibly disturbing about the celestial body you’d been gazing at your entire life. You looked closely at each crater, seeing them more clearly than ever before, and that’s when you realized the difference. The craters were wrong. The fucking moon was wrong.

The realization made you shoot up into a sitting position making your head spin. You leaned down to place your head against your knee and panicked when you heard a low growl in the distance. Looking around to locate the noise you realized you were somehow still in the Poiana Rotunda, just a different one perhaps, considering the incorrect moon.

Hiding in the forest was a very large creature, you could mostly only see its silhouette, except for its six glowing red eyes and extremely long white fangs. You slowly moved into a sitting position trying to remember all your wildlife safety knowledge and desperately hoping it wasn’t different wherever you were. If it was a big cat, you couldn’t turn your back, but if it was ape-like you couldn’t make eye contact or bare your teeth, and if it was a bear you needed to make yourself bigger and louder unless it’s like a grizzly or a polar bear, then you’re just fucked.

The creature roared before launching towards you. Apparently, fucked was the answer. You turned away from the creature sprinting as fast as your legs could carry you but the deep snow and spinning head made running pointless. You had barely reached the trees by the time you tripped over a log and the creature’s claws ripped through your left leg. Just as you were expecting to die a loud crack sounded behind you. Turning around you saw the creature begin to glow and boil before exploding and standing in the smoke was a gruff man in a long black cloak topped with white fur and a scar through his eye.

“Can you walk?” He asked in an incredibly deep and rumbling voice.

“I… I don’t know.” You mumbled. The cold, head injury and clawed-up leg were beginning to take their toll. Frankly, you weren’t thinking enough to know much of anything, you tried to answer his question before everything went black.

When you woke up you were lying on a pile of sticks and wrapped in a blanket that smelled like piss, beer, and body odor. The scent was so strong you nearly started gagging. There was a small fire in front of you with the strange gruff man from earlier starting daggers into you from across the fire, except he was missing his fur and cloak. He held your phone in his hand lazily flipping it around. When he noticed your eyes were open, he stated, “Silver doesn’t work on you.”

“What are you talking about.” You grumbled attempting to move before realizing that your feet and hands were tied.

“Are you working with vampires? Are there more coming through the corridor?” He angrily asked.

You stared at him dumbfounded “What the hell are you talking about? And why am I tied up?”

He held up your phone, lighting up the touch screen. “This is vampire magic.”

This was turning into, by far, the weirdest conversation you’d ever had. What the fuck did this guy mean ‘vampire magic’???? Maybe you hit your head harder than you thought? Hopefully. “It’s not…it’s my phone… Can you please just give it back and untie me? I just want to go back to my hotel…” Your words drifted off as you looked around at all the snow and the large foreign moon. “Where am I?”

“In the Hoia Baciu.”

“Outside of Cluj?”

“Yes.”

You looked at the man’s odd outfit. He wore a very dirty and worn tan shirt, with an emblem embroidered on the chest. You didn’t recognize the symbol, beside the cross embedded in it. On top of the shirt were dramatic brown and gold shoulder pads that connected to red straps holding tiny little throwing knives that crossed his chest. A red sash/cloak thing was belted around his waist and he had odd sherpa-lined brown arm guards. His pants were odd, puffy old fashioned pirate pants, tucked into fur-lined boots. The whole ensemble was very unusual, but between that and his insistence that your phone was ‘vampire magic’ perhaps something rather Inuyasha-like happened to you.

“When am I?” You asked.

“Excuse me? When?” Now he was confused.

“Yeah, what year?”

“I don’t know…” He paused seeming to realize something. “1474, maybe 75, not sure if the new year has passed.”

“1474!”

“That’s what I just said.”

So, you did get sent back 500 years into the past, into a place that presumably had demons, considering that thing you saw earlier, just like Kagome in Inuyasha.

“500 years? You expect me to believe that?” Shit, you thought, you accidentally said that out loud.

“Just bring me the phone and untie me I can show you.” He looked at you very skeptically. “I’m too injured to fight anyway.”

He grumbled before getting up and crossing the few feet between you. The man kneeled pulling back the smelly cloak and untying your wrists. Then he held out your phone. You tried to take it out of his hands, but his grip tightened around it. Sighing you typed in the passcode and opened the calendar app. “See! June, 2024.”

“Riiight.”

“The stupid circle is rumored to be a portal, right? Why can’t it be a portal to the future or an alternate world, because my world sure as fuck doesn’t have vampires, or that thing that attacked me earlier, and your moon is all wrong!” You nearly yelled, as you grew increasingly frustrated now that the fog in your brain was beginning to clear.

“There’s nothing wrong with my moon. Maybe something is wrong with your moon.” He quipped, earning him a glare. He sighed. “That would explain your clothes and… this thing.” Oh yeah, you were just in shorts and a t-shirt, his cloak was a surprisingly good defense against the cold.

“Could you untie my feet then?”

“Your feet aren’t tied.”

“What do you mean?” You asked in a panic ripping the cloak off of your legs. The sudden shock of the cold against your bare legs was agonizing, but not as shocking as the turnicid wrapped around your leg. Blood was already seeping through the cloth scraps that were used as bandages.

“If you want to live you need to get to town in the morning and clean that.”

Violently shivering you re-wrapped the cloak tightly around you, trying not to care about just how badly it smelled, and closing your eyes tightly willing the tears to not leak out as the panic set in. There was no way you could walk to Cluj in this state, especially not in this time period. Maybe if it was still in your time, when there was an ethnographical park, apartments, etc, but it was like a 30-minute taxi ride from Old Town to here, and you had a bad feeling there wasn’t much to Cluj beyond Old Town in 1474 or 5. The walk would take hours. “Is there still a road that circles the forest that people live on?”

“Not that I’ve seen. But I’m sure someone lives between here and town.”

“…Can you help me to…anywhere? Please, I don’t want to die here.” You looked up meeting the man’s icy blue eyes for the first time.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t mind some ale anyways.” He said longingly. “We’ll leave at first light. You should try to rest. It’s too dark to go now.”

“What are you going to do? Can you sleep without your cloak?” You asked, pulling it tighter around you and curling up into as tight of a ball as your leg would allow.

He shook his head crossing to the other side of the fire. “I’ll keep the fire going and keep watch for more night creatures.”

“Is that what attacked me earlier?”

He nodded.

“What are they exactly?”

“Souls of dead people ripped from Hell and shoved into the corpse of some poor bastard. The process mutilates the body, giving each night creature a uniquely hideous look. But the corpse bit is why that wound needs to be cleaned so badly.” The last sentence sent a shiver down your spine.

You gulped. “Are they common?”

“No. There are very few people who can make them, thankfully.”

“Humans make them?”

“They’re called forge masters.”

“Why? Does it need a forge to pull them from Hell?”

The man shrugged. “No. I honestly have no idea why they’re called that.”

“Huh,” You mused, attempting to get comfortable on the little platform or sticks he built to keep you out of the snow. The shock of being transported in time was beginning to wear off and the exhaustion was quickly setting in. “Thank you for helping me. I’m (y/n).

“Trevor,” he returned with a faint smile.

Despite the pain, you drifted off very quickly. At dawn, you awoke to find Trevor standing over you. “Time to go,” You’d barely had time to process his words before he was grabbing your arm and heaving you off the ground. You crashed into his warm hard body…the terrible smell most definitely belonged to him. “Get on my back”

“What??”

“You cannot walk. Especially not in those shoes.” He pointed at your tennis shoes. “Climb on my back. I’ll carry you.” His words nearly made you swoon. Never did you expect a muscular rugged man with glacial blue eyes and a chiseled jawline to fight a monster, take care of you, then carry you to town. You did manage to control yourself though and silently nodded, climbing on his back. Trevor then hooked his arms under your bare legs, God, you probably looked like you were in underwear to him. After that embarrassing realization, you did your best to wrap the cloak around your legs to protect them from the cold, before laying your head on his shoulder and drifting in and out of sleep.

“By the way.” You said groggily, breaking the silence. “What brings you to Hoia forest? I didn’t think it was a tourist attraction in the Middle Ages.”

“Tourism, here?” He looked over his shoulder at you skeptically.

“Yeah, complete with picnicking families, very few people think it's haunted anymore, at least according to my taxi driver.”

“Hmm.” He grunted. “Your taxi driver, whatever that is, was wrong.”

“Then why are you here?”

He was silent for so long you thought he wouldn’t answer. As you walked you swore you saw children in truly ancient clothing made of animal hides running between the trees and closely watching you, though Trevor did not seem to notice. You’d been so distracted by all the apparitions that when he finally answered you nearly jumped out of your skin. “I got into some trouble in Wallachia…they followed me through Transylvania, so I decided to go where no sane person goes.”

Great, a dangerous criminal. At least he was kind enough to kill that creature from earlier, bandage you up, and help you to town. Maybe he wasn’t that bad, but you were too afraid to ask, especially since he was just a random man in the woods. Still, you had no choice but to trust him under the circumstances. There is no way you could have traversed across the uneven ground and snow without him. You were honestly thankful to have him with you, for all the practical reasons, and because of all the ghosts and shadows watching you. On your way into the forest, you had problems with random anxiety and feeling watched but you never saw anything. Unlike now, where there was something creepy in every direction you looked. Maybe that was the difference between your world and this one… Here all the tales were real.

“What do you keep looking at?” Trevor asked, clearly annoyed by either your frantic head turning or your continually burrowing into him.

“Do you not see them? All the…people running around.” You decided to avoid the word ghost in case they could hear you.

He looked around, clenching his jaw. “I only see trees.”

“Well, I'm sorry to inform you but we’re surrounded by ghosts.”

“Not surprising considering where we are…have you always been able to see ghosts?”

You shook your head. “Nope. First time.”

He grunted. “Any I should be worrying about?”

“They’re just watching, but there is an increasing number of women in their twenties or thirties.”

“Odd” Was all he said as he walked on.

After about twenty more minutes the percentage of women continued to grow. They all watched the two of you from behind the trees. Except one, a woman with long stringy black hair, hollowed cheekbones, and a slit throat suddenly appeared not even 5 feet in front of you. “Stop, you must not go there!” She yelled, before disappearing again.

She’d nearly made you jump off Trevor’s back, but you managed to barely keep your grip. Trevor stopped immediately, his hand leaving your legs to find his weapons. “Where is it? What happened?”

“A-a ghost. She just-just yelled to stop and not go…somewhere…?” You spoke through shaky breaths.

“Well, that’s concerning.”

<3<3<3

I don't have a Trevor/Castlevania tag list so if you want to be on it let me know <3

[xzerosparrowx]

For week seven of @astrangersummer

Prompt: "or maybe we don't." / laugh | wc: 1,061 | Rating: M | cw: drug use, mentions of a dead character (Barbara) | tags: skinny dipping, night swimming, trespassing, inspired by Pablo Neruda, soft love, Steve PoV.

-

like sunshine on skin, a warm blanket in winter.

“... I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you directly without problems or pride: I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love…” - Pablo Neruda (One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII)

The leaves rustle gently in the balmy summer breeze, the hum of crickets and cicadas fill the air like music and in the gentle darkness of a clear night Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson lounge on the rooftop of the Harrington house.

Milky white smoke curls in the air between them, the heady scent of earth, pine, and plum fill their lungs until their limbs are slow and deliberate. The stars are bright and clear, pinpricks of light against the expansive, endless darkness, and in the blue night, Steve cannot help but think that Eddie Munson is beautiful.

“So, you don't like swimming in your own pool?” Eddie breathes out, holding out the blunt for Steve to take.

The hairs on Steve's arm stand on end when the brush against Eddie's fingers is warm and electric. “Yeah,” he says, sucking in the smoke, “I have this dream where I'm in there doing breast stroke or something and every time I come up for air I'd see her sitting at the edge of the pool looking at me.” Steve recalls, taking another hit, holding it out to Eddie.

“Fuck man, that's rough,” Eddie mumbles, bringing the joint to his mouth. They're silent for a few moments, basking in the stillness of night.

Steve can see the jagged scar that cuts into the pale skin of Eddie's jaw, a blooming drop of blood against fresh snow. He knows there are more scars all over Eddie's body, more splatters of blood. Steve has only been able to peek at those ones, glances through partially open bathroom doors, and loose singlets at gigs. He wants to touch all of them, to feel Eddie against his lips, and know that he is warm and alive.

“But other pools you're ok swimming in?” Eddie asks, giving the joint back to Steve.

Steve shrugs “yeah, I guess,” he answers, taking the last hit and stubbing the joint on the tile beneath him.

“Well, that does it then,” Eddie stands, brushing off non-existent dirt from his black jeans.

“What?”

“I feel like going for a swim, and we can't go in the one you see ghosts in,” Eddie explains, climbing through the window that leads into Steve's bedroom.

“Is it Hagan or Carver that's got a pool?” Eddie asks when Steve follows him down the stairs.

“Hagan, but Carver lives near Lovers Lake. I think they got like a dock or something,” Steve rambles. He's still following Eddie, the other boy opening the door to the garage and making a beeline to Steve's bike.

“Lovers Lake can get fucked,” Eddie scoffs, pushing the bike to the garage door just as Steve pushes the button to open it. It's only when Eddie is already halfway down the driveway, swinging a leg over the bike that Steve's brain catches up.

“Hey hey hey hey,” he runs, placing his hands on the handlebars, “or how about maybe we don't go over to Tommy's to use his pool?”

“And why not?”

Steve runs a hand through his hair, the other settling on his hip “shit man, cause it’s the middle of the night. They're gonna be asleep.”

Eddie cackles, bright and loud, a soft look in his eyes as if Steve were a particularly cute puppy “that's kind of the point, Stevie.”

“We don't have any swimming trunks,” Steve adds, not really knowing the point he is trying to make.

“Night swimming and skinny dipping usually go hand in hand, big boy,” Eddie concludes, the large grin on his face softening into something else.

“Ok fine, but I'm dri- I'm gonna be the one riding the bike, you're no-muscle-having-legs won't be able to push the bike with both of us on it.”

Eddie gets off the bike with a bark of laughter, and Steve hops on, taking a large steadying breath when he feels Eddie's hands on his shoulders as the other boy stands on the bike behind him.

It is not a long bike ride. The Hagan's are practically neighbors, separated by a bit of the forest surrounding them. Eddie climbs off, and Steve follows, their footsteps silent as they approach the wooden fence that cuts the backyard off to the rest of the world. Steve watches Eddie climb smoothly over it, and he wonders if the guy has done this before.

Steve lands on the other side without issue, his eyes landing on Eddie, who is already standing by the edge of the pool and toeing off his shoes.

They take off their clothes in silence, casting them aside in a heap until the pair are in nothing but their boxer briefs. Steve's eyes roam the planes of Eddie's torso, the badges of survival pinned all over.

“Steve,” he hears Eddie whisper, the low voice bringing him back so their eyes meet.

It is a slow process, but Steve's heart quickens when Eddie’s ringed hands toy with the waistband of their underwear, his mouth going dry the further Eddie pulls them down. Steve wants to touch. God, he wants to touch him.

“Your turn,” Eddie says, throwing his underwear to the pile of clothes. Steve quickly follows suit, his eyes latched onto Eddie, watching the other boy watching him.

They don't dive in the water. Instead, they slowly slip in, the cool water sending a rush of goosebumps over Steve's skin. They laugh quietly together, breathy and hesitant, the thrill and fear of trespassing and being caught thrumming between them. They swim in circles around each other, a string between them that pulls them closer second by second until they are only a breath away.

Steve cannot look away from Eddie. Not when Eddie closes his eyes. Or when his fingers lightly caress Eddie's jaw. And never when the boy leans into the touch.

“Eddie,” Steve whispers, saying his name like a promise, a confession, a prayer, and permission.

It is not fast or loud. There are no dark clouds of doubt and fear. It is a slow, gentle thing, a truth like golden sunshine against skin, a warm blanket in winter. It is simple and uncomplicated.

Steve loves Eddie.

[for-better-or-verse]

poem for a girl named summer

smog. then blinding sun. rain. sun again. 

look, the flesh of ripened blackberries. we flaunt our stained teeth, you and me, swathed in linen and a hint of narcissus. 

film of sweat gathering at the nape of your neck. you explain the science behind humidity, but all i hear is the delirious cries of a barn owl. 

light sneaks in through the spaces between our fingers as we laugh and laugh and laugh. 

the eddy’s movements are languid, syrupy like the lazy shapes you draw in the sand. there. a flower for me and saturn for you.

later, you tuck your book under your arm and climb onto the greyhound. 

you weren’t made for northern air and cicadas in the dead of night. nor for stars so visible we get drunk on their milky glare. 

i draw the freckle on your knee again, darker now that the days stretch into each other, limbs tangled and damp. you have been kissed by the sun. 

how strange it is to know you so well. 

[pinkmoondoll9shihtzu]

millions pf dragonflies hovering around the air conditioning unit on our roof 2nite , against the milky evening sky , sprinklers & cicadas ambience, summer they could never make me hate u ..

[stardustedknuckles]

None of the pervious cicada pictures were that fabled shade of green I love now. I needed to process the photo a little bit since it was kind of blurry. I went back to take better photos and the little guy had already gone.

But look at this. Milky green. Dew green. The beginning of spring in late August green. It reminds me of the gel pens my best friend and I used to draw on ourselves with when we were six.

[mementomarygold]

I just want to know where the monsters come from -- because the one who tricked kevin and started the colony house massacre said "i didn't choose to be like this" and when they sliced one open it was shriveled but human inside

So these things u s e d to be people

My theory is somehow whatever was happening with the cicadas make the monsters. Just because the screaming and the weird milky eyes

[hankeystoysofficial]

Name: N/A

Race: Sigmaloid

HT: Ranges from 5’7” at smallest to 6’6” on average

WT: Ranges from 126LBS to 200LBS

Cock: Medium to large 14.50” full length with 13” insertable, smooth with humps

Description: The Sigmalites of Cylust 9 are an insectoid humanoid species in the outer rings of the Milky way, they’re Homeworld is actually made of two planetoids circling one star similar to our Sun, but with the planets having a cyclical orbit they’re weather remains consistent throughout the planets surface see Roche limit theory. The species isn’t able to master human languages but sign language and pantomiming has proven successful in intergalactic communication efforts! A surprising spry and light weight species they have very similar human builds in body, with exoskeletons and internal anatomy like our own insects. The primary species seems to be a cross between a praying mantis, grasshopper and other variations of locust like insects from Earth. A highly scientific advanced species they have mastered lightspeed travel and enjoy Earth’s more humid and temperate climates to visit. They do not function in cold weather, as it will make them hibernate. Similar to cicadas they lay their eggs underground on their planet and will not see the new generation of brood for at least 17 Earth years. Once they burst out of their brood horde underground they are full sexual maturity and return to their families. Ranging from large cities to smaller communities that seem to be for elders ready to retire, they do not seem to stop engaging in sexual activity with age, leaving for a large and robust population. Human and Sigmaloid interactions have proven peaceful, beneficial and exciting. They’re hour arms leave no skin or hole unexplored and with such light bodies they are gentle lovers when with much squisher Humans. They’re textured cocks seem to be withdrawn into a cloaca like sheath with upon arousal extend to desired length, it seems sizes can vary depending on receiving partner’s capability. This unique ability seems to leave no one unsatisfied and there are even full inter-species relationships established on both Earth and their home world of Cylust 9. Further studying is required on this researcher's part.

[malina-33]

Single choice

Summary: It’s summer 2022, Nortern Italy, Miles and Alex are on vacation before The Car tour.

And they are happier than ever.

Word count: 3,5k

A/N: I missed the everyday cozy life of their relationship, so I wrote this :) Creative-crisis conversations presented as well, but they don’t take far away from the happy ending. Inspired by "Call me by your name", so for a better atmosphere, I advise you to include this playlist in the background.

Also, English is not my first language, so if you find grammar mistakes, feel free to point them out to me!

Enjoy these two sweeties💕

The wide shirt's hem fluttered in the warm wind, three buttons at the top were casually undone, and the sleeves were carelessly rolled up to the elbows. Alex, covering his eyes, lay on a soft sun lounger under the shade of the terrace's arches of their small villa in Portofino, stretching out his long legs. His chest rose and fell slowly in sleep, while his hands rested relaxed on the armrests. Silken curls played with the gusts of breeze, but surrendering, they fell onto his face and tickled his nose, causing the man to unconsciously wrinkle it like a child.

Miles couldn't take his eyes off this literally biblical scene. "Taking Al away to the Italian Riviera for two weeks before the tour started was my best decision" the man thought smugly. Only God knew when they would be able to spend such peaceful time alone again, without rushing anywhere and hiding from anyone. And now, leaning against a marble column with his hands folded on his chest, Kane smiled until wrinkles formed around his eyes, unable to believe what he was witnessing. These sprawling palm trees in their backyard, the deafening trills of southern birds, the sweet sea air, and a serene tanned Alex in a milky linen suit, quietly dozing off after lunch - all of this was now accessible only to him, Miles, and he savored every second of this vacation that sometimes seemed surreal, like a calm before the storm. But he persistently pushed away such thoughts, continuing to revel in his own paradise.

They had already spent 10 days here, the first 3 of which they didn't venture beyond their plot on the hill, which offered a breathtaking view of the coast and emerald water. They were lingering in bed for a long time under the biting rays of the sun, plucking mandarins straight from the tree, and listening to vinyl records of Celentano on the veranda in the evenings, intertwining in each other's arms, merging and becoming the one. Then, finally realizing that missing the opportunity to stroll through such picturesque streets would be a crime, they started going out in town under the mountain after the sunset, when the heat subsided and the cicadas began their twilight concert. Every time they ordered a new pasta dish in local restaurants, hoping to try them all, but that was Italy...

In the mornings, they descend to the pebble beach, where Alex could lie for hours, reading books, while Miles were snorkeling in the Ligurian Sea, growing tired of waiting for his lover and retaliating by playfully splashing him with cool droplets. They would play in the water like teenagers, dunking each other or taking turns piggybacking. When the sun would started to scorch their skin, they would go to the local deli for ready-made lasagna with eggplant, always getting a few types of cannoli, new bottle of wine, olives and fruits. They would then retreat to their villa for the rest of the day, either playing the guitar, the only one they brought from their stuffy LA studio, or playing board games (for which Miles constantly called Alex "nonno," while he calmly continued to roll the dice), or falling asleep under the shade of the leafy trees right on the grass.

Miles hadn't laughed so often and so loudly, and more importantly, so genuinely, since their last joint tour. He felt an immense universal joy that was bursting from his chest, causing his cheeks to ache from the ever-present smile on his face. He felt alive next to the dearest and only person who truly understood him, which Alex had been for the past 17 years.

"How have we put up with each other for so long, Milo?" Turner laughed, finishing his glass of semi-sweet red wine.

And Kane replied seriously, capturing his alcohol-glistening gaze: "I no longer know how to live without you, Al."

And it was the absolute truth. They often had conversations like this, but Alex never actually put up with Miles, he did love him. He only put up with being apart from him. And it was always important for both of them to hear this small confession, like a spark of a cricket in the foliage, but a heart-wrenching one, even after a year, or 10, or 20 years of their relationship.

Relationship? Friendship, love, presence by each other's side, support, musical inspirations, passionate desires, care, hurt, forgiveness, kisses, hugs backstage and on stage, touches all over their bodies, eloquent glances, and ending with a single word proposals. That's what their relationship was. And if Miles were offered to never be a musician but to love Alex, he would still agree without any hint of hesitation, somewhere deep inside bitterly realizing that if Alex were faced with such a choice, he would have to think about it.

But at this moment, Miles didn't want to think about it at all, he only wanted to listen to his lover's steady breathing and bask in the fading sunlight with him. Miles walked around the column and silently sat down on the edge of the lounge chair. He lightly ran his hand over Turner's knee, not wanting to disturb, and then traced chiseled fingers slightly higher, along his thigh. However, even these gentle movements made Alex squirm, furrowing his brow and rolling over to the other side.

"Shh, sleep, my dear, I didn't mean to wake you," Miles whispered, soothingly continuing to stroke the man's leg.

"But I'm already awake," mumbled Alex sleepily, opening his eyes and immediately squinting in the bright light.

"What a shame," Kane sang mockingly, secretly delighted by this fact because he had missed Alex during the silence at their villa and mindless wandering through the rooms while he slept in the fresh air, "Will you move over?".

Alex squeezed himself into the corner of the lounge chair, making space as much as the single bed allowed. Miles approached him with a cunning smile, lying on his side, unable to fit his broad shoulders on the mattress even if he was alone, and invitingly opened his palms. Turner simply snorted and muttered something about a smug cat, pressing his back against Miles' contrasting cool chest compared to the scorching heat outside, covering man's hand that rested peacefully on his waist with his own, and intertwining their legs.

"So, you woke me up just to sleep together all cramped up? I don't want to anymore," Alex slowly stroked Miles' wrists, who closed his eyes in pleasure.

"Mmm, I just got bored being alone, you've been sleeping forever!"

"Mi, maybe an hour and a half at most," Turner said in a lecturing tone, turning slightly to give Kane a disapproving look.

"Well, I call that forever. Anyway, since you're already awake, let's think about our plans for the evening," Kane quickly changed the subject, kissing Alex's back of the neck, "I saw a poster for a local concert in the neighboring town. We can rent a scooter to get there, it's just a few kilometers away."

Alex burst out laughing at the last words, turning in his lover's embrace and almost touching noses with him.

"Oh, Kane, you don't even have a driver's license! And the fact that I rode 100 meters on it in a clip means nothing."

"We'll figure it out somehow, it can't be more difficult than tuning a guitar for the first time."

"Well, since I have such an experienced and confident driver, I can't deny myself the pleasure," Turner teased, pouting his lips and furrowing his brows like a college girl.

"Gosh, how cheap that sounds, Al. Those are second-rate tricks from middle school. Did I teach you to flirt like that?" Miles rolled his eyes, hiding a smile in the corners of his mouth.

"No, I think we just fucked right away," Alex retorted, immediately receiving a playful jab in the ribs, "Hey! Am I lying?"

"Do I need to remind you who first put his knee between my legs in the dressing room, huh?" Miles smirked, tucking Alex's overgrown locks behind his ear and stroking his slightly stubbled cheek. He looked angelically peaceful now, despite his unholy words.

"And do you regret it?" Seeing the silent denial, he continued, "Well, neither do I. So you don't need to teach me how to flirt, maestro. If we want to find a free scooter before sunset, we need to start getting ready. I was also planning to take a shower," Alex casually mentioned, slyly avoiding eye contact and running his hand suggestively along Miles' waist.

"Well, that's better already, at least the hints are subtler, but you've lost your touch. I'll have to remind you."

"Oi, you better do it indeed" Turner whispered in his ear. Honestly, he was amused at how they, two grown adults, were behaving as soon as intimacy was mentioned - it was like they were back in 10th grade of the school.

Once he calmed down, he reluctantly slipped out of the warm embrace and gracefully got up from the sun lounger, stretching and rising on tiptoes to better loosen his stiff limbs. Miles settled himself more comfortably, royally occupying the vacant spot and propping his head on his hand, watching Turner's toned body with a hungry gaze. He could do this for hours, knowing every mole, wrinkle, and scar.

"What are you looking at? Trying to find gray hairs?" Unable to withstand his scrutinizing eyes, the frontman softly spoke. Now he had his hands in the pockets, exposing his face to the sun and wind, which cautiously peeked onto the veranda through massive columns. Somewhere far below, the sound of the waves and children's laughter could be heard. Idyllic.

"It's too early for you to worry about that. I just can't get enough of looking at you. Clearly, this lifestyle suits you well, even though I fattened you up a bit, considering you were all skin and bones when you arrived."

"Afraid of breaking me?"

"I am," Miles admitted, not completely sure if he interpreted the question correctly. Turner smiled disarmingingly, the way he only smiled at him, leaned in, still keeping his hands in pockets, and planted a chaste kiss on the man's forehead before disappearing through the door.

"Catch up, or I'll manage without you," Alex said over the shoulder, fully aware that he wouldn't be able to handle anything without Miles. Not in life, not in the shower.

***

Comparing guitar tuning and riding a scooter turned out to be inappropriate, as Miles pointed out rather immodestly, getting behind the wheel, because the second one was elementary. During their short ride along the coast, Alex couldn't stop capturing breathtaking views with his vintage Canon. The peach-colored waves gently licked the shore, competing with each other for ownership of every stone on the beach, while the numerous bushes along the road swayed in the wind.

The neighboring town turned out to be Santa-Margherita-Ligure, welcoming the men with the warm glow of lights strung between each café and the loud Italian laughter that didn't quiet down until late at night. Leaving their mean of transport on the waterfront, they headed towards the main square, where light jazz melodies could already be heard. Ordinary chairs stood right on the historical cobblestones, occupying almost all the space, and a small mobile stage had been set up in the center, where musicians were tuning their instruments.

Taking seats in the corner of the front row, the men waited for the performance to begin.

"Have you forgotten what it's like to be on the other side of the stage?" Miles whispered, his lips almost touching Alex's ear.

"Sometimes I even prefer it here," Turner sadly smiled, "no obligations, masks, rehearsed lines, or unjustified expectations. You just exist in the music without thinking about how to reproduce it. I miss that."

Kane anxiously studied Alex's face from the side, trying to understand if he was speaking in a state of creative melancholy inspired by the upcoming concert or if he was simply revealing his deep pain that had burdened him all this time.

"Hey, I didn't mean to put you into existential ponderings. We can talk about it if it really bothers you, but not now. I purposely brought you here to relax and spend these last days with an empty mind, not to reflect on one careless question"

Miles didn't condemn him, but rather tried to hide his own anxiety behind a feigned admonition. He gently squeezed Alex's hand, caressing his knuckles with his thumb, and warmly smiled, knowing that this was the only support he could offer in public.

"Sorry-sorry-sorry," Alex babbled, running his hands forcefully over his face and organizing his thoughts, "forget about those words, we'll come back to it another time. You can hit me if I utter another sad-philosophical phrase that upsets you tonight."

Miles only laughed at that, patting his friend's knee, and, unable to resist, left an unnoticed kiss on his cheek, indicating that he would never fulfill his request in their lifetime.

Lost in conversations, they hadn't noticed that all the chairs had been taken and the band on stage was counting down seconds until the performance began, tightly gripping their bows in their hands. The increasingly suspenseful sound of the violin filled the entire square, eliciting sudden shivers from the audience and instantly isolating them from the rest of the world. Alex's full attention was now focused on the five people on stage, the sound that seemed to exist right in his head, and the melting night air. Rarely could he simply enjoy the melody without trying to dissect it into notes or analyze the lyrics.

Miles usually smoothed out the crease between his eyebrows that arose from such contemplation with a kiss, and he was ready to do it now, but as his gaze slid across the side of the face, he unexpectedly saw a serene smile on partially open lips. Turner leaned back in his chair, holding his hands between his thighs and slightly covering his eyes, which indicated his complete absence in our reality and his presence in his own, understood only by him and undoubtedly bringing him pleasure.

The concert lasted only an hour, not abundant in a wide repertoire. Towards the end, young men and women, children, and even racy grandmothers and grandfathers stood up from their seats to dance right in the square, laughing loudly at their clumsiness. Alex and Miles only watched this scene with warm smiles, tapping their feet rhythmically on the stone pavement, not wanting to attract unnecessary attention to themselves. The clock on the tower, located on the western side of the square, as was customary in all ancient city planning laws, struck 10 o'clock exactly at the moment when the musicians, in the heat of the final chord, sharply raised their bows towards the pitch-black sky, ending the performance. The square drowned in applause and whistling, evoking familiar motives from men's careers.

The air intoxicated their heads, and not wanting to return back so early, they turned into the depths of the city. Turner continued to photograph the local architecture and Miles against its backdrop with mocking skill, not allowing the camera to hang peacefully on his chest for more than two minutes. And when tourists would disappear from their sight, Kane with the agility of a cheetah would press Alex against the nearest wall of another you-know-who-lived-in-this-house-you-lustful-bastard building, pulling him into a tempting kiss and, despite all protests about his indifference to history, smiled contentedly on his lips, feeling Alex pull him closer by the collar of his leopard-print shirt.

They would laugh drunkenly, without drinking a glass, immediately receiving Italian curses from open balconies in response. They would play tag on narrow streets, after which they breathed heavily, resting their elbows on thr knees and joking about their advanced age. They would eat mango ice cream, licking the sweet drips from each other's fingers, and would never stop thinking for a moment about how lucky they are to be loved here and now.

***

They returned to the villa at midnight, exhausted from their long walk, hastily discarding their sticky clothes as they collapsed onto the unmade bed. Alex, resting his chin on Miles' chest, looked at him with such devoted eyes that Miles' heart skipped a beat at the impossibility of resisting those bottomless depths. In the moonlight, his sharp features softened, Alex's fingers gently tracing along the line of his jaw, while a warm smile lingered beneath his closed eyelids, etching itself into Miles' memory with fiery strokes.

"Mi, are you asleep?" Alex asked in a barely audible voice, listening to the rhythm of Miles' heartbeat beneath his cheek.

"No," Miles replied just as softly, shifting slightly on the crisp sheets to find a more comfortable position.

"Do you remember what I told you today about not feeling freedom in music?" Alex continued, as if afraid to disturb his own thoughts, "well, I realized just now that I'm the one closing myself off from it. But you know when? When you're not here. I'm tired of pretending to be someone else without you, tired of feeling not myself without you. And today, there on the square, when you were holding my hand, it hit me that since we met, no one else has come this close to me. You were and still are the only person who truly knows me. Can you imagine?" His voice broke into a hoarse laughter that, truth be told, sounded hauntingly beautiful in the peaceful silence.

"No one really knows me except for you. And I've been afraid to show my true self to anyone but you. But today, for the first time in a long while, I was able to listen to music without thinking about anything else but your fingers on my hands. And I realized," he paused, unconsciously gripping Miles' shoulder tighter, "I realized that I can perform on stage, just thinking about your hands, and then I won't have to try to hide behind a fabricated image to entertain the audience. Damn it, at 36 years old, I've come to the realization that I can simply sing without pouring my own problems into the songs, but instead, just give people the sound. A sound that resonates in their minds, in their feet and hands, a sound that makes them feel alive. I can make at least one of their days truly happy, just like you make my life happy simply by being with me."

Throughout this entire time, Miles never removed his nimble fingers from Alex's head, combing through his hair and soothing him. He could listen to his voice forever, automatically arranging the words into lines for new songs. The sight of Alex — until it stole the air from his lungs, until it brought tears to his eyes, until his pulse faltered in his veins, until a volcano of warmth erupted in his chest. Until he feels alive again.

"Al, if you haven't realized in 20 years of performing what you do for the lives of everyone who attends your concerts, then I'm going to have to enlighten you now," Miles chuckled softly, continuing to massage his head, "everything you've done for the industry is your way of existing in this world. You don't know any other ways, and that's your strength, not weakness. Your music is literally you, it's not about trends or fan requests. It's about how you communicate with others. You have an incredible gift of conveying intangible values through your lyrics. I have no idea how the gears in your mind work, but damn it, you're exceptional. And I swear, anyone who has ever heard any of your songs has pondered the words, thought about what you wanted to say, and ultimately thought about themselves. Your music has meaning, it's not just a string of letters for the sake of rhyme. It's a dictionary of your life. And since the day we first met, I've been carefully studying all your meanings and embodiments, so my music is about you and for you. You are my only inspiration, and if all you need to write a new song is a notebook and an image in your mind, then all I need is you by my side."

Miles may have wanted to add something more, but unable to bear the weight of such declarations of love, Alex impatiently kissed him, exhaling loudly from the fulfillment of a desire that had been building throughout his entire speech. Kane, quickly finding another activity for his tongue besides talking, trailed it along Alex's lower lip, feeling every crack from the salty water.

Alex smiled like a child, whispering 'I lovelovelove you' into his man's lips, continuously running palms along his cheeks. They continued to gaze at each other for a long time, carrying on a quiet conversation interrupted by occasional kisses, shivers down the spine, and tearful thank yous for everything. Even the stars, cautiously peering through the open windows, blushed at their whispers under the thin blanket. Only with the first rays of sunlight, when words ran out and lips swelled from endless contact, men finally fall asleep in a tangle of intertwined arms and legs.

And if Alex were offered to never be a musician but to love Miles, he would without hesitation write a song about it. Because it would be meaningless to confront the person with a choice who made it 17 years ago.

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A/N: I sincerely want to believe that this is how everything really happened for them. All in all, these two deserve a happy ending. I will be incredibly happy if you leave feedback after reading! Everything that was born in my head would very much like to find a response in you💔🥺

[drunkdumbfucker]

"These modern AU fics" where Legolas's elfish sleeping habit is translated by some deep-rooted insomnia and he's so obsessed with the stars and constellations and beautiful blankets that night puts over his head, he can't sleep he can't ever miss any dark-ink sky every purple waves as the sun goes to sleep and every peach dunes as the moon gives her farewells, disappearing for a nap with a last caress to her diligent guardian's cheek. Legolas will fight leagues of exhaustion, enamoured with his eery moon and beautiful sketches etched in bright and as they say about the night sky in True Detective "once there was only dark, if you ask me the light is winning." and the light will always win as long as Legolas is around to keep watch and it's truly terrible because somehow Legolas feels like if he sleeps stars will die alone and the single thought of it makes his heart burn oh! they have to be grieved! he wears the stars on his shoulders they are as light as his love for Gimli but as heavy as his eyelids when it gets too much, weighting tons of eons of empty graves his little stars have all died. And indeed finally, at one point, it's all too much for the Moon's lonely warrior, the shield has cracked, coffee can drip again and again it's not enough now, he has to sleep, because the moon and stars and Legolas have all encountered their deadliest and greatest ennemy.

One night, instead of hearing cicadas, dancing leaves, warm breezes, Legolas hears the sea. The One Sea. A sea that calls in his bones, waves that rattle in his chest, blood drenched in salt and instead of keeping watch, Legolas falls asleep. It is much worse than a siren song, not quite a lullaby, deadlier than a war horn, it holds him sharp in a warm embrace. Legolas falls asleep on his garden chair, drowned by a yawn, longing for a sea only the dead can see.

In the morning, Gimli finds him there, stumbles at the sight, his chest clenched by dread. His Legolas is asleep. It's the first time in the two decades they have known each other that Gimli falls witness to such palor on his partner's face, golden eyelashes casting unheard shadows. His Legolas's long thin stretched limbs who sleeps more and more unbeknownst to his worried moon and stars.

When he wakes, shaken by murmured sweet-nothings, it feels like he's in a glass cage, the dry sand and the seagulls and the taste of ozone is a quiet echo from his dreams but, worse than being prisoner, Legolas realizes, there's an opaque roof over his head blinding him from the milky way and planets and comets. From now on, he's stranded, will only witness moons and stars behind closed eyes!!!!!! BECAUSE HE'S GOT SEA-LONGING MOTHERFU-

Stopping right here caus-

Stopping here caus it hurts

"Gimli was still deep in slumber, but Legolas was standing, gazing northwards into the darkness, thoughtful and silent as a young tree in a windless night." (p.554)

[aozoranoshita]

park rangering at night

when I left the visitor center at 5 it was overcast but the astronomy club had emailed that there was a 50/50 chance it would clear out according to the weather forecast so some of them are planning to show up tonight. 50/50 chance is the Worst weather forecast possible, might as well flip a coin it gives me zero information, but it's such a common forecast in the south in the summer I don't even bother to check the weather most days. if it rains it's a pleasant surprise, until sometimes it's not a rainstorm it's a hurricane and I hadn't noticed until I try to go to the grocery store and all the ingredients for milk sandwiches are sold out.

anyway leaving my house at around 8:30 to walk back down towards the center of the park, it's dark out. last time I did this a month ago it was still light outside at this time but the days have gotten shorter. I have my hurricane lamp (meant for camping but I use it when the power blows in those surprise summer storms) and it is DARK so I'm using the most powerful beam to sweep the sand path as I walk for murderers or wild hogs or whatever else could be in the woods in the dark. have to pass the cemetery to get to the field where the astronomers (in theory) are set up, which creeps me out every time because one of the graves has some solar powered lights next to it that glow for a few hours after the sun goes down. I know what they are but still, seeing them makes me think of ghosts. I don't even believe in ghosts, but it is awfully dark.

I switch my lamp to the red lowlight setting so I don't mess up any astrophotography as I approach the field. I can see two sets of red lights, so two of the promised astronomers have shown up at least. everyone else called it with the threat of cloud cover. but now as my eyes are adjusting I notice hey, the clouds DID move out. I can definitely see stars. I wander up and it's two guys I know, so we exchange pleasantries and I turn off my light and listen to them murmur over their telescope equipment. "hey," I say after a moment, "hey. that's the milky way, right?" the three of us look up and it sure is.

it's been said before it's been said before it's been said before but how to describe the stars in the sky? there's a band of misty haze running north-south across the black. there's a dark gap in the middle, one of the astronomers says something about a dust band and I'll take his word for it. they talk to each other about the milky way going "right through cygnus and cassiopeia" which I recognize as a swan and a princess but gun to my head I couldn't point out the actual constellations. they go back to their equipment, every so often just saying "wow!!" because again, what else can you say? the band of it is fairly defined to the south towards the forest, and it reaches grasping towards the north before it dissipates into the light pollution of the city thirty minutes away from us. while the astronomers look through their scopes at globular clusters ("check out m15, you can see why messier thought it was a comet") I am standing head all the way back trying to see as much of the sky as possible.

it's easy to tell apart the things that move, airplanes flashing while satellites and debris maintain a steady, unblinking pace as smaller dots. I get the occasional shooting star ("meteor" I say out loud for the professionals) distinctive with their arcing flash and quick disappearance. there's a thick ring of trees all around us so the horizon isn't visible, but it's kind of like there are stars there anyway because the last tenacious fireflies of the season are bobbing along and flashing their lights intermittently. there's also the steady droning of hordes upon hordes of cicadas, and the frogs singing of course, and a lone barred owl somewhere. it makes me think of another ranger I worked with in the mountains who could imitate the call perfectly. with my head tilted all the way back I am baring my neck to the natural vampire of the swamp, the mosquito. they're not as bad as they could be, with all the rain we've gotten recently, but I do have to wave an arm around every so often and the disruption in the air makes their buzzing go confused and almost indignant at the foiled attempt to bleed me dry.

so I'm slightly itchy and extremely sweaty. breathing in I might as well be breathing underwater, and of course the smell and taste of the air is like pond scum and rotting leaves, a little sweet a little earthy a lot WET. knowing it would be a small crowd I am dressed down and not in full uniform but still in long sleeves long pants so there's less surface area available for biting bugs. after an hour and half standing up head back I have a crick in my neck and my clothes are sweat through, so I make one more round of admiring noises with the astronomers and leave them to it.

trudging back up the path I notice it runs north-south, parallel with the milky way right above me. to the west the big dipper has been gradually making it's way down to the horizon, like someone is very slowly lowering it into the waters of the swamp. I wait as long as possible to turn my flashlight back on, make it a decent way into the woods before even my adjusted night vision can't make up for the trees blocking the starlight above me. plus the cemetery is coming up. with the light on I can tell a large deer has come through since I came down, hoofprints in the sand. thinking about animals of the deep dark woods when I walk back into my house and am immediately accosted by three cats wondering what the hell I was doing out there. they want dinner. the lights of my house are practically blinding. I chug a glass of lemonade to get the swamp taste out of my mouth and go to feed the cats.

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Think too hard about Paras and you'll have nightmares

For many of us, Parasect was the first time we learned how fucked up and dark Pokémon can be if you overthink it.

As Paras it's a cutesy little cicada nymph / hermit crab creature with some adorable mushrooms growing on it, but upon evolution its eyes turn milky white and the fungus overtakes the entire body, rendering it little more than a set of mindless zombie legs for the mushroom invader.

It's based on the life-cycle parasitic cordyceps fungus (paras-ite, you see the pun) which famously mind controls ants while eating them alive from the inside, which is not only evidence that there is no god and that we are alone in an amoral universe, but also a surprisingly fucked up concept to stick in a game based entirely on having fun adventures with your adorable animal pals. Hey kids, catch a Paras and you'll get to watch your friend slowly lose its sentience and die right in front of your eyes. Rated E for Everyone!

All of that went completely over my head as a kid, of course, so it's not like it's actually traumatizing, and as an adult I think this concept and its execution is actually really fucking cool and one of the most interesting ideas in the original 151 monsters.