#//magic and fairies and ghosts and death

[thelegendofeowyn]

There's this comic I LOVE called Crow Time.

The author, secondlina, often posts comics on Tumblr, but I couldn't find the specific comic I want to talk about, so here is the link:

In this comic, secondlina refers to will-o'-the-wisps as omens of death. I hadn't come across this characterization of wisps, so I did some digging, and found a couple things:

1. "Corpse-candles"

We hear the following from William Wells Newell:

"First may be mentioned the so-called " corpse-candles," supposed to precede and prognosticate a death. If luminous appearances of the sort issue from the room of a sick person, and are seen to enter the churchyard, it is taken for granted that the illness will be fatal, and that the sufferer will shortly be borne to his rest along the path followed by the apparition. The movement of the flame answers to that which may be expected from the living man; if the pace be brisk, as that of a youth skipping or running, the death of a child is indicated; if slow and even, of an elderly person. In this case the vision is, so to speak, a present reflection of the future event; inasmuch as it formerly was usual to inter by night, and in consequence torches or candles were borne by the mourners, such lamps belong to the funeral procession, which appears in an anticipatory reflex."

(Basically, that wisps appear as actual harbingers of death and light the way to the churchyard where a sick person will soon be buried after they die.)

2. Spirits of the Dead

I have found that wisps have also been called the spirits of the dead, with variations being

someone who tricked the devil and therefore could enter neither heaven nor hell when they died*

someone who moved a landmark

unbaptized infants

dishonest land surveyors

*There's a huge number of stories mentioning this phenomenon, so many that it is a folkloric motif (ATU 330).

So, the connections between wisps and death is strong enough that some people would say wisps have a stronger correlation to ghosts than to fairies. That's something I have encountered in a few of the abovementioned sources, but I feel like there's a lot more research to be done in that regard. I'm more than willing to take on that monstrous task!

[gollancz]

Guys. Christmas is coming. Consumerism is in the driver's seat and GAWD don't I know about the existential ennui of all these faceless corporations trying to schill you their wares. It's cold. Impersonal. Bleak.

So I, a fellow tumblr user, will instead try to schill you MY wares, so that when you purchase these items you can say "Hey, that person from tumblr worked on this", and feel the warmth of HUMAN CONNECTION in a way that is completely normal and not parasocial at all. We really are friends. I promise. Yes, you. Love you, bestie. Remember the boop war? Good times. Fond memories.

THIRTEEN STOREYS and FAMILY BUSINESS by Jonathan Sims

Tumblr's favourite Nightmare Factory @jonnywaistcoat has two novels out and they're phenomenal horror that also punch you in the throat with SOCIAL COMMENTARY and FEELINGS. He's so adept at tapping into the specific part of my brain that feels fear like a small child - not the adult creepy scared that I normally get around horror, but specifically the kind of fear that almost freezes your limbs and vocal chords with a terror you don't quite understand because there is so much in the world that you don't know, but you know that somehow this thing might be quick enough or smart enough or sneaky enough to get you before you can get to the safety of your parents sort of fear.

THIRTEEN STOREYS is a haunted house novel, but set in a refurbished block of flats. Each chapter follows a different resident being haunted in a different way, with a style to match the flavour of ghost. It's all tied together phenomenally and brutally.

FAMILY BUSINESS is a story about ghosts in a different way, following a woman who joins a post-mortem house cleaning service while grieving the death of her best friend. But as she removes the stains from the houses of the dead, she begins to suspect something else is removing even more.

Both of these titles are available from Gollancz worldwide!

THE LAST UNICORN, THE WAY HOME, THE INNKEEPER'S SONG and A FINE AND PRIVATE PLACE by Peter S. Beagle

Obviously Peter's work needs no introduction, and our editions aren't available in the US and Canada, but I've had a wonderful time working with Peter and his team to bring these beautiful books back to the UK. Meeting him at Worldcon this year was such a magical moment, and he was jet-lagged and I had gone through sleep deprived into hyper and was bringing an Extremely Weird Energy to every interaction I had that day, resulting in this photo:

THE LAST UNICORN and THE WAY HOME are a matched pair of wonderful fairy stories. THE WAY HOME has two novellettes in it, and the first - 'Two Hearts' - won the Hugo award. It will also destroy you.

A FINE AND PRIVATE PLACE was Peter's first ever novel, and it's wistful and romantic and so beautiful.

THE INNKEEPER'S SONG is his epic fantasy quest, it's an adventure story that reads almost lyrically. Also there's an orgy in the middle which caught me by surprise when I was reading it for the first time on the train into work.

HIGH VAULTAGE by Chris and Jen Sugden

It's possible that someone on this website doesn't know I was involved with this book but don't worry, I will HUNT THEM DOWN AND TELL THEM. This is the first book I took all the way through the editorial process from end to end and I am SO PROUD of it and Chris and Jen and their wonderful world of @victoriocity. Officially one of the seven funniest books published in the UK this year, shortlisted for the Wodehouse Prize for Comic Fiction. It's a chaotic, bonkers murder mystery set in an alternate Victorian London which is the most gleeful dystopia I have ever encountered.

Featuring:

Grumpy Sunshine besties

The Victorian Equivalent of the Chuck Norris Meme

A robot who undertook a course in People Management

An indefatigable beagle

This is another book that you can get from Gollancz all over the world, and you SHOULD because it's amazing. Go into your local bookshop and ask them to order it into stock. It's a great Christmas present. It's my firstborn book baby (like that's a completely normal thing to say when I didn't even write it). Also if you're a fan of the podcast, why not tell the Guardian how great it is, and make a nuisance of yourself until they review. (I would, but the form asks for your name and then they'd know I didn't suddenly discover Victoriocity this year. Either that or think I was a very careless editor.) If you've not listened to the podcast yet, you absolutely should. It pings all my Douglas Adams receptors in the best way. If you like HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE, if you like CABIN PRESSURE, VICTORIOCITY is the perfect addition.

HAMMAJANG LUCK by Makana Yamamoto

SLIGHTLY cheating because HAMMAJANG LUCK isn't out in North America until January (pre-orders make great Christmas presents guys), but it IS out in the UK and the rest of the world next week! This is my second big editorial project and it's a Big Gay Space Heist ft. disaster lesbians, trans characters, and a tech billionaire getting put in his place. It's joyous and energetic and crammed full of Hawaiian pidgin as a love letter to the diaspora. @makana-yama is a phenomenal writer and this is their love letter to their communities, families both born and found, while also a statement on the victims of gentrification (and how those are disproportionally BIPOC communities). PLUS:

friends to enemies to cautious allies to lovers

trans cyborgs

Suck It Space Elon

You know that One Scene in Charlie's Angels where Cameron Diaz is in the white body suit and breaking into the safe and has to stretch out to hit two buttons at once? Yeah. That's the vibe.

Being able to work with Makana is a delight, and HAMMAJANG tapped into all the feelings I got watching LEVERAGE for the first time, so I went to watch it again while I was editing. Also OCEAN'S 8.

DEEP BLACK by Miles Cameron

So, barring Branderson, Miles Cameron may be one of our most prolific authors. He writes a minimum two books a year, one SFF and one historical fiction (as Christian Cameron) and he is... An absolute phenomenon. He IS the Chuck Norris meme. I'm obsessed with him. He's former US military intelligence turned naturalised Canadian Hippy, has written over fifty novels, can turn his hand to any genre and write it fantastically, is a practical archaeologist - running large scale re-enactments from a variety of periods ranging from Bronze Age right the way up to the Victorian era, using traditional techniques to allow academics to study how the practicalities of weapons, clothes, food etc. would have worked in practice. Two years ago he won a medieval combat tournament in Verona, a clear ten years older at least than the next oldest competitor, he teaches Historical European Martial Arts, but ties it into the history of martial arts globally. He can make his own clothes, ink, leatherwork. He's a ballet dancer. I once took him for a day out and he ended it in a different shirt and shoes from the ones he'd started in. I asked him for an author photo and he sent me this:

DEEP BLACK is the sequel to his critically acclaimed SF debut ARTIFACT SPACE, where he has taken his research and experience of global historical cultures and extrapolated to create an interplanetary future where the best of all are celebrated. And then Aliens Happen. And then, in reaction, Capitalism Happens (which is covered in the short story collection BEYOND THE FRINGE).

He's such a thoughtful and erudite speaker, if you're curious about his work, I'd recommend listening to his episodes on the Friends Talking Fantasy podcast, and also his appearance on The Publishing Rodeo.

If SF isn't your bag, he's also got:

Arthurian fantasy

Bronze Age fantasy

Medieval Mages fantasy

A CURSE OF CROWS - Lauren Dedroog

I actually inherited Lauren when a colleague of mine departed for fresh pastures, which gave me the great opportunity to work on this series which is so vastly different from my usual fare. It's epic, sweeping, romantic and lush, with such detailed description and complex political machinations, while also being brutal, dark and heavy (tw: for sexual assault, torture etc, etc.). If you like Sarah J Maas and Cassandra Clare, this should hit the sweet spot. Lauren is an ICU nurse when not writing, and this was somehow created when she was putting in a million hours in hospitals during COVID. The feat boggles my mind.

A CURSE OF CROWS is out now in the UK, Australia and Europe, and it won the People's Choice for Standaard Boek's Book of the Year award in 2023, in her home country of Belgium. It will be hitting shelves in North America next September! A DANCE OF SERPENTS is where I get to pick up the editorial mantle, and that has just landed in my inbox this week so I am excited to dig in.

Featuring:

Harold, they're lesbians

Murder baby is actually a cinnamon roll

Sensitive wings are sexy

For serious, though, I'm lucky enough to work with a lot of authors I'm genuinely obsessed and astounded by. And yes, I do get to work on Joe Abercrombie, Brandon Sanderson and Andrzej Sapkowski, but they're not MY authors - they're led by the incredible Gillian and Marcus who I'm not 100% certain sleep. There are so many people on the Gollancz list who I could recommend for DAYS (and will, if you so request), but this is my stable of superstars.

[aranarumei]

honestly I think part of what makes the early parts of fairy tail so compelling to me is like. everyone’s repressing something. like you meet our fun and relatable viewpoint character, lucy, and she joins this fun and quirky guild, fairy tail!

and then it’s like. gray is haunted by guilt about the death of ur and also by the way he grew up with this guy named lyon. erza escaped this abusive cult building the tower of heaven and also that guy is on the magic council. a guy wearing the same exact face is a prince from a different world. mirajane and elfman’s grief over lisanna’s death. loke on a ticking clock until his eventual death. cana’s the secret daughter of gildarts. like the lisanna stuff, lucy didn’t know because she wasn’t there, but with everything else it’s like. they just don’t ever Talk abt it but they’re haunted by it nonetheless. I think the early intricacy for the setup and payoff of these reveals and resolving these character’s ghosts really makes early fairy tail stand out to me.

[vnti-vnxiety-recs]

Serenade of the Damned (M)

★ PAIRING: Pied Piper! Haechan x Little Red! Reader

☆ WORD COUNT: 10k

★ GENRE(S): Dark fantasy AU, Dark Fairy Tale AU. Magic. Smut, enemies to ??

☆ SUMMARY: The Pied Pier was one of the most feared folk legends of your time. Little did you know he was real and was coming to take your life. You, who was known as the wolfhunter, realized that the hunter had become the hunted.

★ ☆ WARNINGS: mature themes. Minor character death, knifes, blood, violence, alcohol, unprotected sex, gangs, threats, killing, 18+, MDNI

☆★ NOTES: Hallo! This is something that is totally different from my usual writing style, so im a little nervous to debut this, but im so excited because this concept was so freaking cool. I've been sitting on this for a while, but I thought it would be best to post in oct to fit the Halloween spirit. See the request that inspired it here.

Glossary Changelings- a shapeshifting race of beings that are related to the fey Tiefling- a humanoid race with devilish ancestry. They are known for their large horns, extravagant appearance, and carefree attitude Halfling- A halfling isn't a half-breed in that sense. They are their own separate race. They're called halfling because they're about half the size of a human. Half-Elf- A race that has a mix of human and elf traits Half-Orc- A race that has a mix of human and orc traits Harengon- race of rabbit-like humanoids Half-Harengon- A race that has a mix of human and harengon traits

In a quaint, shadowy town, where cobblestones whispered secrets and fog clung to alleyways, the figure of the Pied Piper emerged like a ghost from the depths of folklore. Clad in a tattered cloak, his features were obscured by the dim light of the moon, but the shimmer in his brown eyes betrayed a glimmer of mischief. To the townsfolk, he was more legend than man; a cunning sorcerer with the rare gift of crafting melodies so mesmerizing that they can lure even the most elusive creatures from the depths of their dens.

But behind his charisma lay a tale steeped in darkness—a story of pain that turned sweet melodies into lethal harmonies. The legend goes that the Piper had once been a simple musician, beloved for his ability to summon the gentle creatures of the forest with a mere note. But after tragedy left him scarred, his music dulled into a haunting echo of vengeance. Now, he used it to lure unsuspecting victims to their brutal demise.

He made his way toward the shadows of the town, the air thick with the anticipation of a storm. His target tonight was none other than the famed wolf hunter, Little Red. Much like him, numerous tales whispered through the streets about this legendary wolf slayer. He didn’t care; all he knew was that someone wanted you dead and was willing to pay a pretty penny for it. With each step, he breathed in the electric air, a smirk playing on his lips, ready for the deadly dance that awaited. 

Once upon a time…

There was a girl raised with cruelty. Some say she was raised by wolves. She knew nothing but brutality and lies as she grew up. Her family was ruthless and cold.

At a young age, she didn’t grasp the true nature of their business, but she sensed it was far from safe. Whispers of peddling girls and dirty money surrounded her family’s name, wrapping around it like a dark shroud, leaving a bitter taste in the mouths of those who spoke of them.

That girl was you.

You would come to learn that your parents were merely puppets, with someone behind them pulling the strings of their misdeeds. Like a fool, you were a puppet's puppet. You ran their errands, cleaned up their messes, and shouldered their burdens, enduring their brutal beatings when something went wrong.

One day, everything changed. 

You came home to an empty house, silence swallowing you whole. They had abandoned you, cutting their strings and fleeing with their puppeteers' money, leaving you behind in a world that was already merciless enough.

It wasn’t long before your grandmother found you, just before the bruisers came looking for you and your parents. Your grandmother was harsh, but you always thought she loved you in her own way. The forest was your new playground, a wild expanse where you learned to fight, to survive, and to become something more than a victim. Her love was implicit in the hours she forced you to spend deep in the woods, stalking prey, learning to hunt, and discovering how to protect yourself. You braved the harshest weather and the most unforgiving conditions, and though she never spoke loving words, you told yourself that this was better than the life you had before. 

You grew stronger, sharper, and more cunning. Each scrape and bruise taught you resilience, and every moment of solitude in the forest became a lesson in self-reliance. In time, you transformed from a puppet to a predator in your own right.

But soon, new whispers would begin to follow you.

You grew older, you could stand on your own two feet and you didn't need anyone but yourself.

Working at the nearby tavern, you earned a meager living delivering food to families in the area. You tucked delicious meals into your picnic basket and pulled your red hood high over your head.

Your grandmother had insisted you wore a hood in the city—she always said, "Wolves never forget." It had been years since your parents had run off with their tainted money. The Wolf Gang, a notorious bandit group that terrorized the townsfolk and threatened the crown with their ruthless dealings. They had once pulled the strings of your parents, and now they were still searching for you and your family.

As the end of your shift neared, you gathered your cloak tightly around you, seeking warmth against the biting chill of the approaching evening. After finishing your last delivery, all you wanted was to sink into the comfort of your humble home.

You entered the crowded tavern, your red cloak immediately drawing attention. The tavern master, a burly man with a thick beard, called out from behind the bar, his jovial tone slicing through the lively atmosphere of clinking mugs and laughter. “Heading out, little Red?” he teased, a grin spreading across his face as patrons turned to see who had just come in.

“Don’t call me that,” you replied, making your way to the bar.

“Oh, come on, Red. You won’t even tell us your name. What else are we to call you?” a half-elf named Renjun chimed in, leaning against the bar with a playful smirk.

“Faye,” you offered back, your voice laced with indifference. “Or Edith. What about Celeste? Do any of those names suit me?”

The tavern master chuckled, shaking his head.

Another voice chimed in.  “Oh come on, Renjun, we all know she can’t give us her name 'cause the wolves are after her,” a drunken half-orc named Hendery piped up, slurring his words as laughter bubbled up around him.

“Our little Red? Yeah, maybe when the Great Oak grows wings,” your boss added, his laughter infectious. "I do hear whispers of The Wolf Gang creeping closer to town. Just be careful out there." His expression turned serious for a moment, eyes scanning the room to ensure no unwanted ears were listening.

“I can handle myself,” a knot of unease tightening in your stomach. You understood the truth that lurked too close to the surface, the gnarled roots of your past intertwining with your present. The jokes and jests may been harmless to them, but the threat was all too real for you—a shadow that loomed ever closer.

With a wave, you turned to leave, the laughter of the tavern fading behind you, each step taking you deeper into the night. The forest beckoned; it was a sanctuary you understood better than the city. This is where you resided with your grandmother; she had less influence over you now but she was still as cold as ice. 

As you approach your cottage your human eyes struggled to perceive much in the darkness, the moonlight offering only a faint glimmer of clarity about the situation before you. The window to your cottage lay shattered, and the door hung limply off its hinges. At first, an icy fear gripped you—had a pack of wild animals broken in? But as you stepped through the threshold and took in the scene, you realized you were only half right.

A wolf towers over your grandmother's body, her ragged breaths shuddering in her chest. Its long, gangly limbs covered in fur and its ferocious muzzle are coupled with an unsettlingly humanoid shape. It looks like a nightmarish wolf, standing unnaturally on bent back legs. It's a perverse mockery of both wolf and man. These wolves were changelings, creatures that often adopt grotesque forms. Changelings can transform into whatever they desire. In a bid to evoke fear throughout the town, their gang had chosen a form that is both terrifying and unnatural.

"Get away from her!" you cry out, drawing a long hunting knife from your cloak. It may not be the ideal throwing knife, but it’s all you have in this moment of desperation. With precision, you hurl it at the creature. The creature howled in pain, a guttural sound that echoed through the silence of the night. It staggered back, the blade lodged deep in its shoulder, before bolting through the back doorway and disappearing into the darkness beyond. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline surged through your veins.

You rush to your grandmother, a whirlwind of emotions crashing over you. A part of you still harbored resentment, but she was all you had left. Kneeling beside her still body, you fought to steady your breath.

“Don’t fret, child. All will be well soon,” she rasps.

“Save your breath; I’ll find help,” you insist, tearing off a strip from your ragged dress to staunch the flow of her blood.

“There’s no time. Just promise me this: you will seek revenge. He wont just forget he saw you here. You must slay him before he tells the pack.”

In her final moments, she doesn’t utter words of love or comfort, but instead urges you to finish the job. It feels as if the last remnants of your heart shrivel and die alongside her, leaving a hollow void.

You stand up, your resolve hardening as you retrieve your knives from the secret spot beneath the loose floorboard. With a determined breath, you slip out the back door, embracing the darkness of the night.

He was wounded. He didn't get far when you found him. You weren't a puppet anymore; you were a hunter, and that night you killed your first wolf.

Any hope for a normal life died that night. She had thrust this burden upon you, and you could almost hear her voice echoing through the darkness, pushing you into a path you never wanted to tread. You didn’t want to kill that wolf. You wanted to run, you knew they would chase you but you were tired of fighting.

When the weight of his lifeless body slipped from your grip and sank into the murky depths of the sea, a pang of regret twisted in your gut. Days later, the waves returned him to the shore, a grim reminder of your actions. You realized then that you couldn’t simply wash this away.

With each report of the recovery, the whispers in the village grew louder, the shadows seemed to close in on you, and you found yourself a target. You didn't want to have to go further into hiding and you definitely didn't want the bounty that was put on your head.

The red hood, once a cherished gift from your grandmother, had become a symbol of something far darker. It hung around your shoulders like a curse, a silent testament to the blood that stained your hands and followed your name like a whispered sin. 

Then why do it? You had no choice. It was her dying words.

In this world, dying words carry some of the strongest magic imbued within them. They possess the power to curse, bless, or even command. When someone hears the dying words of another, they are bound by an unbreakable pact—compelled to fulfill the deceased’s last wish or face dire consequences. So, not only did your grandmother use her final breath to send you on a path of violence, but she also wove a curse around your fate, ensuring that if you failed to see her wishes fulfilled, you would bear the weight of her wrath.

Three cheers for family.

Your life was never comfortable, but you had grown accustomed to it. Working at the tavern provided easy coin, and you were frequently rewarded with free meals that warmed your belly and warded off the chill. The camaraderie of the patrons offered a fleeting sense of belonging, a brief escape from the harshness of your reality. But now, you stay hidden deep in the woods, very rarely do you go into town.

With winter just around the corner, the familiar game you hunted had grown scarce as the animals retreated into their dens. You were forced to broaden your field. You became a shadow among shadows, relying on your nimble fingers and quick wits to steal and swindle whatever you could in the city to put food on the table.

Tonight you were on a small heist, targeting a goblin who operated a brothel in the seedy pleasure district. He was known for his shady dealings and had amassed enough enemies that you weren’t particularly concerned about the theft tracing back to you.

You slipped through the winding, dimly lit alleys when you heard it—a sound unlike anything you had ever heard. It wrapped around you like a warm embrace, soothing your frostbitten ears and igniting a spark of warmth in your chilled body. Mesmerized, you followed the music, feeling an overwhelming urge to shed your clothes and dance, to lose yourself in the heat of the melody.

Your mind was clouded as you pursued the sound, unsure of where you were headed until you rounded a corner and spotted a figure. There, perched atop a barrel in a dark alleyway near the port where the wolf’s body had washed ashore, sat a man.

“Come to me, bring me the one who spilled blood,” he whispered, his voice carried softly on the wind. At first, you almost missed it, caught up in the resonant tune still echoing in your head, but as you stepped closer, the music faded. Rooted in place, you could only stare at the man—or perhaps the creature—before you.

He seemed human enough, but you knew better than to assume. Some beings intentionally concealed their otherworldly traits, opting to project an image of weakness—patiently waiting for the moment they had the upper hand to unveil their true selves.

“Who are you?” You asked, your back ramrod straight, unable to relax even a single muscle.

“Most call me the Pied Piper; some call me Haechan. But those who do rarely live long enough to share the name.” 

The chill of his words seeped deep into your bones at the realization that the Pied Piper was after you. You had always thought of him as a mere childish legend—tales spun to keep children in line, cautionary fables whispered at bedtime. Yet here he was, very much real, standing before you and setting off every warning bell in your body. 

He hops down from his seated position, setting his flute down on the barrel where he once sat. As he steps into the moonlight, he looks breathtakingly beautiful. He appears no older than you, soft brown hair tousling in the breeze, and delicate features that he likely uses to make his enemies underestimate him. But you’re no fool; you see right through him, right to the wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

He smiles at you, a disingenuous smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, as he closes the distance between you. Leaning down until your faces are inches apart, he distracts you, ensuring that all you can see is his face—the last sight you might have before your demise. You catch a glimpse of his deft hand reaching into his cloak, expecting something deadly. But instead, you’re taken aback when he places a gentle kiss against your lips.

Kiss of death.

Your grunt is muffled against his lips as a sharp pain lances through your side. He had stabbed you, just as you thought he would.

In one fluid motion, he withdraws his knife from your flesh just as he pulls his lips away from yours. The sudden pain breaks whatever trance he has on you. You jolt into action; he clearly didn’t expect you to be a skilled fighter. Maybe he thought you’d simply lie down and bleed out. But whatever he anticipated, it certainly wasn’t the swift kick to his chest that sends him reeling backwards. 

Seizing the moment, you sprint away, adrenaline coursing through your veins, fueling your escape as you leave him momentarily off balance.

You clutch your wound and don’t look back, sprinting through the dimly lit streets until you find yourself standing before the only place you know that might offer some help. The tavern looms before you, its wooden sign creaking in the breeze, the faint flicker of lantern light spilling from the windows.

You slip through the back entrance. The tavern has closed for the night, but you knew that the staff often linger for a drink or two. The sounds of laughter and clinking mugs filter through the air, guiding you like a beacon. Stumbling toward the main room, you knock over a few pails and brooms in your haste, the noises echoing in the silence of the empty halls.

“Red?” your boss calls from the dimly lit main room.

The last thing you see before darkness overtakes you is the sight of everyone jumping to their feet, concern etched on their faces as they rush to your side.

When you regain consciousness, you find yourself sprawled across a large wooden table in the center of the tavern, the surface sticky from spilled mead. Your cloak has been pulled aside, revealing the bandages wrapped around your wounds. A soft glow of magic hovers just above the injuries as Mark, the town’s cleric, administers a healing touch.

“Leave it to you to abandon your work and come crawling back half-dead,” Ten, a tiefling who worked alongside you, grumbles with a sigh.

“You’re just mad you had to pick up her shifts,” Lia, the only other human in the tavern, replies with a playful smirk.

“Will you all quiet down?” your boss interjects, his voice firm. “These doors turn away no friend.” He meets your gaze with a comforting smile, and you wonder if this is what a father’s love feels like.

As Mark’s magic dims, he gently removes his hands from your body. “You’re healed, but you might still feel some minor discomfort in this area,” he says, clasping his hands together. He must have been summoned in the dead of night to tend to you. You want to express your gratitude, but all that escapes your lips is a low groan as you try to sit up.

“Easy, you’re still sore,” Doyoung, a half-harengon with rabbit ears standing alert in worry, cautions you. You’ve always appreciated Doyoung; his expressive ears always reveal his emotions, making him a refreshing constant in a town shrouded in secrecy. He’s likely the closest friend you have.

Lia brings you over a glass. "Drink this, I mixed in a potion that should have you feeling a little better"

Gratefully, you take the cup and down it in one go. The warmth of the potion flows through you, easing the aches as you exhale a sigh of relief.

“Sorry for the intrusion; I didn’t mean to bring any trouble. I should be going now,” you say, attempting to pull yourself to your feet.

“No trouble at all, my dear,” your boss replies, his tone warm. “I’m not sure what kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself into, but if you ever need sanctuary, these doors are always open.”

“A little heads-up would’ve been nice if you were just going to disappear,” Ten chimes in.

“He just misses you—ignore him,” Lia laughs, her voice lightening the mood.

You look at them, a genuine smile creeping onto your face. Maybe you weren’t so alone after all.

The Pied Piper was real, and you were on his hit list. Rumors and legends shrouded his name, leaving you unsure of what parts were true and what wasn't. The one thing you were certain of was that his music did possess the power to enchant. You needed to discover his weaknesses—was it the pipe that held the magic? Or perhaps it wasn’t the pipe at all; maybe the true magic lay in the breath he blew into the instrument. 

You had to find him; you couldn’t just wait for him to show up again and gain the upper hand. Once he had his sights set on you, there was no stopping him from finishing the job. He didn’t chase you that night; he didn’t have to. With just a simple call from his flute, he could lure you out whenever he wanted. He was the cat and you were the mouse. You figured he liked to play with his food.

You had to find him and get some answers. Rumors spread as easily as the plague through the cobblestone streets of this city, and it wasn’t long before his name surfaced again. Tracking his movements was difficult; you had to sift through rumors to find the truth. It was like chasing a ghost but soon you had a lead.

His dark cloak enveloped him like a cloud of smog, and his steps were light as you followed his figure into the woods. You weren’t nervous. This was your hunting ground. You stalked him like a silent panther tracking its prey. 

As you ventured further into the woods, you came upon a rundown cottage with a thick thatched roof. You hid behind a tree as he entered the dwelling. After a few moments, a soft, warm candlelight flickered to life inside, casting shadows as you observed his movements. Carefully, you circled around the house, determining that the best way in was through the back. 

You waited until he moved to the front of the cottage before making your move. Slipping a knife through the crack in the back door, you lifted the rusty latch used to secure it. You entered quietly and shut the door behind you, holding your breath as you listened for his footsteps. The house was eerily quiet. 

Slinking along the wall, you made your way through the dimly lit house. The back door had led you into a small, cluttered kitchen. The air thick with the smells of old spices and something sweet that had long since gone stale. Haphazardly stacked dishes piled in the sink, their surfaces dotted with remnants of food that had dried and congealed.

Peeking around the corner into the front room, you took in the scene: a large desk was strewn with crumpled papers and half-filled bottles of ink. In the corner sat an old chest, its surface marred with scratches and mysterious stains, hinting at secrets long kept. A simple chair and a cushioned bench offered a rare spot of comfort in the otherwise bare space.

The room felt almost empty, save for the creaking floorboards that echoed with your every step, but the atmosphere was charged with an unsettling tension. A single door across the room caught your eye, and you assumed it led to the bedroom.

Just as you were about to move toward that room, you felt a knife pressed against your throat.

“I should thank you for making my job a lot easier, you know,” he says.

You freeze in your tracks, the cool blade pressing against your skin. You try to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. Raising your hands, you attempt to project confidence despite your precarious situation. “I always thought you were just a legend, but here you are. Tell me, who do I have to thank for sending a mere mice charmer to try to kill me?” You smirk, hoping to buy yourself some time and distract him just long enough to disarm him.

“A mice charmer? What are you, then, to have fallen into my trap?” he retorts.

Seizing the moment, you grip the arm that holds the knife and pull it down toward your chest, away from your throat. With a swift twist, you slip out of his hold. Maintaining your grip on his wrist, you twist it harder. The knife clatters loudly to the ground as you kick it away. Grabbing his shoulder, you pull him forward and drive your knee into his stomach. He doubles over in pain, and you quickly pin him down with a knee to his back.

You slip out your own blade and press it to the soft skin of his cheek. “Don’t move. Lay flat on the ground, and if you move even a muscle, I will hurt you.” You sense he isn’t quite the fighter he appears to be; he likely lets his magic do the heavy lifting for him.

He flattens his body against the rotten wood of the cottage and nods reluctantly. You slowly rise, keeping your knife steady, and make your way to the cloth you noticed earlier lying on the ground. You rip off a substantial piece and return to him, using it as a makeshift rope to bind his hands. 

With a swift motion, you pull him up and sit him in the chair in the corner of the room, making sure he can’t easily escape. 

“A mice charmer is nothing without his flute and enchantments, huh?” you sneer, looking him over with a mix of curiosity and derision.

“What do you want? Clearly, if you were going to kill me, you would have done it by now,” he retorts, glaring at you with a fierce intensity

You look at him under the flickering candlelight of the room. His cloak is missing, leaving him in little more than a simple white tunic and black breeches. A chain is tucked into the neckline of his shirt—probably a keepsake or a charm, something that hints at his connection to whatever magic he wields. You stride forward, seize the chain, and yank it, pulling him abruptly forward.

“Watch your tone, or did you forget I’m the one with the knife?” you warn, leaning in closer, your voice low and threatening.

His burning gaze doesn’t falter for a second, revealing the calm resolve of a man who isn’t new to the concept of death. His hands are probably as bloody as yours, if not more so. He’s been captured, but he’s not broken, and that only makes you angrier.

“Who sent you to kill me?” you demand, your patience thinning.

He chuckles darkly, the sound reverberating through the tension of the room. “With how you treat people in their own homes, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had more enemies than you could keep track of,” he replies, a cruel smile curling his lips. “But we both know who wants you dead.”

You push him back into his chair with force, and he grunts as his back collides with the wooden seat. “You better kill me, because if I get free, you’re dead,” he warns, his brows furrowing in a glare that could cut glass.

His confidence is infuriating, and you feel your grip tighten around the hilt of your knife. “You really think you can scare me with threats?” you say, your voice low and steady. "You're in no position to make demands."

He leans forward slightly, the chains around his neck jingling softly. “You may hold the knife, but you’re still desperate for answers,” he counters, a glint of malice in his eyes. 

You ignore his outburst, your thoughts racing as you assess your next move. You had suspected the wolves sent him, but confirming it wouldn’t hurt; you needed to know what you were truly up against. Weighing your options, you realize that killing him could lead to the same disastrous situation you found yourself in before. On the other hand, leaving him tied up while you made your escape was hardly a safe bet. How many times could you flirt with death before it inevitably caught up with you?

"You overestimate your importance," you say, stepping back from him. "I used to think you were some mythical creature that dragged children from their sleep with haunting melodies when they misbehaved. But you’re just a dim-witted knave with a flute." He bares his teeth and struggles against his restraints, but you remain unfazed. "You don’t frighten me, and slaying you would be a bore."

“If you leave me here, you will regret it,” he growls as you turn to leave.

“If I leave you here, you will owe me for sparing your life—don’t forget that,” you reply coolly before stepping out of the cottage.

Each night that has followed that encounter has been nothing but fitful bouts of sleep. You toss and turn, haunted by the shadows of uncertainty, constantly looking over your shoulder, and darting your gaze at every creak that disturbs the silence. Had he seen you? Would he come for you? You knew he would call your bluff if he could see you now, taunting you with the knowledge that you were not nearly as unfazed as you would have liked to pretend. 

You just needed a few more days to gather some coin and collect your belongings before making your escape. This was long overdue. There was nothing left in this town for you, and you had no desire to fight for a place that felt more like a trap than a home. The memories that lingered here were a weight upon your heart, but the thought of remaining any longer made your skin crawl with discomfort. 

If the wolves wanted this shithole, then they could have it, you had no intention of being among them when they claimed it.

It was your last night in this wretched town, and the anticipation of freedom coursed through your veins. You had already saddled the horse you had bartered for, packing all your belongings tightly—everything you could carry and nothing more. Now, all that remained was to wait for the first light of dawn to break over the horizon. 

Traveling under the cover of night felt far too risky; the shadows held too many unknowns, and you were no skilled rider. You knew you needed the gentle light of day to navigate the forest safely on horseback. The thought of losing your way or stumbling into danger sent a shiver down your spine. 

You were deep in sleep when a noise startled your horse outside. Exhausted from a long day of packing, you stirred slightly but let sleep pull you back under. 

You barely registered the creaking floorboards as someone entered your room. Your body was too tense and sluggish from the day’s work to react quickly. As you fumbled for your knife, a figure lunged at you, pressing a hand against your mouth and silencing you. 

A cold blade pressed against your throat, paralyzing you with fear. You lay stiff in bed, heart pounding, knowing no one would hear you scream in the darkness of the forest.

“I warned you, didn’t I? There’s a bounty on that pretty little head of yours that I have to collect,” he coos, his voice chillingly close as his body pins you to the mattress.

The knife presses deeper into your skin, a sharp reminder of your predicament. You mumble against his palm, and he lifts it slightly, allowing you to speak. “If it’s money you want, I can get it for you.”

“I don’t think you know just how much you’re worth,” he replies, chuckling as he grips your cheeks, squeezing them.

“The king of wolves is worth more,” you say, summoning as much confidence as you can.

His smile vanishes. “What a sweet talker you are. If you think I’m foolish enough to believe you could get the bounty from the king of wolves, you’re insane.”

“I can kill the king of wolves.”

“You’re a liar and a thief. Now give it back.”

The charm from his necklace—the very piece you had swiped the last time you were with him—was the key to his power. You had suspected that taking it would render him powerless, and now, faced with the reality of his desperation, you confirmed that he truly needed it to imbue magic into his flute. Without it, he was helpless. You only took it to buy yourself time; if he could lure you out with just a note again, you knew you would be doomed  from the start.

“Only if you agree to let me up. You won’t find it if you don’t let me get it for you.”

“You insolent little—”

“Ah ah,” you warn him with a smile, feeling the power shift in your favor. He steps back to the center of the room but keeps his knife pointed in your direction.

“Find it, now,” he growls.

“I can slay the king of wolves; grant me but a moment. This bounty is surely tenfold that of mine. The queen herself placed it upon his head; she would give us whatever we desire for his life,” you counter, your words dripping with allure.

“Charm, then we can discuss further,” he reminds you, his eyes narrowing.

You huff and roll your eyes, rising from the bed. The silk nightgown clings to your body, its delicate fabric highlighting your curves while the hem flutters just above your knees. The thin straps slide off your shoulders, exuding both elegance and vulnerability.

You notice a blush rising in his cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and something else. His gaze lingers on you longer than it should before he looks away, but not before you catch the flicker of desire in his eyes.

You slyly retrieve your hidden knife while he isn’t looking. Your heart races and as you pull out the charm from your brassiere, holding it up like bait. He takes a step closer, intrigue evident on his face, but you raise your weapon, warning him to stop.

“Stay where you are,” you command, brandishing the knife. The blade glints in the light, and the tension between you grows thick, hanging in the air like a charged storm.

“You shall not claim my life, for I possess a greater offer in exchange for it,” you declare, your tone resolute and laced with the bravado of a champion, your heart racing.

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “How do you figure you will kill the king of wolves?” 

“I’ve evaded you three times now, and you’re the ever-so-feared Pied Piper. Give me some credit,” you reply lightly, hoping to shift the mood.

He responds with a sly smile. “Impressive, I’ll grant you that, but it’s still not enough.”

“You're going to help me enchant him, and then I’ll take him down. Simple as that,” you say. Under different circumstances, you’d have dressed it up with more flair, but fatigue still linger.

“And why would I help you?” he asks, skepticism etched on his face.

“Because I know more about you than you think. My bounty won’t even cover half of what you need, but a wolf’s bounty…” you whistle, letting the weight of the impressive figure hang in the air, “that will cover everything and more.”

His expression hardens, and a flicker of unease crosses your mind. You wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake by bringing up his debt. 

“Careful where you tread,” he warns, his voice low and edged with threat. 

“You help me take down the king, and we both get what we want. Think about it.” 

He studies you for a long moment, weighing the risks against the potential reward, and you can almost see the gears turning in his mind. The tension thickens, but you know you’ve struck a chord.

“Two days. That’s all you get,” he says, his voice icy and firm. “I’ll be back tomorrow to go over the details. If you try to run, I’ll find you and kill you before you can even plead for your pathetic life.”

“Deal,” you reply, tossing him the charm. You assume he needs his flute to use it, and since you don’t see it on him, you figure it’s safe to hand it over.

With that, he vanishes like a wisp of smoke, a true phantom of the night.

The silence that follows fills the air like a heavy shroud, and you take a moment to steady your racing heart. The confrontation has left you on edge. You run your fingers through your hair, exhaling deeply. Two days. You have that long to devise a plan, gather what you need, and prepare for the next inevitable encounter. 

As the darkness settles around you, the weight of your situation becomes clearer. To kill the king of wolves, you’ll need more than just a tongue-in-cheek plan. You’ll need finesse, strategy, and perhaps a little bit of luck. 

And maybe, just maybe, a deeper understanding of the man you're working with.

This time, when he arrives, you're clad in your red hood and more prepared than before—but so is he. As he enters your cottage, you notice the flute strapped to his back and charm hanging around his neck.

“Neutral territory,” he states. “You’ll find I’m quite formidable with my magic,” he warns.

“Only a fool would think otherwise,” you reply with a smile.

You invite him to sit in your front room and make tea for both of you. He watches you take the first sip before drinking from his own cup.

“You know you're ruining my reputation, right?” he calls out, a teasing edge to his voice. “You're supposed to be dead and the wolves are impatient.”

“Don’t worry, I have a plan for that too,” you respond, your tone steady.

You pull off your red hood and hold it out to him. “With this, you'll claim my bounty, and that should be enough to keep your skin in the game.”

“You really want to kill the King of Wolves?” he asks, raising an arched brow over his cup of tea.

You let out a long sigh. “I could run, but wolves never forget. They will just track me down again. No more running.”

You lay out your plan in detail, and though he appears skeptical, he ultimately agrees to go along with it. A hush falls over the room as you both sit in the weight of your scheme, each of you reflecting on your respective roles in this dangerous game.

“Permission to ask a question?” you ask with a small smile.

He glares at you, annoyance clear in his eyes. “Somehow, whenever you start running your mouth, it pisses me off.”

“Is it true, the reason for your debt?” you ask anyway, intrigued.

He grips his teacup harder, his knuckles whitening. Not many people knew much about the Pied Piper; the legend loomed large, but even fewer knew the man behind the title—Haechan, with his soft features and heavy burdens.

“Yes, I went into debt to save my sick mother. As you can see It was all for nothing, given the fact that I'm here and she's not. I take on these jobs to earn money. Any other invasive questions, Red? How about I ask one—why are the wolves after you, and how do you get a silly name like Little Red Riding Hood?”

“My name isn’t Red; it’s Y/N,” you reply, bold in your assertion. You’ve never shared your real name with anyone before, but you figured it was time to even the playing field.

“And the wolves?” he presses further, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“My parents stole away with some of their money. They want revenge,” you say with a shrug. “They got it when they killed my grandma."

As the gravity of your shared burdens swirls in the air between you, you realize that beneath the legends and whispers, Haechan was just a man, and you were more than a mere tale woven into the fabric of the woods. The truth hung heavy, intertwining your fates tighter with each revelation.

“And then you killed one of theirs,” he finishes for you, piecing it all together. “So it looks like we both have had our fair share of tragedy. Now look at us.” He shakes his head, a mixture of disbelief and resignation in his tone.

You had never thought of it that way—how similar your paths had been. Maybe out of everyone, he would understand you the best. Looking at him was like gazing into a mirror that reflected not just your struggles but also the shadows of loss and revenge.

Haechan was handsome, his lips plump and cheeks soft, giving him an almost innocent appearance. Yet, his eyes—oh, those eyes were hard and cold; they spoke of the dark secrets he carried, secrets that were all too familiar to you.

“Tell me more about your mom,” you say, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the air.

Haechan's expression shifts; a warmth creeps into his features as he recounts memories of his mother. He speaks of her laughter, of the stories she told, of how she would comfort him during storms and the way her love enveloped him like a soft blanket. Each word is laced with nostalgia, and you can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the warmth these memories hold. He was loved.

“She sounds like someone who could light up the darkest paths.”

He meets your gaze, and for a fleeting moment, the facade of the Pied Piper slips away. In that instant, all that remains is Haechan, the boy behind the legend.

“Tell me about your grandma,” Haechan says, curiosity in his eyes.

You take a deep breath and recount your upbringing. Your words are cold and empty as you speak of her harshness, how she cursed you and left you no choice but to kill the wolf that started all of this. 

“She never cared about me,” you finish, feeling the weight of your memories.

Haechan’s brow furrows. “Sounds like she was trying to protect you. If that wolf had escaped, you would have been in danger either way.”

You consider his words, the soft glow of candlelight flickering around you. Maybe he’s right, but it doesn’t change how cruel she was. “It’s too late to redeem her,” you say. “Her protection crushed any chance I had at love or hope.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not defined by her actions.” 

“But am I not defined by her cruelty? To learn is to experience. How can I know love if I’ve never truly felt it? I might just perish tomorrow,” you say, a bitter laugh escaping.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” he replies gently, his gaze steady. “I still owe you for sparing my life back at my cottage. I can show you what love looks like.”

You narrow your eyes, skepticism creeping in. “And how would you do that if we don’t feel love for each other?”

He leans closer, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “We can pretend, just for this one night. I can show you how I would love you.”

A rush of emotions swirls within you—fear, curiosity, and a flicker of hope. “What do you mean?”

Haechan's voice is soft yet earnest. “Let’s create a moment together, something to hold onto, just in case tomorrow doesn’t come.” 

You hesitate, heart pounding, caught between the pain of your past and the promise of something new.

“Come,” he calls to you, as he stands. His hand outstretched, inviting yet unsettling. You’ve never felt this exposed with anyone before.

You know you’re being reckless, but what does it matter? Life could slip away from you at any moment—what have you to lose? You grasp his hand, and he leads you into your bedroom. 

He closes the door behind you, sealing off the world, and presses you against it, his arms creating a cage around you. 

“At any moment,” he says, his voice low and steady, “if you wish to stop, you have but to hit me.”

You manage a smile, trying to ease the tension coiling in your stomach. “That sounds quite tempting.”

His hands brush up against your cheek, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “Once you feel my hands on you, you won’t want to let go.”

Your cheeks flush at his promise, and your heart races. His touch is gentle, as if you were a delicate doll, something precious that he couldn't bear to break. 

He leans in and captures your lips in a soft kiss, a sensation even more tender than you had imagined. His fingers glide over your face before trailing down to your neck, drawing you closer and pressing your body against his. The warmth of him enveloping you is just like the music that filled the air the night you first met by the docks. A sound escapes you—a breathless gasp—one you had never made before.

You can feel Haechan's smile against your lips before he begins to shed the layers of your clothing. Naked and vulnerable, you stand before him, yet your mind races too fast to truly register your defenselessness. His lips find your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses and gentle nips, igniting a shiver of sensation. You moan softly, your body writhing under his tender yet possessive hold. You were completely at his mercy.

"Like music to my ears, my love," was a low murmur against your skin. His gaze clouded. His eyes swam with emotion you didn't recognize. A heady, intoxicating blend of longing and something else, something wilder. It was as if the taste of you, the sweetness of your mouth, had intoxicated him, leaving him drunk on desire alone. He trailed kisses down your neck, his lips leaving a trail of damp heat against your collarbone and shoulder blades. His hands roam over your body, mapping out every curve before they find their way to your breasts, soft mounds yielding under his touch. With a gentle yet firm grip, he kneads them, pinching and tugging softly, drawing out more moans that escape from your lips.

The old, wooden door groaned under your weight as you leaned against it, your breath catching in your throat. His lips, soft yet insistent, found their way to your nipple, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. You felt yourself drowning in his touch, in the way he made you feel utterly adored.

His gaze, dark and intense, met yours, the kohl lining his eyes like a smudge of night against the tan canvas of his skin. His tongue flicked playfully, a teasing caress that sent a jolt of pleasure through you. Each movement was deliberate; each touch a whispered promise.

He shifted his attention to your other breast, his deft hands working in perfect harmony with his mouth. You couldn't help but arch your back, your body instinctively seeking more of the exquisite torture. The rough wood of the door dug into your skin, a stark contrast to the velvety softness of his lips and the warmth of his hands.

His touch was an orchestra of sensation, a dance of pleasure that stirred something deep within you. It was a raw, primal connection, a language spoken without words, understood in the depths of your soul. The world narrowed, fading into a blur of color and sound, leaving only the intoxicating presence of him, his touch, his gaze, and the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that threatened to consume you entirely.

“I want you to feel everything,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear, making you shudder with anticipation. 

He falls to his knees, a look of hunger in his dark eyes. With a swift movement, he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and presses his mouth against your most intimate parts. A jolt of heat surges through your body as you try to squirm away from his eager touch, but his grip tightens, keeping you firmly in place. Your mind races with desire as you yelp out, your hands instinctively reaching for his thick, dark brown locks, tangling in your grasp. The intensity of the moment overwhelms you as you give in to his fervent passion.

“Hae—Haechan!” you gasp, his name feeling foreign yet perfectly right against your tongue. Each syllable feels like a spell, causing a desperate moan to escape from him as he feverishly licks at you. His grip on your hips is tight and bruising, but you welcome the pain as it fuels your desire for him. You grind your hips against his tongue, unable to control yourself as he dominates you with his mouth. He pants against your heat, driven by pure impulse as he closes his eyes and savors every delicious taste of you.

His lips and tongue move with wild abandon as he sucks on you, filling the small cottage with shameful groans and wet smacking sounds. Your legs start to tremble, but he shows no signs of stopping. You cry out and your head falls back, hitting the door behind you as you convulse in his grasp. A powerful sensation washes over you, causing a tightness in your gut before it finally releases. Haechan eagerly licks you up, cleaning away the evidence that you left all over yourself and on his face.

Your breaths slow down and meld together, as if in perfect harmony. The gentle rise and fall of your chests echoes in the quiet room. "I lost myself for a moment," he says softly, with a hint of apology laced in his words. It's almost as if he didn't intend to take you on this journey to the 12th gate of heaven, but couldn't resist the pull either.

He sets your leg down gently, and  he helps you right yourself.  He guides you to the edge of the mattress, and as he lays you down, there’s a palpable shift in the air. You watch as he stands before you, the heavy cloak slipping away to reveal more of him, piece by piece. The sight of him in his white tunic and dark breeches sends your heart racing, and when he sheds those as well, leaving only his undergarments and the silver charm necklace you once stole from him, your breath catches in your throat. 

You instinctively look away, your cheeks flushing.  Your body betrays you, reacting in ways you never anticipated, aching for connection. There’s a pull within you, a desire to close the distance and feel the warmth of his skin against yours. 

This man who had once threatened your life now stands before you, igniting a raw, undeniable longing that makes your heart race. You grapple with the gravity of the moment, torn between fear and desire.

He used to be your prey, but as he leans down and crawls onto the mattress, you start to see him in a different light. He presses his lips against yours once more, humming a tune that sends shivers down your spine. Your body melts into relaxation, and your senses are heightened even more than before.

“It's not the flute, is it?” You struggle to speak between kisses.

"I don't think I want to reveal any more secrets to you tonight." he responds with a playful smirk.

You surrender to the sensation as it consumes you. He was right - you had never experienced anything like his touch before. Your eyes follow him as he removes his undergarments, and you become slick at the sight.

“This might hurt; just relax and focus on the melody,” he says with a soft caress of your face.

You nod, realizing now that you trust him more than you initially thought. He coats himself in you and you moan at the lewdness of the act. He was coated in your arousal and soon he was slipping inside of you. He hums a beautiful note, one imbued with magic, easing any discomfort.

“It's beautiful,” you say, captivated by the sound.

His eyes shine at the compliment, and he kisses you.  It was strange to think that this love was all an act, because if this is what pretend love felt like, you could only imagine the intensity of real love. 

His hips sway to a rhythm that you can't quite hear, but you feel it pulsating through your body. His movements are fluid, like the  waves in an ocean. The chain around his neck, swinging in time with his thrusts. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, clinging to him as if he were the only life raft in the midst of a raging storm. With every thrust, he fills you up with his love, overwhelming you with intense pleasure and making you feel alive. In that moment, it's as if you couldn't survive without him, and he knows it. He pours his love into you, determined to fill every empty space so that you never have to feel alone again.

His movements quicken, the rhythm growing more urgent as passion overtakes you both.  Haechan's eyes lock onto yours, dark and intense. 

"You're a symphony," he murmurs, voice rough with emotion. His fingers trace delicate patterns across your skin, leaving trails of tingling warmth in their wake. You arch into his touch, craving more. 

Moonlight streams through the window, bathing your entwined bodies in an ethereal glow. The air is thick with the scent of arousal and magic. 

You run your hands along the planes of Haechan back and you cling to him as your overtaken by that feeling again. The release makes your limbs weak and mind numb.

Your muscles clench and release around him in a tidal wave of pleasure, pulling him deeper into you with each thrust. He finally withdraws, his body trembling as he releases on your stomach, The air is thick with tension and the scent of sex, but as Haechan's magic fades, all that remains is the sound of your rapid breaths.

As he settles beside you, the silence encases you both, thick with unspoken words and emotions. Your mind races, trying to make sense of how the events had unfolded so drastically. 

You glance sideways at him, marveling at the stark contrast of your feelings—a sudden urge to survive, to revel in this newfound complexity. It was almost surreal: one moment you were in peril, and now, here you were, yearning for the warmth of his presence. 

Determination courses through your veins; you refuse to succumb to the fate that looms ahead. If this is what Haechan's love felt like—the intoxicating blend of danger and allure—then you would indeed fight tooth and nail for every moment you could grasp. 

Working alongside Haechan had become a bit awkward, but you pushed the tension aside as you both raced through the labyrinthine alleyways of the town. The urgency of the mission overshadowed any lingering emotions between you. You had received a promising lead on the elusive King of Wolves; a halfling informant had mentioned spotting him stumbling out of a tavern, drunk and vulnerable. 

The king was never without his entourage, a handful of ruffian wolves who surrounded him like shadows. Despite them believing you to be dead, you understood that you still needed to be cautious. The element of surprise was in your favor, but luring him out would require a careful strategy.

Everything was going according to plan so far. If the informant was correct, then Ten had successfully slipped something extra into the king's drink.

As you maneuvered through the narrow streets, your mind raced with possibilities. You would have to bait the king, drawing him away from his pack. That's where Haechan came in. Haechan kept pace with you, his presence a steady reminder that you weren't alone.

Haechan maintained a watchful eye on the pack from over your shoulder as you both tracked the wolves ahead. The night was quiet and chilly, with a biting wind that whipped through the alleyways, assaulting your exposed skin. You cursed yourself for having given away your hood.

You waited patiently, your heart racing as you scanned the scene for the right opportunity. Though Haechan remained silent, the melody of his flute echoed in your mind—a lullaby only the chosen victim could hear. He knew that timing was crucial; if anyone interrupted or stopped the target, the trance could easily be shattered. Every second felt like an eternity as you both prepared to strike when the moment was just right.

The pack was a grotesque sight, with elongated frames, snarling muzzles, and bent, crooked limbs. Their figures resembled a tall, slender man who had forced his way into the mouth of a wolf, wearing the creature’s body like a horrid costume. They looked sickly and unnatural, and it came as no surprise that they struck fear into the hearts of the townsfolk. 

While trolls, goblins, dwarves, and other creatures managed to coexist with humans, these beings were unlike any you had encountered before. They had made a conscious choice to adopt such a horrifying appearance. They were changelings—shapeshifters capable of assuming any form they desired. They had chosen to embrace the guise of ghouls and monsters that haunted the night.

As the pack slinked past an alleyway, the King stumbled in, his steps unsteady from drink and poison. He leaned against a cobblestone wall to steady himself, his gang too intoxicated and merry to notice him faltering behind as they continued forward. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Haechan lifted his flute to his lips and began to play a silent composition. Almost instantly, the King's body straightened, moving as if pulled by invisible strings, like a toy soldier suddenly animated. He began to march further  into the alleyway, drawn by the haunting melody, oblivious to the world around him.

You wait a few seconds, holding your breath as the pack continues down the road, their grotesque figures just out of sight. Haechan remains vigilant, his eyes locked on the pack, ready to act if they turn. You know that time is of the essence; you can’t afford to let them discover the King’s absence.

With a swift movement, you push yourself off the wall and follow the King into the alleyway. Haechan’s silent melody fills the air like a ghostly whisper, and you can feel the tension building as the King’s contorted form glides deeper into the darkness. Your knives are unsheathed, gleaming under the faint light, ready to strike. 

A few feet behind him, he suddenly halts. You hold your breath as you witness his body crumple, a howl of confusion escaping his lips. For a moment, it seems he’s still lost in the depths of the enchantment—but then he stumbles, regaining control. 

Realization dawns on you: Haechan must have shifted his focus to the pack once they noticed their missing king. Haechan's magic is now redirected, enchanting the pack that seeks out their leader—perhaps to coax them away from the alley and give you precious moments to act.

You watch as the King sways unsteadily, his eyes flickering with awareness. He glances around, scanning the alleyway for any sign of his gang, oblivious to the danger lurking just behind him. You know you can’t wait any longer; it’s time to make your move. 

He's drunk. He's an easy target. Take him out. The mantra echoes in your mind as you silently slip out of the shadows, your heart pounding in your chest.

With lightning speed, you dart forward, knives glinting in the low light as you approach the swaying figure of the King. He doesn’t see you coming; his bleary eyes are still scanning the alley, lost in confusion and intoxication. 

In one fluid motion, you bring your blades up, the metal shining with intent. Before he can react, before he can summon the last remnants of his senses, you strike with precision. The cut is clean; a swift arc of steel, and his head rolls away from his body, the wolfish features contorted in a final grimace of surprise.

You expect his body to crumple into a lifeless heap, but it doesn't. The headless form sways for a moment, arms reaching up as if searching for its lost head.

“Shit!”

You manage to slip away while he’s still floundering in his confusion. You sprint, heart racing, hoping that Haechan can hold off the other cronies for as long as possible. You may have lost him for now, but you know he has your scent and will find you soon. Your feet carry you through back alleyways and down dark streets until you're bursting into the crowded tavern. You’re met with laughter and cheers that erupt around you as you stumble inside.

“Aye, look, it’s Red!” the patrons call out in greeting. You have no time for pleasantries. Ten gives you a startled look from behind the counter, aware that something has gone awry. You send him a quick, urgent glance and head toward the back of the house. Ten excuses himself and pulls a bewildered Doyoung along with him.

“Well? What happened?” Ten whispers, barely able to contain his surprise.

“I killed him. Well, I thought I did. I cut off his head, but he’s not dead,” you reply, arms crossed and brow furrowed in confusion. “We don’t have much time. I need your help.”

“No way! I already poisoned him on your behalf,” Ten exclaims, raising his hands in exasperation.

“You poisoned the King of Wolves!” Doyoung gasps, his rabbit ears flattening against his head in fright.

“Keep it down!” you hiss, casting a wary glance around. You regretted not filling Doyoung in on your plan earlier, but you didn’t want him caught up in this mess

“What’s going on back here? Red, is that you?” Lia calls as she approaches the small circle where you all huddle.

“Look, guys, I don’t have time to explain, and I’m sorry to drag you into this mess but If word gets out that the King of Wolves was poisoned at this tavern, you will all be on his hit list. So you might want to help me!”

“Who poisons the King of Wolves!?” Lia gasps in shock.

Doyoung points an accusatory finger at Ten, who shoots him a glare in response.

“Guys, focus! There’s a headless wolf after me, and if I don’t leave soon, they’ll come after you too,” you remind them. “Any ideas on how to take him down?”

“Aren’t the wolves changelings?” Lia asks.

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Doyoung confirms. “I read once that if you light them on fire, they burn to ash.”

“I heard that if you show them their reflection, they cower,” Ten adds.

“Well, he doesn’t have a head right now, so that’s out of the question.” You say.

You hear distant howling. That cant be good and your thoughts flicker back to Haechan—where is he? Did he manage to shake off the wolves? The cold grip of worry squeezes your chest as the distant howling amplifies

“I have to go now. Don’t worry; just keep your heads down. If anyone asks, the King of Wolves never stepped through those doors.”

“Where are you going?” Lia asks, concern etched on her face.

“I need to finish this.” You grab a candle lantern from the wall and head out through the back door.

You sprint toward the docks, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you push your body to its limits. Haechan had agreed to meet you there if anything went wrong. The gravel underfoot shifts with each hurried step, but the sound of your heartbeat drowns out the crunching noise. You can feel the rush of impending danger creeping up behind you, reminding you that time is not on your side.

The alleyways give way to a wider street, and you navigate around groups of townsfolk enjoying their evening, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding just moments away. Their laughter and loud conversations contrast sharply with the urgency of your mission. You dodge around a cluster of patrons who block the path, their jovial cheers fading into the background as you push through the throng. The crowd thins as you approach the water, and soon you find yourself alone. The air is thick with salty brine, and the sounds of waves lapping against the shore become the only company you have left.

But before you can take a breath of relief, a razor-sharp slash rakes across your back. Pain erupts, and you stumble forward, the lantern slipping from your grasp and extinguishing itself in the dirt with a soft hiss. Darkness envelops you momentarily, panic bubbling up as you realize who had struck you.

“lɹᴉƃ uɐɯnɥ ʎllᴉs,” an ancient voice rumbles behind you, low and mocking. He had no mouth yet you could hear him.

Struggling to gather your bearings, you force yourself to turn and face him—the King of Wolves. The sight of him sends a jolt of dread through you. His haunting figure looms over you. You can feel the fresh blood seeping through your clothes, and your back aches with a pain that warns you of the severity of the wounds. Even with magic, you know it will take days to fully recover from cuts this deep.

You force yourself to stand tall, despite the agony radiating through you. The howling you heard earlier echoes in your mind, a haunting reminder that you’re not alone. Panic flares anew as you realize that his cronies could emerge at any moment. You hope Haechan can fend them off a little longer. you have to think fast.

"ʞɐǝʍ ǝɹ'no⅄ ˙puᴉɥǝq ɯoɹɟ ƃuᴉɥɔɐoɹddɐ 'ǝɔᴉpɹɐʍoɔ ɥɔns oʇ ʇɹosǝɹ no⅄" he snarls, the effects of the poison and booze long gone.

"I'm not afraid to use underhanded tactics on scum like you." You shot back, circling around him, both of you sizing each other up.

He lunged, and you barely dodged his claws. Your body was tired, aching all over, but you were determined to stay on your feet. You threw a knife, but your aim was off, and he sidestepped with ease. It was frustrating; your eyelids felt heavy, and you could hardly focus.

Then, you heard a melody—a familiar tune that made your heart race. Suddenly, energy surged through you, making you feel lighter and stronger. You didn’t need to look around to know who it was. Revived, you fought back, pushing the king back for once. He swung at your ankles, but you rolled away just in time. You were on slightly equal footing, but you needed to gain the upper hand before he wore you down again.

Footsteps approached, and hope flickered inside you.

"Red!" Lia shouted. She was with Ten and Doyoung, and relief washed over you.

"Stay back! It’s too dangerous!" you warned, trying to keep the king's attention on you.

"Don’t be a hero!" Ten yelled, annoyance clear in his voice. "You can’t win without us!"

You exchanged blows with the king, your heart racing as you saw Doyoung preparing an arrow. You held the king off while Lia lit the arrow's tip. In one fluid motion, Doyoung let it fly, and the king of wolves erupted into flames. You all stepped back, eyes wide, as you watched him burn to ash.

Just then, Haechan appeared around the corner, flute in hand, playing that energizing melody that made you feel like you could take on the world. It was the last thing you heard before the music faded and everything began to blur around the edges.

It had been a week since that fateful night. The echoes of that ancient voice still haunt you, but you pushed the memories aside as you stood before the queen, the severed head of the wolf king resting ominously on a velvet cloth. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of approval and intrigue as she took in the sight.

“You have done well,” she proclaimed, her voice a soft yet commanding presence in the throne room. “In ridding us of this beast, you’ve secured not just our safety, but your own place in history.” With a graceful wave of her hand, she summoned her guards, who strode forward bearing an opulent chest. 

As they opened it, a dazzling array of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires spilled forth, glimmering like stars in the dim light. Gold coins cascaded down in a shimmering waterfall, their clinking a symphony of wealth

The sheer abundance of treasure left you momentarily speechless, and you could hardly believe the magnitude of your reward. You accepted gratefully but your mind lingered on Haechan. He had chosen not to attend the queen’s audience, cloistering himself away as he still relied on the myth of his existence as a shadow. He preferred to operate in secrecy, a specter amongst the whispers of the realm.

You stroll into the tavern, the warmth and chatter wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. You’ve brought some gifts and treasures, a little token of thanks for the friends who stood by you in that crazy battle. It just felt right.

"Drink up, fellas! Drinks are on Red tonight!" your former boss shouts, raising his mug high and getting everyone's attention.

You wince at the name. "Would you stop calling me that already?" you groan, rolling your eyes.

Lia smirks, leaning against the bar. "What do you want us to call you, then?"

"Just call me Y/N," you reply, finally giving them the name you’ve always wanted them to use.

"Y/N, huh? It suits you," Ten says, pouring a mug of mead for a troll at the bar, who looks way too eager to drink it.

"Was that a compliment?" you tease, raising an eyebrow.

"Don’t push it," he shoots back, giving you a mock glare, but you can see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Laughter echoes through the tavern as everyone raises their mugs in salute. The atmosphere feels electric, and in that moment, you know you’ve found your people.

As twilight deepened, you made your way to a familiar cottage, navigating through the dense woods that wrapped around the kingdom like a protective shroud. 

Rubies and a dazzling array of gems spilled forth as you toppled over the chest, the treasures scattering against the old, rickety floorboards of Haechan’s hideout. The glint of gold caught the flickering light of the lantern, creating a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of colors that danced across the dim space.

Haechan leaned back against the wall, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “So your word truly holds value, huh?” he teased, walking up to the trove. His fingers sifting through the precious stones as he reveled in his unexpected fortune. “Now, what’s your next move? I can’t imagine the pack isn’t hunting for the one who took down their king.”

You shrugged, a casual air masking the weight of your adventure. “They’re pretty useless without their leader. The royal guard has rounded up most of them, and for any stragglers, they’re probably getting out of town as fast as they can.”

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of hope creeping into his tone. “Are you planning to stay, then?”

“Never did I claim that,” you replied, glancing around the haphazard room. “There’s nothing for me here. I can’t spend all this gold in the slums anyway; I’ve got to see the world.” You stretched with a bored yawn, letting the wild possibilities of adventure wash over you. “But it would be a trifle dull to travel alone,” you hinted, letting a coy smile dance on your lips.

“If only you had a companion,” he shot back with a grin, earnestness hidden beneath the teasing.

“I know, it’s quite sad, really.” You turned toward the exit, pretending to be disinterested. “Well, I’ll be on my way.”

“Y/N.” The sound of your name, spoken for the first time, stopped you in your tracks, resonating in the air and binding you to the moment.

You looked over your shoulder, curiosity piqued and a smile still lingering. “Yes?”

Haechan shifted, his gaze steady and sincere. “You don’t have to go alone, you know.”

For a heartbeat, you considered the weight of that offer. Freedom beckoned ahead, yet the idea of shared adventure was equally tempting. You felt a connection forming, a spark of possibility that ignited your imagination. The world awaited, filled with danger and excitement, and perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if Haechan journeyed alongside you.

“What do you say then?” you replied, a playful challenge in your tone. “Are you ready to step out of the shadows and into the light with me?”

Note: I might expand this world more for other members in the future so if you guys have any cool ideas that would work in this setting, lmk and i may incorporate them into a work in the future (far future cause i need to finish my other wips lol)

[silence-burns]

The Death of Me //part 1

Fandom: Aquaman

Summary: (very small spoilers for the movie) Finding Orm on your doorstep was not something you expected. Having him move in was even worse. But the effect he still had on every part of your life would be the death of you.

The sun was blinding, but unfortunately, not enough to make the man standing before you disappear.

“You're in surprisingly good shape for a dead person,” you said.

“And you look terrible for someone supposedly alive,” said Orm.

You shrugged and immediately regretted it. The tight bandages keeping your shoulder in place worked as a poor reminder it was out of commission for the next few weeks.

“How I've missed that princely charm. Piss me off some more and, half-dead or not, I'm gonna kick your ass back into that desert I got it from. It might be the last thing I do, but if I become a ghost, I'll brag about it for eternity.”

Your mood soured further with every minute you remained conscious. Surprises and resurrections, you could deal with, but your ability to be polite left long ago. There were a lot of impolite and certainly unprincely words bubbling in your chest, but they all disappeared when the most magical, impossible, and straight-out-of-fairy-tales thing happened.

Orm, of his own volition, smiled.

The sun was still doing its best to blind your already red and swollen eyes—it failed yet again. You examined the strange occurrence, with the furrowed brows and all the small wrinkles and tiny folds in the skin that usually accompanied a person’s smile looking perfectly normal on his face. It was a genuine smile. You could only blink at him for a moment

“I thought scowling was the only expression you had. Like a factory setting, you know.”

“I'm glad to hear you are as sharp as ever, despite your current shortcomings.”

“Excuse you, I'm in great shape.”

The man in front of you politely didn't argue. It was rather clear from his expression that he had some serious doubts about not only the state of your body, but also about your mental capacity of acknowledging said state, but he made the wise choice of keeping these thoughts to himself.

Wise was your middle name; therefore, you allowed the silence to confirm your words. At the same time, you shifted more of your weight against the doorframe, hoping your grimace came across as menacing rather than painful. Your leg needed a bit of rest, nothing serious. It totally wasn’t almost crushed to pieces a few weeks ago.

The smile on Orm’s face, an expression you could get used to seeing, started to shift into a look of concern as he watched your eyes. You looked away, afraid of how much he could see. Before you could react, he picked you up and carried you inside the house.

It was a pretty house, very spacious, just like old rich men tended to enjoy—which might explain why Batman bought it a long time ago as a safehouse far from any prying eyes, and why he allowed you to occasionally use it as such.

Yet, despite all the initial spaciousness, it was rather easy to clutter if the person living inside had a few cracked bones, general lack of energy to move, and never invited anyone around to see the mess.

Orm raised an eyebrow when he noticed a sofa dragged into the kitchen area and the amount of empty, crushed packaging laying around it. You hated how much could be expressed without saying a word.

“Put me down.”

Your words came out weaker than intended. Orm held you in a bridal carry which put immense pressure on your cracked ribs and sent flashes of pain every time you inhaled. But he was so warm and close that your anger sizzled and faded.

With your head on his shoulder, you had the perfect view of his perfect profile and the perfect frown deepening the wrinkles between his brows.

“So, this is how you live now?” was all he said, in a controlled tone.

“I know you're not deaf and heard me the first time. Put me down. Preferably on my beautiful and completely normal kitchen bed, thank you.”

You sighed with relief once he finally listened. Even though the pressure of his arms around you disappeared, somehow you still felt his warmth, as if it seeped into your battered, bruised flesh. You felt your face getting hot and decided against following that train of thought.

Your heart, for a reason you also chose to ignore, skipped a beat when Orm turned on his heel and walked back to the front door. It took him comparatively less time than when you had to drag your ass to open it a few minutes ago.

But rather than walking outside and disappearing from your life again, Orm only closed the door. And then turned the lock too.

“I don’t like where this is going,” you said, in vain hope that all of this was just a bad dream you'd soon wake up from.

“What a shame,” Orm said with no shame whatsoever in his voice.

“Why are you here? I might be a little late with that question, but I'd still love to know the answer.”

Orm took measured steps to the kitchen table, assessing the seat with the least amount of trash surrounding it, and sat down. He sat upright, posture uncompromised in the face of a backless stool, and folded his hands on the table. How he looked royal surrounded by trash and cold leftovers was beyond you.

“As you have witnessed, thanks to Arthur, after that final battle I got a way out of my old life. I enjoyed it for the most part, and even wandered the surface world for a while. And then I heard about your accident and came to settle my debts.”

“You don't have a debt to me.”

“When I was awaiting sentencing for my crimes, you were the one that took care of me. And not so long ago, you helped Artur break me out of that prison. That alone guarantees my utmost respect.”

“Your debt is paid, you owe me nothing.”

“That's not how it works.”

“I don't need a nurse, especially one who isn’t wearing a sexy costume.”

“I'm afraid that part is not negotiable.”

“Wait.” You squinted, doing your best to focus your thoughts despite a rising migraine. “This cottage is in the middle of nowhere, with the nearest town a few hours on foot and only if you already know the way. And the only people that knew I got… a little roughed up, were those in the Justice League. Did Artur give you a ride here because he felt guilty he didn’t stop that building in Venice from falling on me?”

“Every day I am thankful that I don't know the inner workings of my brother’s mind.”

“So he did.”

You let your head fall back onto the makeshift kitchen-bed. It was too much for you.

You grabbed the pills from your secret under-the-pillow stash of meds and swallowed some painkillers.

“I'm going to kill your brother.”

“May you have more luck than I did. Now, do you even own any clean clothes?”

[kedsandtubesocks]

In the Woods (Somewhere) - Mothman!Gojo

Ghost stories around the city whisper about a creature in the forest. They describe it as a moth like monster that only brings misfortune and death.

But what will you do as you learn these silly ghost stories are true flesh and bone… and now haunting you?

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

wc: 12.9k

warnings & tags: 18+ only MDNI, monster x human relationship, loose interpretation of the mothman legends and stories, death mentions, protectiveness & obsession that can be read as slight yandere like, lot of bug discussion, monster transformation with a touch of body horror, wound licking, blood & tear consumption, magical healing, car accident, allusion to f!oral receiving, kidnapping, character deaths (this ends happy I promise) feral and lovesick Gojo, if there is anything I missed please let me know!

a/n: this is my first submission to @willowser Haunted House Collab and I’m so honored to be part of this! Thank you for putting this together dear Willow! The title is from the lovely Hozier song. Also a big thanks to @skeletoncowboys for letting me scream about this monster & to @stellamancer for always being my dearest comrade in Gojo hell, enjoy and thanks for reading! Stay spooky!

Your grandfather once told you he believed butterflies were fairies and moths were angels.

It made sense to your child logic that butterflies could be fairy creatures. You even imagined fairies had butterfly wings. But, you had argued back in disgust that moths couldn’t be angels.

“Now now,” your grandpa had laughed. “Why can’t moths be angels?”

He gently explained moths were mainly seen in the evening and around light. He believed moths were the forms angels took to keep watch over everyone late in the night when no one believed they were being protected

“And,” he told you with all his sweet patience. “Something like a moth that loves the light can’t be bad.”

Scientifically you now understand moths mainly were nocturnal as a survival instinct for less predators and more opportunities for prey. Some were even active during the daytime. But your grandfather's words stay with you, etched into your heart.

He is why you are here after all.

The campus at night always holds a certain hollowness.

However, the storm that blew in yesterday continues looming with ominous clouds in the sky. It cast an early darkness against the city. The thick haze feels as if something could slink out of the shadows.

When you slip out of the research lab building there, against the light outside, one lone white moth flutters in the air.

Quickly glancing around the campus stretches out before you a vacant lot. In that moment of surveying, delicate wings rapidly flutter fast and wild against your face.

“Ack!” A surprised squawk leaves you at the moth’s sudden charge.

“I told you!” You hiss out waving the bug away. “You could’ve waited for me at home.”

The moth, outraged by your words, rushes against your face harder. Silk wings flap hard while it continues waving around your line of sight in a flurry.

“Calm down, you big baby!” You snap back annoyed and start stomping towards your car.

Now the little insect stops its fluttering attack to gently land on your face. As the bug travels across your cheek, its presence is a gentle tickling sensation. It finally stops and rests against you.

“Happy now?” You mutter low praying no one spots you with a large white moth on your face.

“I’m gonna pick up dinner. So are you getting in the car or meeting me back home?” You speak casual yet still within a low mutter.

With a delicate tickle again, the moth scurries across your cheek then across your nose making your lips twitch in a slight giggle.

Then the creature flutters away, your answer.

The pizzeria you end up at is adorably cozy. You spotted it during the drive to and from campus. Once you read the online reviews and got their blessing you decided to check it out.

Christmas lights hang from the takeout counter where you wait for your order. There’s even a quaint bar-like area. But what catches your attention is the small section of things littering the walls behind the counter.

It reminds you of a scrapbook.

Various newspaper clippings clutter one side. A few blurry photos are folded and pinned to the board. Plenty of hand drawn images scatter among the collage and they range from adorable to terrifying.

All of these things are about one single moth creature.

The board itself is even titled -

The Moth’s Nest.

Moth nests can be disastrous. They infect fast and are hard to exterminate. Plus once they create a nest, infestation is soon to follow.

“Ah, looking at our board.” A smooth voice purrs into the air and you turn towards it in slight embarrassment.

A beautiful blonde woman grins at you from behind the counter now.

“I heard the town had a moth thing but this…” from the drawings, which all included a strange humanoid like creature, this is far from the high moth population count it was known for.

The woman barks an amused laugh and it crinkles her rather lovely eyes.

“You could say that,” she grins. “You new here?”

“Sort of.” You nod. You’ve been here for almost a full semester now and you wonder if the newness will ever melt away.

“Well then, welcome to town!” The woman’s name is Yuki and for being a newcomer she pays for your pizza.

“Even though you got this for takeout, why don’t you stay? Eat here and keep me company.” She winks and you happily slide into the open seat she pulls up for you at the checkout counter.

“So what’s a lovely thing like yourself doing here?” Yuki asks smoothly and you almost choke on your first bite.

After she cackles a warm charismatic laugh, you swallow through your surprise and tell her.

“An en-tah what?” She caws confused like a bird and even her furrowed brows make you snicker.

“An entomologist,” you clarify.

In simple terms, you study bugs.

“Oh!” Yuki’s eyebrows fly fast up into her bangs as her eyes twinkle excitedly. “So you’re all about the creepy crawlers then.”

“Not all of them,” you reply back friendly.

You favored Odonatology and Lepidopterology.

The studies of dragonflies, damselflies, butterflies and in this case-

Moths.

“Well now,” Yuki grins and turns to glance at the board. “Looks like you’re in the right place to find moths.”

It was one of the reasons why you chose this program. The university boasted a plentiful and hands-on ecosystem to explore right within the town’s backyard. You just never expected an urban legend to come attached to the critter population.

Curiously you nudge your face towards the odd journalistic collection and ask about it.

Yuki’s face melts into a wistful look that casts a surprising shadow on her.

“It’s a creature that apparently lives in the woods…” she begins, low and steady.

No one knew how or when it began inhabiting the forest. Some argued it’s a simple folklore meant to scare rowdy kids from venturing into the woods.

“The stories say it’s an actual demon.” Yuki explains.

“There’s a belief that anyone who sees it either dies soon after or calamity befalls the town.”

Yuki’s words conjure up a poisonous fear. She adds how any sight of the cryptid, even in the strongest of nonbelievers, brought a sense of unease.

“But,” Yuki shrugs easily turning back to you. “Some people say that thing is a hero.”

The word hero gets tangled in your ribs

Your new friend explains there are those who have seen the beast and lived to tell a different tale.

Multiple children on different occasions have got lost in the woods. Yet, they always found their way out. Most of them claimed the moth creature helped them.

“There’s even an elderly man who went hiking and still swears up and down that thing saved him from getting attacked by a mountain lion.” Yuki comments.

“That’s a big claim.” You admire the thought of this monstrous creature possibly being a silent guardian. However, it festers something dangerous in your heart that weaves a sticky web.

The pizza on your plate grows cold. The lone drink you were nursing now is a watered down mess. You’ve lost your appetite and decide to head home.

There’s not much for your mind to process. It feels like the same sensation of walking out of a horror film and trying to understand what you saw. You try to rationalize this disorienting simply the same sensation you’d also get hearing ghost stories at sleepovers.

Yuki urges you with a warm charm that you’ll come and visit again, you promise her you will.

Walking out with leftovers in the box, the night greets you with a soupy fog. The lingering storms coat the streets in a mystic cloud.

You wonder if this clouded fog is inside your mind as well.

You’re about to take a step out into the parking lot when a horrifying animalistic shriek pierces the air.

It sounds distorted, a static shrill cry summoned from an ancient abomination.

The screech shoots straight into your bones startling you and making you jump in a pause.

In that moment a car speeding way too fast for a parking lot flies by you. It drives by with a whirling speed rattling the wind.

The noise, the shriek, stopped you from stepping out into the car’s path.

You mind buzzes, maybe too much. The gloomy air seeps into your skin and brings a heaviness over your body. You exhale shakily trying to just settle yourself as you head home.

When you return to the tiny closet of your apartment, there outside against the balcony door your white moth flutters furiously waiting for you.

Sliding the door open you’re about to greet your extra house guest until the text chime on your phone draws your attention away.

As you check your phone charging on the couch, a sudden thud lands against your apartment floors. The flapping of wings flutters into the room.

Before you can even turn around, a shadow falls over you. The presence of something large looms like a ghost, silent and steady yet radiating a chill besides you. Then a firm fuzzy face suddenly dives into the side of your neck burrowing against your skin.

“You need to be more careful.” A voice crystal and aware, yet flickering as if it speaks through the branches of the woods, clicks at you.

You think of the car that blazed by.

“It happens and I’m okay.” You reassure.

The inhuman face hiding in your neck draws back. Then a firm head soon enough gently butts against yours. The action jolts you out of your thoughts and you rapidly turn towards the heaviness leaning against you.

Crawled straight from the shadow of the woods, from the whispers of terrified stories, the creature before you still doesn’t seem real.

You think of Yuki and the moth’s nest board at the pizza shop. All the pictures depict the creature with haunting crimson eyes.

You wish you could have told Yuki the monster’s eyes aren’t red, but instead a piercing sky blue.

And instead of two eyes, the creature holds six beautiful eyes all over his face.

All six eyes of those eyes blink at you with the depth of a haunted lake shimmering within their gaze.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

“Why do you want to study insects?”

Discovering the cryptid could talk was honestly more surprising than discovering he was real.

Also, he had a name.

“Sa-to-ru.” He had told you, pronouncing its syllables as if your little human brain might not get it. It made you scowl. Yet the name itself sounded like something that fluttered out of the forest breeze.

Currently the moth creature, Satoru, sits happily on your apartment balcony under the dark cover of night. You have articles you need to read, lab reports to finish. But, you stay sitting on the floor beside him.

“My grandfather studied them.” You explain, giving the same answer you always do when this question is asked.

“He loved almost every type of bug there was.”

“Sounds like my type of human.” The moth amusedly chitters. “Love to meet him.”

“Honestly, he would’ve loved to meet you too.” You truthfully admit and almost grin thinking of how excited your grandpa would’ve been to see this creature.

“Unfortunately, he passed away a few years ago.” You add simply.

“Oh.” The cryptid replies quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You politely thank him.

“Is he the one besides the moth?”

You’re surprised Satoru even noticed that.

The frame sits on your eclectic shelf filled with books and trinkets. There’s two pictures in that frame. One is a photo of your grandfather during his days when he moved out here to teach at the university you currently attend. The other photo is you and him both holding up big nets when you were a little weed of a thing looking so happy besides him.

Besides those photos is his favorite sketch.

“It’s a luna moth, right?” He’s right again. Though, you’re not surprise he recognized it.

“Yup, the lunar moth was his favorite.” You fondly agree.

Actias luna.

Your grandpa used it as his example of how beautiful and lovely moths could be.

“He’s a man of good taste.” The moth compliments and for some reason it tugs at your lips. You can almost hear your grandfather's voice warmly boasting in pride.

“I wanna show you something, little human.” The moth quickly changes topic and when you turn to him, you find him grinning.

Rows of dangerous sharpened fangs flash within his mouth. They are a visible warning to not trust this creature, but you do.

“After your class this week, I’ll take you somewhere.” Satoru urges.

“Are you going to eat me?” You ask a bit stunned.

Satoru laughs, a flickering chirping noise that bounces off your apartment balcony.

“Oh little human, if I did eat humans I would’ve done that already.”

You glare at him but sighing you agree to whatever he has in store for you.

On your last class of the week, there outside against the campus street light your white moth flutters excitedly.

You think about how dangerous it is that he sticks around campus, even in this form.

With a rapid flurry he flies around your face. You can’t help but snort at the tickling sensation.

“Yeah I’m here, let’s go.” You tease.

Under the twilight hazee, you follow the moth into the woods.

The setting sun casts a shadow over the stretching forest. The trees silently watch your hesitant trek as you follow the moth further into the thickness.

Eventually you’re in the heart of it. No noise greets you, not even the rustling of birds or the fleeing of other animals. It’s as if in this depth all life had stilled. No movement or sign of life encroaches into this space. You realize this might have been the most ridiculous idea, following this cryptid myth into the unknown.

Suddenly the moth stops in front of a large solid tree.

“This is what you wanted to show me?” You’re a bit confused. The insect flutters around you in a huffy flight then goes to spin around the tree.

Satoru himself now slides out from behind the tree in his humanoid form.

“It’s not just a tree.” His six eyes narrow at you annoyed. Your eyes roll exhausted with him already.

“Do you trust me?”

The question surprises you.

Hesitantly you nod, a quiet yes. Satoru then effortlessly scoops you into his arms as if you weigh nothing.

A wild squeak escapes you. His firm arms hold you in his grasp and your mind starts scrambling being this close to him. The fur of his body tickles your arms and the solid warmth of him curls around you.

Satoru’s chittering laugh bounces among the trees.

He then takes flight.

You swallow back a petrified screech threatening to escape and simply let the wind rush around you. A solid thud comes, a landing.

“Open your eyes, little human.” Satoru whispers excited.

You hadn’t realized you had closed them.

The nest before you is a cobwebbed cocoon. You had never seen one this big. The opening of it is carved out wide, a webbed open maw with secrets trying to draw you in.

“Go in, you can see more.” His wistful voice skitters out playful, so light it could get caught in the tree branches.

He’s eager to show you this.

Hesitantly you lean into the nest just to glance inside.

It’s actually rather cozy. Webs and branches twist in a delicate pattern to create a solid enclosing. Leaves scatter the inside floor that is rather large. You can even imagine his large form curled in here cat-like as he sleeps.

“So? What do you think?” He asks with an anticipated edge blooming in his voice. He’s showing you his home.

You remember when he first showed himself to you, even gave you his name.

The logical reasoning within you thought many times about studying this cryptid. There was even a fleeting moment you considered capturing him and returning him back to the lab.

Now you are here discovering his home. You find yourself wanting to unearth as much as you can of this incredibly infuriating but wonderfully interesting creature.

“It’s nice!” You earnestly admire the space. Yet, the truth whispers a harrowing fact.

The bigger the nest, the bigger the infection and danger.

So you instead turn to glance out to the forest around. You’re so high above in the canopy of the trees. Silence seems to settle thicker here among the sky and it mingles with the evening darkness.

The forest, even as tranquil as it appears, holds a sense of loneliness you can’t fully describe.

“Have you been here at this spot for long?”

He chirps a humming yes.

“The high placement keeps me safe and away from prying eyes.” Among the trees and leaves he is simply a shadow.

“Do people try to hunt you?” That grim thought arrives.

“A few try, but no one’s even come close.” A cocky pride brims in Satoru’s tone.

You understand why people would try and search for him. But to hunt him like some prized sport? So you have to ask why.

“Besides some humans believe killing me will solve and save them from all their disasters, a select few who want me for other purposes.” Satoru muses as his antennas twitch.

“What other purposes?” You glance back at the cryptid perched on the solid large branch beside you.

In the dark, all six eyes glimmer with an animalistic reflection, a haunting gleam and reminder of the creature's true nature before you.

All those months ago, these multiple eyes stared at you from the edge of the woods by your apartment and the campus like silent terrors. Now they watch you with intent safety right by your side.

“There’s an old legend…” Satoru answers. “It says my kind could bring someone back from the dead.”

The words spark a curious flame in you.

“Wait, really? Is it true?”

The moth being simply shrugs, an action so human you almost want to laugh.

“Some believe it. That’s enough to hunt my kind.”

So many questions cluster in your mind. You wonder more about his kind, about him. Yet there is no way to scoop all those questions out.

All you can do is gaze out at the scenery before you.

The trees pierce the darkness with their own spiked tendrils. The night sky blankets above you with twinkle stars, glimmering pockets of faint light so clear.

Yet, for some reason this again feels so lonely.

Even with the stretching comforting woods, you can’t shake the sensation of solitude slipping out.

“So why do you still stick around?” You suddenly ask not even understanding why yourself.

“What? Around you or here?” He asks.

“Both.”

A chirp of a sigh comes, heavy with an ancient weary.

“I’ve thought about leaving, migrating somewhere else, somewhere safer.” His voice drops gently, a small click in the wind.

“But…” His voice trails off even more delicate.

“Something just keeps…pulling me back here. Like I’m meant to be here. That I’ve been waiting for something.” You’ve never heard him this wistful and distant.

Then his response also has you curious.

“Do you have any idea what it is?” You cautiously and gently press.

“No idea.” His answer is rapidly too casual that you snort, shaking your head.

“And why am I still hanging around you? Who knows, maybe I just like to bug you.”

The pun isn’t lost especially on you and you groan annoyed even though a smile twitches at your lips.

Among the shade of stars and shadow of the forest, you sit with a creature of the darkness.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

The moth had first appeared at your window balcony dancing around the light like an ethereal wisp of a spirit. It happily flew around you and even spun around your entire apartment. You eventually had to shoo it out.

For a while, it was simply you and this strangely persistent moth.

After that, six eyes began appearing at night at the edge of the woods. Strange clicks like howls erupted in the air, haunting lingering sounds that rattled you.

That same week the moth showed up to your apartment flying in a bit of distress. The wings of it flapped slower and you wondered if it was dehydrated or dying.

As you had opened the sliding door to the balcony, that’s when you first witnessed it.

Like butterflies, moths go through a similar life cycle of emerging from a pupa or chrysalis. The new adult insects must crawl out of its old cocoon. The process is the blend of life and destruction.

You discovered the same applied to moth creatures.

The wings fell first then the twisting and emergence of a body from the small frame transformed to life a fully formed creature.

That first time the moth creature metamorphosed on the balcony you screamed so loud your neighbor across the hall came worriedly to check on you.

You had hoped it was all just a bad dream…

Now when you return home early, that monster rests in your bed instead of lurking under it like all the scary stories whisper where monsters lie.

Curled within the sheets, burrowed deep and taking up the entire frame, the creature slumbers. You barely can spot Satoru underneath all the pillows. A few of your shirts peek out from the swirl of blankets and you try not to linger on that.

The messy twisted bed cocoon however does make you think of the grand nest you saw.

A faint snore grumbles out into the room. The muffled animalistic noise should frighten you. Instead it echoes a soothing rumble as you go to make dinner.

In the meditative process of cutting, claws scratching against the tile floor startles you. Your heart skips at the sudden noise and your face whips to the entryway.

In this form, the moth cryptid has to hunch from touching the ceiling.

Satoru’s imposing frame fills up the entire space even with his thick wings folded to his body. The intricate beautiful antennas on top of his head flicker curious. Among the monstrous features, human-like qualities are visible in his arms, his legs, and the core of his body. Yet even in that familiarity, he is covered in sleek fur.

The sigh of this unbelievable being in this tiny kitchen almost has you laughing. Months ago this would have made you scream in terror. Now, his existence has settled into your life a strange blooming metamorphosis.

Then all six of Satoru’s clustered eyes go wide in terror.

His talons rattle rapidly on the floor as he scurries to your side.

“Your hand.” He comments sharply.

Glancing down, blood trickles over your hand and drips softly onto the cutting board. The cut thankfully isn’t deep, simply sliced the top of your finger.

“Guess that means I’m ordering out.” You mutter.

However your new companion immediately snags your hand.

Satoru’s grasp is hard, a terrified clutch as if he’s worried the cut will worsen. Flickering your gaze to him now, all six eyes focus at your hand with a startling petrified seriousness.

“I’m fine.” You reassure. “Let me just grab a band aid.”

The creature’s firm hold is unrelenting, refusing to budge even as you tug to release your hand.

“Hey-” you’re about ready to chide him and urge him to let go-

Until the moth cryptid leans down and with a long thin tongue begins licking at your wound.

Air gets knocked out of your lungs.

You mind can’t process the sight but the wet tickle of his tongue swiping along your skin grounds you. Satoru’s tongue swipes frantically and fast, a panic.

A dangerous heat runs up your arm and claws at your chest. This shouldn’t feel this intimate. Yet, it does.

You can’t even exclaim in surprise because in the small dimly lit kitchen, the moth has you under his spell.

Instead of the panic, there’s now an eased almost lazy and leisurely lap at your skin. The way his tongue slides across you is as if he’s trying to savor you. It slithers with a reverence between your knuckles, across your fingers, and your mind slowly melts.

Then with one last slow deliberate lick, Satoru draws back.

A daze has fallen over your foggy mind filled with smoke until you blink and notice your cut is gone.

Blood faintly lingers around his mouth, coloring the white fur of his face and it should scare you. And it does but the fear comes from how gorgeous he looks, and knowing it’s your blood…

The thin tongue immediately darts out to lick at the bloody traces.

The sight teeters into an overwhelming sensation and you forcibly break your focus to glance back at your healed hand.

“You have healing powers?” You croak out trying to process the sight.

“No.” For a creature that lives in the woods, he understands sarcasm rather well.

You glare at the creature who now tilts his face away. He avoids your eyes as he fiddles with the edge of your shirt.

“Moths can't heal.” You comment.

“I’m not like a typical moth now am I, little human?”

That damn nickname.

Annoying as Satoru is, you still can’t believe the sight of your healed fingers.

“Thank you for healing me.” You mutter still not able to process but are grateful all the same.

The moth creature hums a proud amused thing you quietly ignore.

Moths didn’t have healing properties. Hawk Moths could recreate antioxidants in their body to replenish themselves. You wonder if that’s how Satoru operates with his abilities.

Another part of you, one that sounds warmly like your grandfather’s voice, whispers that the creatures of this world simply hold mysteries we may not ever know.

You suppose the cryptid refusing to leave your side is the solidified truth of that.

Suddenly Satoru’s head softly plops against the top of yours.

With soft gentle rumbles he rubs his face into your hair.

“You know,” you begin softly as your fingers itch to run up against his fur. “You don’t have to keep sticking around here.”

“Hm?” Satoru hums out a bit dreamily.

“You can go back to where you’re from. You don’t need to keep staying with me out of obligation for freeing you or feeling like… you have a debt you want to repay.” You breathe the words out firmer.

The nuzzling against your head stops.

“Oh?” Satoru begins with a curious chirp. “That’s not why I stay.”

His confident reply stills you.

“Like I said maybe I just like bugging you.” He grins coy. “And besides, I stay because eating the fabric of your clothes is pretty nice free food and I like scaring away any humans that might come by.”

“You bring me closer to buying an electric fly swatter!” You screech and swat him away.

“Aw, don’t be like that!” He whines and flutters his wings almost taken back.

You ignore him and his annoying clicks vying for your attention while you order dinner for the night.

“I forget…Humans are so easily annoyed. You most especially.” He says bristly and it’s the last straw.

Healing your arm or not, this creature manages to wiggle under your skin in a way that no one else has. You blame the damn moth for how on edge you feel. Yet the truth lies in the strange unfathomable heat still brewing under your skin.

As you leave you get food you stare at him hard. You sling the balcony door open, a silent demand he leaves. His multiple eyes, shimmering sapphires, search your face.

“I see...” His reply is a brisk breeze.

Turning your back to him, you head to grab your keys. You don’t even see him leave and instead stomp to head out.

You even fully close your bedroom window. It’s the crack of an entrance you’ve recently been leaving open that allows him to flutter in when he’s a smaller moth.

Now as leave you’re thankful for the momentary space from the infuriating infestation.

Against the early night sky the pizzeria glows an electric beacon against the darkness. Clamoring chatter and an upbeat song greet you when you step inside. You’re not surprised it’s packed on a night like this.

Yuki yells a bright excited welcome at you from across the restaurant and it warms you.

Now leaning at the bar your attention can't help but find its way to the bulletin board by the entryway. Even with the annoyance and conflicting desire, seeing the arranged clutter about the local moth creature draws out a strange sinking feeling within you.

“You interested in the bug?”

A deep rumble of a voice drips out smooth and breaks your focus immediately.

Turning to the side, you discover you’re not alone at the bar.

The man is thick, solidly built and strikingly handsome. He seems older than you, with an aged weathered dignified presence about him. With only black hair and a scar across the corner of his lip, he sits looking bored at the counter with a toothpick in his mouth.

“It’s interesting.” You admit truthfully.

“Think the bug is real?” The man questions with the faintest hint of curiosity.

You shrug again. “Anything is possible I guess.”

“Indeed it is.” Now his voice holds an interested purr that sticks to your skin in an uncomfortable way.

Your eyes flicker back to him and you find his attention however is on the board.

“Some say it’s a demon.” He suddenly adds.

“I’ve heard.” You agree calmly.

“Whatever it is…it’s bad luck.” The mystery man says briskly.

You heard that as well.

“Some say it’s not.” For some reason, a small protective spike rises in you and you even think about Yuki calling it a hero.

“Yeah well, everyone can read an omen wrong I guess.” His words cast a dangerous thickness into the air that slithers up your skin.

“Besides, there’s an old legend I heard once.” he continues.

“It says…if a moth flies into your home it means someone is going to die.”

Dread crashes into your body and consumes you quickly. You’ve never heard that saying before and it bubbles an awful bile in your stomach making you feel sick.

“That’s awful.” You can’t help but answer back sharply it even surprises you.

You think of your grandfather, his belief moths were angels, and how that guided you to where you are now.

And you can’t help but think of the moth in question.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to upset you.” He leans back into his seat to stare at you.

No response for him seems to come to mind. If anything, a strange chill trickles down your spine as if you’re staring down a creature surveying and waiting to strike.

Yuki calls out your name and breaks your focus.

“Wish I could stay and chat but we’re a bit busy tonight!” She winks at you and now you grin, eased at her presence.

You wish her a good night and begin gathering your order to leave.

“Be careful out there.” The stranger mutters. Your eyes flicker to him. His attention is back on the slice of pizza before him.

“Don’t know what might be out there trying to fly into your house this time of night.”

His words create a sticky cobweb of emotions in you. You simply take your food and rush out.

Driving back to the apartment you glance at your hand fully healed and still lingering with the phantom sensation of the moth’s tongue licking at your skin.

You think of how effortlessly this strange creature carved a space in your life.

Now a sense of danger prickles against your skin, like the way the air tightens electric before a storm.

When you arrive home, a silent apartment greets you. The emptiness clouds your space and the walls creep in close and cold.

A piece of you expected him to return, maybe even hoped. But trying to sort through those emotions again bubbles a strange ache in your chest.

Before you go to bed you slightly open your bedroom window and settle under the covers. Closing your eyes, you accept the silence and solitude lingering in your room and heart.

Sleep trickles in faintly. You fade in and out of being awake.

Then your bed shifts.

A heaviness immediately curls against you. The softest brush of moth wings graze your arm. Soft chirps, faint and delicate, float into the room.

Satoru’s face burrows against the top of your head, a silent apology.

This is new.

He’s never done this before. He’s never slept on your bed with you. But your heart races too fast in your chest and your mind still feels so clouded from this night that you can’t even react.

Or, you don’t want to react.

This is new, yes. But a wild desperation inside of you sinks its claws into this new proximity. You simply keep your eyes closed and shift to settle deeper into the bed, deeper into his warmth.

The smell of the brisk forest, clear and earthy, lulls you to sleep.

Waking up the next morning, you’re alone.

A part of you wonders if you dreamed his return.

Yet on your nightstand rests a sweet plucked wildflower that wasn't there before. It greets you a bright good morning.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

Your open apartment balcony door brings in a warm evening breeze. A favorite series of yours plays on the television as you grab another mouthful of popcorn.

“Can I have some?” Satoru whimpers.

“No.” You answer through the mouth of popcorn.

“So mean! Why are you so cruel to me, little human!?” He pouts and you simply ignore him.

Even with the moth creature crouching on the floor his body still looks frightfully full and large. His fur is fluffed out more and he almost looks adorable like this simply sitting beside you.

His presence should create a distorted sense of reality. Yet no sense of panic rises within you. If anything, only more curiosity has started gnawing in you.

What kind of moth species did he originate from? Where was he even originally from? Did he have a family?

“What’s your favorite human activity to do?” It seems you were not the only one curious.

Recently Satoru has begun pestering you with a plethora of questions from what foods did you like the most to these more strange human specific ones.

“Don’t know, I have a lot.” You answer truthfully.

You rationalize all the questions you have and that he even asks are mutual inquisitive curiosity about the other’s species, a chance to learn.

Except, for you, the source of your curiosity masquerades as a yearning you don’t want to hunt out yet.

“Humans are terrified of the oddest things.”

Satoru’s comment breaks your thoughts.

You turn towards the creature who stares at the television with all six eyes.

The series you had put on had been an old favorite of yours, supernatural and fantasy based. The main heroes in this episode were being terrorized by monsters that came alive from a children’s book of old fairy tales.

“Well this series is older so the effects and monster makeup isn’t all that impressive.”

“Not that.” The moth corrects you quickly. “I mean that creature isn’t even scary.”

You want to make a comment about how of course a creature that crawled from the woods and haunts a town would not find this terrifying.

“What are you afraid of?” Again the moth humanoid questions.

You shrug. “A lot of things.”

“You don’t need to be afraid of anything.” He chirps so matter of factly it surprises you. “Especially because I’m here now.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at his cocky boast. Yet your heart flips at the protective claim.

“But…I do think humans may be the scariest creatures of all.” Satoru notes with a wistful distance in his voice.

You wonder if he’s trying to tease you or even be a bit poetically pessimistic.

“I agree.” You nod reaching for popcorn. “Humans can sometimes be scary.”

In all the beauty that comes with being human, you know there is a darkness that comes with the territory. The lovely prickle of rain starting to fall soothes you as the episode jumps to the next.

It’s one of your favorites. The main character gains a secret wish stone that transforms into her love interest because she desires and wishes for him most of all.

You rise to the kitchen to grab a drink.

“What do you wish for most, little human?”

His words stop you frozen. They come out so simple, a curious purr almost.

Your mind tries to reach towards something noble and grand like to wish for world peace or wish for climate change to end. You think of wishing for a better car, better apartment, to get rid of your money problems.

Yet it all cultivates into a simple easy response.

“Love, I guess.” It’s a simplified answer.

“That?” Even Satoru sounds dubious.

“Yeah…love. If you have love, then everything else sort of just falls into place.” With love at the cornerstone, everything can build from there.

A chittering like sigh dances into the room.

“Boring. At least say something interesting like an endless supply of sugar or something like that.”

You can’t help but snort at such a silly answer.

“Is that you’d wish for then?” You now ask the creature.

“Mhm…maybe. Or maybe something extra special your little human mind couldn’t comprehend.” Such a coy response only makes you roll your eyes.

But for some reason, that answer feels heavy like it needs to be unearthed. You don’t push the answer, or him.

As you clean up around the kitchen, you glance back to the living room. There Satoru rapidly consumes all your popcorn as fast as he can.

“You freaking pest!” You screech annoyed and he simply blinks his six blue marble eyes at you as if he did nothing wrong.

“I’m not a pest.” He replies innocently and it annoys you even more.

“You’re literally a moth! What is more pest-like than that?!”

Satoru’s monstrous face flickers. It faintly crumbles until his eyes hollow out a cold downcast.

“Right there? You just sounded just like every other human.” His words, low, raw and sharp, rip through you.

He doesn’t say it but you hear the undercurrent.

I thought you were better than that.

A festering ache swells in your chest as the weight of his words drag you under.

Quietly you start making two bowls of popcorn now. You grab the chocolate syrup. Satoru had a fierce sweet tooth. It took you by surprise when your gas station candy treat went missing and his sticky fur said enough.

So you drizzle plenty of chocolate over the salty snack then you quietly speak.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

A moment of silence fills the space.

“It’s alright little human... Sometimes I forget your little human brain makes so many mistakes like that. I can’t get too mad.” He chirps so bored.

You’re tempted now to throw away the chocolate popcorn.

Thankfully the air seems to lighten as you head back to the living room two popcorn bowls in hand.

There Satoru’s multitude of eyes are entirely glued to the television now. The familiar dialogue comes and you whip your attention to the screen as well.

The big realization between the main heroine and her love interest unfolds as he realizes what her wish manifested as.

The moment is heated, drenched in undeniable chemistry. The magnetic pull even has you entrapped. Then the love interest without hesitation pulls the heroine and kisses her with a fierce released love.

Now it feels so intimate, too raw to watch. You turn away under the guise of grabbing more popcorn.

“Is that how humans show affection?” Satoru’s voice is a curious twinkle of a chirp.

“Yup,” you weakly agree while you check your phone hoping to seem disinterested.

“Seems aggressive.” For some reason his disgusted comment makes you snort.

“Uh, it depends. Kissing is…” there’s much you can say on the manner but you simply shrug.

“It’s nice.” A simple but true answer.

“What’s it feel like?” The question drips with an inquisitive click but for some reason it slithers dangerously under your skin.

“Uh…again, it depends. There’s different types of kisses for different situations and the emotions can change with them.” You explain.

“Sounds complicated.” Satoru muses and you snicker relaxed with the episode ending.

“I thought you knew all about human interactions?” You now ask, curious yourself.

“Not in that way.” That’s fair.

“Or really…I’ve just never been interested in seeing humans interacting in that way.” He adds rather low.

“Until recently.” That addition he gives cuts across you as if it’s covered with sharp glass edges.

“Guess this series does that, even to moth creatures.” You lightly try diffusing whatever shift starts to swirl in the room and drag you into its current.

Satoru stays quiet, curled into himself and his wings. Very faintly his antennas droop, enough that you notice it.

Rain now steadily prattles on peacefully mixing with the episode playing. Yet in the silence your skin crawls with something unspoken you can’t evade.

You close your eyes hoping to avoid any more questions and pretend you’ve fallen asleep. Naturally, a nap overtakes you and you jolt awake when a text message brightly wakes you up.

“So what episode are we on?” You sleepily ask, noticing the cryptid hasn’t left. Evening would be arriving soon, the time Satoru normally slipped back into the woods.

“A weird one.” He mutters and now curiosity flickers in you over which episode it is.

Your eyes widen.

Of course it would be this one.

The heroine’s best friend falls in love with a monster living in a cave. It’s another one of your favorites. Now, the obvious reality sinks its fangs into your throat.

“This is the most ridiculous one by far.” Satoru scoffs. “No human would actually love a monster like this.”

His words deflate something in you. All the nerves and prickling emotions scatter.

“I don’t know.” You offer back lightly. “Maybe there’s something extra human to love a monster.”

All six eyes rapidly blink towards you. Their glassy yet sharp attention focuses so intently and it’s unnerving.

“You don’t mean that.” He snips and it distorts his voice more than normal.

You shrug.

“What do you mean by that?” He annoyingly asks, persistent.

What you mean is sometimes humanity can see through what society deems as monstrous and instead love the core of what a being is.

“I mean, it’s like what the episode says,” you nudge towards the television.

“If love is fanged even between humans, why can’t a monster find that same love?” You quote it vaguely but enough to capture the core.

The same goes for humans you explain.

“Cause like what we said earlier, humans are a bit scary from time to time right? A little bit monstrous ourselves?”

So why not settle with a love fanged and coated in the shadows.

The episode takes a shift when the heroine’s best friend greedily kisses the bat-like creature. An electric desire jolts across your spine as it dries your throat.

“I never knew humans could…desire something like this.” Satoru’s eyes now unabashedly stare at the television with a religious focus almost afraid to look away.

“Some do.” You try sounding casual, but your voice croaks.

A heavy fog clouds your mind. Before he can ask or comment anything else you brightly announce you’re going to take a shower. You scurry to the bathroom without even once glancing at the moth monster.

It’s a pathetic excuse but it’s early evening now. This decision isn’t entirely out of the blue. You just need to cool down and take yourself away from the moment.

However, under the weight of the water, under the heat of the steam, you try washing away the festering arousal seeping into your veins.

The episode flashes in your mind. Except this time you picture yourself in the arms of the towering moth creature.

This danger has been brewing well beneath the surface and now slips past its shackles.

It rips you open raw and wild, unrelenting in a way that a slick heat already pools between your legs. You should not, by all rational means, be attracted much less so attached to this monster. Yet, you are.

You remember how easily he swept you into his arms, how solid and built his frame is. He is stunning. You can’t even deny that.

You even think about how comforting a presence he was in your bed. Those thoughts melt and mutate dangerously.

Now, you imagine how warm and solid he would feel against you, between your legs. What he looks like drunk on pleasure-

Exhaling shakily, you turn the shower as cold as you can.

When you return to the living room after the shower, the sliding door is still wide open. Rain continues to twinkle its beautiful song into the living room, a living room now very vacant.

No moth creature is in sight and the bowl of chocolate drizzled popcorn remains untouched.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

In the research lab you grade quizzes from the class you work assisting with. This time during the week the lab is thankfully empty and it gives you time

to catch up on your articles and work.

A surprise knock however disrupts that peace.

Your advisor walks in with a warm grin. Besides her is the man from the bar.

A confused anxiousness seizes your heart and you try keeping your face composed.

You politely smile as your advisor calls your name.

“This is Toji Fushiguro. He’s an agent from the local conservation group trying to investigate where our dear little moth friend went.” Your advisor explains polite and casual.

Your heart sinks rapidly.

The unknown moth had been in a large observation box the first time you saw it.

It had been a new and recent find. Being a first year in the program, you simply were allowed to watch and observe the new species.

Bigger than a typical silk moth, the unidentified moth had beautiful intricate designs on its wings you’d never seen. The little creature was also incredibly feisty. On multiple occasions it flew into the side of the box as if trying to push its way out.

Now that glass enclosure sits empty.

“Do you think it would be alright if he asks you a few questions?”

You happily agree hoping that cooperating will divert any attention from yourself.

With a grin your advisor leaves the room to give you and Fushiguro space. Now alone with the man from the bar, he sleepy grins a coy amused thing.

“So, we meet again.” That deep voice sulks out with a lure that feels poisonous and sticky.

“We do.” You nod politely.

“Shouldn’t be surprised you’re a bug fan.” He scratches at his jaw and for some reason his casual attitude towards you twists your stomach.

You want to make a witty comeback but nothing comes to mind. Instead you stare down this mysterious man.

“What makes a cutie like you get into bugs huh?” He asks casually.

“My grandfather.” You answer truthful and curt.

“Hm, that’s nice.” Fushiguro nods understandingly.

His eyes begin scanning the lab with that same boredom he wore at the restaurant bar.

“So when did ya let the moth escape?” His relaxed question makes you choke.

“Excuse me?!” You snap. “I didn’t let the moth out.”

Except you had.

The first night you stayed late at the lab you accidentally forgot to close the windows.

In that mishap, the moth escaped. You were thankful another class used the lab after you and disrupted the possibility of anything being pinned to you.

The department of course was a bit disheartened. However, everyone warmly joked about half of the job of being an entomologist is chasing after things way too fast to catch.

That happened months ago.

“I’m going to be honest with you.” Toji Fushiguro leans against the table with a brazen ease. “I’m here looking for that thing cause it’s dangerous.”

For some reason, you don’t fully believe him.

“Remember what I told you about moths? They’re bad luck.” His stare is unwavering and cold.

“That’s arguable.” You surprisingly fire back.

Toji Fushiguro shrugs. He slides his hands into his jogger pant’s pockets.

“If that’s all you wanted to discuss, then I need to ask you to please leave. I have work to do.” You answer sharp and composed.

He simply shrugs again and pushes himself off the table he leans against.

Without another word Toji Fushiguro simply heads to the door. Before he leaves the man stops.

“That bad luck I told you about? S’gonna catch up to you soon, pretty. Just want to give you a warning.”

It sounds like a threat instead of a warning.

At his words a venomous bile pools in your mouth and you almost want to snarl at this man. He leaves with just a casual wave of his hand and not another word.

The rest of the time in the lab you can’t focus on anything. You simply float in this strange inertia.

When you leave, no moth flutters outside to greet you.

A new wave of terror wiggles through your stomach.

Your apartment is also deadly silent. Worry prickles all over your body as you slide open the balcony door. You even peer out into the woods hoping to find six gleaming eyes staring out.

Yet only the darkness, eternal and empty, stares back an ancient unforgiving warning.

So try pushing aside this rattling worried energy. You try to make dinner, even put on a favorite movie for background noise.

Your mind however can’t leave the thought of Toji Fushiguro. Mainly, you worry about the absence of your moth. Fear eats away at you as if an actual creature has crawled inside.

And maybe he has.

You miss him. You miss Satoru. You’re worried about him.

He’s become a staple in your life, a strange fixture pestering you. You can’t imagine a day without his presence now.

Then a realization trickles in a slow and sticky truth.

He is a creature of the woods, a myth of the darkness. Maybe he never meant to be yours.

Now here you are. A selfish human simply trying to keep him all to yourself.

A sudden clash of something solid rams into the balcony rail. You can’t help but shriek.

Thee moth creature rapidly shoves his way into your living room. He crawls inside feral like something out of a horror movie.

“Satoru!” You cry out his name and rush towards him.

Satoru’s piercing sky eyes, all six of them, are wide and frantic. His gaze darts around the room. Then he begins sniffing around the space.

“Someone’s been in here.” Satoru’s voice drops, a waterlogged frantic gurgle.

“Wait what?” You ask terrified. “How do you know?

You start glancing around the room now and follow Satoru as he continues rapidly smelling the space. There are no signs of someone breaking in and entering. Nothing even seems out of place or stolen.

“I smell something new. It’s not either one of our scents.” Satoru’s voice drips with a sharp dread and it chokes you.

“What does that mean?” You croak trying not to get caught up in the terror and panic, but their current is so strong.

Suddenly Satoru whips around.

There in the hallway of your apartment he completely consumes the entire space with his imposing frame. The darkness of the hallway and dim lighting casts a grim shadow over him. His wide frantic eyes are animalistic, more than you’ve ever seen.

His shoulders heave with rapid breaths. In a blink Satoru suddenly crams his body against yours.

This giant of a monster curls down to crouch into you. His face begins rubbing against yours. Soft growl like purring rumbles into the air.

You can’t help but whimper his name as fear has you in its maw.

What’s going to happen? What could you do?

You try to voice these questions, these worries, but the words get tangled in your throat.

“Nothing will harm you.” Satoru snaps deadly as the edge of his tone wavers into a frayed growl.

Those strange humming clips and chirps he makes float into the air while he continues comforting you.

Clawed hands curl into your back with a noticeable pressure. There’s a hint of danger in his tight grasp. But then you realize you’re also clutching onto him with an iron hold.

Frustratedly you try blinking away tears managing to stubbornly spill down your cheeks.

Satoru, who still rubs his monstrous face against yours, immediately notices your tears.

A distressing chattering noise comes and you’re readying to reassure him you’re fine.

His tongue instead moves to lick at your tears.

The action stills you immediately. The slick appendage rapidly slithers across your face trying to quickly wipe away your tears.

You think about when he healed your hand, when his tongue wiggled across your skin to lap at your blood. Now here he is again, consuming you, trying to heal and comfort you.

His tongue however slides down across your cheeks tasting the salt of your skin. It immediately sparks to life an intoxicating heat that drowns out the panic.

A part of you wonders about the danger swirling around him and how there might be a possibility that doom is seeping into you.

This might be your doom, to adore a creature composed of myth and nightmare.

You blink and a few lingering tears rapidly run down your cheek straight to the corner of your lip.

Satoru, fast as ever, moves to lick them up. In the process his tongue slithers close to your lips, running across the edge of them.

You inhale sharply and your eyes can’t help but snap open wide. You’re breathing heavily. The way Satoru’s large shoulders begin heaving, so is he.

Suddenly he breathes out your name and it gets tangled in your heart.

“Mine.” Then his voice, animalistic and monstrous, cracks the air with a low possessive growl.

His tongue begins running across your lips without hesitation. The wet wiggling intense sensation has your eyes closing in absolute bliss. You sigh and want to open your mouth to let his tongue slip inside.

“You’re mine.” He snarls out feral and wild. Those strange clicks of his come faster and soon enough his claws draw you closer.

Suddenly Satoru inhales deeply against your skin.

Then he groans a terrible wonderful noise that makes your knees buckle.

“Oh you smell so good.” He slurs. He continues to smell every inch of your skin, trying to map and memorize your scent.

A whimper escapes you and Satoru rumbles out a comforting click.

He begins dragging his down your body with a focused intent.

“Stronger, it’s getting stronger.” He mutters against your clothes.

“Satoru-” you say his name a bit worried.

The moth creature shoves his face unabashedly against your clothed sex. He groans loud, almost debauched and all thoughts float out of you. His antennas rapidly twitch.

“Oh it’s here.” Satoru mumbles in awe, possessed, as if he’s found a deity. “You smell so good here.”

He growls frustrated as he tries burrowing his face closer and closer to your dripping arousal.

You croak out his name waterlogged.

Satoru snaps to look up at you from his knees. All six eyes are glossy and frantic.

“Please? Please, my little human, can I have more?” He begs.

That’s when you notice his mouth is wet drenched with saliva. He’s drooling at just the thought of you, drunk on your smell.

All you can do is nod, caught in the same intoxication desire.

Effortlessly he claws apart your pants at the seam and dives in. You can’t even chide him for that.

Your mind goes blank, consumed by pleasure and lost in its woods. As you cry out while his thin tongue runs up and down every inch of you, you realize Satoru is right.

You are his. And maybe he is yours.

Satoru arrived in your life and never left. He instead stayed in the safety of your light with you under the cover of his wings.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

“Don’t go to class today.” The moth mumbles.

Satoru has been glued to your side since the discovery of your intruder last week. He barely leaves the apartment and when he does it’s only because you need to leave. Currently he sits on the bedroom floor with wide sleep deprived eyes.

The antennas on top of his head flicker quickly. He’s tried been pushing himself to stand guard even during the day.

“I’ll be fine, it’s just a lecture.” You reassure him.

“Besides, you should take this time to sleep. You need to rest.”

“I’ll be fine.” He mirrors your words back to you.

Your monster’s six eyes hold a daze focused like he’s trying to be aware of everything all at once. Slowly and delicately you let your hand run against his soft face.

The delicate fur, now a tangible dream under your fingertips, is so sulky. The touch jolts the creature into awareness.

Satoru���s eyes all flutter you and instantly his face melts against your hand.

“Don’t go.” He whispers a static like mumble.

“I’ll be okay.” You even lean down to kiss the side of his face.

“Fine, then I’m going.” He snaps a firm unwavering decision and you can’t argue with him.

As you walk to the lecture hall building he flutters so swiftly and dizzying in his normal moth form. He even flies all around your face, another angry urging for you to not go.

You gently hold out your hand. Slowly the moth flutters to land on top of your hand.

He is gorgeous in every form including this one. Shimmering wide eyes, large intricate wings, all composed in this sweet creature furiously crawling over your hand.

“I know you’re still upset, but I’ll be fine.” You softly reassure him for the hundreth time.

He stops and stares at you. Gently you run a finger across his fuzzy little head careful to not touch his antennas.

He flies from your hand and lands immediately on the corner of your lips.

A goodbye kiss.

Your lips twitch amused and deeply fond.

“I’ll see you when class is over.” With that you head to class.

Walking into the classroom, one of your peers excitedly speaks to everyone present in the room.

“Did you guys hear?! Someone just saw the mothman thing on campus a few minutes ago?!”

Terror unfolds in you and your heart collapses among its cage. He must have transformed in the woods, or in flight.

“Really? Are you sure?” A skeptic quickly emerges and you cling to their words.

“No I swear! Everyone’s been talking about it online! So many people saw it fly into the trees by the woods!”

You haven’t been this terrified since the contained moth was missing or since you first saw six reflective eyes staring at you from the dark.

Chatter breaks out immediately with so many discussions. Some of your classmates show their disbelief while others eagerly ask for more information.

You try to keep your composure as you slide into your seat.

“Hey,” someone says your name. Your friend that sits next to you stares at you with a scrunched up face of concern.

“You okay? You look kinda sick.” She frowns.

You wearily smile and use the excuse that you have been under the weather. A cold chill even runs up your spine.

“Then head back home,” she comforts you with understanding eyes. “I’ll send you the notes from today and let you know if you miss anything.”

Grateful you wearily thank her and she nods warm, reassuring, wishing you rest. As you turn to head out you catch the last bit of conversation bubbling along with your classmates.

“Well…if someone saw the moth thing, doesn’t that mean something bad is gonna happen soon?”

“Yeah that’s what the legend says.” Someone grimly agrees.

Scrambling, you shove yourself out of the classroom before you hear anything else.

Now out of the room you shakily exhale trying to calm yourself down.

At this time in the evening the hallways are deathly silent, harrowingly so. Unlike the lab building, so open and light with its many windows and expanded hallways, the lecture hall building’s tight corridors create a haunting clustered stillness.

That stillness seems to be creeping in more and more.

As you walk towards the elevator, sudden footsteps begin stomping behind you.

They are solid and firm, staying a decent pace away from you. The anxiousness from these past few days create an unbearable itch that crawls over your skin.

So you turn around.

And the hallway is dead empty.

No one walks behind you.

Fear tastes icy and rotten as it infects your body. Instantly you whip around to rush to the elevator.

You clash straight into someone.

The collision knocks you out of your thoughts and you quickly blink into focus.

A rush of apologizes stammer out of you.

“Hey, it’s okay.” The man you ran into warmly reassures you.

You finally get a good look at him. He’s handsome with a strong jaw and a faint mustache. He looks official in his suit. The smell of cigarettes surround you.

“Actually, I was wondering if you could help point me in the direction of the main office.” The man smiles warmly.

This had to be the source of the footsteps you heard. The dread you have slowly simmers at the sight of him.

“Oh course.” You grin weakly at the man, thankful your fear is calming down. “You have to go down to the other end of this hallway-”

A sudden hand comes up from behind you.

It slaps over your mouth with a painful grip. Then something sharp pierces your neck.

The scream from your throat fades along with your focus.

The last thought flashing through your mind before you fade into darkness is that Satoru was right.

You shouldn’t have gone to class.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

The jostling of your body wakes you up.

Groggily you blink into focus. You first notice it’s late at night. Next, you’re laid across the back seat of a car and your hands are tied.

In the front seats sit the man you ran into at the school and Toji Fushiguro. You go to scream but a tightly wrapped cloth blocks your mouth.

“You’re awake.” Toji drawls out slowly and surprised.

You screech at him through the material.

“Yeah, I knew you were with the moth this entire time.” He grins at you through the rear window.

You continue to scream as best as you can, sounding feral and panicked as tears fill your eyes.

“Guess living with a monster makes you sound this wild.” Toji Fushiguro’s accomplice mutters without even glancing once at you.

He begins typing away on his phone.

“We got more buyers willing to pay if we bring the moth in alive.” The man comments.

Everything clicks.

They were after Satoru. And you’re the bait.

Maybe Fushiguro’s accomplice is right. Maybe living with a monster has leaked into you because the noise you make doesn’t sound human.

Your scream, still stifled, carries so many emotions. Your pain, terror, anger and frustration, all of it courses through your veins and rips out in waves.

“Hey.” Toji Fushiguro glances back at you from the rear mirror. “Keep it down. I don’t wanna get too aggressive, but I will.”

He casually pulls out a gun and waves it around.

The horrifying casual threat causes your eyes to go wide and now all the fight you had trickles out.

“Watch it!” Suddenly the man in the driver's seat screams out.

Your eyes flicker forward.

Against the darkness, illuminated by the car’s headlights, a looking figure stands in the middle of the road.

Six eyes stare out from the darkness a brilliant terrifying electric blue. Delicate wide moth wings flare out and break against the night.

Through the fabric you scream out his name, except it gets drowned out by the revving of the engine.

Toji speeds up with full intent to hit the creature.

“What are you doing?!” The other man cries out.

You even scream in panic. Your moth however flies up, missing the impact.

He’s gone from sight.

A solid clang lands on the roof.

A sharp stab pierces the top of the car with a snap. The screeching of metal being ripped away follows fast. The eyes of the monster stare into the car with a disastrous terror.

Satoru smiles wild and gleeful at the men, a predator that's captured its prey.

Then…Everything happens in a blink.

The car swerves. The speed makes you feel as if you are flying. The colliding noise of scraping metal and then a solid impact. Everything becomes distorted as if you are in a snow globe spinning and trying to focus on a dizzying fuzzy world.

An unholy monstrous scream rips into the air. It’s all you hear as you fade in and out of consciousness.

You blink and suddenly twigs from the forest floor press against your body. A sharp object pierces your side. Every inch of you screams in pain while also a numbing sensation starts creeping in.

An inhuman roar screeches out and your eyes snap open.

Off to the side along the trees you see the faint edge of Satoru within the darkness. Faintly you hear a wet ripping sound. It’s visceral, like a vulture digging into a macabre carnage.

You watch his clawed hands viscously dig into whatever he stands over. You try gathering your voice trying to say something, anything.

Then six electric eyes snap up to you from the dark forest. He is the terror of the woods, a feral monster interrupted from its hunt.

Your vision however goes blurry and it gets harder staying awake.

A wreck howl of your name breaks into the air.

Tender clawed hands scoop up from the ground. You’re cradled against him gently and tight. The fabric in your mouth gets ripped away and now the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth fast.

You wheeze out Satoru’s name. There’s so much you want to say. But you’re getting so tired.

“Stay awake!” He snarls desperately sensing your exhaustion.

Nothing feels real. Even staring up at your creature, his six eyes seem to become twelve, like clusters of galaxies carved out in the night sky.

But you’re fading. You know and he knows it.

Breathing hurts and now a cool chill runs across your body from the inside.

Your grandfather's words about moths being angels float into your mind.

You recall how terrifying angels are sometimes described. Some of them are composed of wheels of fire, with many wings.

Yours has many eyes.

You’re grateful Satoru is here with you at the end. You’re grateful this angel found you.

Water droplets plop onto your face and you wonder if it’s raining.

Satoru screams your name with absolute anguish. A darkness crawls over your eyes. Soft and peacefully, you fall into its waiting arms.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

A soft steady beeping pulls you out from the darkness.

Wearily you open your eyes. But the bright light of wherever you are immediately has you shutting your eyes tight.

A cold hand touches your arm.

The touch jolts you awake. In a panic your eyes immediately snap open and your body shoots up only to find yourself tangled.

Tubes run from out of your arms. One tube even rests under your nose. The beeping noise you faintly recognize is a heart monitor and realization hits that you’re in a hospital.

Then when you turn to the side, a man you don’t know sits beside you.

You have never seen a man as gorgeous as him. Striking cloud white hair, a chiseled jawline, broad shoulders and then…

The brightest blue eyes, clear as a summer sky, stare at you so frantic and hesitant.

The man says your name, his tone faintly pleading.

For some reason his voice sounds vaguely familiar. But that thought is put on hold when the door to your room opens and a nurse walks in.

“Oh thank goodness you’re awake!” She sighs genuinely warm to see you and even seems a bit surprised.

What happened? You were dying. You were sure of it.

“Do you remember anything that happened?” The nurse asks gently as she checks your vitals.

“I…” your voice wavers as the memory clips at you, terrifying and heartbreaking.

“It’s okay if you don’t.” The nurse says comfortingly. “It’s common for accident victims to have a foggy memory. Plus after the one you were in it’s understandable.”

Weakly you question about what happened, how you got here.

With soft eyes the nurse explains it all.

You were the only survivor of the car crash. A part of you vividly remembers Toji Fushiguro and the man with him. A part of you dark and hollow gleams grateful they are no longer here.

You however didn’t walk away unscathed. You have a few broken ribs, a very bad concussion and light internal bleeding being monitored.

“We even found damage near your heart that could’ve been deadly-”

Yet, you were alive.

“And….” The nurse’s eyes twinkle warm and adoring as they flicker to the man behind you.

“This man found you and brought you in. Came into the hospital with you in his arms like some kind of bloody guardian angel.”

You whip your attention back to him as well. The man’s blue eyes stay so intently focused on you.

They remind you so much of the pairs of six eyes that watched you with the same unwavering gaze.

Then the nurse’s words click.

An angel.

No. This couldn’t be…

The idea so wild and unbelievable barrels into you fast. It knocks you breathless that you can’t help but cough out.

Everyone instantly scrambles to grab you something to drink. It’s your mystery man who hands you a cold water first and you guzzle it down with a frantic speed.

“I’ll let you get some rest. Please hit the call button if you need anything.” The nurse squeezes your shoulder and you thank her with a weak cough.

Now in the quiet safety of the hospital room, your attention snaps to the man still intently staring at you with glossy blue lake eyes.

You take the jump. It might be the most far stretched idea and you can blame the concussion but -

You whisper out Satoru’s name.

The white haired man nods fast and a sob escapes you.

It’s him.

Through tear soaked questions you ask him how.

“Remember that legend I once told you? About us being able to bring someone back from the dead?”

His voice is now clear, so distinctly him even in this form you can’t miss it now.

His words are a chilling breeze.

“I died.” You whisper the cold realization.

And he brought you back.

“But you…what happened?” Your eyes so clouded with tears scan his very beautiful and human face.

The Satoru before you is so familiar yet so different. The deep inhale he gives moves his shoulders. You’ve seen it before when his wings moved with the same exhausted exhale. Instead now a weary weight, a very human one, colors his stunning features.

But a sudden eased smile tugs at his lips and the sight is stunning.

“We’re allowed to bring someone back…it’s just at a little cost.” His voice flutters out light and his words get trapped in your throat.

You can’t fight the tears. They come in waves and your shoulders shake as you cry.

“Wait,” Satoru rapidly panics as he slides closer to you. “What’s wrong?!”

He gave up everything. His form, his livelihood, his essence as a creature of the myth, he gave it all for you.

That solid truth rips so much sadness and guilt through you all you can do is angrily cry, frustrated.

“Why are you crying?” He asks concerned and a bit confused.

“Because,” you hiccup. “Because I did this to you.”

You would carry this guilt for the rest of your life.

“What? Don’t like the way I look? I thought I was pretty handsome in this form, yeah?” He lightly teases to perk you up.

You give him a look of disbelief wondering if you should call the nurse to escort this headache away from you.

“Okay okay,” he says, thankfully understanding your heartache.

Gently Satoru’s hand moves to rest against you on top of the itchy hospital blanket. Fondly he runs his hand over your leg. You watch as his eyes follow the path of his hand like he’s trying to solidify your presence beside him. A sadness shimmers within his blue pools.

“If anyone’s to blame…it’s me. I did this to you.”

Quickly, through a teary blubbering mess you reassure Satoru he did nothing wrong. His hand softly squeezes your knee.

“Do you remember when we were watching that weird show and you asked me what I’d wish for? What I wanted more than anything?”

Suddenly Satoru speaks firmer, eyes still not facing you.

“I wished I could be with you. I wanted to live a full life by your side.” His answer is low, but so beautifully clear it’s like dawn breaking over the forest.

Those endless blue eyes turn to you.

Gingerly Satoru raises his hand. He runs his fingers against your face with a tender touch, a delicate brush like that of a moth’s wing.

“Never feel guilty about what happened. I would make this decision over and over again. I don’t regret it and never will.” He says firm, absolute and devoted.

Tears return again but this time for another reason, one so beautifully overwhelming it consumes you.

Satoru gently draws you into his arms to hold you steady against his sturdy chest.

“Can't get rid of me now, little human.” He teases but the faintest edge of emotion cracks his voice.

A laugh escapes you among the tears.

“You’re a little human now too, bug boy.” You joke as the new nickname comes so easily to you.

“There’s nothing little about me, especially in this form.” He deeply purrs.

You’re about to snap at him for being crude until he shrieks.

“And bug boy?! You never even called me that before! If anyone is the bug freak it’s you!”

You laugh, truly laugh, and a warm buoyancy floats within your entire body. He joins in alongside you. His laugh is such a wild and free noise you want to keep it forever.

“This being a human thing,” he suddenly mutters against the top of your head. “Might take me a little while to get used to it.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper back, fully resting against him. “We’re all still trying to figure it out too.”

Satoru’s hand begins rubbing against your back effortlessly, so human and natural.

“You already seem to be doing a good job.” You mumble feeling sleepy again.

He hums amused. “I know. I’m just that good.”

You want to make a snide remark but then Satoru kisses the top of your head. Your heart jumps at feeling his lips.

“I get to do this all the time now.” He whispers slightly in awe, like he spoke a hidden thought out loud.

You can’t help but grin giddy.

Before, you had begun experimenting very enthusiastically about getting to learn how to kiss him in his old form. But you understand.

This felt right. It always did, even when you never wanted to admit it before.

“No more mothman.” Satoru mutters a quiet realization and you clutch his shirt.

“You’ll always be my pest.” You reassure him.

“Hey.” You can hear the mock frown in his voice and you snicker.

You think about Satoru as your cryptid emerging straight from legends.

If he was seen as a harbinger and warning of danger, it strangely has you thinking about love.

For what is love if not a warning? A ‘be careful, don’t run too fast, please be safe, please let me protect you’ warning morphed into a wish and want to keep someone safe. Horror and love sometimes walk hand in hand together after all.

In the arms of your harbinger, you wearily start falling asleep. Satoru senses it too and places another kiss on your head.

When he gently moves to rest you back on the bed your eyes glance to the window. The dark evening night stretches out deep and wide

Against the glass, you notice a fluttering movement.

Soft green delicate long wings catch the light from the hospital room.

Actias luna.

More tears brim in your eyes.

The beautiful lunar moth dances against the window, against the darkness, as if to greet you a warm hello and wish you well.

[multific]

Haunting You

Astarion x Reader

Summary: A ghost story turned love story.

A/N: The ghost mentioned below is based on the ghost in Mama 2013 movie.

The world was filled with all sorts of creatures.

Vampires, fairies, demons, dragons, witches and ghosts.

Astarion had seen many of these creatures, killed many and fucked even more.

He would say nothing surprises him anymore.

But that would be a lie.

He never cared for haunted places.

Until one night he had to hide in one.

It was an old castle, on the verge of complete destruction and yet, something held it all together.

Magic.

It was easy to deduct, the place was filled with magic so dark, it almost made Astarion run out.

Suppose certain death wouldn't be waiting for him outside. And yet, the new blood following him didn't enter.

Maybe then knew better like he should have.

He turned to his left at the end of the corridor. He wasn't sure what made him go that way in the first place.

But he heard possibly the most blood-curdling scream of all time. It was followed by low moans and groans.

It made Astarion stop in his tracks as he looked down at the long and dark corridor. He could make out the faint line of a woman. But her body seems to be broken in more than one place.

She kept on groaning as she just stood there.

Astarion has only ever felt this fear in life. The undeniable feeling of death.

The woman kept watching Astarion and he was sure, this would be his end.

Who could have guessed a haunted castle would bring his end?

The woman raised her broken arms as if she was preparing to charge at him. And he was sure it would be quick.

He knew deep down, that this was the end. There was no way he could outrun a ghost, an angry, vengeful ghost at that. Those were the worst.

He could feel his heart in his throat as he was sure he was taking his last breaths.

"Mama." a voice startled him, making him shake as he looked at the woman who just spoke. "He is a guest. We treat guests nicely."

You stood there, to his right, slightly behind him by the window.

Your eyes fixed on the ghostly figure at the end of the hallway.

You were a witch, Astarion was sure, he had seen your kind before.

But he had never seen someone like you, someone so beautiful.

He didn't dare to look at the woman but you, he had no problem looking at you.

Your eyes soon met his.

"Apologies for her, she is rather... protective." Astarion noticed that the ghostly apparition stood right next to him, watching his every move with her eyes, eyes fixed on Astarion who was too scared to look away from you.

"Who is she?" is what he managed to say in the end.

"I would say she was a loving woman with many children before her husband turned on her and killed her. Now, she is looking for her children. She often comes by there."

"How exactly do you know that?"

"You are rather sassy for someone who I just saved from death. But she told me the story. Come, you must be hungry." you said as you turned and walked away, he followed, leaving the woman standing there.

"What would you wish to eat? Meat? Or would you rather have blood?" you asked looking at him as you guided him to your living chambers.

"You are a witch." it was a statement, not a question. You both knew exactly what the other one was.

Not like either of you was hiding it.

"And you are a vampire."

"Actually, I am an elf-vampire. So, you were only half right." Astarion wasn't even sure where his confidence came from.

But you didn't seem to mind. 

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fallout-girl219

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, OR TO STEAL ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[shiiro-arts]

Fairy tail characters as Greek Gods

Erza: Nike, Goddness of Victory

Wendy: Aeolus, God(dess) of the Wind

Grey: Boreas, God of Winter and Ice

Natsu: Ares, God of War, corauge and spirit of battle

Lucy: Aphrodite, Goddess of love, beauty and femininity

(yes, I'm a basic bitch making nalu ares and aphrodite but it does make sense)

Extra:

Mavis: Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and strategic war

Zeref: Thanatos, God of Death/Personification of death

Juvia: Amphitrite, Goddess of the sea

Cana: Dionysus, God(dess) of wine and revelry

Levy: Calliope, Muse of poetry (She could also be Hermes, technically, but he is more associated with messages and thieves)

Gajeel: Hephaestus, God of blacksmiths, metalworking and artisans

Lissanna: Artemis, Goddess of hunting, the moon and animals

Mirajane: Hecate, Goddess of magic, ghosts and necromancy

[bookcub]

Chappell Roan Book Rec

like many other, I am currently obsessed with The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess so here are a few book recs based on the songs!!

(you can message me for questions about content warnings!)

Femininomon

A Guest in the House by E. M. Carroll (horror graphic novel)

What happens when you marry a mediocre liar and there's a ghost you are definitely attracted to in the house (that might be his dead wife)?

Relevant lyric: Stuck in the suburbs, you're folding his laundry/Got what you wanted so stop feeling sorry

Bonus Rec: Romancing the Inventor by Gail Carriger (adult steampunk romance)

Red Wine Supernova

Satisfaction Guaranteed by Karelia Stenz-Waters (adult romance)

Imagine inheriting a sex toy shop with a enchanting stranger who you feel incredibly connected to. . .

Relevant lyric: I heard you like magic/I got a wand and a rabbit

Bonus Rec: Sunstone by Stjepan Šejić (adult romance graphic novel)

After Midnight

Ash by Malinda Lo (YA fantasy)

I had to choose a queer Cinderella for this one, especially one whose mother warns her away from the forest at night.

Relevant lyric: This is what I wanted, this is what I like/I've been a good, good girl for a long time now

Bonus Rec: A Restless Truth by Freya Marske (adult historical fantasy, sequel)

Coffee

The Witch's Heart by Genevieve Gornichec (adult fantasy)

When your ex is the trickster god Loki and you have prophetic futures, you know you can never just have coffee.

Relevant lyric: Here come the excuses that fuel the illusions/But I'd rather feel something than nothing at all,

Bonus Rec: Seven Days in June by Tia Williams (adult contemporary)

Casual

The Last Tale of the Flower Bride by Roshani Chokshi (adult gothic)

Remember that toxic homoerotic best friend you had a child? Who believed in magic and was also the most manipulative person you've ever met? It never was a casual relationship, was it?

Relevant lyric: Hate that I let this drag on so long, you can go to hell

Bonus Rec: Ben and Beatriz by Katalina Gamarra (adult romance)

Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl

A Spindle Splintered/A Mirror Mended by Alix E. Harrow (adult fantasy)

Entering the fairy tale multiverse always leads to the strangest (and funnest) relationships (platonic and romantic) of your life.

Relevant lyrics: We're leaving the planet and you can't come

Bonus Rec: Cash Degado is Living the Dream by Tehlor Kay Mejia (adult contemporary)

HOT TO GO!

The Princess and the Grilled Cheese Sandwich by Deya Muniz (graphic novel)

What if I dressed up as a count to inherit my father's fortune and you were a princess and we both liked grilled cheese???

Relevant lyric: I could be the one, or your new addiction/ It's all in my head but I want non-fiction

Bonus Rec: Act Your Age, Eve Brown by Talia Hibbert

My Kink is Karma

Mrs. Martin's Incomparable Adventure by Courtney Milan (adult historical romance)

She said, let's destroy my terrible nephew's life, and how could you say no to such a romantic proposal?

Relevant lyric: Wishing you the best, in the worst way

Bonus Rec: Girl Serpent Thorn by Melissa Bashardoust (YA fantasy)

Picture You

A Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall (adult historical romance)

Oops, I faked my death and reinvented myself and you were way more distraught than I thought you would be. . .

Relevant lyric: Do you picture me like I picture you?/Am I in the frame from your point of view?

Kaleidoscope

The Scapegracers by H. A. Clarke (YA urban fantasy)

What if we formed a coven and what if we were all a little in love with each other?

Relevant lyric: And love is a kaleidoscope/How it works we'll never know

Bonus Rec: The Girls I've Been by Tess Sharpe (YA thriller)

Pink Pony Club

The Prince and the Dressmaker by Jen Wang (graphic novel)

He was a drag queen, she was a seamstress, can I make it anymore obvious?

Relevant Lyric: And I heard that there's a special place/Where boys and girls can all be queens every single day

Bonus Rec: Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo (YA historical)

Naked in Manhattan

Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail by Ashley Herring Blake (adult romance)

Isn't it romantic, designing a house with someone with your entirely opposite tastes?

Relevant lyric: Boys suck and girls I've never tried

Bonus Rec: Girls Made of Snow and Glass by Melissa Bashardoust (YA fantasy)

California

Honey Girl by Morgan Rogers (adult contemporary)

If a PhD can't save you, maybe a drunken marriage in Vegas can?

Relevant lyric: Cause I was never told that I wasn't gonna get/The things I want the most

Guilty Pleasure

Something to Talk About by Meryl Wilsner (adult romance)

Fake dating your boss? 0/10 recommended. . . right?

Relevant lyric: I want this like a cigarette/Can we drag it out and never quit?

Bonus Rec: That Time I Got Drunk and Saved a Demon by Kimberly Lemming (adult fantasy romance)

Bonus:

Good Luck, Babe

Sorry, Bro by Taleen Voskuni (adult contemporary)

Relevant lyric: You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling

Ophelia After All by Racquel Marie (YA contemporary)

[the-kr8tor]

Thank you for voting for the name Octobie! Now for the themes! I've combed through every single suggestion you gave me and categorised all of them into 12 themes.

So what I'm gonna do is post the 12 (right here) and from that 12 the 5 most top voted will move up for another poll until the top 3 wins! (Reasons/ and where I got the themes from your suggestions are listed below the poll/cut. W/ brief descriptions also)

Note: Theme names aren't finalized but the meanings will still be the same. (They'll have a cooler name once they get picked!)

Wondering why there will only be three themes? Well the third week theme is called wild card where anything goes! So if your chosen theme doesn't win you can always wait for the third week of octobie to come around and you can do whatever you want in that week as long as Hobie's in it!

Fantasy— fairy! Hobie, Dragon tamer! Hobie/Dragon rider! Hobie, Mythical creature, Sailor/Pirate! Hobie x deity! R, Time-looped historian! Hobie, fae, Mermaid. (Literally anything to do with the fantasy genre)

Halloween- Cloak Hobie, Witch R & familiar! Hobie, Witch! R and demon! Hobie, accidental summoning, pumpkin, Demon! Hobie and angel! R, death reaper! Hobie and target! R, vampire! R and human Hobie, serial killer! Hobie and detective! R, zombie! Hobie, pirates, thriller! Hobie, (anything spooky or scary!)

Eras swap/ through the decades- Modern! Hobie x 1970s! r, modern au, 1800s, different au Hobies meet and different au readers meet, aged up meet cute (they meet in their 60s), decades, (time is the main gist of it, whether it's hobie through the years or some decade specific scenario)

Music- guitar, record play, music lessons, backstage, concerts, rival bands/musicians, band practice, battle of the bands, (anything that has to do with music!)

Comfort- stray cats, nicknames, arts and crafts, london tings, hate the am (mornings), flowers, cats, snow, cozy/chilling at home, library, favourite au/trope, cottage core, (anything that wakes the butterflies in your stomach or makes you feel the ooeygoeey feeling fluff!)

Anarchy- ACAB, battle vests, protest, punk. (Anything that Hobie would be proud of doing)

Slice of life/ family life- swing date, the twins, first dance, just cozy things, cozy/chilling at home, morning/nighy routine, handsy, date day/night, meet cute, sick day, childhood friends. (Cozy or family related!)

Crossover- villains and/Vs heroes, magical girl! Hobie, tokyo ghoul au, DC Crossover, Hobie meeting batman, android! Hobie and human r, baldur's gate 3 au, hobie and mutant x-men! R, hobie and deadpool!, deadpool! Hobie, gambit! Hobie, ghost rider! hobie, spy family au, nightcrawler! Hobie (whether it's a video game, anime or a different genre of comic, that goes here!)

Medieval- royalty, royal! R and rebel! Hobie, (anything that makes you sing the game of thrones opening lol)

Villain au- black cat! Hobie, deadpool! Hobie, mystique! Hobie, prowler! Hobie x villain! r (evil! Hobie? Evil! Hobie! Or any au pertaining to villainy!)

Movie mashup- scream killer! Hobie and caller! R, freaky friday/body swap, rom-com, will they/won't they?, swan lake au, mad hatter! Hobie, phantom of the opera au, the greatest showman au, avatar au, (general movie au or theatre au)

Runway ready- patches, runway, hair, piercings, braids, dress up/ fashion show, draw in your style. (Fashun!)

[dwrlm-orion]

📌List of My Fav Fanfic That I've reblog here or I just found again (In case they're deactivated or something else so I won't cry over my stupidity) I'll pin this

(UPDATED!!!)

SIMON RILEY (CALL OF DUTY)

Being Simon Riley Little Sister by @hotmencoreplus Simon Riley adopt an Orphan by @mrshesh Being affectionate with their S/O at the pool by @mrshesh NSFW with military!Reader by @konigenblobbity It All Comes Crashing Down by @tacticaldiary If You Bite My Hand Again by @halcyone-of-the-seaone-by-the Picture-Perfect by @ghostaholics The four times you fell asleep on Ghost and the one time Ghost fell asleep on you Part 01 / Part 02 / Part 03 / Part 04 / Part 05 by @longing-for-the-past-times Simon attempt to make dinner but fail by @starstruckmiraclekitty The Things We Say by @lunarw0rks Monster by @rowarn Bleeding Blue (Apocalypse AU) by @nsharks

ALEJANDRO VARGAS (CALL OF DUTY)

Border Chase (Frontier) by @auroradragon

GOJO SATORU (JJK)

Ride a Car with Gojo (it didn't end well) by @enkvyu Gojo Masterlist: I want to Kiss You by @arminsumi Vampire Gojo by @gojorgeous

WILLIAM JAMES MORIARTY (MORIARTY THE PATRIOT)

My Jolly Sailor Bold by @fairy-writes Lost and Found by @manias-wordcount William take reader to a hotel @rosesrflo Masterlist by @dazaiandhislovelybandages William encourage reader to embrace her femininity by @moriartyluver False Lover (this is series and I love it) by @moriartyluver Mastermind by @gh0st-author If Looks Could Kill by @beneathashadytree Their Darling in Lingerie by @rosesrflo

TWISTED WONDERLAND

Yuu and The Great 7 AU by @cherrys-side-bitch Lilia x Reader : Briar's Secret by @aventurine83 Rollo x Reader: Like Fire Hellfire by @raven-at-the-writing-desk Vampire Lilia x GN!Human Lover by @roseapov Lilia and Healer by @1dont-really-know Maleanor and Silver by @llondonfog Malleus: Unrequited by @blues824 It's a Crewel World by @blackopals-world List of Fic by @blackopals-world Yuu BF ask Crewel for their hand in marriage by @yuri-is-online Floyd Leech x Reader: Idiot Love by @acey-wacey Yuu Facts by @mee-op Canon Yuu by @starsilluminateourgalaxy 3rd Year Shoujo AU by @/korlkorl(deactived) A Cat in The Kitchen by @raven-at-the-writing-desk Milk & Honey by @llondonfog Cafetaria by @hipsterteller Yuu and The Magical Power of Song (Pomefiore) by @bajistadiamond Masterlist of Coralinnii by @coralinnii List of twst fanfic by @tartppola

REGULUS BLACK (HARRY POTTER)

Le Coup De Foudre @theostrophywife List of Regulus Black Fav Fic Part 01 / Part 02 by @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy Other Girls by @ourloveisforthelovely

SIRIUS BLACK (HARRY POTTER)

Enemy to Lovers by @augustwithquills

NEUVILLETTE (GENSHIN IMPACT)

Neuvillette and His Arrange Marriage by @violet-eng Pedal to The Medal by @yandere-wishes

ZHONGLI (GENSHIN IMPACT)

The Phoenix to His Dragon by @euniveve

KAMISATO AYATO (GENSHIN IMPACT)

Ayato enamoured by his vice by @jinxlixir Privacy by @aestherin

SCARAMOUCHE/WANDERER (GENSHIN IMPACT)

5 moments he fell in love with you by @meowanian Destruction (Cyberpunk AU) by @tsukimara nuvole bianche by @vxnuslogy Keep my heart by @aestherin

VYN (TEARS OF THEMIS)

Favorite Crime by @celamoon

ALASTOR (HAZBIN HOTEL)

Dear Dolly by @ohproserpine The Finer Things in Death by @falling-endlessly

SUO HAYATO (WIND BREAKER)

A Gentleman (& His Rambler) by @suosgirl

Notes:

*Due to my brain who have short memory problem or simply because I forgot to repost/documenting a good fanfic I read, I made this so I can re-read fanfic I genuinely like. Most of my fav fic already being documented (screenshot) and save in my drive since I've been here for long time (2020 I guess?? The first fanfic I search here is Twisted Wonderland. And don't worry I'll keep it to myself //senyum jahad)

**AND most of my fav writers deactivate their account without me knowing or realize, so it's a bit sad I can't re-read their works😿 (I BEG YOU DON'T DEACTIVATE YOUR ACCOUNT, I'LL READ EVERY SINGLE OF YOUR GENIUS WORK)

*** For all writers I've tagged, I love your fic so much and I give credits to the amazing you😳🌹

****I forget I haven't add fanfic in my Like list 🙃 (I'll do it other time)

***** I will also made my favorite AO3 fanfic too (Later, I'm too mager)

Question: Do i need their permission to be tagged? I felt complicated to do it (I got a little anxiety, my Introvert soul is jedag-jedug) but I decide to give a shot

P.S: you can keep it if you wanted too, no problem from my side. I think I've been reposting many of fanfic on my old account (I take a break from tumblr in 2022) but sadly I can't remember my username to that acc :(

[thecreaturecodex]

Draxie

Image © Paizo Publishing, accessed at Archives of Nethys here

[The last of the variant sprite lineages from PF 2e's Bestiary 3, and I think the cutest. A little redundant, with faerie dragons (or fey dragonets, I guess) already existing, but when has redundancy ever gotten in the way of monster designers?]

Draxie CR 3 CG Fey This little humanoid is barely a foot tall, with a scaly hide, a long tail and membranous wings. They have small sharp teeth and horns and frills of skin instead of hair.

Draxies, or dragon sprites, are playful, flighty and keen pranksters. They often engage in escalating prank wars with pixies and fairie dragons, both of whom they get along well with. Draxies can be patient when planning some manner of joke or trick, and may spend months or even years for the payoff for a perfect joke. Draxies claim to have their origins in the powerful faerie dragon Elucredrassa, who upon her death reincarnated into a hundred draxies, who spread throughout the First World and then to the Material Plane. Draxies still honor her with the elucera, a soul-bond a draxie might make with a creature or creatures they are particularly fond of. Entering an elucera with a draxie makes one that draxie’s family as much as any blood relative; draxies take their obligations to elucera-mates more seriously than anything else.

Draxies rarely start fights, but are happy to finish them. A draxie is much more skilled at annoying an enemy into fleeing or parleying then they are with direct violence; their first order of business when attacked is usually to breathe draxie dust on an opponent. Unlike the breath of a faerie dragon, which induces a sort of stoned euphoria, draxie breath can cause this along with several other mind-influencing abilities. Even a draxie doesn’t know what its breath will do at any given moment, and they have great fun adapting to the situation as it elapses. If a draxie wants to do permanent harm, it usually relies on its mind thrust spell-like ability.

Draxies come in a wide variety of colors, and most of them have multicolored fringes running along their heads in place of hair, along their backs and on the tips of their tails. Their nails are usually worn long but are too fragile to be used as claws. Their jaws, however, are remarkably powerful for their size. Draxies are omnivorous with a taste for fruit and insects.

Draxie CR 3 XP 800 CG Tiny fey Init +4; Senses low-light vision, Perception +9

Defense AC 17, touch 16, flat-footed 13 (+2 size, +4 Dex, +1 natural) hp 22 (5d6+5) Fort +4, Ref +8, Will +5 DR 5/cold iron

Offense Speed 15 ft., fly 40 ft. (average) Melee bite +8 (1d8-1) Space 2 ½ ft.; Reach 0 ft. Special Attacks draxie dust Spell-like Abilities CL 3rd, concentration +6 (+10 casting defensively) At will—dancing lights, ghost sound (DC 13), mind thrust I (DC 14), prestidigitation 3/day—disguise self (DC 14) 1/day—glitterdust (DC 15), invisibility

Statistics Str 9, Dex 18, Con 13, Int 16, Wis 13, Cha 16 Base Atk +2; CMB +4; CMD 13 Feats Combat Casting, Great Fortitude, Weapon Finesse Skills Acrobatics +12 (+8 when jumping), Bluff +11, Disguise +11, Diplomacy +11, Fly +16, Knowledge (nature) +11, Perception +9, Perform (comedy) +11, Stealth +20 Languages Common, Sylvan, touch telepathy SQ natural guise

Ecology Environment any forests Organization solitary, pair, flight (3-6) or family (7-24) Treasure standard

Special Abilities Draxie Dust (Su) As a standard action once every 1d4 rounds, a draxie can breathe magical dust in a 15 foot cone. All creatures in the area must succeed a DC 15 Will save or suffer from one of the following random effects (roll 1d4): 1. charmed (as per charm monster) for 1 minute 2. asleep (as per the sleep spell, no HD limit) for 1 minute 3. loses the last 5 minutes of memory 4. sickened, staggered and immune to fear effects for 1 minute This is a mind influencing enchantment effect, and the save DC is Charisma based. A draxie can use this ability once every 1d6 rounds, but a creature cannot be suffering from more than one draxie dust effect at a time. Natural Guise (Ex) When a draxie uses disguise self, it can appear as any Tiny creature with the fey or animal types. Touch Telepathy (Su) A draxie can telepathically communicate with any creature it is in physical contact with, regardless of whether they share a spoken language.

[echantedtoon]

Demonstober Day 14 Fairy

A small imaginary being of human form that has magical powers, especially a female one.

Tagging: @lavenderdropp @six-eyed-samurai @trancylovecraft @shadyd3ar @cherrysuzaku

@nousija @mspurpl3

Remember if you want to be added to the spooktober taglist lemme know

Stay away from mushrooms that grow in a circle. That's where fairies dance and if you step inside a fairy ring they can spirit you away.

Or at least that's what you've always been told. And that's what you've always heard. Then again you weren't very superstitious. Don't get you wrong. You never said that there wasn't no such thing as stuff like fairies, ghosts, and demons...

But you never said that there WAS such thing as them either.

You leaned more towards that they didn't exist though. Why? Well you never saw any ACTUAL proof of them existing. The supposed ghost that haunted your parents attic for years? Turns out it was a raccoon infestation. The supposed zombie that roamed the graveyard? A homeless man taking shelter in one of the mosoleums. Imps taking your grandmother's things? Turns out she just had memory problems and kept forgetting where she had put things.

Everything always had a logical  explanation in the end.

Which was why you honestly didn't think much about anything supernatural. Sure you still left offerings at the local shrine and prayed every so while if you needed a bit of luck but you weren't sure if you believed in them. A little extra luck never hurt anyone though. Maybe that's why you weren't so concerned when you went to go pick wild blackberries with your cousin. 

It was a perfect day. The sun was shining warmly in the summer air but all the shade of the trees made it cool. The walk to your favourite patch of wild blackberry bushes was only an hour long walk into the woods behind your house and the woods was beautiful. Lush greenery. Fresh air that smelt like wildflowers. Birds singing. And the sounds of your laughter as your cousin made you laugh by her jokes and stories. You both didn't have a care in the world as you both walked all the way there laughing with your baskets and then going on to start picking the berries from the bushes' branches. There was no problems. None at all. Not until your cousin had filled up her basket faster than you had and she had come to see what was taking you so long.

That's when she froze.

Her face paled like she saw a ghost. A terrified gasp left her throat making you jump and snap to her in surprise. Her basket fell to the ground with a thud toppling over and spilling the berries all over the ground. Before with a trembling hand she pointed to the ground at your feet.

"Look at where you're standing!," her frightened voice cried out loudly. 

You snapped down terrified and worried that you might've stepped on a snake or maybe a hill of fire ants or some other great danger! But you blinked as you saw nothing... Literally nothing but a few mushrooms. Red mushroom with white polka dots to be exact. You blinked and turned your head this way and that and just now noticed that you were standing in a circle of red mushrooms with white polka dots about a yard wide. Your cousin looked like she had seen death itself but you only blinked.

"Oh. It's just mushrooms."

"ARE YOU MAD?!" She shrieked like you were actually crazy. "YOU'RE STANDING IN A FAIRY RING!!"

You blinked as you again looked down.. before shrugging it off and turned back to finish filling your basket. "Oh is that all? Don't make such a big fuss over it."

"That's the fairies sacred dancing space! You're not supposed to stand in it!"

"Next you'll be telling me not to fish in the lake because I'll anger the mermaids."

"THIS ISN'T FUNNY!! GET OUT OF THERE NOW!! YOU'LL MAKE THEM ANGRY!!"

"If the fae are angry with me standing in their circle I'm sure they're more than capable of telling me."

You almost rolled your eyes at your cousin's fearful ramblings as she babbled about waving her arms but you didn't and kept your tone polite. Continuing to pick at the berries and drop them into your ever filling basket. Honestly she was blowing things out of proportion. If the fairies were angry, considering if they existed at all, then they could tell you themselves if they were upset with you standing in their supposed circle.

"Actually I would appreciate it very much if you didn't stand there."

Your cousin shrieked out, her voice echoing over the trees as both yourself and her snapped around wide eyed and were surprised to find a third woman there. What the-..Where did she come from? The smaller woman stood there between a tree and a bush staring at you with pretty purple eyes and a small smile. Her clothes were almost big like flowing over her body. But the shining of a butterfly hair clip in her hair caught the light as her head tilted at you specifically. You both continued to stare at this new woman. It must've been a full minute before you realized that she was staring at your feet.

You looked down at your boots standing in the circle. Then back to the woman. Who still stood there staring at the ground.

"I'm..sorry? But who are you?" 

She took her time turning her gaze back to you before smiling wider. "I'm the one who planted the mushrooms you're standing in."

You blinked. Someone actually planted these way out here. With another shriek from your cousin in knowing horror, you winced as she turned and fled. Footsteps thudding against the ground as fast as she could go and brush cracking with her retreating form. You winced rubbing at you ear as you looked back up..But your cousin was gone. The only signs being there was the basket she dropped before. You just...stared at where she had been for a long time but the woman's gaze never left you. Eventually you did slowly look back to her.

The two of you staring at each other for another long moment.

"I'm..sorry about her. She's very..paranoid." You apologized on your cousin's behalf before staring at your feet...and taking a massive step back out of the ring of mushrooms. "And sorry for trespassing into your mushroom circle??" You tried apologizing. "I didn't know anyone lived out here." You raised a confused brow at the mushrooms again. "Or had a garden."

She gave a closed eye smile. "It's alright. You didn't damage any of them so I'll let you off with a warning this time."

"Um..Thank you??" You stared at her.. before holding up your basket making her blink. "Here. I know you can probably pick your own blackberries, but it's the least I can do for trespassing."

The woman tilted her head at the basket then at you before smiling wider. "That's very sweet of you but if you really want to make it up to me, then come dance."

Your brows rose higher as she nodded. "Dance?"

She walked forward until she was standing right in front of you, inside the circle of mushrooms, and held out a hand. "Yes. Dance. I'll even show you how and it's been so long since I had a partner. What do you say?"

You still stared bewildered. Dancing? Seriously? That was a strange request..but you did kinda feel bad about trespassing on her mushroom garden thing. So..one dance couldn't hurt if it made this woman feel better.

"Sure."

By the time your worried family members got there, you were no where in sight. The only signs being two knocked over baskets.

[mirrormazeworld]

"If that is the case then they may be close (Grim wakes them up prematurely, and Crowley says that this is his first time having a student who opened their "gate" (coffin) on their own) and they might just be an astral projection of someone who is between life and death, appearing at the magically suffused location that is NRC."

I love how from all the people I have encountered in twst fandom finally someone (@yuurei20 ) notice it other than me, that Yuu is essentially a "ghost" from this post of theirs

Although I would like to say, they chose those seven particular fairy tales not "because the villains are dead" but more like "they chose those 7 particular fairy tales where the villains are dead or never alive to begin with because of it's an underworld". After all "Alice in Wonderland" by Lewis Carroll were named "Alice Adventures Underground", mirroring the story of the journey of Persephone descent to underworld and Mesopotamian Goddess's Inanna's descent into the underworld realm of the dead which is the oldest recorded myth in the world.

This is also the reason why twst devs cleverly put the year of when Mickey's Thru The Mirror was released (which was actually inspired from Lewis Carroll's Through The Looking Glass, the sequel to Alice in Wonderland) on the monitor in Ignihyde, the dorm of the "underworld"

[fernhelm]

opinions on the black sister relationships? i love your character posts sm!

i’m blowing you a kiss!

i love thinking about them…sorry this took so long, i was busy lounging and watching killing eve. i might type up something about the dynamic between the three of them, but i broke them down into pairs here.

bella & cissa ♛

i made a webweave here that basically sums up my thoughts on bellacissa. i do think cissa thinks she’s a fanatic and completely bonkers, but she’d defend her anyway. narcissa appreciates that in their patriarchal fucked up family, bella is carving her own path—she isn’t docile or ladylike at all. so cissa takes some vicious pleasure in how unleashed bella is. conversely, bellatrix has a deep-seeded jealousy FOR narcissa, who is at least able to play the part of the perfect pure blood woman in a way bellatrix never could. my vision is that druella has contempt for bella but pays a lot of attention to narcissa. once druella is dead, bella sees narcissa as both her baby and her mother in a way, and she resents both. but i won’t get into bella here she deserves her own post.

bella & andy ♞

the hardest relationship for me is bella and andy. my belief is that these two are one year apart in age, like irish twins. we know from dh that they’re basically identical. I think they were pitted against each other a lot. they both end up teaching each other how conditional someone caring for you can be. it’s obvious that andy leaving really wounds bella (as evidenced by the ferocity with which she wants to kill ted and tonks), so there is a degree of power andy hold over her emotionally. bella is both the terrorist and the protector in the home. she goes after both her sisters, but it’s with the ultimate goal of making them strong enough to face anything that’s thrown at them…andy doesn’t want to change her or save her—she knows all the dark, evil parts of her and grapples with all the times bella showed her tenderness or turned her rage against someone else for her sake. i think they can read each other’s body language perfectly, but don’t understand each other’s minds at all. once they’re older they fight all the time, verbally if not with magic, and it would start with bella making some pointed jabs to get her attention and andy curating a biting response without looking up from her magazine and just like that they’re dueling. but once it’s over and they’re panting on the floor, bella would kick her leg and they’d smirk at each other a bit. or one of them would storm out. i do think that andy did bella’s hair for every event they attended between the ages of 8 and 16. huh, i guess i have more to say about them than i thought i did.

andy & cissa ♝

narcissa spends years stepping in the footprints andy has left behind. before she figures out who she is, she’s just a ghost of andy. she learns all her best defenses from her. i don’t think andy feels very bad about leaving her behind. i don’t think she’d try to convince narcissa to go with her either. she would miss her so much, but she’d grieve her like she’s dead. i don’t see her as a person who holds on to a lot of regrets. and she’s in love! she wants to run away and forget every bad thing that ever happened to her! is that a crime? narcissa thinks it is. growing up andy was her strongest ally, and she takes it as the ultimate betrayal when she leaves. similarly to regulus, she looks down on andy and maligns her whenever her name comes up, but it’s a cover up for how hurt she is. andy knows all the reasons that narcissa thinks she’s trapped in the life she leads, but she still thinks ‘if you want out, get out.’

daughters 1, 2, 3 ♙

fairy tales often follow a 1 2 3 format because it’s easy to remember a moral lesson tied up with a bow when it comes in a set of three (three billy goats, beauty and the beast, the peverell brothers). it goes bad bad good. so it’s super interesting that the ostensibly “good” one, andy, is the middle child. she is bookended by two death eater sisters. which raises the question: what went wrong (or right) with her? and for the others too—narcissa in canon is primarily draco’s mother, but giving her andromeda AND bellatrix as sisters raises all kinds of questions about her upbringing and interpersonal relationships. bellatrix chases and scolds narcissa at the beginning of half-blood prince, and she’s not particularly scary at all. the terrifying evil bitch who killed sirius calls her sister cissy? three sisters who mean vastly different things to harry, but we never get the three of them in a room, so so much is left to the imagination. lots to play with. good things come in threes!

[starrieisdelusional]

i never found any merlin prompt / merlin month / merlin week (if they exist pls tell me guys i need ideas for content SJHFJK) so i decided to make my list of prompts, feel free to write/draw/do anything with them!!!!! (p.s. some of them are merthur centric, i'm sory for being biased :()

winter/summer/autumn/spring

episode themed

rain

college/high school au

hurt/comfort

the once and future king and emrys

modern au

crossover

genderbend

canon divergence

roadtrip!!

date

halloween/valentine/christmas

forest

magic

butterflies

dragon

everyone knows about merlin's magic

sassy/brat merlin

sun and moon

destiny

wedding

angels and demon au / gods au

embarrassed

longing

season 6

childhood

role swap

birthday!!

domestic

flowers

fruit

under a spell

mermaids / siren

fairy

druids

ring

fight

sunset

grass field

castle

home

wheat field

future

dreams

potions

knights / the roundtable

sword / excalibur

crystal

the triple goddess

revive that character from death

death

tears

soulmates

crown

jewelry

confession

kiss

jealous

pirate au

cooking

cleaning

gaius' chambers

throne room

pillowtalk

in another life

magic

strength courage magic

lion

ghost

chalice

poison

staff

secret admirer

beach

flower field

heart

lake / river / ocean

island

fire

flying

body swap

love potion oh nooo

leon long suffering

gwaine causing property damage every 0.5 seconds

sleeping beauty / fairytale

bullying

teasing

manipulated

wand

magic reveal

blind / deaf / disability

chains

jail

time

night

day

stars

roses

ruthless

Okay that's it for now let me know if you want part 2 :)