#Butterfly carving Genuine

[theres-a-body-here]

Recieving a love letter

Part two

You decided that the best time to give it to them (pause) is during a trial

Characters: Oni, Trapper, Deathslinger, Mastermind, Cannibal, Ghostface Warnings: Internalized Homophobia, Death, some spice Male!reader

The Oni - Kazan Yamaoka

Impossible... You're both men

Kazan cannot accept this

This simply wasn't acceptable during his era

He immediately smashes your head in with his Kanabo on instinct

Gay panic defense

The evil has been dealt with, Kazan lets out a deep exhale

But...his eyes wander to the letter, still within your cold, stiff grasp

Advantages come from all angles... Don't they?

Kazan takes the letter, convincing himself he'll use whatever information he finds inside against you

It smells like you... Not that he checked

(He did)

A red wax seal holds the letter closed

Kazan looks closer

You had carved his family crest into the wax

Something foreign invades his body, something other than rage

It's nervousness

He opens the letter, making sure to keep the seal intact

For no reason in particular

(He's pocketing that mofo)

Instantly, he's impressed by your penmanship

So organized, clean, and sharp

But its contents are even more eye catching

The love letter is short and sweet

But what follows is even sweeter

A haiku

Kazan feels his heart skip a beat

He checks it once, then again, and one more for good measure

Yep, no mistakes

The loud pop of a gen echoes through the trialground, snapping him out of his trance

Kazan whips his head all around, looking for witnesses

Finding none, he pockets the letter

He stares at your lifeless body, feeling something else flutter in his chest

Guilt

The Trapper - Evan MacMillan

Evan stares at you as you hold your letter out for him to take

After a long, uncomfortable silence, he takes it

He brings it to his face, inspecting it through the holes of his mask

Evan has absolutely no idea what to do here

He looks back at you

"Do you...want me to fuck you?"

Romantic gestures are new territories for Evan, so he honestly thinks this is just your way of asking for dick

Whichever the case, he has a job to do

He puts you down without hesitation and hooks you up, leaving without a second glance

He's still holding the letter

Part of him wants to rip it up, and the other is curious to know what you wrote

He sloppily tears the letter open, reading it hastily as he walks to the next gen

Evan stops when he reads a bit more

You weren't asking for a ball slapping, eye watering, toe curling, deep dick fuck...

You were asking for his heart

You wanted all of him, hooks and all

Okay now he feels a bit bad

Evan reads some more

You actually drew a portrait of him within the letter, saying you learnt of his knack for art from Philip

Now he feels even worse

He lets the others save you without hiccup

In fact, he basically leaves for alone for the rest of the trial

He stops chasing and hurting the others occasionally to stare at you from afar, observing that focused look on your face as you work on gens or heal a teammate

Evan feels butterflies and he no longer has the strength to swat at them

It doesn't matter if he kills all your friends or if they opened the gates and left; Eventually, you're alone with him

He holds your letter out, watching as confusion sets on your face

"I'm dirty and sloppy... I'll ruin it"

He sounds vulnerable, waiting for you to respond

You curl your hand over his, folding the letter into his palm

"I want you to keep it," you say softly, as of talking to an apprehensive deer

He doesn't know what to say

Whatever he was going to respond with gets stuck in his throat as you lean in to kiss the cheek of his mask

He watches as you leave through the exit gate, glancing down at the letter in his hand

The Deathslinger - Caleb Quinn

Obviously you're joking... Right?

Cuz there's no way you'd be attracted to someone like him— Old, beat-up, and grumpy

You'd have to push him some more if you want him to accept the letter

Convince him you're being genuine

Eventually, he gives in and takes the letter from you

He glances around nervously, like he's expecting the other survivors to jump out and laugh at him for falling for the joke

He opens the letter, stunned when he sees there's actually things written inside

A blush creeps into his face as he reads, only deepening when he reads more

After he's done, Caleb can't even meet your gaze

After a few moments of silence, he speaks

"I can.....uhhh....keep this... right?"

Talk about awk as hell

Even after the trial, he lies awake thinking about it

Caleb rereads the letter over and over

You're gonna have to be the one to seek him out outside of trials since he's way too embarrassed now

"Yer serious 'bout this, ain'tcha?"

He decides to let his guard down just a bit to let you in

Be prepared to give him lots of reassurance

"Yer sure ya ain't mistaken?"

Caleb isn't one for words, so instead of writing you a letter, he makes you trinkets out of scrap metal

If you kiss him as thanks, he'll actually die on the spot

So please don't... unless you're evil as hell

The Mastermind - Albert Wesker

Wesker makes you kneel as you give him the letter

After snatching it out of your hands, he scans it meticulously

"I see you've made eleven spelling mistakes"

He enjoys the way you tense up instantly, like a puppy waiting to be put on punishment

"How adorable"

He ALLOWS you to watch him put the letter in his inner coat pocket

He would never admit it, but this certainly boosted his ego to new heights

Albert lifts you off the ground and tosses you over his shoulder

He carries you to the basement

"Stay here while I deal with your companions"

He leaves to kill the rest of your friends

After every hook, he pats his chest to make sure the letter is still there

He'll deny he ever did that if you ask him though

Once he returns, Wesker will bombard you with questions, expecting an answer within 5 seconds or less

What took you so long? What do you like most about him? Would you choose him over your friends? How can you satisfy him?

He loves how easily you crumble under his interrogation, blushing and stammering like a fool

Once he's had his fill, he picks you up again

He carries you to hatch

Before he lets you go, he grips your chin and makes you look at him

"I suppose I ought to leave you with something"

Wesker reaches into his coat and pulls out a pair of sunglasses

"I hope you can explain this to your allies," he chuckles

Before you can protest, he puts them on you and drops you into the hole

The Cannibal - Bubba Sawyer

Freezes in place and gasps when he sees you hold out your letter

He lets out a happy squeal before dropping his hammer and chainsaw to the ground

Bubba takes the letter from you gently, treating it like glass

He immediately plops onto the ground

He tears open the envelope carefully and take out the letter

He's completely forgotten about the trial

He reads the letter, shaking with excitement

It's sappy, sweet, and everything he's ever wanted

Even when the sounds of popping generators ring through the trial grounds, Bubba doesn't take his eyes off the letter for a second

He occasionally stops reading to either make a sound of happiness or cover his face out of embarrassment

Once he's finished, Bubba will stand up and pull you into a bone-crushing hug, lifting you up a bit and swaying you around like a ragdoll

You're definitely leaving this trial unharmed

He grabs your hand tightly, marching over to the hatch or exit gates and lets you leave with a goofy wave

The Entity doesn't even punish him for it since his joy was so great it made up for the lack of bad emotions from the survivors

He immediately works on writing a letter for you after the trial is over

The next time you see him, expect another bear hug followed by a letter being shoved in your face

It's messy, sticky, and covered in glitter

Crudely drawn hearts cover the inside as the letters are shaky and almost intelligible

But you can tell Bubba put his whole heart into it

The Ghostface - Danny Johnson

Instantly smug as hell

"Oh, what's that? That for me?"

He takes it from you and immediately tears it open, tossing the envelope behind him nonchalantly

His mask moves as he visibly reads through the letter, occasionally chuckling and shaking his head

Danny finds this scenario so fucking funny— A survivor having a crush on a killer

After he's done, he looks up at you

"Do you have daddy issues or something?'

He laughs loudly when he sees a hurt expression flash across your face, walking over to wrap an arm around your shoulders

"I'm just messing with ya, cutie"

Danny marches over with his head high to one of the hooked survivors, waving the letter in their face

You stand to the side awkwardly, unable to meet your friend's bewildered look

"Your homeboy is down bad for me. Whaddya think about that?"

The survivor grits their teeth struggling to keep the Entity's claw from puncturing their chest

"I think....Gah!...they.... have daddy issues...fuck!"

"THATS WHAT I SAID!"

You're never living this down

He goes around the map showing off your love letter to the others

After he finishes gloating, Danny hooks you

What? He's the Entity's favorite! He can't his reputation be tarnished

Outside of the trial, he follows you around like a shadow

He deadass interrupts your conversations with the others to tell you he wants attention, and you'd better deliver

Your love letter was basically an invitation for him to claim you as his own, whether you regret it or not

You're his now

Like a housecat that swats at others who get too close to their owner

"That kiss factory better be open, pookie"

He says shit like this in front of any survivor or killer

[latenightdaydreams]

Viking!König x Reader Part 3 (fem)

MDNI🔞

Part 1, Part 2

Master List

>cw: fem/afab, lactation kink, pregnancy, depression, fingering

1.7k word count

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As you sit in a grand wooden chair with beautiful hand carvings of a wolf and runes, you gaze out at the large fire before you. Watching the embers rise from the ashes, you zone out and go into your own mind. Around you there are loud cheers of celebration. It’s night two of the celebration to welcome their beloved leader’s new bride. 

You sit wearing a yellow dress that hugs your heavy breasts so perfectly for König’s lustful gaze. Other men look, but don’t dare comment on how stunning you are. König stands drinking as he gazes back at you. The look on your face is clear that you aren’t in the mood to be here. He excuses himself and walks to you, sitting in the chair matching yours beside you.

“Liebling, are you not having fun?” His voice is gentle as he rubs your back comfortingly.

Your attention turns to König. His blue eyes lock with yours, giving you the sensation of butterflies in your stomach. “I am just feeling tired.” Not a complete lie, you are tired still from the stress of everything that’s happened recently.

König stands and holds his hand out for you to hold. “Let us go back to our home.”

You look at his hand extended to you with hesitation. “I don’t want to ruin your celebration.”

“It’s our celebration. Besides, as your husband, your happiness is my new priority.” He gives you a genuine, gentle smile. “Come on.”

You slip your hand in his and stand. König announces your departure, but encourages everyone to continue the joyful festivities. His eyes glued to you the whole walk back to your shared home. Once inside, he brings you to the bed so you can sit. He gets on his knees before you and pulls each shoe off for you.

“Let’s get you comfortable.” König almost whispers to you as he removes your accessories from your body and assists you in removing your dress. His eyes gloss over your body as you sit on the bed naked. He can feel his cock get erect as his eyes fall on your full breasts.

“Would you like for me to relax you?” His hands caress your legs as he asks to drink from your breasts.

“No.” Your voice is small. You feel tired and emotionally drained.

König simply nods and caresses the side of your face. “Let’s get you to bed.” He walks over to the other side of the bed, undressing as he does. Once on the bed, he crawls behind you, delicately grabbing you and bringing you to him. Your naked bodies pressed together under the thick blanket, covering you both. You curl yourself into a small ball, enjoying the feeling of security he gives you.

“I love you, y/n. I hope to dream of you tonight.” He whispers, kissing your forehead gently as his eyes close. His fingertips roam over your soft skin. Your tender warmth being everything he craves.

You don’t say it back, he doesn’t expect you to. He understands that you’re still in a state of adjusting to your new life. König is someone new to get to know, but he believes that you will grow to love him. The way you react to his touch and melt into him as if you’ve known him from a past life. He knew from the moment your eyes met that this is how it’s supposed to be.

König falls asleep quickly, feeling secure with you in his arms. You on the other hand, don’t. In the distance you can still hear the sounds of the loud celebration. All you can think of is how you’ve been thrust into this new life without warning. What is Callum doing? How are the children?

You shift uncomfortably, unable to sleep. Your breasts are full and the noises around you aren’t helping soothe you. Gently, you nudge König. The giant man is a heavy sleeper so it takes a few shakes before one of his blue eyes open half way. He looks down at you, a small smile creeping across his lips as his vision adjusts on you.

“What is it, Liebling?”

“I- I can’t sleep.”

König props himself up on one elbow, his hair falling in front of his face slightly. “What can I do to help you?” He reaches out and caresses your face while you gaze into his eyes. There is a white milky bead dripping from your nipple, giving him the idea what you might need.

Without a word spoken, König lowers himself to bed so that his face lines up with your breasts. “I’ve got you.” He whispers, wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you close to him. His mouth fishes for your leaking nipple, wrapping his lips around and suckling. Your other breast begins to let down, causing milk to drip onto König’s face, but he doesn’t mind. He switches between both nipples to ensure your comfort. His eyes close as his body relaxes.

A small sigh leaves your lips, his arms wrapped around your body along with how he suckles leaves you in a state of deep longing. You slowly comb your fingers through his golden locks, clueing König into the fact you want him. He lets his hand glide along your back down to your ass, squeezing lightly before moving his hand around your hip.

König combs his fingers through your soft hairs until he touches the lips between your legs. Before he even asks you if this is what you want, you spread your legs slightly to allow him entry. His fingers slide down your slick folds until his fingers slip into you.

“König.” His name drips from your lips so gently. You lightly pull on his hair, causing a low groan to rumble from his throat.

“Mhm.” He responds as his fingers lazily move in and out of you while his thumb makes small steady circles on your clit. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you, he’s aware of how sensitive you get, but he does want to make you orgasm so your body can relax for a good sleep.

You hate to admit that in moments like these, your past life seems far from you. You’ve never had someone tend to your every need. No matter how insignificant it may seem, König makes sure you’re comfortable and aware of the love he holds for you. Touching your body is never a chore, rather a privilege.

König feels your walls tighten around his fingers as your sweet arousal begins to drip down his finger. “That’s it, y/n. You’re so divine.” He mumbles with your full breasts still consuming his face. Your sticky milk glazes his pale skin.

Your moans grow steadily, König’s cock twitching as he leads you through your orgasm. His hips thrust forward to rub himself against the soft fat on your thigh, giving him the friction he craves. He pulls back and looks at your face once he feels your body relax and your moans quiet down.

Withdrawing his hand from between your legs, he scoots up to kiss your lush lips. “Is that all you need, Liebling?” His voice is soft laced with the lust he has for you.

“No, I want more of you.” You admit bashfully. König was going to give you every bit of himself.

This small moment in time created a bond within you to König. You started to wake up feeling a little less heavy, able to enjoy the people around you. Thyra took the lead in showing you the ways of a Viking woman and helping you maintain yourself a woman of status. Anywhere König went, you were right under his arm. Your love making could be heard at all hours of the day from the people of the village.

Naturally, all of the sex results in a missed flow cycle. You’ve missed them before so you know what it means. Knowing that König is busy training, you rush to Thyra’s home. Your hands bang on the wooden door of her home. She opens the door with a worried look, Hilda rushing to your side along with her.

“Hva er galt?” The two women ask, their voices overlapping.

With the language barrier, you’ve both been talking with body language. You point to your stomach and hold it. “Baby” you say with tears falling down your eyes. They understood instantly. Thyra went to comfort you as Hilda began to speak little blessing to you and the possible life within.

“Gå og hent ham.” Thyra speaks softly to Hilda as she continues to rock you. She’s aware of the children you left behind. Haven’t lost her only son in battle, she can relate to the feeling of loss that consumes you.

A few moments later König comes into her home. His hair up in a bun while his shirtless body sports new bruises and scrapes. With heavy breaths he rushes to you and scopes you into his large arms.

“Are you pregnant, Meine Liebling?”

“I think so.” Your voice shakes as you nuzzle your head into him and take deep breaths.

“This is good news, y/n.” He sits down with you on his lap, turning your face up to meet his gaze. “It will get easier, I promise.” His lips press against yours, rocking you back and forth to comfort you.

König had at least hoped things would get easier for you. They didn’t. As he had the pleasure to watch your soft body fill out with his child forming within you, he also had the misfortune of having to see your pain. A mother’s sadness, enough to bring a man like König to his knees.

As you sit in a grassy field, König sits beside you, looking at your beautiful face glowing but plagued with a permanent frown. “Do you worry you may not love our child?” He asks in a quiet voice, scared of your answer.

“I already do.” Your voice hoarse from all of your sobbing. “I just can’t help but to feel lost without my other children.”

König studies your face with, taking in how much this distance is taking a toll on you. You’re the love of his life. He never saw himself as a man that would be open to the idea of raising another man’s children, but for you he would give everything to see you smile again.

[sukunasteeth]

The Pleasure's All Mine - Chapter One

Based on this post from @winterrbluess

If Shibuya had a pulse, it would be at the rate of a hummingbird's wings.

The human race operates at a speed that oftentimes seems too quick to catch up with. It had been that way ever since you moved to the city for work about three years ago.

You came for a corporate job made up of ink black suits and pencil skirts, smiles that felt more on the side of uncanny valley than they did of genuine kindness, and handshakes from skin cold with carpal tunnel. You lived a corporate life. Everything is muted tones of tan and relies heavily on the concept of "modernizing". You wake up, go to work, go home, work on what you couldn't finish at the office, fall asleep on your colorless coffee table, and wake up to your alarm going off what feels like hours too soon. It was a cyclical cycle.

And the day you broke it, happened to be the day you met Sukuna.

~

You noticed the new shop on the end of the street maybe three weeks ago. It was so out of place, after all. The building was the only non-skyscraper to be seen on the block. It was a shriveled up little thing, built out of chipping brick that seemed to teeter on the edge of dilapidation from the inability to meet building codes. Overgrown ivy crawled up the sides of it and it still had plots of dirt in the front for planting as opposed to concrete and metal benches. 

When you had first seen the For Sale sign a few months ago, you were sure they were going to tear it down and pave over it- happy to be rid of the only spot of character left in the business district. Then a new sign appeared over the door, one that looked hand carved out of wood and haphazardly painted over so that you could make out the words "Carnation King".

It’s funny, flowers had never been much of an interest to you. You had seen them as just another task to take care of when you returned home after a long day. Even filling a vase with water always sounded like more effort than it was worth. But as the days blend together from monotony, you find yourself desperate for color.

You changed your walking route to work so that you can pass by the shop everyday. You knew nothing about flowers. You could barely tell a rose bud apart from a tulip, but that didn't stop you from ogling at the new bouquets and potted plants that lined the sidewalk every time you passed them. Signs made out of toothpicks and painters tape said words like “Butterfly Ranunculus” and “Brown-Eyed Susan” and learning their names became one of your favorite things to do. You never stepped foot inside, and yet the flower shop was now one of your happy places. 

You would meander by on your lunches and watch the butterflies play. You would walk by in the morning and smell freshly watered earth still hanging in the air. On your way home, when the sun was at its fullest shine, you would walk beneath the misters hung under the lip of the roof, and the coolness of the water droplets left behind on your skin saw you all the home. 

You hadn’t realized how important the flower shop was to your daily routine until the day it was interrupted. 

It happened to be one of the only days you had been forced by your workload to stay past sunset for overtime. You didn’t do it for the money, you did it because your boss had asked you nicely. But as you finally exit the office building for the night, you find yourself regretting staying so late. 

You hated walking home in the dark. Even though Japan was notorious for its low crime rates, that didn't mean it was an innocent city. After 9pm, your street was notorious for being a ghost town. The only signs of life were the few work martyrs left in their floor to ceiling window offices- acting as makeshift streetlights. There were only a few lights on the way home, and their solidarity only seemed to pronounce the darkness along the rest of the empty roadside. When you were just an intern, before you got better hours and were finally promoted to the shining 9-5 that everyone dreams about, you used to take your heels off and sprint back to your apartment. Always weary of what you couldn’t see. At the time, you didn’t know that the scariest people don’t have to hide in the dark. 

You hadn’t planned on walking past the shop that night. It was closed. It had to be. Normal flower shops closed well before 7 pm let alone 9. But the moment you touch the sidewalk outside your building, you see light glowing against the dense night. 

The shop at the end of the street was draped in tiny fairy lights. Every square inch of brick was twinkling slowly, glimmering like resting fireflies. It looked almost otherworldly in comparison to the towering pitch black shadows of corporate offices surrounding it. In fact, the effect of the glowing lights against the mirror windows made it look like the shop was hanging in space. 

Outside, the flowers you had walked past in the afternoon had been replaced with new pots, overflowing with buds you had never seen before. The usual delicate smell of Honeysuckle and Roses was now one of the sweetest scents you had ever experienced, so sweet, you could almost taste it on your tongue. Warm golden light floods out of the shop's window and the numerous white and yellow petals seem to gather and hold onto its dull shine. 

You didn’t even realize you had completely abandoned your original plan of taking the shortcut home until you were standing in front of the Carnation King with your eyes entranced on the display before you. One flower in particular had caught your eye, a huge luscious display of delicate tow-colored petals, tall with endless growth and reaching towards the moonlight as though it’s been waiting all day to see it. You can’t help but reach out to touch, and yet just before your fingertips make it, you feel coolness trickling onto your hand, breaking the spell that the lights and colors had placed on you. 

 "Evening Primrose." 

The suddenness of a voice beside you should have put you in fight or flight mode. It should have been a cold bucket of water to the face. Adrenaline spiking, you should be sprinting in the opposite direction. Instead, you found the tranquil trance that the flowers had put you in to have a lasting effect. 

You blink at the man who seemed to appear out of thin air standing next to you, and the first thing you notice are his eyes. Such a dark shade of golden rich hazel-brown, they were nearly shining like two cuts of Cat’s-Eye. They gleamed suspicion. 

He was much taller than you, but where most are lanky you can see strong muscles and broad shoulders. Collared sleeves rolled halfway up his arms revealed skin kissed rich and deep by prolonged sunshine. Tattoos slithered around his wrists and had made their way to his sculptured face, meticulously drawn black lines frame an annoyed expression. When you see the rest of him, you’re certainly not expecting to notice tufts from a head of true strawberry blond hair hang in his frigid gaze.

In one of his hands is a water can, still pouring trickling water onto your momentarily petrified fingertips, and in the other hand is a cigarette, only a third of the way lit. 

The sight of him takes you so far back, if the sound of his voice wasn’t still echoing in your head you might not have remembered that he had even said anything to you. 

"I'm sorry?" You pull your hand away from the water spray, drying it on your slacks.

The man takes half a drag of the cigarette before he answers you. Slow and unrushed. "They're called Evening Primrose.” He speaks through a cloud of tobacco smoke, glancing at the flowers that had caught your eye. His lip twitches slightly, "Need full sunlight but only bloom in moonlight. Fickle bastards." 

Okay. Owner. Mean owner. Unexpectedly rough-and-tumble looking for being the caretaker of a flower shop. You glance at his apron, but you don’t find a name tag. He takes a step back while you’re searching for it, but he only moves far enough to start watering the next plant on the table. 

You look back to the Evening Primrose, and even the smell of the burning cigarettes is nothing in the face of the scent that had pulled you in earlier. The two flavors mix like a tea garden on fire. You caress the petals once more, unthinkingly. 

"They smell incredible." You mutter, mostly to yourself. 

"Not them.” His voice is colder than his eyes. He flicks a bit of ash onto the cement behind him, and tilts his head in the direction of a different bush, one that’s even bigger than the healthy Primrose, with hundreds of tiny buds that flutter in the nighttime air. “That'd be her." 

"”Her”?" You repeat, wondering if you heard the man correctly. 

"Night Jasmine." He answers in return. 

As standoffish as he was, you still found yourself making mental notes of the names he had given you. When you look at the Night Jasmine directly, it’s clear that the wind was sweeping that delicious smell straight from the direction of its honey-hued petals. You’re not sure you had seen plants like this at even the most expensive hotels and events that you had been invited to. Maybe tiny cuttings, but nothing to this size and level of lush. 

"Well she's very pretty." You reply softly, letting out an airy laugh through your nose at his use of pronouns. The man doesn’t even crack a smile in return, his eyes giving you a pointed once over. 

“And invasive.” He adds, resting his gaze on yours once again. 

There’s a thick silence that follows after, during which you consider apologizing. For what? You were unsure, but somehow standing in his towering shadow and feeling his accusing eyes had you feeling like you were in the wrong for merely existing in his presence. 

Before you can think to just turn around, take off your heels, and sprint home like you had years ago, his voice demands your attention again. 

"So,” he says, “you gonna tell me why you’re stalking me, then?"

Now, surely, you were hearing things. 

"E-Excuse me?" 

He seems to take in your shock with some thought while he takes another languid puff, "You come by here every single day,” He lets the smoke go from his lungs, ”but you never buy a thing. In fact, you never even come in." The tone of his voice tilts towards annoyance. “You just stand at the window and pout like some sad puppy.” 

"I-I work in the building next door?" You offer, bewildered by the entire situation. Were you dreaming? Had you fallen asleep at your desk and given yourself some sort of stress-induced nightmare?

"Hmm," The man takes you in without breaking your gaze, tilting his head to the side while he takes another drag of his cigarette. "You don't seem like the pencil pusher type to me."

You’re not sure why that comment makes you defensive. In retrospect, it was even a compliment to you. You hated sitting at a desk all day, watching the sun rise and set over a stack of papers. But you had worked hard to get to the position you were in now and it wasn’t the first time a man had told you that you didn’t look like you belonged. Before you can catch yourself in the name of politeness you find yourself scoffing out, "Sorry, but you don't seem like much of a florist to me."

The silence returns. You watch as the disdainful glint to his eyes shatters, and is replaced with a split second of surprise. He blinks and it’s only then that you realize how much larger this man is in comparison to you. If you had seen him walking down the street, you’d probably think to yourself “I wouldn’t want to be on his bad side” and yet here you were, on his bad-getting-worse side from the moment your eyes met. 

Or so you had thought. But, as the antithesis of anger crosses his hardened features, and an unexpected bitten-back grin takes the place of his glower, you’re not sure what to think anymore. 

He snorts out a laugh, finally releasing you from the cold grasp of his unbreakable gaze. He takes another step back and focuses his attention on watering the flowers again. "Touche." 

The cigarette gets flicked from his fingertips and he smears it beneath his boot into a tiny canal of rocks separating the soil of the garden beds from the cement of the sidewalk. 

"So, you gonna buy something then? Or just stand there with that strange look on your face all night?" He tilts his head to mirror your stance, but the amused grin remains in place of your confused gape. “I close in five minutes.”

“I have to hand it to you, you’re a fantastic salesman.” You’ve never met a stranger more brash and uncaring, so you were giving it a shot in return. It only serves to further his easy smiles.

“Am I not offering the right thing?” Now apparently after confirming to himself that you weren’t a threat, his tone of voice seems almost playful. It only serves to further your confusion. “Hmm, a lock of my hair maybe?” 

“I am not a stalker!” 

“Then buy something.” 

You take a deep breath through your nose. Feeling the need to save face when you haven’t done anything wrong in the first place. Yet, the thought of turning away empty handed had embarrassment threatening to heat up your neck and cheeks. You didn't care if you had to drop a pretty penny, you just didn't want to boost this man's ego.

"Those." You point to the nearest flower, another pot of proud blossoms sprouting from a stem unseen past the abundant greenery of strong leaves. Soft moon colored petals unfurl at the top, and sprouting from the center are tiny, deep yellow pollen covered buds. 

The man follows your pointed finger and graces your choice with all of one second before he turns back to his watering. "Not those." He decides flatly. 

You’ve never made a more difficult purchase. "Why not?" 

"Casablanca Lilies need constant care. A white-collar like you couldn't keep up. And I don't raise 'em so people can kill 'em."

"I think I can take care of a plant, thank you." You retort, sarcasm oozing off your sentence. 

It seems you can only really catch this man’s attention when your tone has a touch of negativity, because suddenly he’s back to watching you. 

There’s a pregnant pause before his next words. He searches nothing but your eyes for a moment, as if to gauge. 

"Wanna bet?" He cocks a brow. 

And it angers you how handsome you find this annoying, pompous, self-entitled stranger. 

"Bet?” You repeat incredulously. “Are you making a sale or trying to fight?” 

Instantly, as if you were offering the two scenarios as possible options, his smile darkens and he takes a step forward instead of continuing his line of watering. 

That was all the reply you needed. You had seen the movies. The documentaries. Handsome men, provoking women, hungry eyes, it never added up to something good. So that was your que to keep walking straight past him and go home. 

“Right, I don’t need this.” You scoff. 

And yet, just before you're able to step aside him, like a true businessman, he says just the right thing to keep you there.

"So I'm right then?" 

The sound of the droplets from the watering can against the cement in place of your footsteps has you cringing in self-disappointment. You force your head to turn and meet his infuriating amusement. 

"What's the bet?" You grind out from clenched teeth. His eyes fall to your mouth, and he takes a pointed second to look at your bite before he steps away from you and back to the place where your interaction began. He reaches beside the huge Evening Primrose bush to reveal a small green potted sapling with the same leaf pattern. 

He holds it out to you and you reach out to take the little thing like you’re scared for its safety. 

"Come back in two weeks. If it's alive, I'll give you the lilies for free." The calmness in his tone of voice doesn't match the excitement glittering in his dark hazel-brown eyes. "And if it's dead, you owe me." He adds, rather nonchalantly. 

"Owe you what?" You squint your eyes at him, maybe then you could see the little horns that match his devilish little grin. 

He shrugs, almost too innocently, "A favor. Haven't thought of it yet." The stranger gives you one last once over, but this one leaves the strangest chill running down your spine. His eyes seem to follow it, as if he can see it rattling through you. "Should I? You're so confident you'll win, I didn't think I'd have to."

Now it was your turn to look him up and down, tattoos, scars and a face that seemed too comfortable with that murderous look he had first given you.

"...There's no way you're just a florist."

The comment is completely ignored as he leans forward, invading your airspace a little too close for comfort, and murmuring the words "Yes or no?" with a thick sugar coating. 

"You're on." You hope your own words convey your complete disdain for him… and not that tiny glimmer of attraction you feel prickling under your skin. 

A surprised laugh seems to escape him, as though he didn't expect you to make the deal. "You're either quite confident in yourself or a damn fool." 

Like a rabbit bearing tiny teeth in the face of a lion, you mirror him and lean in closer until there's only a small space between the two of you. "Maybe I just like showing up cocky men."

"Oh, and I'm gonna love a favor from such a mouthy brat." You're lucky he pulls away from you after he practically purrs his threat. There's another thoughtful pause before he reaches into his apron pocket and pulls out his pack of cigarettes again.

"Two weeks. I know where you work too now." He lights another, and examines the cherry after he takes the first drag, smiling like it just told him a joke. “Don’t forget.” 

[overnowsfcb]

santa doesn't know you like i do; trent alexander-arnold blurb

summary: he would always have a throne in your heart. was it okay to see blurry lines?

warnings: none just fluff, reader and trent are dumb

note: FINALLY I WROTE FLUFF BRING THE CHAMPAGNE — venus 🫂💐🫧

Trent had claimed a permanent residence in your heart, an undisputed ruler of your daydreams since your teenage years.

Despite attempts to move on, dating other guys, and even enduring his tales of romantic conquests, your soul continued to ache for the one thing it craved the most—his love, a fragile hidden secret handled with discomfort in your mind as if it was an uninvited guest.

But the balance was neutralized by his hypnotic ways of keeping that worship of him in your brain: moments when his comments stick out details about you would come with a deepened voice, his pupils dilated at your presence, and the magnet that pushed your bodies to get close every time you were in the same place. Actions that left you wondering if those gestures were genuine or just part of his flirtatious nature.

The melody of his laugh painted shooting stars in your night sky carving it in your mind if the reason behind were your jokes. And you could recall the times he found in your chest a place when he could let go of the pressure and his tears. You were too late to intend to hit the brakes now.

Laughter echoed within the living room walls, the faux snow in the tree placed in a corner resembling the snowflakes falling outside. You had invited Trent over to help you decorate the house.

He held the ladder for you, even though you didn't need it, but you had asked him to make you feel more secure as you placed the Christmas baubles and the star on top of the tree standing on your tiptoes, finishing up the decorations. He began applauding accompanying your celebrations when you had finally completed your task.

He stepped away from the ladder to let you descend, and you hugged him, running your hands over his neck, catching a whiff of his cologne. He wrapped his hands around your waist as he welcomed your embrace. “Thank you,” you whispered, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“You're welcome, my love.” The once comforting and typical nickname, now sparkled a new connotation while he caressed your temple as he looked at you with appreciation in his eyes, building a new pathway in an indecipherable labyrinth, confusing you even more.

Sometimes you considered giving up, settling down in the middle of the road, leaving everything in part to your convenience, because if you admitted that he may be hiding the same things that you were experiencing you would be afraid to face the consequences of turning your most cherished friendship into something that could go anywhere.

You sat on the couch, hot coffee cup in your hands, protective blanket over your bodies against the winter chill, Home Alone played on the TV, you laid your head on his shoulder, admiring how beautiful the house was with the Christmas spirit imprinted on it. Love rushing in your veins.

You looked up at him discreetly. He was focused on the movie while sipping the hot chocolate in his mug, and for an instance, the soldier in you ignited, putting braveness in your shoulders.

“Trent,” you called out, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as he gazed expectantly at you. Yet, as you pondered the words in your heart, you shook your head gently. “You're the best friend I could ask for,” your voice lowering, a wistful smile on your lips. Holding back your feelings once again as an eternal hostage.

You wondered if someday, the courage to express them would find its way to you. And Trent would think that too.

Each cell of your bodies acting like spectators waiting for you to materialize the scenes entangled in your minds. “You mean a lot to me, love.”

[katasstrophy]

STAY—

cw. spoilers for tokyo rev manga ending. mikey x gn! reader. angst w/ happy ending. swearing + bit suggestive at the end. i’m oh so in my feels about him, my forever man <3

currently sobbing over the thought of you finding manjiro in every single timeline – except for the last, true one.

you find him, always, when the worst has already befallen him and he’s haunted by it, knee-deep in the gore of his own inky dark, impulsive thoughts that suck him in like a chasm, the self-promised responsibility of keeping everyone that’s still alive and precious to him out of harm’s way weighing his entire skeleton down. a shadow of a man, he is, the beginning of something truly monstrous, when you find him. and yet, you don’t shy away. you do something even worse, what he thought unthinkable – you stay.

he is not kind to you. far from it, however much his behaviour shames him and coats the walls of his stomach sticky with guilt. he lashes out at you, calls you cruel words he doesn’t take back even though he never means them. he pushes, and pushes, and pushes you away where he thinks he can finally keep you out beyond the electric wire wrapped around his heart – both to protect himself and to make him bleed. he makes you cry – your tears a waterfall of genuine hurt, carving their path over and over on your reddened cheeks. and yet, you’re stubborn, and you stay. you tell him he’s a fucking asshole for upsetting you, that he was never popular with girls, was he? that what he’s doing is not okay, and for all the life of you, you’ll probably never fully understand what he went through, but you know he’s hurt beyond words. you tell him you feel it, his suffering, so very obviously from just a single look into those dead fish eyes of his – what colour even are they? – so he can be a pissy little baby about it, but you’ve planted your fucking feet and you fear they’ve already taken root so he might as well make his peace with your presence, because you’re not going anywhere.

you linger. you flutter about, like some otherworldly, soothing-balm butterfly. you follow, even though he hasn’t had the desire to go anywhere for a long, long time. you stay, and suddenly it’s a little easier to breathe. he breathes, takes huge gulps of air into his lungs in what feels like ages, and tastes the salt of the breeze nipping at the tip of his tongue. suddenly, he can stomach looking at a sunrise again without wanting to crush something under his palm. an emptiness still clangs inside of him like a great gong that, even if you wanted to fill, you’d be unable to. but even those wounds have dulled from an ache to a throb, because now there’s you – a great, roaring, raging fire. you, who doesn’t give him the luxury of taking his hand, but instead beckon and beckon until he grits his teeth rising from his knees to his feet to reach for and accept your warmth. now, it’s not so dark anymore. now, there are some good days in between the bad and the really bad ones. sometimes, he even smiles. rarely, he laughs, rusty like an old faucet, smoky like a burning house, a weak imitation of his past joy. but still, he laughs, and you’re there to hear it and grin back.

mikey wishes your murmured words and soft caresses against the hard planes of his skin could have cured the unfixable black hole festering in his soul. he wishes your kisses could have sucked out the uncontrollable evil within him, swallow it whole and breathe it out as carbon dioxide, as harmless, used-up, recycled air, because he’s convinced you’re an angel with a touch that turns everything – both splendid and foul – golden. you’re an angel that was meant to show him there’s still good in the world, maybe even in him, but you were never meant to save him. fate’s cruel like that. he was always meant to be saved by another, for everything to come full circle, but he wishes all the same it could have been you.

when takemichi tells him everything – the time leaping and the curse on him – when he goes through another awful, roach-like existence and learns of sinichiro’s sacrifice, the catalyst of everything; when he finally gets the chance to make and do it right with all the knowledge of how to, when he’s grown up and successful with all his friends flushed with health and happy by his side – he remembers you. he finally, finally remembers you. how you met him, always, when he was drowning, and stayed and made him want to thrash and wade to the surface so he could share the same breath as you. he cries – the waterfall of his tears carving a path into his cheeks, at what you did for him, over and over again. the life you offered instead of the plain drifting he was stuck in. and manjiro decides you’ve fought enough. you’ve done more than enough.

so this time, he finds you.

he searches, picks apart the whole city, until he finds you. you don’t remember him, but that’s okay, because he remembers you, and he’s not going anywhere. you’re still so lovely, so golden, appreciative of his advances even though he knows he must come off as strong so early, but you laugh and tell him you find it refreshing. charming, if not a little confusing. and he laughs back this time, fizzy like a bubble bath and rumbling like a fireplace. mikey tells you he wants to stay, with you, so earnestly it strikes you that you might know him, after all. you don’t tell him that, of course, because it’s a bit silly of you, isn’t it?

(you tell him – ask him – later, when he’s been yours for years, when he’s put a ring on your finger and you took his last name. you ask him, after both of your breathings have calmed from a night of pleasurable tangling in the sheets. you ask him, enamoured and so, so in love with him, if he believes in past lives, because you’re so sure of it that he was meant for you. and your husband merely smiles like he’s privy to all the knowledge in the world. he kisses your knuckles sunlight-soft and tells you you were destined for each other from the very start. it leaves a gasp frozen in your throat and a thrill skittering down your spine that makes you want to ravish him once more.)

but that comes later. for now, it’s still a little silly, no matter how adamant this handsome man seems about courting you. so you smile and dip your chin in a bashful nod and say that you’d very much like for him to stay. so manjiro does. he stays by your side and lives the life he was always meant to, with you.

[silv3rswirls]

I'm not human at all

Summary: Something seems rotten in him, gross and morbid, and it’s starting to spread.

Note: I really like the setting of this one? Idk how well it came across in the fic but the forest, middle of nowhere, swampy, flooded kinda deal, good vibes to me

Warnings: Stepbrother Jungkook, yandere, descriptions of violence, angsty, disturbing thoughts

“I wish I hated you.” 

The water sloshing around your head slowly calms. Your floating hair tickles your face, your clothes cling to your body, and your wrist remains tightly bound in Jungkook’s hand. He’s too close, with you pinned under him. The flooded field was silent, too silent for the struggle that had ensued just seconds ago.

When a new family moved into town, it was known by everyone. It was such a small, rural place that everyone knew everyone, and word traveled fast. When a widowed mother moved to town, a daughter at his side that matched his age; Jungkook had been intrigued. Granted, he had never imagined that woman joining his family. But of course, his father had to take interest in the mysterious, and your mother seemed to like the outsiders of town.

You moved in not even a year into their relationship and they married not long after. It was a big house, outside of town, secluded near the forests and downhill, so when it rained the yard would flood and so would the floorboards inside. It was a distant home life, Jungkook was already used to it as you struggled to grow accustomed. Children in his house were forgotten, and the day your mother moved in it seemed she lived by that rule. Living life alone, with no one's eyes on you other than your new stepbrother’s.

Jungkook had always been odd. He hardly spoke to you and kept to his own. Even when you grew older and the silly trivializations of childhood were lost, he still held you at a distance. But you had to admit, there was a fond curiosity that came with calling yourself part of his family. One that leads you to trail after him slowly while walking into town, pretending not to care but always finding your eyes on him. You’d follow him into the woods, a silent puppy pawing after him as he seemed to genuinely enjoy exploring the thick brush. You could never tell if it annoyed him or not, and if it did he hardly said anything about it. 

But somethings, when he looked back at you struggling to keep up and swatting bugs away, your eyes would catch his. The forest would quiet down and so would your footsteps. In those moments a thick tension could be felt, an odd one, that seemed to come out of thin air. 

He kind of liked it.

You only ever saw Jungkook cry once, as he trudged through the flooded field with something clutched in his hand. He held it out to you, a wood carving he had spent days on just for you. But your excited smile never came, your lips parted in concern at the gash across his palm. You took him inside and sewed the gash closed with a needle and thread. Going into town for something like that wasn’t something your parents went for, so it slowly became your job to care for any ailments. Jungkook shivered at the feeling of your gentle hands holding his, and he hugged you for the first time afterward.

He thought about pulling his makeshift stitches out just to have you take care of him again.

It started after that day. You would appear in his dreams and he’d wake with a swarm of butterflies in his stomach. Sweat coated his body as he thought of you. He’d roll over and stare at the wall your rooms shared. Where you lay sound asleep. His eyes would flutter closed, imagining you cuddled beside him. And hours after, still unable to sleep he would roll onto his back, imaging you above him. Your thighs pressed at either side of his hips, hands entangled in his own.

His attitude shifted after that.

“Let me see”

“I’m fine, it’s just a cut” you wince, the stinging sensation of blood dripping down your finger. Jungkook had taken your wrist to inspect it, dark eyes bearing to the sight of crimson seeping out. He took your finger into his mouth, sucking the blood. His eyes flicked up to yours, holding contact as he stopped; your put resting against his lip, and blood began to bead down his chin. “I couldn’t help it,” he smiled.

“Jungkook?” You asked, waiting for him to hum in return as he looked around for a band-aid. “Why are we different?”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone thinks we’re weird, that's all I hear when I go into town.” You hesitated, “your dad said I was…weird” you chose, not able to repeat the nastiness you had heard from the man.

He scoffed, “what does it matter if they think we’re weird?” He looked at you with a hard frown, “it doesn’t matter, do you want to leave?” He asked, “because if you care so much, why don’t you just leave?”

He’s waiting for your answer, he’d rather take you dead than gone.

“I don’t want to leave you” you muttered, shoulders falling and voice shrinking. “I just wish they’d stop saying such awful things about you.”

His grip on your hand loosens a bit, if only you knew the truth behind rumors. Rumors that whispered of his fondness of you being too much. Or ones that gossiped of how disturbed he was, how he liked to collect dead bugs and picked pieces of butterflies' wings from the road and pocket them. How he had never loved anyone but you, not even his parents.

“I went into town today, and met this guy while shopping.”

Jungkook’s breathing had hitched the moment you said those words to him. 

“Did you?” He asked with pointed words. His eyes glared hard, your back turned to him as you cooked. His fingers pressed into the dining table hard, the splintering wood pricking his skin. “I thought we decided to always go into town together?” “That was so long ago” you smiled, fondly looking back on childhood promises. “We’re grown now, I don’t need you to watch over me all the time.”

You turned when he abruptly stood up, chair scratching the floor and nearly tipping over. He left the room with a scowl, slamming and locking his door. 

He sat on his bed with his stomach in knots, sick to his stomach at the thought of anyone else being around you, trying to emulate the affection he should be giving. He exhaled, rubbing his hands on his jeans and watching them shake in anger. He needed to calm down, he didn’t want to be angry with you. To tip over the edge and start yelling, fighting you on his. He shook his head, almost laughing at himself as he felt tears begin to emerge. He supposed, he had never thought of you taking interest in anyone but him. Not when you lived such secluded lives like this. Somewhere in his mind, he had already thought of the two of you together, unspoken between little glances he swore you have him. 

You had to feel the same, you looked at him the same he looked at you. He could feel it. He laughed at himself again, sniffling and harshly scrubbing the tears from his face. Or maybe he was just sick, crazy, and too good at making things up and believing them. 

There was a jar sitting on his bedside table, where he had kept a caterpillar he caught a time ago. He had cocooned and blossomed into a butterfly, a rather plain looking one. But it had been fluttering around the jar for nearly a week now, hitting the sides and anxiously trying to get out and fly away. 

He didn’t want it to go; he didn’t want you to go.

It had rained all night and morning, the sun was finally starting to part the clouds and you were excitedly getting ready for a walk into town. Jungkook hadn’t spoken to you since the night you mentioned another guy. You felt a bit of a hold in your stomach as you pulled on your rain boots. While you were curious to keep meeting and talking with your new friend, you felt a cold loneliness around with Jungkook ignoring you. Part of you wondered if it was worth it, to keep Jungkook worked up and distant, you weren’t sure of what to do. “He’s not my boyfriend” you reminded yourself with stiff words and pursed lips. “It shouldn’t bother me or Jungkook this much.”

Outside, per usual, the stretch of yard and field was flooded. Near to your ankles as you trudged through, huffing in annoyance at a flood when the sun was beginning to beam and nature's noises came back. Chirping birds and billowing insects chimed along with the squish of flooded earth and sloshes of water. 

Jungkook’s hurried steps were much louder and disturbed your peaceful walk as he approached fast. You turned, a bit concerned to find your stepbrother racing towards you after nearly a week of the cold shoulder. “I’ll kill him” he spat, “I really will, I’ll kill him if you don’t stop seeing him.”

You stumbled in your steps, turned around, and nearly fell over as you looked at Jungkook with eyes blown wide. “J-Jungkook calm down, you can’t just say that because you're upset-”

“I’ve thought about just how I’ll do it, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

He reaches for you, grabbing your wrist tight and yanking you over. You stumbled into him, feel his hand under your jaw as he brings your face to his and kisses you. For a moment his hold loosens and you go tumbling back in shock, water splashing violently around you as you fall. He’s there on the ground with you in seconds, over you with eyes part in concern and part still in anger. The water sloshing around your head slowly calms. Your floating hair tickles your face, your clothes cling to your body, and your wrist remains tightly bound in Jungkook’s hand. He’s too close, with you pinned under him. The flooded field was silent, too silent for the struggle that had ensued just seconds ago. 

“I wish I hated you” he began, “when we first met I did, but I don’t know what happened, I just love you so much.” You listen to him with averted eyes and half a frown. 

“Don’t you love me?” You look at him for a moment, “come on, angel” he smiles as he says it, “don’t be scared, it's just been driving me crazy all week. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I do love you” you murmur, thinking of all the things people said about you and him through the years trapped in this patch of woods. “It’s just-”

“No” he hums, “don’t even worry about anything else, just worry about me and you.”

He smiles, he feels like he’s finally been driven off the cliff. Sick, contagious as he coaxes your worries away, “you don’t need anyone but me, you never have and never will.”

“Angel” he’d purr, his hands cupping your face and turning his gaze to him. “Were they giving you trouble again? I’ll make them stop.”

“Angel.”

“Angel.”

“Angel.”

 His favored nickname for you, but when he called you that your looks of adoration slowly began to turn. You would get this odd look in your eye, disgust maybe? Disbelief? Guilty love? Your lips would curve down, shoulders tense ever slightly; but he always noticed. Your gaze turned shameful as if your eyes were telling- no begging him to cut off your wings and strip you of that title. You’d beg him not to call you that, but he would only tilt his head with this intense look and ask who made you feel undeserving of being his angel.

He imagined himself as some big bad wolf, long fangs dripping with anxious saliva; slowly sinking into your feathers and tearing your wings apart. His personal angel, flightless and unable to leave; desired only by him. He could tell, he’s rotted your brain. Human no more, with fangs and growing horns. He could finally feel it, what it had meant all his life as people whispered behind his back.

Taglist: @aris-ink

[try02line]

TOH UNPOPULAR TAKE: CALEB WITTEBANE: Evelyn his love, Philip his joy

Essentially a personal interpretation of the Wittebane lore from Caleb perspective with him being a much more grey character of dubious/grey morality (+ him being kind of delusional)

———————————————————————————————————————

Imagine this- Caleb meets Evelyn, a gorgeous, witty and vibrant witch. Despite everything he has been taught all his life, he likes her- no, screw that, he loves her. It takes time of course, but their love is genuine and deep, they complete each other, and their relationship flourishes fast and sweet. She is a breath of fresh air in Caleb’s life, she shows him things he had never thought possible, she shows him a world that is new and exciting and free, so strikingly different from the stark harsh rules and unsaid protocols of Gravesfield.

The small hushed conversations in the forest, the secret kisses and small escapades are soon not enough for either. They crave for more, but they know they cannot have it in the human realm, so Evelyn leads her friend and lover through a portal and to her home.

Caleb’s visits to the Boiling Isles are brief and hesitant affairs at first, albeit his curiosity, it still takes time for him to get used to such strange, terrifying yet fascinating world. But with time he grows bolder and more confidente. They don’t have to hide their love there, they are free. Free to hold hands and dance together, free to laugh and cry, free to explore and love for hours to no end.

And just like that, the once rare brief escapades become an ever more common occurrence, until they become a nearly daily matter. And not only that, but the time he spends there grows exponentially. If at first it was just a few minutes, soon he spends there hours, even days.

Until one day, he doesn’t come back from that portal.

Being in the Boiling Isles with Evelyn is intoxicating, nearly addictive. He is free, he is happy, he feels alive. Time flies by like butterflies, at the constant rhythm of their enamored hearts, inexorable and yet unnoticed. Caleb thinks he’d like to stay there forever, spend the rest of his days in this apparent perfect pure bliss.

But he cannot.

Because he doesn’t belong.

The Boiling Isles are beautiful and Evelyn’s family and friends always do their best to make him feel part of this- of everything; and he appreciates that, truly, they are far kinder to him than what he deserves, than what he’ll ever be able to to express and give back.

But it isn’t enough.

Deep down, Caleb knows he doesn’t belong here, just like he didn’t belong in Gravesfield when he arrived all those years before. No one but a poor homeless orphan, with nothing to his name but his father’s blue coat and his little brother at his side.

He doesn’t belong there, and he accepts it. He smiles his worries away, and simply tries to make the most out of this, trying to enjoy this sweet little dream, knowing it will not last forever.

He has to go back after all, he knows, he has always known.

That was why when he followed Evelyn thru that portal, he left all his most priced possessions behind.

His blue coat.

His carving knife.

His little brother.

Oh his little brother. His joy and his duty. The only thing his poor mother had left to remind him of her. Of her blue eyes, of her dark hair, of her witty comments- Philip had inherited all of that and more.

Caleb missed him dearly, of course he did.

He had spent his own childhood and adolescence raising him. He had taught him everything he knew. He had comforted him from his nightmares. He had taken any and every back breaking job under the sun to make sure he wouldn’t go hungry. He had stolen medicines when he was sick. He had taken his punishments and blames when he had messed up. He had haunted an hanged innocent and sinful women alike so they could fit in.

It had been a hard life, and yet, it had always seemed worth it when he would come back to their small home in the woods at the end of the day, sweaty and exhausted, and his little brother would be waiting for him sat on the small porch of their cabin. Every day he would do that, with no fail. Whether it was hot or cold, whether it was sunny or raining or snowing, whether it was early or late, whether they had argued or not. He was always there, each single time, awaiting for his return.

And Caleb would feel at home.

Maybe that was why, regardless of all the precious memories they shared in there, of all the small trinkets and moments and love they had filled it with it, Caleb had never been able to truly feel the house him and Evelyn shared as anything more than that … a house, never a home, or never a complete one at least.

There would always be something, someone missing to him, an emptiness in his heart. Something no friend, nor pet, nor palisman, nor the prospect of a baby could make up for- even if he loved each of them more than life itself.

Not even his Evelyn. Oh, how he loved her. But he also loved Philip.

And in his sinful human greed, Caleb prayed at night he could have both.

Evelyn’s free hypnotizing smile, Philip’s mischevious adoring eyes.

Wouldn’t it be beautiful? To go on adventures in the forest with his little brother during the day, and to dance around the fire with his lover at night. He didn’t think he’d need anything more, anyone else, to be truly happy. For how blasphemous it was to ponder such thought, he didn’t think anything their lord in heaven could offer him would ever be as joyful and sweet as that.

But it was impossible, nothing more than wishful thinking, a greedy fantasy.

For that to be possible, he’d have to either bring Philip to the Boiling Isles or Evelyn to the human realm, and both prospects were nothing but cruel, even if there was any chance of either accepting. He couldn’t do that to either, he loved them both too much for that.

How could he ask his lover to leave her home, her friends and family behind? How could he ask her vibrant and free Evelyn to strip herself of what made her her, to spend the rest of her life in hiding, with the looming threat of someone finding out what she was and burning her at the stake for that? No, she was to remain free to fly around and spread her wings in all their glory. That was whom she was, untamed and rebellious, but also warm and reassuring, like fire. He would never even suggest anything that may deem that light, he loved her too much for that

But then, how would asking his little brother to leave the human realm any better? Philip, who had been forcefully dragged from his home once already, whom had always struggled so much to fit in, to find a purpose, a place in their stern and unforgiving community. How could he ask him to leave it all behind, when he had just started to thrive in it? To drag him to this dangerous hellish new land, to start from scratch with no guarantee on their future, not only making of him an outcast once more, but knowing that for him to have any chance to fit in, he would have to unlearn and go against all the morals and rules that everyone had taught him since he was a little child?

That Caleb had taught him?

Oh … Maybe that was the real issue, wasn’t it? Maybe there was nothing selfless nor loving about his worries. Maybe the reason why he didn’t bring Philip along with him was far from merely not wishing to cause him harm.

Maybe the truth was that he was too prideful to let his little brother know he had been wrong. And not about something small and insignificant, but that all his life he had been wrong.

To admit that to Philip, who always looked up to him as if he could do or say no wrong, as if he was special. Him- special! What a joke! Caleb Wittebane, a poor orphan with little education and nothing to his name. A nobody, who had to scrap the bottom of the barrel each and every day just to make enough to eat. And yet … and yet Philip had always looked up at him as if he held the whole world in his hands.

Expecting of him to always know the answer, to always know what to do- it was exhausting at times, sure, it felt like a cross on his shoulders for him to carry thru the years, but it was also so sinfully addictive, as he sipped the sweet reward from the top of his pedestal. To feel important, to feel indispensable, to feel respected. Pride was a sin, and yet one Caleb couldn’t stop indulging in, a forbidden fruit he never got tired off, regardless of the years that passed by. He was so ashamed of himself, but- oh how he relinquished in the pure naive adoration and admiration his little brother would shower him with.

Stronger than a knight. Smarter than a lawman. Higher than a priest.

That was how it made him feel, and to a nobody like him, it was everything.

Wouldn’t it be cruel, to tear that pristine perfect image from his little brother’s arms? To let him see, that the older brother he looked up so much to, was nothing, but a fraud? No, Philip had already so few certainties in his life, he couldn’t do that to him. It wouldn’t be fair. He was his duty after all, how could he cause him so much pain? What kind of older brother would he be, if he knowingly hurt him?

He had to go back. It didn’t matter how exciting the Boiling Isles were, how pleasant his life there was, how lovely Evelyn was- he did not belong there. His place was at Gravesfield, in a little cabin in the woods, with his little brother.

It was his destiny, it was his duty.

He had promised Philip he would never leave him after all, how could he call himself a good older brother and disappoint him so cruelly? He had to go back, and he soon would.

Or at least, that was what he told himself every morning when he woke up, and every night when he went to sleep. And yet- that was what it all was, just words, with little progress or action to actually follow them. Again, he was a fraud after all, ready to fool not only his loved ones, but also himself.

Caleb kept telling himself he had all the time in the world. And just like that, days, months and years passed by. And yet, he still told himself he had time, so it didn’t matter. Even when him and Evelyn got married, even when they moved to a bigger house, even when she told him she was expecting.

Caleb kept telling himself he could and would stop at any moment, he was just waiting for the right one. It wasn’t that much different from when him and Philip would play pretend in the woods. His younger brother often got so self absorbed in his little games and stories that he would loose track of time- yeah that must be it, he was simply enjoying his life and struggling to keep track of time. But it was fine, all games come to an end sooner or later, regardless of how fun they were or how painful it was to stop, and this one would to.

One day, soon enough, he would have the bravery to thank Evelyn for blessing him with her love, he was sure she would find someone else, someone better, someone who deserved to build a family with her. He would gather his stuff, and he would leave, and go back to his old life, to Philip.

Caleb never wondered what may have been of his little brother, while he was away, never even pondered such scenarios. He just told himself that Philip was a smart kid, and he would be fine while he was gone. In his mind, there was no doubt of that, just like there was no doubt he would eventually cross that portal, and go back to him.

In his mind, the younger boy would be waiting for him on the steps of their home, just like he always did, looking not one day older from when he had left him behind, still the little boy he had raised and loved. Maybe he’d be upset he took this long, just like when he did whenever Caleb had to work an extra hour in the fields, but in the end, he would forgive him, just like he always did. They would just pick up from where they had left, as if only a few days had passed by, maybe he would indulge him and play witch hunters in the forest just like when they were children. His little brother would forget all his sins and would smile up to him as if he was a great king rather than a fool, and everything would be fine.

Right?

————————————————————————————————————-

I always claim i want to explore a more grey-dark version of Caleb Wittebane (more or less within the canon), so here it is! Let me know what you think about it! Especially @barnowled

[koinotame]

— ooh for your event, can i send a box of homemade chocolate and a dagger for The Servant? and also pls tell him to take care of himself.

Have a great day <33

he’s never going to use this, he thinks.

the dagger you’ve given him is intricately crafted, small regal-looking designs carved into the metal. it’s one he’d picked out together with you a couple weeks ago. you’d been browsing through a local seasonal market with him when a particularly decorative weapon stall had caught your attention. you’d asked which pattern he preferred and he’d felt proud you were considering his opinion. he didn’t realise you were asking because you were getting it for him.

in the end, he’s glad he picked the pattern he thought you’d like most. if it’s a gift from you, then it’s only fitting that you decorate him and everything he owns to your tastes.

no, he could never actually use this and stain it.

he’ll frame it on his bedside table, that way he can always be reminded of you and your care for him. perhaps he could sleep with it, even… (sheathed, of course—he would take any injury you wish to bestow upon him, especially with something you’ve taken such care to give to him, but that should be by your hand, not his own.) or—

"so," you draw out, shaking him out of his thoughts, "do you like it?"

from the way you’re grinning at him, self assured and beautiful and pleased, he thinks you know the answer.

but you’ve asked him a question, and it’s his duty to answer. "I will treasure this forever. thank you, master."

you laugh. his cheeks feel warm.

"I’m glad! I also made you some chocolate." you remove your hands from your back and hand him a small, handwrapped package. the ribbon holding it closed is messily tied and the fabric is crumbled. out of the corner of his eyes, he can see you avert yours. "that one, uh, didn’t come out so well though."

"I would love anything you were to give me." and he means it. even trash would be something worth delighting in if it comes from you.

you smile at him again and he thinks he could keep up the hard work for another week without rest.

he’s about to open his mouth to ask when you beat him to it. the thought of you just knowing him that well fills his chest with butterflies. "it’s not celebrated here I think, but where I’m from today’s a holiday… it’s kind of tradition to confess your feelings with chocolate today. though more recently it’s also shifting into giving your loved ones chocolate in general."

his mind completely skips over how you’d never told him this in the past.

are you… are you confessing to him? is he dreaming?

"so!" you clap your hands and clear your throat before he can say anything. "I feel like you’ve been overworking yourself a lot lately. take care of yourself, okay? I care about you a lot."

something in his heart twinges.

instead, he smiles pleasantly.

"your gift is all the motivation I would ever need." you don’t look convinced, but he continues before you can insist. "are you handing out chocolate to anyone else?"

you nod, seemingly distracted. "yep, you’re the last one."

ah.

of course.

his smile stays the same, his eyes crinkling in a way that he hopes is convincing. "thank you, master. I’m honoured you would think of me amongst those you care about."

you’re halfway through your own grin before you seem to remember something and frown again, trying to look stern. "don’t switch the topic like that." you jab an accusatory finger in his chest. his chest flutters at the contact. "you’re going to take care of yourself even if it means I have to drag you to bed by your hair, you hear me?"

his heart throbs again.

if it means keeping your attention on him, perhaps you pulling him by his hair through the halls wouldn’t be so bad, even if hurts, even if it should be him taking care of you.

but the smile that pulls at his cheeks is a bit more soft, a bit more genuine this time. "of course, master. I’m yours to do with as you please."

[cool-fancier]

A Butterfly’s Embrace

Synopsis: Childhood love, Bada, struggled with depression. A rediscovered necklace sparks memories, her ghostly presence consoles heartache.

Your relationship with Bada began in the peaceful environment of a tiny suburban town, when childhood friendships were created and memories were carved in the canvas of time. Both of you were brought together by the natural currents of fate, and your paths crossed in fourth grade.

The first meeting was pleasant like the first notes of a melody yet to be written. You were the quiet and wary newcomer, nervously wandering the school's strange corridors. Bada, on the other hand, was a whirl of energy and warmth, her laughter resonating  like a lovely symphony through the corridors.

In the beginning, your encounters were limited to passing looks and temporary moments in public places. As a social butterfly, Bada couldn't resist approaching you, finding a similar spirit beneath your quiet demeanour.

Bada approached you one day as you sat alone in the school courtyard, engaged in a book, with a grin that could light up the darkest corners. "Hello, new kid!" "What are you reading?"

You looked up, surprised by the unexpected invasion into your isolated world. "Oh, it's just a book." Nothing out of the ordinary."

Bada's eyes twinkled with interest. "Mind if I join you?"

With that, the first chords of your friendship were struck. Shared interests and conversations grew naturally, creating a tune that rang true with the innocence of childhood friendship. The connection between you and Bada became stronger as the days changed into weeks, and weeks into months, becoming a constant in the ever-changing world of childhood.

The dynamics of your relationship with Bada began to shift during a school project, a simple yet significant moment. The assignment required pairing students to work on presentations, and fate had chosen you and Bada as partners. The theme was animals, and you chose the butterfly, a symbol that would come to represent your relationship.

"I'm a huge fan of butterflies!" "They're like nature's delicate dancers!" said Bada.

You smiled as you realised the poetic beauty in her words. "Yeah, they are pretty amazing."

The project's combined effort became a symbol for your increasing friendship. Late-night study sessions devolved into mutual laughing, and whispered confessions took the place of educational debates. It was around this period that you realised the extent of your feelings for Bada.

The realisation came like a sweet tune, lingering in the calm times spent together. You gained the confidence to talk about what had been silently growing within your heart one evening as the sun dipped below the horizon and bathed the sky in orange and pink hues.

"Bada, there's something I need to tell you," you said, just above a whisper.

She turned to face you, her eyes shining with genuine interest. "What is it, Y/N?"

"I... I think I really like you, Bada," you admitted, your words dripping with vulnerability.

There was silence for a time until Bada's face lit up with a sparkling smile. "You do? Because, Y/N, I like you as well!"

And in that moment, the transition from friends to something more unfolded seamlessly, the melody of your connection finding a new rhythm. High school presented its own set of difficulties, but the power of your friendship-turned-romance endured the storms.

Your love for one other grew stronger with time, becoming a source of comfort and support in the difficult path that is adolescence. The shared dreams, whispered confidences, and stolen glances became the fabric of your story.

The idea of university loomed on the horizon as the final year of high school neared. The uncertainty of diverging pathways put your love to the test. Graduation was bittersweet, with a vow to reunite resonating through sad goodbyes.

The following chapter took place at university, where the challenges of adulthood put your relationship to the test. Late-night phone calls took the place of shared nights, and text messages became the lifeline that kept your connection alive. During these years, the first evidence of darkness appeared within Bada's heart.

As sadness wrapped its grasp around Bada's spirit, the lively soul you fell in love with became a shadow of itself. Late-night phone calls that used to be filled with laughing now bore the weight of silent grief. You could only offer words of comfort and love across the digital gap, helpless and miles away.

As the years unfolded, the facade of Bada's bubbly exterior began to crack, revealing the depth of her internal struggles. The enthusiastic partner who once radiated brightness became disguised in darkness, and her laughter became a distant echo of a time when joy came easily.

The indicators of Bada's inner pain became too obvious to ignore during your college years. She withdrew from social activities, her once-enthusiastic participation in gatherings replaced by a haunting isolation.  Conversations that were once lively and vibrant became increasingly sombre as the light in her eyes faded.

Late-night conversations that were once brimming with shared ambitions and aspirations had turned into hushed confessions of misery. Bada confided in you, confessing the tyranny of depression that had enslaved her. She described the tremendous emptiness that seemed to swallow her whole, leaving her in a state of permanent numbness.

Bada's pain weighed heavily on your shoulders, and you felt helpless in the face of her wordless agony. Desperate to help, you encouraged her to seek assistance from professionals and to confide in someone who might guide her through the confusing web of her emotions. But, like an insidious shadow, sadness had a way of distorting reality and convincing its sufferer that reaching out was pointless.

Bada's cheerful energy had been replaced with a listless version of herself. Her favourite activities had become burdensome, and even the simplest tasks seemed overwhelming. Every day seemed like a battle against an unseen power aimed at putting out the brightness within her.

Your love for Bada was strong, but the fact of sadness is that it rarely has simple remedies. As you watched her slowly sink into the abyss, you felt powerless, wondering how to save someone who appeared determined to avoid you.

There were brief periods of hope, when Bada would emerge from the shadows and enjoy the warmth of the world. But these were temporary times, like rays of sunlight bursting through a stormy sky, only to be swallowed up by the gathering clouds again.

Not because of a lack of love, but because despair had built obstacles that even the most sincere relationship difficult to overcome. Bada became a prisoner of her own mind, and you were a steadfast witness to a never-ending conflict.

Despite the difficulties, your love and dedication endured. You remained at Bada's side, providing a soothing presence even when words failed. The struggles with depression cast a long shadow over your relationship, but the love you shared became a lifeline—a flickering flame that refused to be extinguished.

Bada's gift of the rose gold necklace to you in the middle of her personal agony was a touching gesture, a statement of love that endured even in the face of misery. Little did you know that the year after this meaningful present would be the last you'd spend with Bada, and that the necklace with its delicate butterfly pendant would become a lasting remembrance of a love tale filled with both joy and grief.

As you rummaged through the neglected boxes, each containing a piece of your past, the air in the garage was thick with the aroma of dust and memories. Old photographs, paintings from your childhood, and even a collection of hockey awards brought you back in time. You discovered a small, dazzling jewellery box among the remains of days gone by, and a warm smile graced your lips at the memory it held.

The box, covered with various shades of blue glitter, was a memorial to your childhood best friend and girlfriend, Bada's, dedication. She had been saving for it for two and a half years, a symbol of the lovely affection that had characterised your friendship since the beginning. A flood of childhood memories washed over you as you ran your fingertips over the gleaming surface.

You took a deep breath and opened the box, showing the rose gold necklace that had adorned your neck the year before she passed.

As the weight of grief rested on your chest, tears welled up in your eyes. "I really miss you, Bada. I hope you're doing better than you were. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you or save you," you broke down your pain echoing in the garage's silence.

Unbeknownst to you, Bada stood behind you, mournful eyes on you. She knelt down beside you, wrapped her arms around you, and caressed your hair, a silent presence in a world where her touch was ignored. "It's not your fault, Butterfly. I was the one who couldn't hang on in this life. You're the reason I stayed for so long. You should be happy."

Your body was overflowing with tears, a frantic attempt to relieve the sorrow that had been growing since her departure. "My sweet girl," Bada said quietly, her voice a soothing breeze in the garage's silence.

As you continued to mourn, Bada's ghostly hug provided some solace. She hoped she could brush your tears away and tell you that the love you shared had been the anchor that had held her grounded for so long.

But the gap between the living and the dead remained, leaving Bada as nothing more than an imaginary witness in your most private times of grief.

And so, the garage held the echoes of a love that transcended the boundaries of life and death—a love that, even in the face of tragedy, refused to fade away.

[vulturereyy]

Gimme a Lurien song

I’m starving, Darling Let me put my lips to something Let me wrap my teeth around the world Start carving, Darling I want to smell the dinner cooking I want to feel the edges start to burn Honey, I Want to race you to the table If you hesitate The getting is gone I won’t lie If there’s something to be gained There’s money to be made Whatever's still to come

I know Hozier is so typical but genuinely i think this song (along with @asp1diske-art amazing art, PLEASE go check their stuff out if you want god-tier lurien and monomon interactions) is kind of what planted the nugget in my head of Lurien and PK having a... tumultuous working relationship, to say the least. This song came out right around the time I was getting into HK fandom, and I didn't hear it as soon as it came out, but when it did-- it struck a chord with me. I think it's also part of the reason I made Lurien a carnivorous bug; I remember I was originally very enthralled by the butterfly or moth Lurien headcanons, but something about the embroiled irony and anger and the political implications of this song stuck with me. Both irl and also in my headcanons. I still very often think about making the animatic in my head about Lurien taunting the Pale King to this song about the vessel/dreamer plan and his sheer dissatisfaction with it, but we all know how that ends. RIP to this ten of swords tarot wip I never finished but still really like; the original file name was 'Eatyouryoung'. (This was pre-divine/feral anger era lurien in my creation timeline, so he looks a bit more downtrod here, but don't worry i made him more fucked up since)

i will sneak in a second one as well for Lurimol..

How ever fast I dance to make the sun shine I will never fall down No matter what it takes, I'll try to save the ghost lights How ever hard I pray to remake you mine I will never feel down No matter what it takes, I'll try to save the ghost lights

[judithan-fr]

Tutorial: How I Render Accents

PART 1: LINES

a quick disclaimer: as stated on the title, this is how I render accents and obviously a lot of it will not apply to whatever style/method/etc that you may use. Another thing is there are some aspects of my style that will seem obvious to me that I may overlook explaining. please consider this a more generalized guide than a step-by-step.

So, first things first: the lines themselves.

I'm going to be making an entry for Brightshine for this tutorial, so it'll be the example i use. I use Clip Studio Paint for all of my accents and I specifically use the asset found in the CSP asset store called SOIPEN for my lines, specifically on a size 3. I feel it does a good job of getting crisp yet soft lines and matches well to the line weight of the dragons line art. I typically do not zoom in very far and try to focus on making the outer silhouette ares bold and the inner lines soft. This gives a crisp edge to the work and a definitive line that makes it easier to color later on.

Something to note if I utilize the line method of going back and forth between opaque and transparent colors. It's a hotkey you can set that effectively turns the same brush you're using into an eraser. It allows me to carve away segments to create that negative space (as seen on the middle of the flower above) rather than trying to perfectly draw in that specific circle shape. Negative space is a huge tool to master that can give a lot of depth to your work. It also helps to sometimes fill in segments or widen out segments that are just Barely touching. The less complications in the lines the better.

For the main feature, the flowers, I will typically find a reference showing a good clear outline of how the flowers look and simplify the shapes. The flowers in question here are Delphiniums and I've decided to render them upside down as if they're hanging. Simplifying the shapes and giving the illusion of the petal bunching is more effective than genuinely drawing each and every petal in a 100% accurate way. (also since it's for Brightshine I've replaced the flower bulbs at the ends with light bulbs)

When doing line work that goes right up to the edge of the dragon, I'll typically start with the line for the edge, then build from that. Also when it comes to narrow areas (like the tip of the wing there) I'll leave it blank and typically fill it in with gradients or other small things to not make it too busy.

A very important rule for making accents is: Do Not Invest In Details That Will Get Lost In Resizing. I don't make super small details that don't matter, for example if you look at the innermost part of the flowers they are blocky and somewhat large compared to how they actually are on the flowers. When they get resized they will barely maintain that level of detail.

With all of the linework done I'd like to point out how I do composition for my accents. I tend to have 2-3 main focal points (in this case it's the two major draping areas on the wings, and the flowing lace on the arms) and everywhere else is filled in with evenly distributed small bits. Originally the butterfly on the bottom left wing wasn't there in the sketch but when I looked at the accent lines for what I had I noticed an empty spot and filled it in with a matching motif.

Some main points of how I craft my accents include: keeping the main focal points and number of thematic motifs limited and deliberate. I could add a bunch of like, jewelry trinkets or more lace and really clutter the accent but by not doing that it gives the flowers room to breathe and be the star of the show. Also using references for flowers creates a much better image than winging it.

In the next part I'll go over my coloring/rendering process!

[liquid-luck-00]

Red Binding 3

Maribat March Day 3: Butterfly

@maribat-calendar-events @maribatserver

First *** Previous *** Next

~~~~~~~~~~

There was never a day to relax. Everyday brought on more and more studies, text, incantations, and even bruises. Yet she was happier than she could ever remember. She had started to learn the language used in the Order, which greatly improved her relationship with Su-Han, who was appointed her mentor. But that wasn’t the only language she had learned. Those chosen by Kwamii, were of any and every race and culture. So she picked up other languages, ranging from English and Spanish to Arabic and Swahili. Overall she learned about a dozen languages over the six months she was here.

"Guardian Yùnqì." The familiar voice of Su-Han caught her attention in the quiet library.

"Guardian Kuí." She turned towards her teacher, with a slight bow of her head. "I hope the day has been well to you."

"It has." Was his response, yet Marinette noticed his shift in his mood. His usual calm stoicism was replaced by a simmering anger just under the surface.

"Su-Han." She whispered breaking him from his growing stupor.

"I do not know how this happened, yet it has been decreed." His usually intimidating posture sagged slightly. "As of today, you shall begin to prepare for the Renewal Ceremony."

"Is that a bad thing?" Her genuine curiosity on display.

"Follow me."

She stood, leaving the books on a cart, so they would be returned to their place, and followed behind her teacher.

They took a passage that led close to the Supreme’s chamber but took a turn, one she never had reason to go down. They continued down, further and further, to a point that she wondered just how deep they were in the mountian. Soon after they came to a stop. There was a a door, no taller than three meters, and carved into the wood was a symbol she has seen countless times.

A Yin and Yang.

Inside the room was a pool of steaming water, she watched as the pool ebbed and flowed with its own tide. The crystaline torches provided such clear light that rainbows danced around the room, splitting farther on each crystal it touched. But her focus was once again on the pool of water. The water itself was such a deep blue it was a true Indigo. But the water glowed unnaturally a purple that seem to distort the cavern. It made her skin crawl, it wasn't a dark purple like Lavender, or even a soft purple like Wisteria. No this was closer to a Nightshade.

Reflexively she took a step back from the water and it's rising steam.

"You do well to be cautious." Su-Han nodded.

"What is this?" She asked, stating the obvious. "There is a heavy concentration of Magic."

"Very good, this is the Spring of Creation, also known as the Pool of Ambrosia."

"Like the elixir of the gods?"

At this Su-Han laughed, well it was more of a chuckle.

"This pool is where that name originated from. You see anyone who either drinks or bathes in the waters will have an extended life. However all magic has its cost. This pool belongs to Tikki, the Kwamii who has chosen you as its guardian."

"What does this have to do with the ceremony?"

Marinette asked watching her teacher closely.

"The ceremony is simple, whenever there is a chosen of the jewels of either creation or destruction, that chosen will perform a ritual. Water from both pools will be poured into one another revitalizing and balancing both."

"Why would they need to be balanced?" She couldn't help and ask.

At the Su-Han simply placed his hand on top of her head.

"For destruction cannot exist without creation, and creation cannot exist without destruction. You are to help balance them, ensuring that if any magic is used, it would be restored." At this he seemed more apprehensive. "You my child are still young, you should not be burdened with having to do this."

"Well it doesn’t seem that hard." She shrugged, because it didn’t.

Carrying maybe a pitcher of water from one location to another wasn’t that difficult at all. So why is he making it seem like she’s walking into a trap.

"You’re right. The ritual itself is quite simple, however the location of the Well of Destruction, is… "

"It can’t be that bad." She crossed her arms, making herself look more confident, and made a joke. "It’s not like they’re in hell."

"They might as well be." She blinked to his response not knowing if he was joking or not, yet the man never joked.

"In sending you there, I have all but signed your life to death. The Pits of Lazarus are held in the inner sanctuary of the League of Shadows, whoane move commonly known as the League of Assassins."

"I’m sorry what?" She took a step back, almost reflexively.

"There is actually a group of people who call themselves the League of Assassins?" That act was both incredulous and absurd at the same time.

"There is, and unfortunately the head of the organization is not only a very cruel man, but he also knows of your existence, Marinette."

That wasn’t exactly what she was expecting.

First off why would someone so evil be the ones who are tasked with guarding such a place. Secondly, how is it that they know of her? The third reason however was what stuck to the most, the fact that Su-Han referred to her by her name, not her title, not as his apprentice, not the most endearing term he ever gives her of my child, no he referred to baher given name. This is the first time he had done so , which put a new kind of weight on her shoulders.

"can the ceremony be postpond? And if not how much time do I have to prepare?"

"You will be expected to arrive the night before the next new moon. You shall be accompanied by an instructor, and will be there for day over a fortnight."

"Are you saying I have to stay there for two weeks, 14 days, in a place filled to the brim with assassins?"

"That is correct." It was the first time she ever saw him expresses any sort of emotion, the first time she ever saw him shed a tear.

And she was absolutely mortified.

The silence mi's had streaked too long, as Tikki's voice chimed into mind urging her. Marinette, you need to answer.

She dug her heels in, straightened her posture, and took a breath, grounding her self removing everything except for what she needed to do from her mind. "If it has to be done, it’s my duty as the Guardian Yùnqì."

"I do not know if your determination is a result of you finally coming into your own, or if it is simply a façade at the moment. I can still see you as the small child who fell into the courtyard, now your wings only begin to show. I feel your metamorphosis may be close my little caterpillar. Now." He stiffened and went back to his usual self, his momentary lapse in emotion buried yet again. "Tikki would be best to guide you, as she knows where the tomes are for the ceremony."

"I don’t think I can do this Tikki." Marinette ran her

hands down her face as soon as he left the cavern.

If anyone can, you can, comeon Marinette."

Tikki floated around her before floaty at her eye level.

"I’m going to be with people who think it’s drag to kill. I’m either going to be walking on egg shells or under constant supervision, more than likely both. Mari started to pace getting further from the magical water.

"And so long as you can harness my magic, no shadow can touch you. You hold so much power, you have yet to even comprehend. You are going to be the next Grand Guardian."

"That’s if I survive this!"

"Not if, when."

"They can snuff me out if they want it. No harder than it would be to blow out a candle."

"Yes, but just like the Kuì said, you have changed so much. Mari, you have knowledge that took others decades to learn and even master. The progress gained in your studies: language, spells, rituals, defensive combat and magics. You are a child of miraculous, you are creation."

"I don’t know if I can ever truly be the grand Guardian Tikki." She all but dismissed.

Marinette extended her hand towards the Kwamii who sat in her palm.

"I am not brave, and I’m not a good fighter, and my magic is more aligned with healing."

"You are so much more." Tikki flew up to cup her cheek, giving her a hug. "You are perfect Marinette, you just lack a bit of confidence."

"It’s not like I can manifest it overnight Tikki." A small joke made its way to her lips.

"No you can’t my- little bug, but once you do, you will be an unstoppable once my little bug, but once you do you will be a butterfly."

"Everyone expects so much of me, and I don’t see it."

"It doesn’t matter if you’re walking into a room filled with guardians in training, or mountain full of assassins, remember creation did n't simply make flowers, creation also created the poisons that bloom from them." Sometimes she forgets, Tikki may be kind and gentle 98% of the time, but she is also terrifying.

"Destruction can’t exist without creation." She repeated those words, they were having a bit more understanding of them.

She took a deep breath and started to plan. A mental list formed of things that need to be done before she had to set off towards this mountain full of shadows.

"Let’s go get the to me, we can study it in the room, but before that I think it’s time to start training with the guardian Shun’itsu."

the little goddess smiled at her before disappearing from this plane once more.

You’re on the right track bug.

Next

~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Taglist: @jennifer-rose123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @joydone07 @mizzy-pop @starling218 @crystalqueertea

[yumemiruuuu]

“2ha moments that tainted my mind like how the Flower of Everlasting Hatred tainted his heart”

Part One because there is NO WAY that I will not have any more thoughts after re-reading and reading volume 5 like what the fuck, what the actual fuck.

“Chu Wanning, watch me fuck you to death”

Butterfly Town corpse procession where they both switched places and STILL ended up getting paired up and “married off” together, like just fucking kiss already LAWD.

The way Chu Wanning LITERALLY HAS THEM IN HIS ARMS???? WITH TIANWEN IN HIS OTHER HAND??? BECAUSE HE LITERALLY LOOKS OUT FOR THEM????? AND PROTECTS THEM???????? anyways, I love Chu Wanning. Chu Wanning my beloved. He is literally so gorgeous and I don’t care what everyone says in that universe about him because like if I saw him, I would literally also pull off a Mo Ran and beg for him to be my shizun.

The Xia Sini arc. That’s it. Literally my favorite arc, I WILL NOT fucking shut up about it. That arc healed something in me if you exclude the murder mysteries slasher movie elements to it. Ask me about it and I will answer every single one of your questions including the meaning of life.

MengMeng. Just… MengMeng because he occupies 28% of my thoughts following closely to Jiang Cheng who occupies 37%.

“Ah, JIANGUI!!” and then everyone clapped.

The Lake Jincheng moment when they get drugged and put to sleep and Mo Ran having that incredibly vivid dream about Chu Wanning getting violated by someone else and so he’s enraged and is like “I’M THE ONLY ONE WHO GETS TO VIOLATE CHU WANNING”??? Like, what the hell was that?? Actually, what the hell was that whole Lake Jincheng arc????

On the topic of the Lake Jincheng arc, that whole bit with Xue Meng and him getting crushed over the fact that not only does he NOT get a holy weapon because everything was a lie, but also the fact that his previously orphaned nephew who came from such… horrible background got the only remaining true holy weapon?? I felt his pain so hard, dude. Like, Xue Meng, I feel you. I understand your pain.

This:

Shi Mei feeling up Mo Ran because he wasn’t paying attention to him and was being extra nice to Chu Wanning instead???? Like… what??? Can’t you be normal please???? I’m so sorry, I genuinely dislike the “sweet like honey” type characters because they always turn out to be assholes and I just can’t trust them maybe it’s also trauma and my trust issues but like goddamn Mo Ran literally have bad tastes if he liked Shi Mei I’m so sorry for saying this

Mo Ran having SUCH anxiety with his food to the point that he would literally WOLF IT DOWN in less than a day, and anything else, he hides because he’s so used to having his things taken away from him, and the relief he felt when Chu Wanning told him that there’s no need to rush because there’s always more for him when they’re eating together and just… brb I am genuinely going to cry.

The chapter title change from “This Venerable One…” to “Shizun, Won’t You Pay Attention To Me, Please Pay Attention To Me.”

Chu Wanning not knowing how to react to Mo Ran (seemingly) suddenly manifesting in front of him: “who the fuck is this child and where did he come from” ←this is totally a canon quote

“…he came with a low guttural roar.”

Mo Ran’s pronunciation guide

Anything beyond this point is Volumes 3/4 Spoilers so…

You’ve been warned (lol)

I am never getting over looking up Yuwu and 2ha connections, ONLY TO COME BACK FROM GETTING SPOILED THAT CHU WANNING IS MADE FROM WOOD?????

On a similar note, I was looking up Nangong Si because I wanted to see official art of him and found out that not only A) does he die (I actually went through a whole bit of copium this morning in the shower ober this because I randomly remembered it and was like “no he doesn’t… wait… does he… noo.. no… nooo…) but also B) Ye Wangxi is a female????

Now that I know about Chu Wanning literally being carved from wood, I can’t stop agonizing over Chu Wanning’s thoughts where he would compare his features to someone like… say, Shi Mei. How pained must it feel for him to have these thoughts knowing that he was MADE BY HAND. The facial features on him such as nose, jawline, chin… EVERYTHING was deliberately carved to look that way. That would honestly fuck me up so badly, especially since I also have my grievances about my appearance.

Although,,, to be honest, I actually don’t know if Chu Wanning is even aware of his own origins but IF HE DID, it probably fucks him up a ton. And I agonize over this every. single. day. Oh god, I just also remembered the part where Mo Ran specifically says to him: “Chu Wanning, are you made of wood?” Ohhh OHHHH OUCHIEEEE. VERY. OUCHIEEE.

Another thing that drove me insane is the scene in volume 3 (I’m pretty sure?) with the wontons where Mo Ran is narrating and lamenting over how he couldn’t remember what his shizun’s expression looked like when he shoved off the wontons Chu Wanning made… because he just…. couldn’t care less….. and just…. Knowing that Chu Wanning was the one who has been making Mo Ran’s wontons this entire time knowing that he would like them?? I literally CANNOT even begin to imagine the types of expressions that he could have possibly been making.

Just… like… Imagine being Chu Wanning, and you care SO MUCH about Mo Ran to the point that you are willing to sacrifice your own feelings for the sake of his happiness knowing that he likes your other disciple that is “much better looking”, and despite that, go out of your way to make him spicy wontons, even though you are not that good at making food AND dislike spicy foods. And then you make his favorite food to try to get him to cheer up even a little bit when one of your disciples (and your crush’s crush) dies and you proooobably blame yourself for it and not only does he essentially say “fuck you and your food” but he blames you and basically tells you that you’re a horrible person (which you most likely already blame yourself for and agonize over so now it also feels like someone else is confirming your sense of guilt) . Like, I would NOT be okay after that. I’m usually good at not showing my feelings but this would truly devastate me and fuck me up a lot to the point that I wouldn’t even know what to do.

[radiowallet]

Eyes Open - Chapter 5

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Amy Oliver (ofc) Summary: Marcus takes a shot in the dark. WC: 2.1K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Canon-typical violence, talk of police work, slow burn, yearning, idiots friends to lovers, financial stressors, second chance romance, workplace romance (sort of), older love interest, single parents, DID I MENTION THE YEARNING?

Series Masterlist II Main Masterlist II Marcus Moreno Masterlist

Cross-Posted to AO3

Part 4 >>> Part 6

For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.

----

It is the most unproductive morning Marcus has had since perhaps the days leading up to Missy’s birth. It’s a similar feeling, that low thrum of anxiety as he waited for the inevitable call that would change his life forever. Granted, this is on a much much smaller scale but the fact remains. How could he possibly focus on anything while he waits for his phone to ring? 

He’s a ball of nerves, pacing to and fro across his office floor, the pattern practically worn into the hardwood beneath his feet. With each pass by his desk, he sips from his fourth cup of coffee, lukewarm at best, the caffeine doing little for his nerves or his fatigue. 

He and Miracle Guy had watched through narrowed eyes and muffled breaths until, finally, their suspicions were confirmed. Miracle had made one final play to convince Marcus to let him fly down there and take care of the situation himself, but he held firm, sticking to his guns and calling in the tip to the station.

“We need these men to give up the guy in charge. The threat of them speaking up could be enough to lure their boss out of wherever it is they’re hiding.”

In the end, Miracle Guy agreed, but not before he took a few shots at the failure of police work and overcrowded prison systems. Marcus was usually the first to wield that particular battle cry, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t use a broken system to his advantage every now and again. They stuck around just long enough to watch Chief Baldwin shove each suspect into the back of a squad car before finally parting ways with a slap on the back and a tired smile passed between the two heroes.

Marcus had gone home just long enough to catch a few hours of stolen sleep in a bed that after so many years alone was just now starting to feel too big. When his alarm went off he groaned loud and long before dragging himself into a scalding hot shower, letting the steady beat of the water pressure pound into his lower back. Hot coffee and a silent drive to the office did little to quiet his anxieties, and he knew he’d be on edge until he heard from Amy. 

And it was only partly to do with local police work. 

He’s considering his fifth cup of coffee when his phone rings, the sound sharp where it buzzes across his desk. He doesn’t bother crossing the room, instead calling the tiny piece of aluminum to him with the raise of his hand, relief like butterflies fluttering alongside the beat of his heart when he sees AMY flashing across the screen. He answers with shaky hands, his voice catching at the base of his throat, a smile carving out a home on his lips. 

“Hey, Ames.”

“Hey! I’m so sorry I didn’t call until now. It’s been a zoo over here. Some big arrests were made late last night.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” he hums, noting the pitch to her voice is genuinely higher, but between her lines he can read the truth.

“Yeah. Apparently, a tip was called in about a moving van in a suspicious part of town late last night.” 

In the background, Marcus can hear the distinct flurry of a busy precinct. The shout of officers, the ringing of telephones, someone calling Amy’s name again and again. He swallows around the lump in his throat as the guilt starts to creep up the back of his neck.

“Shit. Are you…are you too busy to talk?”

“Well, there’s a ton of evidence to categorize so that’s been keeping me busy. Plus two of the three arrests have priors big enough that they’re being moved upstate. The other made bail.”

Marcus doesn’t say a word, but fear creeps in to join his guilt.

“Yeah, it’s all pretty boring stuff. I’m so busy with all this paperwork. I probably won’t be done processing the three of them until around 12. If…if you still wanted to talk, that is?”

“Yes! Yes, of course,” he answers quickly, refusing to be bothered by how desperate it sounds to his own ears. “…But before that?” Marcus asks, testing out the waters of what she’s trying to convey.

“Just a lot of paperwork and rubber stamping shit while those guys sit in empty interrogation rooms. Derek isn’t even here to help. Off getting ready for a press conference.” 

“Well, what if I brought you some coffee? Real coffee,” he offers, his smile hopeful despite the charade. 

He swears when she answers back he can hear the same shade of hope. 

“I’d like that.”

——

Amy was only half exaggerating for Marcus’s benefit. The arrests made in the middle of the night had consumed her day, most of which was spent chasing down arrest records and recording each piece of evidence. That’s where she was supposed to be now, sifting through the heavy boxes dumped unceremoniously in the evidence locker. 

Part of her was looking forward to the distraction from the nervous flutter in her heart. 

That same part that was anxiously watching the door for the familiar sight of broad shoulders and an easy smile. 

Marcus’s texts from the night prior had become a matter of contention. She read them through once, twice, then a third time, the butterflies rising and sinking with each pass. Finally, when it was apparent nothing new could be gleaned from the two simple messages, she gave up, turning off the last of the lights and falling into the twin bed tucked into the corner alcove of her living room. 

It was the ring of her cell phone and not her alarm that woke her the next day, Derek’s voice tired but thrumming, a disarming energy he only seemed to have when something big was going down. When she walked into the precinct an hour earlier than usual, a report was thrust into her hands and she spotted one detail almost immediately. A tip that snowballed the three arrests called in late last night.

Right around when Marcus had texted her about giving him a call.

The pieces were starting to click into place after that, the text messages that had her heart flipping took on a new context. She barely had time to laugh at herself before she dove headfirst into her work, the stack of papers on her desk rivaled only by the number of times her name was called. By 9 she was nearly cross-eyed, going in for her third cup of coffee, the taste all together too bitter but still delicious. She took a moment to drink it, willing her heartbeat to slow to something manageable before picking up her phone and cradling it between her ear and shoulder, dialing Marcus’s number with practiced ease.

He had been anxious on the phone, his voice nearly an octave higher, and Amy swore she could hear the smile in his voice when he suggested bringing her coffee. It’s not an offer Marcus makes regularly, the two of them always content to drink from the pot that sits just behind her desk, no matter the number of faces he pulls after every sip. Still, she hates how she wonders if his offer, in all its kind sincerity, was still part of their lie.

There isn’t much time to dwell on any of it. She spots the broad shape of Marcus Moreno’s shoulders pushing through double doors at the front of the building and breaking her train of thought. Amy curses again, this time out loud, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of him, her defenses falling by the wayside when she sees his smile. 

They lock eyes briefly and she smiles, ducking her head to scribble across a post-it note. The message is vague at best, but she’s confident Marcus will understand, and with one more smile sent in his direction she turns away.

——

There are exactly three coffee shops between Heroics headquarters and the 98th precinct. Two chains that serve fine if not overpriced coffee, the menu always reflecting some sort of fad– cold foam, olive oil espresso, pistachio sugar. Things Marcus had no desire to try let alone figure out how to order. 

The third option was small, tucked between a used bookstore and a pawn shop. No sign on the door except for the little plastic one reading OPEN, the rest of the window filled with art; large paintings in bright vibrant colors, smaller self-portraits done in shades of gray, pieces of metal and glass fused together and catching in the sunlight. He had found it by accident one day, stepping inside the doorway to take a phone call and catching the scent of freshly baked pastries.

He had immediately brought Amy a cup, and the two of them had quickly decided the coffee (and the muffin he had brought for them to split) were perfect. It never grew past that, the two of them falling back to Amy’s truly horrendous brew the very next time Marcus stopped by. And even through his grimace, he somehow found himself preferring it.

But he remembered clearly how her eyes had slipped shut, a soft hum, almost like a purr, parting her lips and a deep sort of contentment filling out her features. It would be impossible to forget.

He has that exact order in his hands now, and after catching Amy’s eye, he makes his way to her empty desk, keeping note of the direction she’s moving in, out of the corner of his eye. Waiting for him amongst her clutter is a Post-it note, a number scribbled in the bottom left corner in black pen.

3

And just below that, easily mistaken for a forgotten doodle – a small heart.

Heat blooms in his cheeks, matching the affection pooling in his heart. He exchanges the coffee cups and paper bag for the Post-It, tucking it into his pocket before turning and following in the direction Amy had headed. She’s waiting for him down on the third floor, the low-lit basement enough to conceal the smiles they trade. 

“Hey,” she breathes, and Marcus is quick to match it, his own greeting falling out of him in a hush. He doesn’t hesitate, stepping into her space, close enough to smell her perfume, clean and sweet and mixing perfectly with the notes of coffee on her breath.

She tilts her chin, just enough to look him in the eye, searching for the answer to a question she hasn’t asked. Her bottom lip catches between her teeth, and before he can stop himself, he’s reaching up as if to smooth her bite away. He’s hopeless, wondering what it would feel like to let the pad of his thumb drag slowly across the plush pink of her lip. They stay that way for a beat longer, a far more awkward version of their almost kiss, before finally they’re both laughing, bodies falling forward to muffle the sound. 

It feels like enough for them to find their footing, the ground of their friendship solid again beneath their feet. She feels familiar and settled, a comfort in his arms that reminds Marcus that whatever this couldn’t possibly be a mistake. Not as long as Amy kept laughing just like this. 

“Okay,” she starts, her cheeks red and her smile wide, fingers finding the bend of his elbow. “I’ve been dragging my feet on processing these guys. Derek’s already had his go at them and he should be out until this afternoon.”

“How much time can you buy me?”

“The two that are going upstate won’t be moved until 4 at the earliest, but there’s no telling with the one who made bail. Someone claiming to be his girlfriend has been blowing up our phone lines.”

“You think she’s lying about who she is?”

“I don’t think he’s the one she’s worried about.”

Amy squeezes his arm again, the palm of her hand dragging down to hold his. She shakes her head, as if to push one singular thought away, worry creasing across her brow. Marcus nods and then, taking a cue from her own gentle touch, he squeezes at her hip, just once, before stepping away. 

“I’ll start with him then.”

“Last room on the left. The door is locked.”

She doesn’t offer him a key. She knows he won’t need it. 

“I’ll be up at my desk waiting for you to get back from the bathroom?” 

“You’d think I’d remember to go before heading over here by now,” he jokes, delighting at the way she mockingly rolls her eyes. She turns away but Marcus can’t help himself, stopping her just as she’s about to press her foot into the bottom step, calling her name out into the dark. 

“Hey, Amy?”

“Yeah?”

“What are your plans for tonight?”

——

A/N: This story continues to just be so much fun to write. I hope all of you who are reading are having just as much fun as I am. Thank you, endlessly, for reading!

[127luvr]

yoo can i request a mark lee (nct) x male reader where mark is basically the reader’s muse when it comes to writing lyrics and stuff. btw the reader is also in nct and since he and mark are the same age, they go to each other a lot for music advice. basically one day the reader asks mark to fetch something from his studio and then goes cuz mark seems to be taking too long, and like sees mark hold a page full of lyrics that can be read as a full on confession. and it’s super obvious that the subject in question is mark lee. and things get a bit angsty after, and yeah everything is up to you!!

Sorry, Heart

Mark Lee x Male Reader

No one is prone to Mark Lee’s charms. His soft brown eyes that follow where you go as if you’re the most important thing in the world at any given moment. His sharp cheekbones that carve out the rest of his soft face. And his nose—the faint wrinkles permanently on his face from where it scrunches up when he laughs or when he simply doesn’t know how else to express himself.

You thought you were different—the relationship between the two of you from the start was sweet. It was long nights in each other’s studios sharing unfinished melodies and lyrics. He was always there whenever you felt stuck while producing your own music. Always there when one of your ideas was turned down by management because it didn’t suit the group. And so were you.

You felt relieved when Mark came to you with his music and questions. It reminded you that Mark was human. That you could help him just as much as he’d help you. So you didn’t know when it happened. When the platonic feelings turned romantic.

It was a random Thursday night in your studio. The LED strips all around the small room transitioning from color to color every few seconds. The two of you were sitting on the (f/c) couch, sharing snacks—occasionally brushing hands when reaching for the same ones. Your (e/c) eyes had run up his hand—to his arm—to his shoulder—all the way to his face. His side profile was suddenly different, the blue reflecting off of his cheekbone hitting your eyes as if it were glowing. You felt your heartbeat quicken—a wave of butterflies hitting from the bottom of your feet to the top of your head.

Oh no.

Mark was all you could think about these days—the stack of papers scattered around your studio filled with lyrics that alluded to Mark in every way you could phrase your feelings being more than enough evidence to support it. Channeling all of your romantic feelings into songwriting helped hide your feelings around him. It helped you appear normal in the face of Mark Lee. Even when he genuinely complimented your musical ability and all you wanted to do was kiss his pink lips.

“(Y/n).” Mark waves a hand in your face to catch your attention, the beige guitar in his free hand hanging from his index and middle fingers. “Are you there?” You whisper a small apology, swallowing hard when he offers you a smile. “I was wondering if you had a guitar pick in your studio?”

“Yeah, actually.” You pause, looking around the room. “You’re gonna have to go though, I’m too comfortable. And while you’re there can you get me my headphones—they should be on the desk—if not—”

“I’ll find them.”

Mark is in your studio for a second before he notices the sheets of paper balled up and thrown around the room. A smile meets his eyes before his lips as he looks around fondly, picking a sheet up that seems to be blacked out with ink. The words going from line to line to sideways along the page. He flips the page, the smile faltering from his lips when he gets to read the mix of English and Korean lyrics. These scenarios and descriptions sounding a little too familiar for his liking. Mark sits himself down, picking up another page of lyrics. It puts him in another perspective—one that views him as if he were some godly being.

You kick your feet out, checking the clock in Mark’s studio to make sure that time was passing as you waited for Mark. You let your mind wander for a little, giving him more than enough time to grab the guitar pick���find your headphones and walk back from across the building. After the long hand on the clock passes the five, you get up, sighing as you make sure you lock Mark’s studio before you stomped your way towards your own studio.

“Mark Lee—”

He was sitting with his elbows to his knees—eyebrows furrowed as he read your lyrics before you came in. You snatch the sheet of lyrics from his hand, breath quickening as he got up from the couch trying to get you to take slower breaths. You scan the lyrics with your eyes, balling up the paper before throwing it towards your computer screen. He knew. He was too smart not to figure it out.

“Mark. Mark that was private. That wasn’t—those were my lyrics to share with you when I was comfortable enough.” Mark struggles to string words together, his mouth suddenly betraying every thought that crossed his mind. “Get out.”

“(Y/n).”

“Mark. Get out while I’m being nice.”

He waits outside of your studio door, pacing back and forth as the (Y/n/n)’s studiooooo~ sign stares down at him. He searches the ends of his mind to find what to say to you—something he’s never had to do because everything that concerned you came so easy to him. He chooses to run to his studio, silently thanking you when he turns the knob to find it locked. He walks in and out—carrying a blue journal tightly in his hand as he ran back towards you.

The knocking startles you a little. It’s so faint—timid even as he knocks again to make sure you heard it.

“(Y/n). I have something to show you.” You open the heavy door, choosing to sit back down on your couch instead of greeting him warmly as you normally would. He closes the door behind him and immediately you spot the journal in his hands.

“You have a key, Mark.” He cringes a little, upset at himself for making your voice so small in your own studio. He sits on the opposite end of the couch—one that the two of you had shared many times before so comfortably suddenly so cold and empty. He holds out the journal in front of him, giving himself a pep talk whenever he opens it to one of the first pages.

“I didn’t want to just come in.” He brings the journal between the two of you, leaning it more towards you. “You’re not the only one, (Y/n).”

You read the date on top of the page, surprised to find that it was the day the two of you met. Without taking the journal from him, you scoot closer, squinting your eyes to read the scribble of mostly English lyrics written all around the page. He skips a few pages, making a point to show the dates as he goes deeper into the journal.

“They’re all—”

“About you.” Mark looks up from his journal, again staring at you as if you were the only person on the planet. “You’re my muse, (Y/n). From the start. Those lyrics you wrote about me—I’m so glad that you have found something in me as I have in you.”

[muthaz-rapapa]

Hirogaru Sky Impressions (1/5)

We're in for 48 episodes so I'll do these after every 10 episodes until the end.

And I'll try to keep it short since I'm sure most of the major topics have already been discussed in great length anyway so I don't want to add to the redundancy.

Simply put, this anniversary season has been a blast of heartwarming fun so far. Not to mention, quite innovative in regards to the franchise as a whole. The breaking of old trends is excitingly refreshing while the show is still keeping it very Precure in spirit.

If anything, SkyPre (HiroSky? HiroPre? which way are we calling it?) feels the most Precure to me since probably StarPre and I think that's due to how the writing is handled this year.

Story format changes

I'm very happy that they went for spreading out the introductions and pacing the debut schedules instead of bunching the first four episodes with one new transformation after another.

True, this technically started with DeliPaPre but last season was rather weak in the characterization and group chemistry departments that the effort seemed almost wasted.

Of course, I'm not saying the DeliPa girls were a poor team or anything. They were alright.

But when you watch SkyPre, the development just feels so much more satisfying, don't you think?

Starting the season off with paired Cures (as a tribute to FutariWa, kyaa! 😆) was a great idea because it gave a lot of time for Sora and Mashiro, the first members, to bond and find their groove as partners while establishing their characters through their individual personalities, goals and inner conflicts.

Then incorporating more Cures as we go along (Tsubasa/Wing and later, Ageha/Butterfly), we have something to look forward to every week instead of letting the hype die down right after everyone debuted already...until it rises up again with the reveal of the next stock footage only to go down again and repeat.

Precure's strongest trait as a magical girl series has always been its theme of friendship and teamwork. However, you can't achieve a solid execution of that theme well if you don't actually devote time and focus to the build up of genuine camaraderie.

And the basic foundations for that lies in everyone acknowledging each other's different strengths and demonstrating how vital and valuable those are to the group.

Ep 10 really reinforced those principles (even letting Sora and Mashiro dismiss the villain cuz their friendship moment with Tsubasa came FIRST 😤) which is great cuz with Ageha's debut coming up around the corner, we can rest assured that this aspect will remain steady for at least another 10 episodes.

2. Characterization

To have a good diversified team, naturally you would need distinctly carved out characters (in other words, more than just archetypes).

SkyPre does display some old patterns but that's not a bad thing since the show largely avoids over reliance on them by giving each Cure a significant amount of depth to work with and specific goal(s) to aim for.

For Sora, Tsubasa and Ageha, their personal character arcs are quite clear and they all fit into a type of hero to go along with the season's motif. Cure Sky being a traditional ally of justice, Cure Wing as the knight to Elle-chan's princess. And Ageha wishes to become a nursery teacher, which is a very admirable ambition as teachers can serve as role models to children.

That leaves Mashiro, who's been troubled on several occasions for not having a dream of her own.

But I don't believe this means an absence of a character arc for her. At the very least, there's certainly no lack of conflict since she realized the "problem" herself and has been given screentime to address it and overcome her own doubts.

Perhaps this is also indicating that "finding her dream" is her goal and learning to accept her own "light that illuminates others" is part of that discovery process.

Mashiro's personality and drive is very supportive in nature, after all. We saw that in how she was very welcoming and accommodating of Sora and Tsubasa, residents from another world. We saw that in how she was the one to comfort Ageha, who is older than her, in the past when they were both small children.

And that is a type of hero, too.

You don't have to be super confident or bold and forthright. You don't have to be a leader or force stereotypical notions of heroism onto yourself to be a hero.

You just need a good heart and to be able to act on it.

Chances are, if you were kind to someone in need or helped someone less fortunate because you knew it was the right thing to do, then you already qualify as a true hero.

I believe that is the message of Mashiro's story.

That said, we already got so much good content and we still have so much to look forward to. Yay! 😆

Ageha/Cure Butterfly joining the team foremost (sometime after ep 15 apparently since the next announced titles don't list her name yet)

More villain generals appearing soon and therefore, more insight into what they're really after (though it's probably gonna be generic evil as always but eh, whatever cuz everything else is awesome).

More on the person who saved Sora and inspired her to become a hero, Tsubasa accomplishing his dream of being able to fly w/o the assistance of magic.

Ellee-chan's mysterious powers, oooh~

First group attack, group power-up + power-up attack, ultimate power-up (??)

Midseason Cure already spoiled but we all know who it's going to be anyway and the question if her debut will fall around the early 20s or later with the shift in narrative arrangement (see above).

Hehe, yep it's gonna be great 😁

(on another note, they now have 38 more episodes to fix Prism's transformation sequence cuz god, did they do her dirty. Especially her going MIA on the "JUMP" platform did she jump so hard she went to Skyland?! and the static split screen. I can let go of everything else but PLEASE. FIX. THOSE. DAMMIT!! 🫵💢)