#I THOUGHT IT WAS GONNA BE FLUFF

[osaemu]

reblogging to make all of u miserable so we can cry together

“c’mon, megumi. tell me what’s botherin’ ya.” satoru pouts at megumi, his arm thrown around the boy’s shoulders. you watch the scene unfold with a tense smile.

megumi was exhausted from school, training and so much more. the teenager’s patience was wearing thin. especially with satoru almost pressuring him into telling you both what’s weighing on his mind. when all he wants is to be left alone at the moment.

the tone satoru’s using to talk to megumi only pisses the high schooler off more and more. it’s fatherly. like he’s still the little child satoru took in and cared for. it pissed megumi off, along with everything else;

“you’re not my dad, so stop fucking acting like you are!”

you freeze. satoru freezes. megumi freezes. time freezes. the silence was deafening. no one was moving. your eyes flicker over to satoru’s and your heart shatters in a million pieces.

satoru’s hurt. so hurt. it’s visible and he’s not hiding it — not hiding it like he usually would behind a wide grin. his blindfold and glasses aren’t there to hide the way his face falls either.

“i know.” satoru whispers. his voice lost its cheery tone, his eyes have lost their spark. the sorcerer slowly distances himself from megumi. a bitter chuckle leaves his lips. a futile attempt to hide his shaky voice, “i know.”

all you could do is stand there in shock. megumi doesn’t know what to do after his little outburst either. and satoru. . . well, satoru is the first one out of the room. you hear his breath hitch as he walks past you. you see his eyes twitch. the strongest, in tears.

[blu-ish]

Another days work for SuperSonic Nikki

[demaparbat-hp]

Slow mornings in Ba Sing Se.

I needed something soft today, so here's a little sketch for @nerdylizj's breathtaking fic Forgetting is a kind of mercy.

[keiscorner]

2:53 am

"kei." no response. you know tsukishima has to get up early for work, but the window across from your bed is open, allowing the night breeze to creep in and sting your face. you could get up yourself, but that's what husbands are for, right?

you twist around, trying to wiggle out of your husband's grasp so you can take a better look at his sleeping face. he has an arm wrapped firmly around your waist, the other supporting your neck to, in his words, 'protect his ears from your constant complaints about your sore neck in the morning'.

"honey?" you poke his cheek, smiling to yourself when he grunts in response. tsukishima has always been a light sleeper. you lay in silence for a few seconds before he finally lets out a sigh, opening his eyes to look at you.

"what do you want?"

you muster up your biggest doe eyes, knowing that he hates getting out of bed just as much as you do. "close the window for me?"

"no. you do it."

you sigh dramatically, gesturing at his arms wrapped firmly around you. "i would love to, but someone is holding me hostage, so i think you're going to have to do it."

tsukishima rolls his eyes, untangling his arms from your body. "problem solved." he holds back a smile when you frown and pull the blankets away from him, turning your back towards him. you're so cute. tsukishima would do anything you ask of him without hesitation, but he can't help but tease you a bit first. he'll never get tired of your reactions, and he loves that he can be a little snarky with you.

you sigh again, this time louder and more pointed, pretending to shiver just to show your husband how cold you really are, and how cruel he is for not helping. "if only someone could hold me right now...", you trailed off.

"ok, do you want me to help you or not?" he finally gives in, getting up to reach for his glasses. you win, as usual. you turn back to face him again with a smile as bright as sunshine, and despite all of the years you've been together, his heart still stops for a second. wow. okay, maybe he is obsessed with you, but he can't help it. you've clearly worked your magic on him, considering the fact that he's getting out of the bed for you when he has to be awake in a few hours. he goes to close the windows with a firm click, walking back to his side of bed.

"kei...since you're already up...", he looks back to see your guilty smile, an empty mug in your hands. "please? last thing, i swear." he give you a look that reads, "you're lucky i love you." (you know you're the luckiest person in the world.)

he takes your mug and you hear his quiet footsteps making their way to the kitchen. he comes back, handing you a mug full of warm water. once you take a sip, he takes the mug from you again, placing it on your nightstand.

"i poisoned that," he quips, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before finally lying down and snaking his arms around your waist, pulling you in closer to him. the only reason he hates getting out of bed is that he has to let go of you, but he doesn't need to say that. he's sure you already know.

[joonieskinks]

happy two years on tumblr to me today!! 🥳

here’s my favorite shy boy to celebrate

simon ghost riley who is too nervous to talk to you or approach you. you’re just so naturally gorgeous and put together, he’s afraid he’ll say something wrong and scare you off. so he just continues to observe from afar. kinda feels pathetic, like he’s back in elementary school, but he can’t help it.

you’re the pretty diplomatic relations officer on the 141 team, a newer addition who helps with all the paperwork and policy. you work more with captain price, however you conduct meetings sometimes and talk to the guys here and there for their opinions.

simon ghost riley who still remembers the first day you spoke to him, everything you said, hell, the first time you so much as looked into his eyes. your gorgeous smile turned his tummy upside down and he has the stunning image of you engraved into his mind. little did he know, you thought he had the prettiest, bluest eyes you’ve ever seen.

you make excuses just to touch him too, handing papers over for him to sign and slipping your hand over his. or going to walk past him but then holding onto his arm to tell him good morning. simon thinks you do this with everyone because you’re so open and kind like that, but you save all your special attention for him only.

simon ghost riley who one day has had enough of johnny stealing your attention and asking you out right in front of him. he’s sick and tired of kyle making up the dumbest reasons to include you in physical training just to touch you and “help your form”.

enough of that shit.

so he takes things into his own hands and comes storming into your meeting with price. both of you look up rather surprised at the sudden and brooding intrusion, right in the middle of some document reviewing-

“we need to talk.” simon declares, eyes unmoving from yours, intense, desperate… if didn’t have your understanding of him, you’d think he wanted to beat you up.

“riley, this is hardly the appropriate time, we-“

“it’s okay, captain. we’ll be quick, yeah?” you nod at simon and he immediately turns around to the hallway. you get up slowly, looking at price and he matches your “okay then” look.

simon ghost riley who is pacing, he’s cracking his fingers and playing with his belt loops. it suddenly hits him that he’s finally gonna be alone with the woman he finds absolutely irresistible. can he control himself? will he make a fool out of himself? will you reciprocate if he goes through with this? if you don’t, then what? fuck.

“simon?” you start, closing the office door behind you, leaving you two alone. “everything okay?”

he’s fawning over your big doe eyes, full of concern and empathy for him, utterly focused on him. it makes the crotch of his pants tighten and he has the strongest urge to pull you to him. he’d take you in the hallway up against the wall here if you’d let him. but he’s getting ahead of himself-

“uh- yea. good.” he manages to stutter out. god, he’s never felt this nervous in his life. for once it feels like he truly cares what will happen to him. he cares for you, wants something with you. well, only one way to find out. no more stalling. enough of this shit.

simon ghost riley who strides towards you, taking off his mask and bringing your head into his hands. he connects his lips to yours before you can process. you just feel warmth and you lean into him. his fingers dive into your hair, deepening the kiss and he’s over the moon. you actually seem to want him too, you’re reciprocating and his nerves are eagerly replaced by thoughts of you moaning out his name as your hands move to his waist.

when you pull back for air, you’re met with Simon’s eyes glazed over by lust for you. his lips are pink, puffy and he’s still looking at yours like he’s not had his fill of them yet. “want you… ‘long time” he murmurs out before reconnecting. he’s overcome by your taste, your warmth and your fingers slipping into his pants. it makes him moan into your mouth, his hands flying to your hips, pushing you roughly up against the wall.

simon ghost riley who only raises his eyebrows as if to ask the question and you’re rapidly nodding. yes, yes, god, yes please take me.

“all yours” you whisper against his mouth, arms crossing behind his neck. the possessiveness that he tries to push down comes bubbling up and escapes his mouth with a groan.

he hoists you up, grasping your ass and your legs wrap around his waist.

“always been yours, si”

“good. ‘cus now you’re gonna be a good girl and show me.”

[poohbea]

guys… i have aunty fever.

okay but like imagine being married to or dating sukuna, right? and the first time he introduces you to baby/toddler yuuji he becomes your best friend. never wants to leave your arms, always loves cuddles, will be your shadow while you’re doing things round the house. you’re attached at the hip from that very first moment.

and kuna both loves and hates it 😭. loves it mostly because he doesn’t have to deal with yuuji’s shenanigans all day. hates it because whenever he tries to kiss you or offer any sort of affection, yuuji comes running to put himself between you both with the grumpiest frown ever 🤣. he’ll mumble out something like “no, my aunty.” and hug your leg while trying to push his uncle away.

it’s a constant battle, especially because yuuji takes up all of kuna’s you-time 😂. watching a movie? yuuji’s there using your lap as a headrest. taking a nap? yuuji’s nestled right up against your chest. cooking in the kitchen? you’ve got yuuji perched on your hip or up in the baby wrap/baby sling. and kuna would swear up and down that yuuji — the sweet darling angel that he is — knows exactly what he’s doing. swears that he’s got some sinister plan to steal you away — he’s joking, mostly.

he should honestly be blaming himself because he’s been terrorising his nephew since he was born. his latest stunt? he found an old halloween mask that’d been sitting in the back of y’all’s closet since last year, put it on and decided to chase yuuji around the house with it.

“i’m gonna eat you!” is what you hear before a very distressed little human comes sprinting around the corner screaming, his uncle in tow. and so yuuji races to hide behind you, arms hooking between your legs for safety even as he’s still crying. but still kuna tries to reach for him and so you have to step in and unmask your monster of a man to save your hearing.

i think the other thing is how much you spoil yuuji. like cute little aunty (uncle can come too) and nephew dates. you’d be twinning with your outfits sometimes. go out to the zoo. the park. ice cream. the beach. the aquarium. sometimes kuna questions who’s child that really is — yours or his brother’s? — with how much time the two of you spend together.

it probably secretly gives him baby fever. if you’re this good with his nephew then he can only imagine how it would all go with a baby of your own.

he wants to see it one day. when you’re both ready.

[nonranghaes]

the last thing you expect to see this late in the evening is chris with a bouquet of flowers in his arms. he's dressed casually, sweats and baseball hat and all, but the bouquet was clearly carefully put together by whatever florist he found. knowing chris, he probably "knows someone" he could convince to put this together for you at the last second. you haven't been dating long (six months in a week and a half), but you know that chris seems to know everyone.

"... what are you doing here?"

"you told me no one's ever bought you flowers before," he says, rocking on his heels. "and... you said you like big gestures, so..." he holds them out toward you, his cheeks and the tips of his ears turning redder by the second. "... i really, really like you. a lot." but you know what he means: i won't say love until you say love, because that's what we talked about. it means the world to you, really.

but the sappy look on his face is enough to make you laugh, so entirely endeared at how bashful this silly, sweet dork is, and you accept the flowers. "why don't you just... come in?" you nod toward your living room. "i don't think you can stay the night this time, but i wouldn't mind some company while i game." your face is growing warmer as you take a tiny step back. "if you want to stay, i mean--"

he does. and he doesn't complain when he ends up sleeping on your couch that night, smiling like an idiot to himself. i love you, too, is what he wants to say when you insist he stays the night anyway, when you kiss him goodnight and tell him you'll make breakfast for both of you in the morning, when you tell him to sleep well.

you don't have to say it until you're ready... but chris knows where you stand. and until you are ready to say those three words to him, he'll keep saying it in gestures that scream it to anyone listening. just so you know where he stands, too.

[kokokoula]

Heeello, how r u? I hope u r doing well ^^

This is an emergency request soo pleaseee write it asap 🙏🏽

Its abt tsukishima kei’s gf who’s very stressed out abt her final exams that she forgets to take care of herself

a/n: i wish you all the best for your exams!! i hope this will be comforting in some ways. i fr tried my best to finish and make sure it still seems alright. just some headcanons on it:

tsukishima leaves a cup of either hot or cold water, whichever you prefer, beside you on the table as you study, and he refills it when he sees it empty.

it doesn't matter if his final exams are around the corner too, and as much as he believes his studies are important, he prioritises you over it.

if he notices that the water level hasn't changed after some time, he slides it over till it's right in your line of sight. "drink, pipsqueak."

if you tell him "later", he'd drags you away from your work by the chair leg and shoves the cup into your hands.

he leaves you alone once you drink at least half the cup of water, but not without a kiss on the top of your head and a squeeze on your shoulder before heading to refill it.

it's harder to get you to eat food though, let alone actual meals, so he resorts to leaving you comfort food or something filling alongside with the cup of water next to you.

if you refuse to eat, he'll again pull you aside to eat, and in some extremely rare times, begrudgingly feeds you himself.

"the things i do for you." "don't do it then, i didn't ask you to." "...no."

you two share earpieces with one of his many playlists running.

he likes to rest a hand on your thigh when he's studying, only pulling away if he really needs to use it, but be assured it always returns back to its place.

everyone knows tsukishima is ruthless as a tutor, with his impatience and all, and it's not like he bothers to change. he doesn't aspire to be a teacher anyways. but for you, he tries to be nicer.

"not so dumb now, are we?" and his signature smirk.

when he takes a break from his books and notes, he makes you take one with him too. it's not optional.

"you've been studying for the past few hours already. study any more and you'll actually self destruct."

he either pulls you by the wrist or distracts you with a kiss. you obviously prefer the latter.

wait wait wait imagine him standing behind your chair and he tilts your head up by the chin (albeit roughly knowing you and your stubborn ass) and kisses you YKYK

ok but continuing on, he pulls you to his bed and just cuddles with you, with the earpieces still on.

you'll rant to him as he plays with your hair in silence, with a bit of input here and there.

if you breakdown from the stress, he's there holding your face in his hands and wiping away your tears with his thumbs, placing a few butterfly kisses on your forehead, your cheeks and your nose, again in silence.

he doesn't know what to say during these times, and sometimes, he doesn't have to. his actions are enough.

[hopeluna-archived]

Personal headcanon that the HOL household is very careful about going too far with bullying Mammon ever since MC snapped at all of them and was oh so close to making their life a living hell (pun intended)

It doesn't even matter if MC is there or not, you insult Mammon, here just sign your death sentence.

[akagi0021]

fuck you (hualians ur kazuscara)

[riaki]

in my head when u and gojo wake up late for anything you always hurry to get ready together.. he’ll bother you with morning breath kisses (every1 gets those) while you’re brushing your teeth and washing your face ;; and then he dresses ungodly fast n then helps you pull on your pants or socks while you’re doing your makeup (probably js by literally lifting u off the floor) and then when you’re done he’ll give u a big smooch again and smush ur cheeks together to steal some blush or concealer to use for himself. and your lip gloss!!

like. in the morning & whenever you’re at work and u stop to apply any sort of lip product, like lip balm or gloss it’s like he has a sixth sense for anything you related; he runs over to you all big and lanky like and leans down, tilts your chin up and just makes out with you passionately on the spot to share the gloss w you.

if he’s busy with a mission but he just feels a single crack on his lip when he runs his tongue over it he’ll literally teleport to you, give you a quick smooch to get a dab of gloss. yeah he could use his own but it tasted all the more sweet when they’re from your lips to his <3 bonus points if u share cologne when ur lazy too

[saetoshi]

itoshi sae does not exaggerate. he finds the whole idea of making a big deal out of nothing to be repulsive.

still, he swears that he feels physically ill whenever you’re not around.

(it’s the first reason of many he’ll ever give you when you tell him you have to leave for more than a day.)

“my head hurts.”

you don’t even look at him.

he frowns, “my head hurts a lot.”

“that’s too bad,” you say absentmindedly, “you should take some medicine for that.”

“i already did.” (he did not.) “it didn’t do anything.” (because he doesn’t need it.)

his frowns deepens when he notices you’re still focused on packing your things in a duffel bag. (his duffel bag. the one he was sure he’d hidden from you. the one you weren’t supposed to find.)

he calls out your name. his expression softens when you look at him.

“my stomach hurts.”

his lips quirk up just a tiny bit when you give him an annoyed look.

“sae.”

“my stomach really hurts.” he whines, slumping against the bed. a smile spreads through his lips when you cross your arms.

“you should take some medicine for that,” you frown, “even if you are sick, i have to go to this field trip.”

he takes out one of your shirts from the duffel bag, “says who?”

“my teacher.” you pry it off his hands, “my grade.”

you stick your tongue out at him, stuffing your shirt back into the bag, “my conscience.”

“but you’ll be gone for too long,” he sighs dramatically.

“it’s literally just two days.” you deadpan.

“like i said,” he pouts, “too long.”

you sigh, moving to sit down on the bed, “i’ll bring you a souvenir.”

a smile tugs at your lips when he perks up. you reach out to run your hand through his hair.

sae leans into your touch, “i’d rather have you stay than have a stupid souvenir.”

you hum, “wanna know a secret?”

he nods, curiosity swimming in his eyes. a small smile blooms on his lips.

“i kinda really don’t wanna go.” you mumble.

“just stay, then.” he tugs you closer to him.

you sigh, slumping against him. “i can’t. it’s worth a chunk of my grade.”

sae frowns, flicking your forehead, “just say you had a family emergency.”

“i said that last time.” you click your tongue. “i don’t think my teacher would believe that again.”

an amused laugh leaves his lips. “say you’re sick, then.”

“don’t tell me what to do,” you tease, “besides i may or may not have already told my teacher i’d go.”

sae sits up, a look of disbelief on his face, “you what?”

“i already said i’d go,” you sheepishly smile at him.

sae flops back onto the bed, brows furrowed and pouting, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“you would’ve insisted you were sick to stop me from going,” you lean over him. “like you were doing a while ago.”

he looks away from you, flushing. “i don’t know what you mean.”

you smile, poking his nose, “i’m sure you don’t.”

he bites back a smile when you press a quick peck on his cheek.

“but if you were feeling sick, i know you’d go take some medicine instead of exaggerating just to get me to stay.”

he pouts. your smile widens. he tugs you down towards him, “you suck.”

“yeah, yeah, whatever,” you laugh.

you lay on his chest for a while, sae’s arms snug around you. he rests his cheek on top of your head.

“do you really have to go?”

“‘m afraid so,” you sigh, nuzzling into him. “i promise i’ll text you whenever i can.”

“you better,” he smiles, “you also have to call me.”

“i promise i will.” you laugh.

you squeak when he squeezes you, laughter leaving his lips.

“sae.” you mumble.

“yeah?”

you lift yourself off his chest, looking at him. “i have to finish packing.”

he groans, “finish later. you should nap with me instead.”

you playfully stick your tongue out at him. “you and i both know if i take a nap with you i’m never going to finish packing.”

he shrugs, sighing, “it was worth a shot.”

you sit up, brows raising in surprise when sae sits up after you.

“just because i’m not gonna nap doesn’t mean you can’t,” you tilt your head to the side.

sae stretches his arms up, yawning, “if i help you pack, you’ll take a nap with me sooner.”

he gingerly cups your cheeks, pulling you in for a kiss. he hums against your lips.

“besides,” he pulls away, smiling, “if i help you pack, you’ll have to bring me back a souvenir as a reward.”

you laugh, “if you say so.”

sae’s not much help with packing. he just unceremoniously stuffs your remaining clothes into the duffel bag, scoffing when you tell him he’s doing it wrong.

(still, you bring him back a souvenir when you come home from your trip. as a way to both thank him for helping you pack, and as an apology because you’ll have to go on another trip soon.)

[fastboatsmojito]

Frank castle finding one of your plushies left over at his place and sending u pics like this with it everywhere he goes throughout the day </3

[jayflrt]

the misfortunes and misconceptions of lee heeseung

release date: out now!

featuring enha + sohee and seunghan! would anyone like to be on the tag list 🫶

please refer to:

[obsessedwhyyes]

A Tale of Fools and Tricksters (1)

Chapter 1: Whispers of Hope

Summary: The Festival of Fools - a carnival of magic and illusions which shall set your heart ablaze and bring your dreams to life. Legends say that the Festival of Fools will grant one wish to those pure of heart and soul - for a price. Seeking a cure for the Curse of Stone which plagues her people, Elysia Thorne seeks the aid of the festival's enigmatic ringmaster, Astarion Ancunin, whose charm is as dangerous as it is irresistible.

But as their fates intertwine, it becomes clear that all is not as it seems...

Rating: M Chapter Word Count: 5479 Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC Content: Alternative Universe (Circus), Ringmaster Astarion, mild horror elements, eventual smut, eventual romance, basically a big whimsical (slightly dark, slightly trippy) fairytale of an AU.

A/N: And here we have my first ever longfic! I'm actually a teensy bit nervous about this one! While the direction and story are different, I was actually inspired a lot by Hunchback of Notre Dame for this. I always loved how it managed to be both incredibly dark and beautifully whimsical. So, going into this, I knew that's the vibe I wanted to go for. Hopefully you enjoy!

The applause faded like dying stars, yet the dream remained, vivid, unyielding.

The Ringmaster stood alone at the heart of his stage with ivory skin almost luminescent under the spotlight. His audience gazed up at him in endless wonder, their faces reflecting the ethereal lights that twisted and pulsed at his command.

He was beautiful, he was powerful, he was–

A flicker disturbed the edge of his vision - shadows slipping through shadows. The silver filigree at his throat seemed to tighten and, for a heartbeat, the lights dimmed, casting the stage into near darkness. In the breath of shadow, he glimpsed threads of starlight descending from above; felt the phantom touch of something cold against his skin.

Then came the voice, sliding through his mind, honeyed and ancient, sweet as poisoned wine. The words themselves faded into the dark, but their essence lingered, reminiscent of promises forged in moonlight and bound in blood.

But the Ringmaster’s smile did not falter. It did not waver, even as those shadows moved closer, ever closer…

But then, suddenly, he awoke.

He gasped, his hand searching for his neck.

There it was, as always. That collar of silver filigree, beautiful and confining.

Reality bled back as the dark, shadowy remnants of his dream made way for the vivid colours of his tent.

Yet, within his mind, soft as silk, sharp as teeth, he still heard them, hooking beneath his skin.

Whispers.

Whispers…

It began with whispers.

Hushed voices carried on the evening breeze, tales of wonder and magic that danced through the village of Starfall like autumn leaves. The Festival of Fools was coming, they said. A carnival of dreams and wishes, of laughter and light.

Elysia Thorne paid the gossip little mind at first. Her world had shrunk to the confines of sickrooms, providing whatever healing comfort she could to her people. A hopeless endeavour - everyone knows that halting the Stone Curse is impossible once it takes hold. 

First, you notice your fingernails turning brittle, cracking like sun-baked clay. Then comes the hardening - a creeping sensation that begins at your fingertips, as if you've dipped them in cement that never quite dries.

The transformation is slow, methodical in its cruelty. Day by day, the stiffness crawls up your fingers, turning flesh to granite, joints to unyielding stone. Your hands become living sculptures, beautiful in their horror - each line and wrinkle preserved perfectly in stone, a monument to what was once warm and alive. The curse inches up your arms with inexorable patience, claiming territory finger by finger, joint by joint, until your limbs become too heavy to lift.

Some say the worst part is watching it spread across your chest, feeling your lungs strain against the weight of stone ribs. But Elysia knew, from countless deathbed vigils, that the true horror comes when the curse reaches your heart. She had held too many hands - some warm, some already stone - as that vital muscle struggled against its rocky prison, beat by weakening beat, until finally... silence.

Thus, the art of healing the Stone Curse, such as it was, lay not in false promises of cure but in small mercies. A salve to ease the grinding sensation in solidifying joints. Warm compresses to comfort flesh not yet turned to stone. And, perhaps most importantly, a gentle presence in those final moments when the heart begins its last, laboured beats against walls of granite.

That was Elysia’s true role, here in this quiet little village. A sanctity of calm, of empathy in the face of certain death.

Elysia had planted countless herb gardens, seeking new combinations that might slow the curse's advance. She had filled her medical journal with careful observations, tracking the curse's progress through generations. She had even learned to weave dried flowers into her patients' hair - a reminder that beauty could exist alongside suffering. But for all her knowledge, all her careful studies and gentle ministrations, she couldn't halt the curse's inexorable march toward the heart.

These days, Yenna's case consumed most of her attention. The girl was twelve - far too young to face such a fate, though Elysia had learned long ago that the curse cared nothing for age or circumstance. It had already claimed Yenna's mother three months past, leaving the girl in Elysia's care more often than not. The father, overwhelmed by grief and the demands of a dying child, rarely visited anymore. 

The curse would visit Elysia one day too. It was only a matter of time.

In her small sickroom, Yenna lay caught in the curse's embrace, her left arm now completely transformed. The stone had a peculiar beauty to it - smooth and grey as river rock, with veins of lighter crystal that caught the lamplight. If you didn't know better, you might think it an artist's masterpiece. But Elysia did know better. She saw how the crystalline patterns were creeping past the girl's shoulder, advancing with each passing day.

She had perhaps a month before the curse reached her heart - two, if they were fortunate.

Yet Yenna seemed to bear her fate with a grace that Elysia could scarcely fathom, delighting in the little things - in fairytales, in the company of others, in the flowers that had been carefully weaved into her hair.

"Tell me a story, Elysia," Yenna whispered, her voice as fragile as spun sugar. "Something happy."

Elysia's heart clenched, but she summoned a smile as bright and warm as summer sunshine.

"Once upon a time," she began, "there was a beautiful nightingale with feathers as white as moonlight. But this nightingale had a terrible secret - it couldn't sing."

As she spoke, her hands worked with practiced grace, checking Yenna's pulse at her throat, adjusting pillows with the kind of gentle efficiency that came from years of tending to the cursed.

"The other birds mocked the nightingale, so it fled deeper and deeper into the forest, where the shadows grew thick and the moonlight barely touched the ground. There, it met a fox who offered to teach it a new kind of song - one that would make others marvel, one that would make them stare in wonder. The nightingale, desperate to belong, accepted."

Her fingers worked methodically as she spoke, applying fresh herbs to the boundary where flesh met stone.

"Its new song was beautiful, but strange - not quite natural, yet enchanting all the same. Other creatures came from far and wide to hear it, never knowing the price of such beauty. Night after night the nightingale sang, its voice growing more captivating, more otherworldly, until even the stars seemed to pause in their dance to listen."

She smiled softly, tucking a strand of Yenna's hair behind her ear, careful to avoid the grey patches beginning to show at her temples.

"One night, a kind traveler heard the nightingale's song. But while others were entranced by its haunting melody, the traveler heard something else - a loneliness beneath the beauty, a yearning for something real. With patience, the traveler showed the nightingale that its worth wasn't in any song, borrowed or natural, but in its spirit.

"Slowly, the nightingale found its own voice - softer than its enchanted song, perhaps, but true. And though some missed its otherworldly melodies, others were drawn to this new sound - one of resilience and hope. The forest, once so dark and lonely, became a place of honest beauty.

"And so, the nightingale learned that sometimes our greatest weaknesses can become our greatest strengths, if only we're brave enough to be true to ourselves."

Yenna's eyes, heavy with sleep, fluttered closed. A soft smile played on her lips as she drifted off, the story's gentle magic working its spell.

It was a fairytale she had told many others, and would do so again, granting a moment of reprieve to those for whom hope had faded like ink in water. But the whisper of hope in her own heart refused to be silenced. There had to be something more she could offer, some way to break this curse that had haunted her people for generations.

As if in answer to her unspoken plea, the wind outside began to change. Yes, there was something new on the breeze - the faint tinkling of bells, the creak of wheels, and... music?

She couldn't deny her curiosity.

As Elysia drew closer to the window, she saw something that made her breath catch.

A carriage unlike any she had ever seen rolled into the village square, wheels turning with an otherworldly grace that seemed to defy the rutted earth beneath them. It seemed a masterwork of impossible architecture - wood carved into flowing curves, painted with deep purples and midnight blues that shifted like oil on water. Golden filigree traced patterns across its surface, forming images that Elysia could have sworn moved when caught in the corner of her eye - acrobats frozen mid-leap, mystical beasts with jewelled eyes, masked figures dancing eternally.

Lanterns swayed from the carriage’s eaves, casting an otherworldly glow, lighting the way for the four horses that pull it. At first glance, they appeared to be made of living shadow, black coats seeming to absorb all light that touched them.

Atop this magnificent conveyance stood a figure dressed in a riot of blues and golds. A gold half-mask, matching his blonde, perfectly permed hair, obscured the upper half of his face, leaving visible only a pair of startlingly intense eyes and a practised smile. When he spoke, his voice carried across the square with an unnatural clarity - projected, maybe, to reach every ear in the village.

“Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed citizens of Starfall!” The man swept his arms wide, rings glinting on his gloved fingers. “I am Petras - herald of wonders and marvels beyond your wildest dreams!”

Elysia watched as curious faces, young and old, peeked out their doors and windows to catch a glimpse of the spectacle. Others were bold enough to approach the stranger, drawn to him like moths to a particularly enchanting flame.

“Behold!” Petras continued, his gestures grand and sweeping. “The Festival of Fools approaches - a carnival of wonders where the impossible bows to your imagination, where a realm of dreams and magic awaits, only a tenday’s travel away!” His smile widened, showing teeth that gleamed perhaps a touch too bright. “And where wishes might just come true for those brave enough - or desperate enough - to seize their chance.”

Wishes coming true… Elysia had heard rumours of the festival’s magic. But to see this otherworldly spectacle before her eyes… The very air around the carriage and its herald seemed to shimmer around them, as if reality itself knew this creation didn't quite belong in the waking world.

It couldn't be real…

Could it?

"Elysia." Jenevelle's voice cut through her wonder, sharp and practical as ever. "Whatever you're thinking, stop."

Elysia turned to find her fellow healer standing in the doorway, arms crossed. Where Elysia favoured flowing dresses and dried flowers, Jenevelle preferred practical robes in dark colours, her silver hair pulled back severely from her face. They were as different as summer and winter, yet somehow had forged an effective partnership in their shared calling.

"You haven't even heard what I'm thinking," Elysia said, though a smile tugged at her lips. It was an old dance between them - Elysia's hope and Jenevelle's scepticism, constantly at odds yet somehow balancing each other.

"I don't need to," Jenevelle moved to check on Yenna's sleeping form. "That look in your eyes says enough. And before you ask - no, I don't believe in magical festivals that grant wishes. Neither should you."

The crowd gathering in the square didn't share Jenevelle's doubts. They pressed closer as Petras continued his performance, his gestures grand and sweeping.

Elysia found herself leaning further out the window, her heart quickening. There was something in Petras’s voice - something that spoke to the ache of hope she'd carried for so long for her people.

“But how?” called a voice from the crowd. “A tenday’s travel, right as winter approaches. It's impossible.”

Petras’s laugh rang out like silver bells. “Ah, but that's the beauty of it!” With a flourish, he gestured to the carriage below. “This magnificent conveyance doesn't merely transport - it transcends! Space itself bends to its will. It will carry the worthy directly to the festival’s gates.”

The side of the carriage unfolded like a blooming flower, revealing the plush velvet seats within.

“But choose quickly, my friends,” he continued. “For the Festival of Fools is as fleeting as starlight, and far more precious. Miss your chance, and you may wait lifetimes before it graces your humble shores again.”

Elysia's hands curled against the windowsill. Hope, that dangerous flower she thought she'd learned to uproot, bloomed fresh in her chest. "What if it's real, Jen? What if there's a chance to break the curse?"

"And what of your patients while you chase fairy tales?" Jenevelle's voice was sharp, but her eyes were concerned when they met Elysia's. "What of Yenna?"

"You could tend to them," Elysia said softly. "You're as skilled a healer as I am."

" More��skilled," Jenevelle corrected, with a touch of her usual dry humour. "I don't waste time weaving flowers into their hair."

Elysia turned to face Jenevelle fully. "We both know our treatments only ease their passing. The curse continues to spread, and nothing we do can stop it. I have to try. Even if it's just a chance, the smallest possibility... don't our people deserve that?"

Jenevelle was quiet for a long moment, studying Elysia with those sharp green eyes that seemed to see through all pretence. 

Finally, she sighed. 

"You're going regardless of what I say, aren't you?"

"Yes," Elysia admitted.

"Then at least let me help you prepare." Jenevelle moved to Elysia's workbench, gathering supplies with practised efficiency. "Take your medical journal. Your grey cloak - it's getting cold at night. And for gods' sake, try not to trust everyone who smiles at you."

Elysia felt her heart swell. "Thank you, Jen."

"Don't thank me yet," she replied. "Just... come back. These people need their gentle healer." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "I'm not very good at telling stories."

Outside, Petras's voice rose in a final call. "Time grows short! Who among you dares to chase their dreams?"

Elysia quickly gathered her supplies, tucking them into her pack. She paused at Yenna's bedside, pressing a kiss to the sleeping girl's forehead.

"Go," Jenevelle said quietly. "Before I remember my common sense and try to stop you."

With one last look at her sleeping patient and her friend, Elysia slipped out into the night.

The air was thick with possibility and the sweet scent of hope - dangerous, and intoxicating as wine.

The crowd had thinned somewhat when Elysia approached the carriage. The hesitant had retreated to the safety of their homes, leaving only those whose desperation or curiosity outweighed their fear. The shadow-horses turned their luminous silver eyes toward her, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. Up close, she could see the way starlight shifted beneath their dark coats like veins of quicksilver.

Petras’s gaze settled on her with a calculating intensity. His smile softened, but something in his eyes remained sharp, assessing. He leaned forward, his voice dropping just low enough to draw her attention.

“Ah, another brave soul,” he said, the words honeyed but with a curious weight. He extended a gloved hand, as though welcoming her, yet there was an air of expectation behind it, an unspoken challenge.

“Step right up, my dear. Adventure awaits.” He held her gaze, then tilted his head. “But tell me, citizen of Starfall… What makes you wish to dance with fate?”

Elysia felt a chill, as though he had peeled back some layer of her heart to glimpse the wound within. “My people suffer from a curse,” she replied, lifting her chin. “If there is a chance I could find a cure, I would be a fool not to take it.”

Petras’s eyes gleamed, his smile widening. “Ah, a noble reason indeed. A healer’s heart, so quick to offer itself up for others.” He paused, his fingers tapping lightly against his chin. “But what of the risk? What if the price were steep, dear healer? What would you be willing to pay to end their suffering?”

The question echoed through her, stirring the depths of her own doubt. What would she sacrifice if it came down to it? Her life, her freedom? Or perhaps something else, something more intangible? 

She met his gaze, her voice unwavering. “Whatever it takes. I’ll pay it.”

Petras’s smile took on a strange satisfaction. “Good,” he said. “Then you are worthy indeed.” He reached out and grasped her hand, leading her to the carriage. His grip was firm, almost possessive, as though he were imprinting something unseen upon her.

“Come along, then,” he said, gesturing to the open carriage door with a flourish. “The Festival awaits, and the path to wonder is short for those who are ready to leave the known world behind.”

Five others had already claimed their seats in the carriage's velvet interior. Her healer's eye catalogued them automatically: a merchant whose fingers wouldn't stop counting invisible coins, nervous energy radiating from his thin frame; an elderly woman clutching a locket, her fingers twisted with age and arthritis; a young couple holding hands so tightly their knuckles had gone white, both bearing the telltale grey pallor of the stone curse's early stages. And a boy who couldn't have seen more than sixteen summers, his eyes bright with dreams of escape.

As Elysia settled onto the plush velvet, she found herself studying their faces more closely. How many were running toward something, and how many running away? How many carried wishes as desperate as her own?

The door swung closed with a deep, resonant sound - like the sealing of fate itself. 

And then, the world… shifted.

Colours blurred and bled into one another like wet paint, spilling from the edges of reality. The familiar sounds of the village - cricket songs, the faint bleat of distant sheep, the warm crackle of hearth fires - stretched and warped into something altogether unfamiliar, as if someone had pulled them apart like threads and woven them into a new, strange tapestry. Elysia’s stomach gave a lurch as reality folded around her, shifting in ways her senses couldn’t comprehend.

It was like being unmade and then reassembled in the space between breaths. Light fractured into ribbons of shimmering colour, winding around the carriage in a dance of prismatic splendour. Time lost all meaning; they could have been travelling for seconds or centuries.

And then, just as abruptly as it began, it stopped.

The door swung open to reveal a transformed world. Where once there had been the familiar, earthy confines of the village square, there now sprawled a fantastical landscape, too rich and strange for words, its beauty as alluring as it was unnerving.

The Festival of Fools stretched before them, a labyrinth of wonder that defied earthly architecture. 

And it was beyond anything Elysia could have dreamed.

Tents of midnight blue and deep crimson reached toward a sky caught in eternal twilight. Banners of silk and starlight rippled in the breeze, while lanterns of every hue bobbed and swayed overhead, their light catching on gilt edges and crystal chimes.

Elysia blinked, her gaze shifting to her fellow passengers as they tumbled out of the carriage, each one wearing a dazed expression. As dazed as she felt. She hesitated, instinctively reaching out to the elderly woman beside her - but her companion barely seemed to see her, her gaze fixed on a nearby tent. The woman’s fingers twisted around her locket, her eyes shining with something distant, as if already lost to the promise of whatever marvel lay within.

“Wait–” Elysia began. Her hand fell away as the merchant shuffled past her, eyes flickering to a tent entrance adorned with gleaming gold. Elysia opened her mouth to speak, but he had already drifted away, his body moving with a compulsion she could almost feel.

The young couple clung to each other, moving in perfect unison toward a stage where ethereal figures danced, their feet floating above the ground, defying gravity with languid grace. Their eyes sparkled with something strange and fierce, their fingers woven so tightly together that Elysia doubted she could have separated them even if she’d tried.

And the boy - the boy with his fierce, bright gaze - paused only briefly, sparing her a glance that was both curious and determined. Elysia raised a hand to him, but before she could even form a greeting, he turned toward a pavilion wreathed in veils of light, vanishing into the crowd with the others.

It was as if the festival itself had taken hold of them, plucking them away like petals from a flower and scattering them to its far corners. 

And so she stood. Alone.

The air buzzed with magic, thick and tangible, and Elysia felt it tugging at her too, inviting her to drift into its embrace, to forget herself in the allure of it all.

No, she thought, shaking her head. You’re here for a reason. Stay focused.

Her fingers brushed against the medical journal tucked safely in her pack - a small, grounding reminder of reality and purpose in this world that felt more like a waking dream.

With thoughts of her people, pained, with hearts pounding frantically against stone prisons strong in her mind, her resolve was surely immovable.

This was it now. No going back.

She took a deep breath, inhaling frosty air which carried the scent of mulled wine and honey, and took her first, tentative steps.

It was impossible not to stare in awe at all that surrounded her.

The festival sprawled in every direction, paths twisting and turning. Music wove through the air, sometimes near, sometimes far, always just familiar enough to be enticing. Each route beckoned with its own marvels - a path strewn with flowers that bloomed and wilted in heartbeats, another where the very ground rippled like water beneath her feet.

As she wandered, her trained eye couldn’t help but catalogue the details around her. Performers moved through the crowd with an otherworldly grace that was almost painful in its perfection, their bodies bending and twisting as if the bones within them were liquid: jugglers, acrobats, wandering magicians. Vendors offered sweets that sparkled like jewels and steamed with impossible colours.

Every sight, every sound, every scent seemed designed to overwhelm the senses, to make one forget the world beyond the festival's borders.

That's when she heard it - a voice that seemed to command the very air itself, echoing from the grandest tent she had ever seen. The Big Top stood at what seemed to be the heart of the festival, its peaks disappearing into the twilight sky.

The pull of that voice was irresistible. Elysia found her feet carrying her toward the Big Top of their own accord, drawn like a moth to flame. As she drew closer, the distinct sound of music grew stronger, wrapping around her like silk.

Elysia pushed through the velvet curtains that concealed the entrance.

And gasped.

Inside, row upon row of plush velvet seats surrounded a central stage, each filled to the brim with spectators who sat unnaturally still, their eyes fixed forward with an intensity that stirred something in Elysia's healer's instincts.

But it was the figure commanding the stage that truly stole her breath.

He moved with a grace that transcended mere performance, each gesture flowing into the next as though his very presence were an intricate, endless dance. His coat was black as a starless night, its fabric embroidered with shifting silver constellations that seemed to breathe with the light, stars woven into darkness. Beneath it, a deep crimson vest clung to his form, its subtle gleam catching the lantern glow like the first blush of dawn against shadowed cliffs. In his hand was a cane - a slender, polished rod of black wood that absorbed light, crowned with a silver star cradled within a crescent moon.

Around his throat, a high collar of delicate silver filigree encircled his neck, as beautiful as it was constrictive, its pattern like that of a spider’s web. His face was partly obscured by a half-mask of lace, its delicate, web-like design mirroring that of the collar, with tiny, glinting gems that sparkled like trapped stars. The mask framed his features, giving the sharp lines of his jaw and the hint of a smirk a more dangerous appeal.

But his eyes...

Gods, those eyes.

They glowed a fierce, unnatural red, like rubies held to candlelight, gleaming with a mix of mischief and promise. They swept across the crowd, capturing the gaze of every watcher with an intensity that bordered on hypnotic. 

And when they locked with hers, everything else faded into silence.

Time seemed to stop.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" His voice was like the richest of velvets. "Tonight, we transcend the mundane, we breach the veil between reality and dreams. But for our next performance..." His eyes remained fixed on Elysia, a smile curving his lips, "I require a volunteer."

Goosebumps flared across her skin.

His hand extended toward her, pale and elegant. "You there, my dear. Won't you join us?"

The invitation hung in the air like a challenge, but Elysia’s body had already betrayed her, rising before her mind could form a protest. The crowd seemed to melt away as she walked, her limbs light and unsteady, as though the air itself was enchanted. 

In this moment, it felt as though there was no applause, no noise - just the sound of her heart pounding in her chest and the soft, rhythmic pulse of the festival’s music humming through her bones. 

Up close… gods, he was beautiful. Beautiful in an ethereal sort of way that Elysia had never encountered: skin pale as moonlight, hair a shock of white.

But then he smiled, and his teeth… she could have sworn they seemed just a touch too sharp.

This man - this creature - radiated danger beneath his beauty, like poisonous flowers that tempt with their colours before they kill. 

Yet she had come too far to retreat now.

"And what's your name, darling?" he asked, his voice pitched for her ears alone despite the crowded tent. 

"Elysia," she managed, surprised by the steadiness in her voice. Years of maintaining calm at sickbeds served her well now, it would seem. "Elysia Thorne."

"Elysia," he repeated, as though tasting each syllable on his tongue. "I am Astarion, master of ceremonies and ringmaster of this humble circus." His head tilted slightly, studying her with those burning eyes. "Tell me, what brings a healer to our little festival of wonders?"

She started at that. "How did you-?"

"Your hands," he murmured, catching one of hers in his cool grasp. "They bear the telltale stains of medicinal herbs. And your eyes… they carry the weight of one who knows too much of suffering."

"My people are cursed," she said, lifting her chin. "They're turning to stone, and nothing I do can stop it. I've heard the festival can grant wishes."

A curious expression flickered in those crimson eyes before his smile widened, unreadable under that lace mask of his.

"Oh, you sweetheart." He turned to address the crowd, though his hand remained at the small of her back, cool even through the fabric of her dress. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have something special indeed. A healer seeking to cure the incurable! Shall we show her what wonders await?"

Before she could respond, Astarion raised his cane with a flourish.

The stage erupted into light at the sweep of his cane, a soft shimmer that expanded and enveloped the space. Elysia felt the magic in the air, delicate as a lover's touch, winding between her fingers and across her skin.

Shadows and starlight blurred into a living tapestry as a phantom beast took form - a tiger, its body composed of silk-like darkness threaded with starlight. Its stripes glowed silver, each muscle rippling with a sensual grace as it prowled a slow circle around her, leaving faint trails of light that faded like a sigh.

"Beautiful, isn’t she?" he murmured near her ear, his voice like a low hum in the dark. Elysia felt her skin flush under the intensity of his attention. The cane twirled through his fingers with effortless skill, the silver star at its tip casting prismatic glints that danced over her skin, each glimmer a soft, fleeting caress.

"But that’s only the beginning," he continued. "Tell me, my dear healer, do you trust me?”

The responsible answer would be no. The safe answer would be no. 

And yet…

"Yes," she breathed.

He smiled something sinful. 

“Excellent.” 

With a flick of his wrist, he lifted her, magic making her as light as a feather. The tiger moved beneath her, and without hesitation, she found herself seated astride its back, floating through a dream woven of starlight. It was cool beneath her, a sensation like silk winding over her legs, tangible yet ephemeral, like liquid moonlight.

“You see, ladies and gentlemen,” Astarion’s voice echoed across the tent, his tone honeyed, “true magic lies not in the illusion itself, but in making you forget it’s an illusion at all.”

He lifted her higher, and as her feet left the ground, the phantom tiger began to dissolve, breaking into threads of light. It shifted beneath her, its form disintegrating into long, silken ribbons that spiralled upward, wrapping around her wrists, her waist, her ankles. Elysia gasped as the cool, weightless strands slid over her skin, binding her gently, lifting her further into the air, until she was suspended like a marionette in a web of pure magic.

The ribbons caressed her, sliding over her bare arms, tracing her collarbone, winding around her waist with an intimate, knowing pressure. They didn’t restrict her - they cradled her, their touch both tender and possessive, as though Astarion’s magic were wrapping her in the embrace of his own hands. She felt the shimmer of starlight against her skin, cool as frost yet stirring a warmth deep within her.

"You see," Astarion murmured, his voice close, dangerously soft, “true magic lies in the transition - that delicious moment between reality and dream.”

He extended his hand toward her, and the ribbons of light responded, lowering her gently until her feet nearly touched the stage, held in that intoxicating moment just before she could ground herself. She floated there, caught between the air and his spell, as though she had been pulled into the space between breaths.

“The moment,” he continued, catching her hand and pulling her close, “when one can no longer tell where the performance ends…”

He spun her, the ribbons of light tightening as he did so, sliding across her shoulders, down her back, encircling her waist in soft, twisting knots that bound her body to his magic. 

She was lost in him, in the power that flowed from his touch, in the way the silken light wound around them both like a lover’s embrace.

Elysia’s heart pounded in time with the pulse of the festival. And Astarion - he was the centre of it all, the master of this world, his every movement deliberate, calculated. She could feel it: the weight of his control, the way he led her without question, without hesitation.

And so, they danced. Deeply, intensely. Every step, every movement, every brush of his fingers across her skin was a command she couldn’t ignore. The ribbons tightened around her as he led her in intricate steps, each turn leaving trails of silver light in the air, shimmering like scattered stars. She could feel the texture of the magic against her skin, smooth and cool as it pressed into her, guiding her in a rhythm as old as desire itself.

“You’re beautiful when you let go, darling” he whispered, his voice low, dangerous. “So few allow themselves to surrender to the festival.”

The magic, and this bizarre, enchanted dance, reached its crescendo. Phantom stars whirled around them in dizzying spirals. The very air seemed to sing with power. And then...

He pulled her close, one final spin that ended with her dipped low in his arms. Their faces were inches apart, his cool breath mingling with her heavy breathing. The world beyond them had dissolved into a shower of starlight.

Time seemed suspended. Elysia could feel her heart pounding against her ribs, could see her own reflection in Astarion's eyes. 

There was something she was supposed to remember, something important...

But it slipped away like smoke through her fingers. How could anything matter more than this moment, this magic, this man who held her as if she were something precious and dangerous all at once?

Remember …

Remember? Remember what?

Her heart beat wildly under the allure of his gaze, his power.

... Why am I here again?

Masterlist can be found here!

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[prentissluvr]

need sam winchester biblically and its such a crime i can't be binging spn rn, but that does mean i will be thinking about him all the time without spending said time watching him which means i will have thoughts about him which means i will have time to write for him which means that folks should send me sam requests i promise i'm nice and a decent writer heheheh