#also as for the forked tongue in the first visual

[iorimeowtohashi]

Ohse Lizard Analysis

I'm sure everyone has the species of Ohse's lizard at the top of their minds. Luckily for you, I'm here to help. Ohse's lizard is first introduced to us in episode #15 (A Ghost's Chamber), seemingly free roaming around Ohse's room, and conveniently has a small visual:

On first inspection, this strikes us as quite similar to a Komodo dragon, however for all crsm has it's more,, fantastical,,? elements, I'm not entertaining this.

However no worries. This is just clickbait.

Thankfully we have two far more helpful visuals:

Ohse's bedroom presents us with a far more realistic pet lizard (+ setup) but even better comes the twitter accompaniment visual, showing us what looks like a fairly clear skink!

Yay! you're thinking, We did it! A Skink! but hold on. there's more. Skinks belong to the Scincidae family, which contains over 1500 described species, and is one of the most diverse lizard families overall. From the more detailed episode visual, my initial (cliche) impression was that it could be a blue-tongued skink - good temperment, common pets, legal in Japan - and visually, it would arguably fit. However, considering Ohse takes his lizard around during season 2, I would consider the slightly smaller pink-tongued skink as well.

Both exhibit the characteristic stripes, the cute baby big head, and the pale/potentially yellow-ish main body colouring. To pick between the two, I would say that while blue tongued skinks do make more common pets, and the banding is more similar to that seen in crsm, the pink-tongued may have a slightly more accurate face shape, and build. However. Am I lizard expert? Clearly not. Take from that what you will.

Anyway. Less eventful than I hoped but Ohse's lizard is a skink truther here. enjoy

[snowballthekitteninwonderland]

Mwahahaha, now that that disgusting Ratman is getting cancelled and reviled by what once was his blindly adoring fans, I can actually actively interact with GO stuff the way I want (that is, as something I adore to bits yet not devoid of criticism) instead of passively enjoying it w/o receiving uncalled for hate from people defending him!

More about my designs under the cut

While I don't *hate* the tv series nor do I think it's bad by itself at the same time I do despise it as an adaptation and what it did to mainstream audiences and fandom perception of everything GO related. I think that is reflected in my designs, as people familiar with older fanworks or with a preference for book & radio omens will immediately notice my designs take cues from there + the general older fandom consensus pre-prime series. Also my Zira's hair is meant to be white, albeit not a pure one, he's not blonde. My design for him has his eyes closed for 2 reasons, both forms of hiding his true nature: as a non-human and as his true personality, in a similar way that Crowley does with the sunglasses. While not pictured here, my Zira's eyes are pure unnatural black including the sclera and golden irises that are just. Plain good ol' fire, like his flaming sword(altho I'm very tempted to change it into stars, that's pretty nice imagery coined by TV Omens fandom), to both hint at his status as an angel and as a contrast to Crowley's yellow snake eyes. Meant to be unsettling and uncanny whenever he opens them.

Since the very first time I read the book back in middle school I always pictured everything like a relatively simplistic looking cartoon, with the most cartoonish sfx and everything, idk it happens the exact same with the Discworld books, I think it's just how my brain visualizes STP's pen or something.

Noodle Doodle Crowley! He was always Funny Pathetic Noodle Doodle Uncool Man™ in my mind, pure gangly limbs and awkwardness. I generally do not like to depict him with snake traits bc of his dysmorphia, but precisely bc of that I can't help but give him a lil' something he cannot control about his body and that he hates about himself, hence the forked tongue. Once he reaches True Peace ™ and Self-Acceptance™, he will be able to finally will it away, his is case of a classic Penelope (2006)/Sophie from Howl's Moving Castle deal.

I also have Many Thoughts ™ about the differences between the iterations of the GO cast, including their visual designs, but that goes on an analysis post, not a fanart one.

[batmanfruitloops]

You can't imagine how excited I was when I found out about Scarebeast. My favorite character becomes a big creechur? Wonderful! Amazing! It makes my autistic little brain so happy! Two of my special interest meshing together! Batman and monsters. I'm also bringing another one of my special interests into the mix with my own design, speculative biology. Making him more cryptid and werewolf-like than the tree-like design from As The Crow Flies.

There's definitely more to work on but these are the ideas and concepts I have so far. The bottom drawing is older and not up to date, but it gives a better view of what he looks like with his clothes on. He also doesn't talk anymore. He would not be able to with those teeth and a more animalistic body.

I've mixed a bunch of different traits that animals use to either scare or sneak. His body is that of a lion, for the cat-like reflexes, strength, stealth, and especially the hair to make him look bigger than he actually is. Along with porcupine spikes on his shoulders and back, but not very many, since porcupines also use their hair to seem scarier than they are. He has the head of a barn owl, to amplify the cryptid look and give him incredible eyesight, especially in the dark. His neck is longer like an owl as well, so he can turn his head upside down and 180 degrees. He has a mix of crow and cat feet, crow for climbing and grip, and cat for paw pads that help him stay quiet. His hands are the same but with a bit of aye-aye for the long creepy middle finger. Bat-like ears for better hearing. His mouth is kind of snake-like, mostly inspired by a cotton mouth. Cottonmouths flash their brightly colored mouths at any threat to show they are venomous. Since Scarebeast can breathe fear toxin, and most animals have bright colors to show they are toxic I thought this was fitting. Of course a forked tongue for "smell." The hair on his arms is similar to a yeti crab, so it's not as soft compared to the rest of the fur and is actually bristly but not painful to touch. This was for the sake of the silhouette and because some people find yeti crabs creepy.

Lore wise, this doesn't happen in the au but instead in a separate timeline. Jonathan as Scarebeast suddenly has to consume fear toxin to sustain himself, because of the serum used to transform in the first place. He won't die if doesn't consume it but it will make him sick to not have it for long periods of time. This is also how he breathes it. It's processed in the body and recycled to new glands in his neck to be used as a defense mechanism. Similar to how poisonous animals will eat toxic things to make themselves poisonous. In this form he is very quickly dying. He is the only one who knows how to make fear toxin so he’d run out eventually, and a stature so big requires so much food and water to sustain he wouldn’t realistically be able to find so much so often. He was already very malnourished in the first place so that’s wouldn’t help.

This version is acts a lot more like an animal instead of just having a beastly body. Reacting more on instinct than conscious decisions. In this case he was turned into Scarebeast against his will (keep in mind I haven’t read the comic Scarebeast comes from, I’ve tried to research what I can but I couldn’t find much). So he his not very happy after his transformation. Reacting in pain and anger. Though still having some understanding of what’s going on. If you talked to him he could understand what you were saying but couldn’t respond very well or get distracted. So he can recognize Ed at least. Because Jonathan is so uncomfortable he only allows Ed to be near him.

I hope you enjoyed this infodump. I have a much better time expanding through visuals than text. So hopefully this made sense. Since this is non cannon I can share more, so I can make some things more clear through other doodles and what not.

-Fluffy

[tickle-bugs]

Ahh bug! You know I’m Weak for anything with Caleb Widogast 👀 Maybe with devious ler Molly? (And/or Essek 👀👀)

Oh drat forgot the second part of that—phrase to go along with Caleb/Molly (& also maybe Essek): “Come now, how are you still so *sensitive*, hmm?”

ily lexi mwah <3 also sorry if i have butchered ur boys but i still hope u enjoy this <3 started thinking about molly being overly cautious with courting caleb because his feelings are real and caleb being like. i wanna kiss you so bad please stop pretending to be normal. which led to this

Resonance

not rly nsfw but the first half is somewhat suggestive? intimate? *vague handwaving* just keep that in mind idk

Caleb’s not sure what they’re doing here, really. Molly’s draped and redraped himself over Caleb every which way for the past hour, but they haven’t gotten close to the substance of their evening’s meet. Caleb had long-since shucked his coat and scarf, but not quite the rest of his clothes--that was supposed to be Molly’s job, or so he thought. 

Molly’s invitation to join him for the evening had been whispered to him over a too-expensive glass of whiskey. Molly’s eyes were lidded, his forked tongue curled--Caleb had thought he’d read every sign correctly. But here they were. Stalled. 

“Mr. Mollymauk--” He tries, but Molly coos at him.

“So formal? I thought we were closer than that, dearest.” Molly blinks languidly and settles down properly atop Caleb. They both sink just slightly into the mattress as he does. Molly walks his fingers down Caleb’s abdomen, pauses at his waistband, then walks them back up. 

Always with the teasing.

“Mollymauk. Molly.” Caleb watches him warily. When claws don’t yet again touch down, he swallows and continues-- “What, ah, are you trying to accomplish here?” 

“I’m glad you asked. You see, I’m quite fond of you, Caleb.” Molly fiddles with one of his holster buckles. It catches the light of the inn lanterns in mesmerizing patterns far too grand for such dull brass. 

“Oh.” Caleb’s face grows warm. “I am…fond of you as well.” 

“Hm, thank you. I would hope so. Otherwise, this whole thing would be quite awkward.” Molly’s laugh is rich and boisterous. Caleb turns the tones of it over in his mind. 

“When you said you wanted, ah, companionship for the evening, I’d thought you meant--”

“Sex?” Molly’s tail sways behind him. “Is that what you’d like?”

“Did you…have something else in mind?” Caleb winces at his own indelicacy. Molly looks touched--no, maybe fond? It shouldn’t baffle him so much, he knows, but the visual proof is…unbalancing. 

“With you? Ideas beyond number.” Molly’s piercing gaze pins Caleb further still to the bed. He’s beautiful in an elusive sense. When Caleb gazes upon Molly, he gets the distinct sense that somehow he’s going to disappear, as if someone so breathtaking could only exist in tricks of the mind. 

Caleb’s face heats to a point of concern. Molly chuckles, low as the lamplight. 

“I digress.” Molly leans close enough for their noses to touch. “I’d like to conduct an experiment, Caleb. Involving you.”

“Oh?” Caleb cannot for the life of him keep his eyes away from the softness of Molly’s lips. 

“Yes, if you’d let me.” Molly’s hand finds his, both scarred in different ways. It’s one of the few times that feeling heat in the palm of his hand has been welcome. 

“Do what you will.” Caleb nods. 

“That’s the spirit.” Molly beams and pulls Caleb’s hand up his body, skirting along his thigh and the soft silk of his shirt, until finally their hands, as one, rest on his sternum. The warmth of Molly’s skin is a kiss that blooms. 

“You feel that?” Molly hums, and it resonates through Caleb’s fingertips. He’d always thought Molly was a bit thin, but the way breath moves through him…it reminds Caleb of Nott’s brief and consuming obsession with blowing into glass bottles like flutes. There’s a pitch to Molly’s resonance—not one he’s equipped to understand, but there nonetheless. 

“They say you can hear a soul best through laughter or through tears. I prefer the former.” Molly gestures flippantly, brushing his thumb over the back of Caleb’s hand. As he speaks, Caleb can feel the rise and fall of his breath, the resonance of his voice--as if Molly’s entire being has been shaped to carry sound to the very tip of his horns. The jewelry hanging from his ears and horns jingles of its own accord, like a windchime. 

He’s the loveliest windchime I’ve ever seen, Caleb thinks, a bit hysterical. 

“I want to hear what your soul sounds like, Caleb.” 

It’s so intimate and innocent that Caleb finds his breath utterly lost. He blinks up at Molly and tries to counteract the sudden and reeling incoherence of his mind. 

“Not the most resounding enthusiasm, but I understand.” Molly stands and brushes himself off. The aloofness of his tone is betrayed by the way he can’t seem to quite look at Caleb. It must be so easy for him to escape this way. Mollymauk, ever-balancing on a tightrope, with the most convincing lack of fear of falling.

“Wait!” Caleb grabs Molly’s wrist before he can slip away. Gently, he tugs him back down. Molly’s eyes shine alluringly in the dim. 

“I was…caught off guard. No one has ever expressed an interest of this kind to me before.” Caleb slides his hands up Molly’s thighs. He gives a comforting squeeze, at least what he hopes is comforting, and Molly twitches with a quiet laugh. 

“Shame.” Molly’s gaze roves over Caleb appreciatively, but not with the hunger he expects. It’s constructive. Encompassing. Warm. Caleb basks in it, even as Molly grows uncharacteristically quiet. He takes one of his claws between his teeth as his stare grows distant. 

“What is rattling through that brain of yours, hm?” Caleb knits his brow. Molly sits up a bit, stretching their intimate bubble. Caleb clenches his fist and concentrates on not keening after him. 

“How thoroughly I’m about to ruin the mood,” Molly mutters, likely not meaning for Caleb to hear. Caleb furrows his brow, but before he can speak, Molly kneads curiously into his stomach. 

A chuckle bubbles from a deep, unknowable place in Caleb, somewhere nestled just beyond the darkness clinging listlessly to his soul. Then another, then another, until his whole body is racked with quiet sounds he tries to smother. Claws trip maddeningly upwards to his ribs and Caleb cracks into snickers that overwhelm him with force. He slams his arms back down towards his sides and curls as much as physically possible. 

“Scheiße, Molly--”

“Do you want me to stop?” Molly stills, stiff and unnatural. He reminds Caleb of a wild hare, all of his muscles coiled and ready to flee--except for his tail, of course, which lashes in nonsensical patterns as if it has a life of its own. 

He’s nervous, Caleb realizes. How endearing. 

“Did I say ‘silvervine’?” Caleb huffs, still battling the wobbly smile on his face. Molly’s eyes widen.

“No, I suppose you didn’t.” Molly chuckles, shaking his head. Before Caleb can think to steel his defenses, Molly drags his claws down every inch of his captive torso that he can reach. Caleb jackknifes with the kind of giggles that fizzle in his lungs before they leave. It’s a maddening type of touch and he kind of wants more, but Molly continues in his steadfast teasing.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Caleb Widogast,” Molly murmurs, leaning down to kiss him sweetly. Caleb laughs into Molly’s mouth, soft as he imagined, and allows himself to fall slowly apart. 

…

Caleb’s love, it turns out, is born from the same place as his laughter. Both have become easy to coax into the light with time. Like weeds breaking free of cobblestone streets, love has gripped the hopeful parts of him and refused to let go. Love has made him all the things he feared it would--weak, compromised, and clouded--and he wouldn’t trade it for anything, mortal or otherwise.

“Liebling, I have research to complete.” Caleb pauses at the bookshelf, letting Molly coil his arms around him. Molly’s face finds its usual place between his shoulder blades for a moment before his hands slide a bit…lower. 

“Conveniently, so do I. My thesis is on the kinds of noises you’ll make when you’re overworked and I have time.” Molly’s breath curls hot against his ear. There’s a sweet center to the devilish lilt of his tone, though, and it makes Caleb smile. 

“I’d love to hear you defend this thesis of yours, hm?” He turns to face Molly and the full force of his pout. 

“You have utterly killed the mood,” Molly grumbles, but his tail is busy curling in content little loops. Caleb hums noncommittally and kisses him again, far more occupied about the way Molly’s cheeks squish between his hands when he smiles. 

“If you can be patient, perhaps I’ll make it up to you.” Caleb shifts his grip to hold Molly’s chin, brushing his thumb across his bottom lip. He likes the spark of excited desire that flashes through Molly’s eyes. 

“Promise?” 

“However you’d like.” Caleb kisses him once more, more to sate himself than anything. Molly throws himself upon the nearest divan with expedience. As he settles in among the cushions, Caleb thumbs through the nearby shelves and starts a stack of relevant texts on one of the worktables. 

The first hour rolls by without much event and by the second, Caleb is focused enough to ignore Molly’s dramatic sighs. By hour three, Caleb’s read what he needed. Some for research, some for pleasure, but he’s taken in enough to make his mind buzz.  

Molly’s arms wind around his waist and Caleb jumps, then settles.

“One of these days, I’ll put a bell on you.” Caleb reshelves a few tomes with a reverent hand. 

“Caleb, you must know by now that patience is not my strongest suit.” Molly presses his face between Caleb’s shoulderblades again. Caleb shivers from the very tips of his toes and bites back a chuckle. Molly tends to grow needy when he’s ignored, they both know this, but the varying levels of petulance always make things entertaining. 

“I am aware.” Caleb continues reshelving, a little faster now. Molly nuzzles into Caleb’s back again and, oh, he’s purring. That would be exceptionally sweet if Molly’s body didn’t carry the resonance like a tuning fork, right to the tips of his horns where they’re pressed into Caleb’s spine, making it tickle terribly. Caleb bites his lip and forces back the tide of laughter building in his shuddering chest. 

“Come now, darling. Are you still so sensitive? I can feel you trying not to laugh.” Molly drapes his arms over Caleb’s shoulders and speaks into his spine, languid but calculated. It’s a nonsensical question but Molly himself is nonsensical, just as much a trickster as the shadowed being to whom Jester accredits her mischief. 

“M-Mohohlly.” Caleb shivers, snickers jumping free in short and bright bursts. Caleb can hear Molly’s grin without needing to see it, but it doesn’t prepare him for the bundle of tiefling suddenly clambering atop his back. Molly should know better than this, really--Caleb has gotten stronger, but he is not strong. 

“You’ve kept me waiting all this time and you have nothing to say for yourself?” Molly unleashes a flurry of kisses behind Caleb’s ear and the dam falls before he has a chance to defend it. Breathy, frantic giggles flow from Caleb with a fervor, spinning around the two of them in the warm, empty library. 

“Well, that’s not a very good defense. We’ll have to work on that,” Molly grins, speaking directly into Caleb’s neck. Caleb squeals and doubles over, landing somewhere between Zemnian and Common as he tries to shake Molly loose. Molly laughs and tickles his stomach, sending Caleb snapping upright with a dangerous sway. 

“Tongue-tied already?” Molly leans back a dangerous amount, forcing Caleb to back up towards the divan to avoid a nasty fall. They collapse on it in a tangled heap of shouts and curses. Caleb immediately grabs Molly’s hip in his hand and starts murmuring an incantation. He can feel the gentle sparks of magic beginning to take effect--and Molly can too, if the sudden hitch in his breath is anything to go by. 

“Ah-ah, none of that. You casters never play fair.” Molly worms his fingers up, up, until he can fiddle with the ribs supporting Caleb’s beloved book holsters. The magic, along with Caleb, dissolves into sparks and high-pitched bouts of noise. Caleb writhes and shrieks, his hair flying loose of its ponytail and into disarray. Molly rubs his knuckles between the grooves of his ribs and Caleb arches with a shout. Molly laughs and starts tickling at the back of his ribs. 

They roll around like unruly kittens, kicking cushions every which way as if it were a sport. Molly still lands on top of him, breathless and vibrating with joy. He chirps something that sounds suspiciously like ‘squishy wizards’ before tickling up under Caleb’s arms, taking ample time to try and wiggle beneath the straps of the holsters. 

Caleb grabs at Molly’s thighs to brace himself, and Molly snorts. It’s a quiet sound, cushioned by soft laughter, but it’s there and it’s beautiful. Caleb knows Molly’s ticklish, of course--ample time with Jester has taught him what to expect of tieflings--but he’s never heard him make such an adorable noise before. 

“Mollymauk,” Caleb says, a little breathless, but he’s grinning wider than he ever thought possible. Molly’s nervous grin is delectable. 

“Surely we can talk about this--”

“I think you’ve talked enough, don’t you?” Caleb pulls Molly close by the ankle and starts kneading at his inner thigh. Molly wails, thrashing so hard that his top half slides off the divan and onto the floor. A slapdash mix of giggles, snorts, and wild cackles burst out of him, enough for Caleb to coo at him and bury his stubble into the stretched plane of Molly’s stomach. 

Molly muffles a blood-curdling shriek into a wayward cushion. Caleb laughs and tickles harder. 

“I have a thesis on the kinds of noises you’ll make--”

“C-Caleb!”

[slowd1ving]

IV: IF LOOKS COULD KILL・゜MIGUEL O'HARA

"And him. The scarlet and navy glimmer of scales was always probing at the edge of your conscious thoughts, demanding to be let in. You leaned your elbows on the railings to get more comfortable. Ever since you’d helped Miguel out with those mythical creature hunters, he plagued your thoughts like an incessant gnat. " No one ever tells you just how lonely the swashbuckling life is. Can you be blamed when you begin to long to see your new friend? When your morally ambiguous buddy makes a comeback, you can't just spoil the fun and foil his goals. Merfolk AU + Pirate GN! Reader warnings: death, violence, blood, hurt/comfort

THE TIME YOU MADE FRIENDS WITH A MERMAN AND WERE FORCED TO JOIN IN TRICKERY AND SCHEMING MASTERLIST

MISC. MASTERLIST ゜・MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART

   Oh yeah, you were definitely going to wring fate’s neck. This was so not what you signed up for. 

The acrid smell of smoke currently invading your senses reminded you of the sheer disaster that you were precariously balanced in; it was a far cry from the normalcy of your morning. Normal. Billowing clouds of ash surrounding you were not normal. Fires in the horizon of the port town were not normal. 

In all your years of living, you’d never been this disorientated. 

There was no indication of abnormality this morning: rolling off your hammock as usual with a thud; the typical grey, unappetising sludge of ‘porridge’; scrubbing the worn planks of the ship, under the watchful eye of the first mate; and finally, walking off the gangway to find Miguel. 

The only unusual thing about your morning was a profound lack of the first mate’s jabs at you over your work, but you took it more as a blessing that he seemed preoccupied with something that wasn’t you. 

A quiet anticipation had unfurled in your veins - perhaps you should’ve considered it a sign. Though who could blame you? You were teaming up with Miguel to track someone who had personally endangered him! 

Maybe the trepidation should’ve served as warning enough. 

But there you were, knocking on Miguel’s door at your friend’s inn when the sun was almost at its peak. It swung open with a terse greeting from him. Both of you could feel the supercharged air of the hunt; it reflected in the adrenaline-filled look the two of you exchanged. 

Over a quick meal downstairs, you found out a crucial piece of information; Miguel didn’t actually know what the traitor looked like. 

“I’ll be able to tell if they’re human,” he confessed, biting into the stem of an apple. You watched on with a mixture of concern and revulsion. “They’re also tagged with a specific marker, left by one of my more elusive colleagues.” 

“Marker?” you probed. The salt of fried potatoes lingered on your tongue. 

“It’s a tiny visual and scent patch, undetectable to humans,” he waved his fork dismissively, sparing you the details. “That’s where you come in.”

“I do?” 

“I’ll be on the radar just as much as that bastard will be on mine,” he scowled at the plate in front of him. “The marker has a greater radius than that. I’ll have the advantage there, but not for long. You’ll close the distance and tail whoever it is until the very last moment.”

Makes sense . You’d done much harder assignments in the past; this would be a piece of cake in comparison. You stabbed another potato with your fork contemplatively. 

“So, we hang around the bars and public areas until then?” 

“Not ideal, I know,” he furrowed his brow in minute defeat. He was right, of course; you’d be relying on the element of surprise as a double-edged sword that could just as easily swing your way. The plan teetered on the verge of perilous and foolhardy and hopeful . You’d hope for a favourable outcome, you’d hope that fortune smiled on the plan. 

There wasn’t much else you could do, really. 

The morning dew had long since been swept away from the cobblestones, as if it were a troublesome cobweb. In its stead was the arid wind, which was accompanied by the blistering rays of sunlight. Both you and Miguel let out matching exhales of frustration at the abundance of people milling about in the sun.

“There’s one positive thing about this,” he’d told you. “Our skin’s more sensitive than a regular human’s. The target will be indoors.”

There was only one place any respectable sailor would slink into the shadows of. A bar , stocked with tepid liquor and slightly-sticky stools. A bar , filled to the brim with comfortable, amiable darkness. A bar wouldn’t betray the one masquerading as a sailor; no, it would just strengthen and weave a better mask of one. 

If you remembered correctly, there were two bars nearby: sticky fly traps designed to lure those weary after prolonged sea journeys, drowning them in liquor and cheap, salty food. You weren’t a frequenter of them - the stale air within reminded you more of a tomb than a place to forget your worries. 

“You take one, I’ll take the other,” you’d murmured, already bracing yourself for the chorus of midday drunkards within. “I’ll be on the lookout for anyone suspicious.”

“Abnormal behaviour is a side-effect of the marker. It’s practically impossible to pinpoint where it is on your body, but the scent is particularly unpleasant to us ,” he curled his lip in disgust. “It’ll make the target act more irrationally than usual, since the smell is subtle enough to make them question if they’re making it up.”

Does this count as psychological warfare?  

“Alright, if you buy anything, make sure it’s got a low alcohol level,” you warned.

“Don’t worry,” he replied, already moving towards the establishment at the end of the street. “We as a species can handle alcohol pretty well.”

With the sweltering heat off your back, you’d settled into a booth near the back to watch the steady trickle of patrons arrive. Business flowed like a viscous honey: slow, gradual, and understandable for it being the middle of the day. There weren’t any remarkable figures lurking and skulking into the shadows of the deep-green wood of the building. 

A plain, meek figure, who was swathed in a tattered brown cloak, entered first. You pondered their assured gait ( maybe a merc ), their drink of choice ( a shot of hard liquor ) and the glint of their shamshir’s scabbard ( definitely a merc ). The contemplative hesitation of their fingers against the glass was chalked up more to the languid haze of midday rather than anomalous behaviour. 

Next to catch your eye was the old man nursing a crystal glass of some amber booze. Too old, maybe? You watched him pull out the papers studiously, comfortably , as if this was some daily ritual of his. Maybe it was. How would you classify what was abnormal ? 

Erratic breathing? Obvious rivulets of sweat? Nervous, darting eyes? You couldn’t measure whether or not someone had a changed disposition, not when this port town was full of strangers . 

The clamour of an approaching group rudely shoved you out of your musings. Four, five. Sailors? It was too dim to see their faces properly, but the tell-tale shimmer of cutlasses against mismatched clothes concluded your contemplation: pirates. As far as you knew, only one pirate vessel had docked in this town - yours . You sank in your seat, trying to avoid being seen. The worst thing that could happen for you was a drawn out conversation with your shipmates while you were actively searching for the target . 

Unfortunately, your avoidance was instead transfigured into a beacon. A stray arm was flung around you and the faint, sharp smell of spirits invaded your personal space. You moved to shove the perpetrator out of the way; however, you paused in shock at seeing the first mate’s face peering down at you. 

“Thought I saw a familiar face,” he slurred, moving back marginally. Behind him, the third mate and three other grunts were at the bar ordering. 

“Imagine that,” you replied politely, though that aggravating face was looking terribly punchable. Fervently, you prayed he wouldn’t pile upon you more work to do once you got back onto ship. 

“You’re never usually at dens like these,” his tone sharpened into a saccharine drawl that probed for an answer. You moved back. “What changed, buddy?”

“Wanted a change of scenery.” 

Your terse reply elicited a bark of laughter from him. Stop acting so friendly, bastard .  He took the opportunity to sit across from you at the booth; he was practically shielding the view of the door with his body. Intolerable prick . 

“You look lonely,” he practically purred . Self-control had you teetering between obligatory politeness and disgusted insults. “Want me to buy you a drink?” 

“No, I’m alright,” you watched him with thinly veiled derision. It certainly was strange; while his words contained traces of flirtation, they lacked the leering tone accompanying that you expected from someone absolutely stinking of strong spirits. Instead, his cold tone belied his drunk appearance.

“Were you perhaps waiting for someone else to buy you a drink?” he swilled some liquid from his flask straight into his mouth; your eyes almost watered at the overpowering stench of it.  The air felt much too suffocating. Get out . 

Surreptitiously, you shuffled to the side minutely to keep an eye on the entrance. A flash of navy glimmered beyond the grainy window. Was it a sign? You were going to take it as a sign. Get out . 

“I’ll be taking my leave,” you excused yourself with a forced smile. “The drinks here really aren’t to my liking.”

“So soon?” he pouted in disappointment, though it lacked any sort of sincerity. You felt sick to your stomach; though whether it was from this Awful Company or the smell of spirits, you couldn’t tell. 

“Unfortunately,” you slid off your seat and made your way to the door, feeling the uncomfortable prickle of eyes fixated on your back as you left. The slimy feeling remained, even after you walked out into the dry, blistering sun. Feeling awfully dizzy, you barely noticed when you collided into someone. 

“Are you alright?” 

Strong hands clasped your shoulders, and you felt the familiar, cool aroma of the sea. You looked up to see Miguel looking down upon you with a discomfited frown; clearly, he was taken aback by the dazed expression on your face.

The warmth from his hands seeped through your shirt and into your body. All the veins, all the miniscule capillaries threaded throughout your torso lit ablaze at the contact. Instantly, you were thrown out of your stupor. Words failed you; your mouth remained agape like a goddamn fish . 

“Hold on-” his eyes narrowed as he brought his face down to rest mere inches from your neck. Warm air ghosted over your clavicle as he breathed in and out experimentally. “-why do you smell like that?”

“Like what?” you scowled. Desperately, you ignored his proximity: the way he grasped your shoulders, practically pressing you into him; the way his eyes were level with yours, looking at you hesitantly and worriedly ; and the way he didn’t just smell like the sea, but the aroma was interwoven with a deeper, cleaner scent (it reminded you of the times you ventured into forests back in your youth, taking in the crisp, woodsy air). 

“You smell faintly of the marker,” those fateful words were uttered with a horrified fascination. Your heart sank . He pressed on. “Did you come into contact with anyone?”

Surely not . All too soon, your mind was thrust back into that dark, cramped booth. The sharp smell of spirits ( someone who could always drink his shipmates under the table ). A careless arm, thrown around you ( much too uncharacteristically for someone who always looked at you as if you were shit stuck to his shoe ).  

Holy shit . 

“ Fuck ,” you breathed. No way . Your heart pounded in a monologue of denial. It just wasn’t possible; the familiar, annoying face of the first mate couldn’t actually be the same face that had almost gotten Miguel killed. That same first mate that you saw daily for almost a year. This was all a hoax, right? 

You locked eyes with Miguel. 

“First mate,” you rasped out, clasping onto his forearms with shaky hands to stabilise yourself. “The one we’re looking for is the first mate on my ship. In there.”

He made no move to let you go. 

“Alright,” he enunciated, leading you into the quiet alleyway opposite the bar you’d escaped from. You let out a shaky breath. 

The cool shadows washing over you allowed your mind to collect its thoughts. Comfort was taken at the heavy weights on your shoulders, forcefully grounding you to this reality. There was nothing you could do to reverse the revelation. You just had to accept it. 

What will the captain say ? 

How could you even begin to explain to the captain, who treated the first mate like a son, that he was missing? Your mind wove web after web of lies, yet none of them would ever hold water. Would you spin the illusion that he was a traitorous deserter? Would you lie to the captain who took you in?

Focus . 

“I’m fine,” you murmured. You didn’t feel fine, but it paled in importance to catching your shipmate.  “Just a little shocked.”

“If you say so,” he conceded, though he didn’t look happy about it. The crimson of his eyes was muddied by the shadow of his frown. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t captivated by the shift in expression. 

Distantly, your brain half-registered an eerie glow from behind him. It wasn’t until his nose wrinkled in abject distaste that you fully comprehended the flames licking the sky from the bar you were at only a few minutes ago.

This can’t be a coincidence . 

“Fuck,” you cursed. “He’s onto us.”

In this blistering heat, the dry timbers of the buildings would be about as fire resistant as goddamn tinder . Horrified, you listened to the yells and screams of a crowd with no clue what to do. 

You rattled off the physical description of the first mate, pushing Miguel out of the alley.

“We’ll split up to look for him,” you urged, fervently praying this town had effective fire marshals. 

Desperation had pushed the crowd into surging out of the street. Already, smoke and ash had begun their billowing journey through the air; it wouldn’t be long before it became suffocating. The chaos prevented you from seeing far ahead, and it was made worse by the writhing mass of bodies trapping you in an endless tug-of-war. 

In the midst of it all, you heard a panicked cry of help coming from above. It went unnoticed by the tumultuous crowd, who seemed to be preoccupied with saving themselves and their possessions from the fire that was rapidly spreading (not that you could blame them, really). 

You looked up, and locked eyes with a young teenager framed by the window up in the living area above the bar. Shit . He was wreathed in the orange glow of the fire; he didn’t have long before the greedy flames swallowed him up, and it seemed you were the only one aware of his predicament. You could practically see all his sclera engulfing those mahogany irises with how fear-widened his eyes were. 

There was a roof adjacent to the building that seemed level with the window, but it would be impossible to get on without any help. You had to act, now . Hastily, you tugged your sweat-drenched shirt upwards and over your nose (it was crude, but it'd make do). The gutter pipe nearby would allow you to access that flat roof easily enough, but you had to get the kid to prepare. 

By now, the street was cluttered with more debris than people. You swallowed thickly; there wasn’t going to be anyone else to help you if you failed. 

The metal pipe under your hands was warm and rough; within a few seconds and with a few scrapes, you’d made it to the roof.

“Hey!” you yelled hoarsely, but there was no need; the teen had already opened the window as far as possible when he saw your movements and willingness to help. 

“Grab my hand,” you stepped to the very edge of the roof - you didn’t allow yourself to comprehend the precarious drop (even though it was only one tier of building). You clung to the rail on the edge and reached out with your other hand, feeling the sweaty palm of the kid desperately gripping on to you with the fervour of someone who just wanted to live . 

“What’s your name, kid?” you felt your body practically tear in two as you pulled him onto the roof beside you. “Is there anyone else in there?”

“No, just me,” he coughed out, leaning heavily onto you. You had to get the two of you off the roof before the fire spread further. 

“I’m Miles. Miles Morales.” 

“Right,” you said distractedly, looking around for a means of getting down and out of the street. Fruitlessly, you tried to keep your voice level. “I’ll lower you to the ground from the roof, okay?”

“That’s fine,” he was wheezing slightly from the smoke, and you hurried to the edge so you could get him down. With one hand, you gripped the rail, and with the other you managed to act as a makeshift pulley so he could slide down the side of the wall. 

As you were holding onto his wrist, his sleeve slipped down; there were numerous familiar scarlet scales dotting the deep brown expanse of his arm, just like the ones on Miguel’s . Your eyes widened, but you overlooked it. He was just a teenager.

After you got down yourself, he turned to you hesitantly. 

“I’m going down to the water,” he began. It was clear the arid mixture of smoke and dry air was already getting to him; you were suddenly worried for Miguel. “Thanks for helping me.”

“No problem,” you were already moving to go back to look for both Miguel and the first mate when Miles called out. 

“You going back?” a note of panic slipped into his question. You looked back with a softened expression.

“My friend needs help,” you replied. This town didn’t seem to have a booming population; hopefully, the empty streets that awaited fire marshals would make it easy to search for both of them. 

“Be careful,” he’d called out worriedly when you begun your search. You would definitely need it.

Now, you stood in the middle of a side street, desperately trying not to heave up your breakfast at the caustic reek of the smoke. Soot clung to your sweat-streaked body, and it really made you wonder ; out of what obligation were you doing this? This went far past a mere acquaintance .  

You were tired, and much too dazed to continue searching. The sun was at its peak, the blaze of the fire was never far off, and the bitter taste of smoke lingered on the back of your tongue along with a question; why did you keep going? Could it all be attributed to worry ?

This was a fool’s errand, wasn’t it? Far away, you could hear the wail of fire wagons and the tolling of the town bell punctuating the evacuation. Or was it a knell? Would this debris-covered street end up as your crypt?

You pressed on. It was surprisingly easy to extinguish the feeling of despair flooding your very neurons. For a friend . No, that wasn’t correct. For Miguel . 

Everywhere you turned, you were met with the faint chorus of crackling fire. It was inescapable. In the distance, buildings collapsed as if they were no more than fragile toys. Was this town going to succumb to the petulant whims of these flames?

Deliriously, you barely registered the chime of metal against metal. It pierced through the monotonous whoosh of flame and successfully broke you out of your hazy wandering. Your eyelids snapped open. Next street over . 

Go . 

Even the shadows of the alleyway you ducked into couldn’t shelter you from the sweltering heat. Breathe . The clash of blade against blade rang louder and louder in your eardrums; it tore into your very being with worry. What would you see when you gazed out of the mouth of the alley?

Adrenaline danced and weaved through your body (if you were being honest, it was the only thing keeping you from collapsing). Here, the ground was a lot higher, so the air was merely tinged with the flavour of smoke; you had a chance to catch your breath. 

You concealed yourself in the shadows of the alley and waited for them to ease into frame. 

It was a short wait. In the sunlight, the furious flash of blades captivated you. Your breath caught in your throat. It was frenzied, it was maddened, and it was an absolute mess . Limb atop limb - the writhing tangle of two bodies engaged in a battle looked more to you like a serpentine dance than a clash. Those two were practically tearing into each other; their swordsmanship was juddering rather than fluid, punctuated by their claws attempting to gouge through flesh. 

Sure, it was tumultuous and bloody and sickening to watch, but framed in the searing halo of the sun, it looked like a painting depicting the very essence of violence. Beautiful . 

You drew your flintlock. 

It was unclear who would emerge victorious. You could try to aim at the first mate, but you couldn’t guarantee Miguel wouldn’t be shot as well. An incensed debate broke out in your mind: should you interfere, or should you wait to pass judgement? For the first time in a while, indecision wracked your very being. 

They were at an impasse: matched blow for blow, edge to edge. Miguel moved with grace and power that betrayed his experience in battle, but the first mate was fast . This wasn’t a bout for first blood; they were both brimming over with murderous intent and bloodlust . 

You felt the chill of fear as if it were a wraith breathing down your neck. 

Could you even help out? 

As you were mulling that pivotal question over, you heard the rustle of clothing behind you. Panicked, you spun round to see a stranger right behind you, poised to attack. On instinct, you took your pistol off safety.

“Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be,” she hissed. She wore the threadbare garb of a mythical creature hunter ( not that they’d claim to have a uniform, per se ). And where there was one, there’d be more. Horrified, you saw other shadows skulking around near the duel. 

There was no time. You shot her in the foot, and almost threw up at the coppery stench of blood. 

You had to get rid of the accomplices. No doubt they’d be watching like goddamn vultures until one of the two mermen collapsed (or maybe even both), carting them off to sell off parts. Disgustedly, you blocked out the pained cries of the woman below you and focused on the other two shadows. 

But before you could even think of doing anything, a shot rang out in the street. In tandem, you moved with one of the shadows as the first mate staggered backwards. Distantly, you watched him scramble away, clutching at his bleeding shoulder. The clang of his dropped sword against the scorched cobblestones shook you out of your daze. 

Before you, the first mate was attempting to outrun his imminent end. You could practically taste the mocking laughter that played in your mind’s theatre on loop; by now, Miguel was surrounded by the other two accomplices who knew the first mate would likely not get far in his state. It was tragic, really. The burning flavour of a scream was gripping your throat, but even sound was denied from you as you watched Miguel warily adjust his grip on the sword.

Your sword. Your life. You were damned if this opportunity fled from your grasp like grains of sand. 

One bullet. 

The frenzy of this moment shrouded you to all parties; even the warning cries of the woman left in the alley didn’t register to any soul present, save you. After all, who would hear her amidst a town of wailing?

Inhale . 

You levelled the gun, lining up those imaginary crosshairs with the eye of the one nearest to you. The tremble in your hands was minute. Apathy was dredged up from the depths of your gut; you wouldn’t hesitate. Would you?

Exhale . 

Bile shoved its way on your tongue when you heard the click of the trigger. The brutal recoil forced you back into reality. Hastily, you traded your gun’s place with your new sabre to watch the aftermath. 

A clean shot. You looked away. 

Fury was daubed on the hunter’s face ( perhaps they were still capable of emotion ). Was the limp man beside him a friend? Family? You found it terribly ironic, since he was just in the middle of hunting down your friend. Although, you doubted mythical creature hunters were gifted with the wonders of Self Awareness. In fact, their job probably required a veritable lack of it. 

Maybe it extended to general awareness; his focus reflected in the quivering sword now pointed to your direction. You shifted slightly closer, not keeping your eyes off his enraged trembling. Absurdly easy . 

Even with your focus on the man in front of you, you could feel Miguel’s intense gaze leave pinpricks of heat on your body. His image swum at the edge of your peripherals, along with the dark, sooty smoke that traced the air of the street. 

“Go,” you couldn’t meet his eyes; was it out of shame for your earlier indecision? It wasn’t a sin, to be frozen in place, but it felt like one. “Go after him.”

The words felt thick and foreign on your tongue. Stay , you wanted to plead. Stay here with me . Alas, all that remained on your taste buds was the bitter sapor of smoke. You saw that faint outline of colour leave (in your shirt you’d given him the day you found him on the beach). 

Don’t go . 

Tough leather graced your second hand as you moved it to the grip of the sword to support the first. In your disarray, you’d need the added power. Or maybe you wouldn’t. The man before you could barely contain his anger as he watched you cautiously. Neither of you moved, but you knew it wouldn’t be long before his sword swung upwards to try pass judgement on you ( as if he wasn’t guilty of worse ). 

“You’ll be seeing your buddy in hell soon,” you probed, not feeling an ounce of guilt over it. It did the trick; his features contorted into a twisted, horrifying mask of fury, a mere jape of humanity. 

“You’ll pay for that,” he hissed out and lunged at you. It was almost comically easy to evade the clumsy swipe. Was he a rookie? The youth painting his face gave you a rough estimate of twenty years. Although, it was presently marred with a vengeful fury. 

“Is the more skilled one lying at my feet?” you taunted, feeling the very atoms of air heat up with his passion. He swung wildly at you; if you got caught up in that wild, left-right lashing, it would get very nasty. You had to end it quickly while he was still incensed. 

The little smile on your face goaded him into an easily-readable attack. A most basic slash, straight down your chest. It happened in slow motion; you watched the childish swipe while distantly raising your own blade horizontally to block him. Simultaneously, you let go with one hand to pull out the shimmery knife at your belt. 

Your gut twisted. 

No, you couldn’t feel the cold whisper of regret. Not now . The sickening feeling of metal piercing the skin of his chest reverberated through you. As he staggered back, as blood rapidly coagulated on your hands and face, you felt the urge to throw up. 

You pulled out the knife. 

When he inevitably collapsed, you were already looking away. No , it wasn’t voluntary; you couldn’t look back to those two separate pools of blood. Deliriously, you staggered backwards ( a distorted mirror of the man lying at your feet ) in the direction Miguel left in. 

The pragmatic impulse to rest and catch your breath crumbled away when you felt your foot dip into viscous liquid. 

Get away . 

Those two words circulated in your mind; you didn’t have the option to ignore it. Unconsciously, you wiped off your knife and sheathed it, then did the same with your sword. Your shirt was already dripping with crimson at the sleeves, so what were a few more stains? The heart within you was thumping erratically - the organ, too, was caught in the throes of hysteria. 

Find Miguel . 

You fled. Ran away, even, through the soot-speckled streets with one goal in mind. It was a visceral action: feeling the rough pitter-patter of your soles against cobblestone, rather than hearing it; feeling the congealed coppery liquid on your tongue, rather than tasting it; and feeling the pain of the woman in the alley, rather than hearing her cries. 

Forgive me . 

Your lungs burned with your silent invocation. Who were you praying to ? As the bruising pressure of exhaustion beleaguered you, your lips were otherwise preoccupied with chanting this silent mantra, rather than gulping down mouthfuls of smoky air. You clung to the action as if you could even atone for your deeds. 

Escape . By immersing yourself in the piercing strain of running away in exhaustion, you could ignore the caked blood on your hands. He couldn’t be far away. You strained your ears, hoping to hear anything over the distant wails of the fire-bells. 

Nothing.

Perhaps it was luck guiding your stumbling to yet another alleyway, just as inconspicuous as the rest. Your ragged breathing ceased as you spotted two figures within. It was almost like a painting you’d see in some museum; Miguel, haloed in the rays of the high sun and poised to attack, and the first mate, shrouded in the shadows of the alleyway and cowering before him. 

He was still alive. Somehow. The first mate’s fingers clung onto the ridges of the wall behind him as if it would save him. 

“...not going to repeat myself…”

You could faintly make out what Miguel was saying, but your dazed mind could barely keep up. He glanced at you, yet your eyes were sliding over the bloodied first mate glaring at you. 

“...working with the other traitor..”

Miguel’s query slipped like oil over you, as if your ears were made of water. You felt delirious. 

“You’re working with him, aren’t you?” the first mate spat out accusingly. His gaze bore daggers straight at you. Vehement hatred oozed out from between his teeth; it permeated deeply into your skin, utterly palpable. You met his gaze levelly. “Where is your loyalty to the ship?”

“So what if I am?” you challenged. It was ludicrous to speak of loyalty in a cutthroat industry like yours. “Weren’t you misappropriating funds from the captain? Don’t speak of loyalty.”

His eyes bulged at your accusation, but you couldn’t even feel the vindictive satisfaction that you would otherwise. He wouldn’t be walking out alive; his pitiful display of aggression was just that. Pitiful . Your heart thrummed with hollowness. Looking at him, you could barely see traces of the upstanding youth the captain had showered praise on. Instead, before you was a shell of a man who’d been your source of torment in your only home . 

You looked away from a man who was going to die soon. 

“Speak,” Miguel probed. The first mate’s eyes snapped back to him resolutely. His mouth was set with a knowing . He knew he wouldn’t see another morning. “Did you work with the other traitor?”

“Eat shit,” he scoffed back, but the insult fell short with the hoarseness that emerged from his larynx. The light had already dimmed from his eyes; he was a living, breathing corpse. 

You turned away from the sickening crunch . 

“You alright?” Miguel’s voice was suddenly right next to you. How long had you been standing there thoughtlessly? You looked at his face, soaking in the planes in the noon light. And his eyes, his incarnadine eyes , that were painted the same hue as the blood staining your hands; your breath caught in your throat. 

How could you be assuaged of guilt when your only solace reminded you of your sins ?

“You’re injured,” he frowned, gazing at your arms. You looked down as well ( a warped reflection ) to see the man’s blood still tainting your sleeves.

“No, I’m-” your words became imprisoned in your voice box when you saw the deep gouges marring your forearms. When had those appeared? Strange. Curious , even. You opened your mouth to speak further, but the haze swimming in your mind prevented you from even forming coherent thoughts. 

“Hey,” two distinct pressures on your shoulders appeared suddenly. Were those Miguel’s hands? You couldn’t tell, not with your rapidly blurring vision. “Stay with me.”

The panicked note in his voice thrust you back into the past, where you had the exact same thoughts. 

“Stay with me,” he pleaded urgently. You could practically taste the desperation rolling off him in tangible waves. 

“I’m right here,” you coughed out, slightly confused. You could feel him, and he could feel you beneath his fingertips: warm body, soot-streaked clothes, blood-soaked hands, the hummingbird pulse of your heart. Why did he sound so worried? You were right there!

“Don’t leave,” his voice cracked, and he canted further into you. His hands slid beneath your arms and wrapped around you, probably to support you further. Why was he so close ? Your hands snaked around his neck dazedly. 

“What are you talking about?” 

Yet even as you asked, your eyes were already fighting to stay open. 

“No, no ,” you could feel his breath on your neck as he cradled you closer ; the gentleness was a harsh contrast to his earlier martial prowess. He was nothing but a blur in your vision, but you could feel the anguish in the sharp curl of his fingers against your back. “You can’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” you murmured. 

Let go . 

He breathed you in, pressing his face into your shoulder. The pull of the darkness at the edges of your vision ebbed and flowed like the tumultuous waves of a sea-storm. You wouldn’t leave. You wouldn’t . You fought to keep the umbrous swirls at bay, yet you felt like you were fighting the vast power of the very sea . 

Let go . 

Maybe you’d take a short nap. Just a short one, then you’d be right as rain. You’d be safe in his arms, right? 

You let go, feeling the cascade of tenebrous waves crash over you and seal your fate. Miguel’s hands stiffened around you, and just before you faded out, you distantly heard his panicked cursing. 

In the end, it was the gentle rocking of the familiar sea that greeted you from your slumber. The welcoming buoyancy felt all too comforting after the chaotic blur of the day. Hold on. Your eyes shot open, just to see an unfamiliar panelled ceiling that definitely wasn’t your bunk. 

“Good, you’re awake,” a mellow voice rang out in the ship cabin, one that you definitely did not recognise. Hastily, you turned your head; you felt the creak of the mattress beneath you and stiffened (seriously, where were you?). An unfamiliar woman was sitting at the bedside, with a smile that caused the deep brown skin of her cheeks to dimple. 

“Who?” you croaked out in question, feeling very much not Tip-Top. Her expression instantly switched to concern as you tried in vain to sit up. Her hand reached out, and on it you saw the same band carved with marks that Miguel wore. 

“I’m Jessica, one of Miguel’s colleagues and pod members,” she quickly explained, leaning forward to help you sit back against the extremely fluffy pillows. She smelled similar to Miguel: that specific, sea-breeze scent you’d come to associate with merfolk. Weakly, you smiled at her in thanks. 

“Where?” you mumbled hoarsely. Internally, you winced at how dry your throat was; Jessica seemed to read your mind as she handed you a glass of water from the pitcher at the side-table nearby. You slaked your thirst eagerly, looking around to take in the fine decor of the cabin. 

“You’re in the captain’s cabin of our ship,” she spoke slowly enough that you easily absorbed the information. Captain’s cabin? Ship? “While Miguel was out apprehending our culprit, we were tasked with finding and purchasing a vessel to suit our further needs.”

The daylight streaming in through the window gave rise to a multitude of other unpleasant feelings. Three days. Would your ship still be in port? Your eyes welled up with panicked tears. 

“How long was I out?” you rasped. Jessica seemed to notice the underlying question within your inquiry, for her eyes softened with pity. Has my ship left without me ?

“A full day, you were practically comatose.”

You closed your eyes in grief. Her omission was answer enough. Deep down, you knew your captain would’ve set sail no matter what; you’d foolishly hoped that you were the exception. No . This job wasn’t for the faint of heart. Silently, you allowed yourself a moment to mourn your previous job. Your ship . Your home . 

“I’m sorry.”

You hadn’t even realised tears were slipping down your face until her quiet acknowledgement reached your ears. Almost unconsciously, your hand reached up to wipe your face. It was free of any blood; you looked down to notice fresh clothes and bandages on your wounds, as well as the celestial disc nestled comfortingly on your sternum. 

“S’fine,” you mumbled out; both of you knew it was certainly not . “Captain’s nothing if not pragmatic.”

With a heavy heart, you cut your losses. You’d let the tears emerge and cascade later, when the quiet of the night forced you to acknowledge the sweeping tide of emotions that threatened to drown you. 

Fuck . Would you ever see that old bastard again? You felt an affectionate smile well up. 

“I’m sure you don’t want to talk about it with a stranger,” she readily confessed, smiling at you slightly. “Do you want me to get Miguel?” 

“Actually, I’d like to go to him,” you frowned. It was weird; why hadn’t he come to visit sooner? 

“You know, we could barely pry him from your bedside so the healer could do his job,” it was like she read your mind. “In the end, I was the one who volunteered to stay so he wouldn’t wear a hole in the floor from his pacing. It was a unanimous vote to banish him from your room while you slept.”

“Anyways,” she continued, assessing you with a critical eye. “As long as you feel well enough to walk, I can take you to see him.”

“Thanks,” you practically wilted in relief. 

“Lyla too, she’s been very eager to see you, though she’s currently testing out some tanks” she admitted. “She’s never been this invested in someone before. As Miguel’s familiar, she’s usually more reserved with the rest of us, though still friendly.”

“Well, I’d hope she likes me,” you let out a wheezy little laugh, but in reality your heart was absolutely getting ravaged by Lyla’s adorableness. “I am her Best Friend.”

She gave you a toothy smile. “As a familiar, she’s also subject to Miguel’s emotional influence; her trust of you reflects how much he values you as well.”  

Well. You didn’t quite know what to say to that. Instead, a comfortable silence settled over the two of you as you drank small sips from the cup of water. 

“Thanks for staying here with me,” you broke the simmering quiet. And you were grateful, to a woman who you didn’t know yet stayed with you regardless. 

“It’s no issue,” she waved you off, gesturing to a book resting on the nightstand that probably served as her entertainment when monitoring you. “After your help in Miguel’s mission, we couldn’t exactly ignore your sacrifices.”

Sacrifice . You mulled the word over, tasting it on the tip of your tongue with a quiet resignation you found utterly foreign. Yet, it had been a sacrifice, hadn’t it? Had you ignored Miguel’s plight, you’d be at home . Safe, familiar cabin: yours . 

Yet, had you ignored Miguel’s plight, you’d continue the monotonous cycle of longing for adventure but being too cowardly to grasp it within your two, calloused hands. The shroud of sacrifice covered what this moment really was: opportunity. This was the chance to make a new life for yourself, and sate your soul with what you needed . All your choices, all your struggles led to this moment; there was nothing that you could do about it, nothing that could rewind time and get you back into the graces of your old captain. 

Maybe one day, you’d cross paths with the captain once more. Maybe one day, you’d have the chance for reconciliation . The old captain had cared for you; you knew it in the very marrow of your bones. Fate had simply rolled these dice for you, and the only choice to make was to move forward. 

Freedom. As far as you knew, the ship you were currently on wasn’t moving; maybe it was still docked at the port-town. With every port-town, there would come ships needing new sailors. The golden ticket of freedom was yours for the picking. 

“I’m ready to see Miguel,” you set your jaw determinedly. Why had you said it like you were about to stumble to the executioner’s block? Jessica noticed your seriousness, and her eyes glimmered good-naturedly. 

“‘Course,” she got up and opened the cabin door for you, letting in the swirling breeze from the sea linger and dance around the quarters. The pads of your fingers dug into the embroidered, soft coverlet easily; it didn’t provide much support in getting up, but it was pretty to observe the kaleidoscope of colours patterned beneath the richly hued thread. Seriously, how rich were merfolk? 

Looking around, you once again took in the opalescent tapestries and trinkets warmly blanketing the surfaces inside the room. It was opulent, it was grand , and it was a tragedy to leave. Whoever decorated the room knew exactly what to do. Even the goddamn lanterns were artfully adorned with stained glass. 

You tore your gaze away. Best not to linger, lest you pleaded to stay there for the rest of your snivelling, miserable Pirate Life. 

The worn soles of your feet met a soft, exquisitely ornate rug, and you practically felt the proverbial drool greedily drip from your mouth. Fuck . It was extraordinarily difficult to pry your feet to make small, weary steps. 

“Those are for you,” Jessica pointed to a pair of boots sitting prettily near the edge of the cabin door. You sucked in a breath, noticing the delicate craftsmanship and regal charms practically dripping off the shoes. Heavens above . 

“Holy shit ,” you murmured, wide-eyed. A snort of amusement graced your ears at your wonderment as you slipped the soft, pliable material on your feet. They felt solid, practical , but were so utterly comfortable that you could fall asleep in them. 

“Miguel thought you might not want to rewear those bloodied boots, so they’re being cleaned currently,” she admitted. Your heart veritably melted at the consideration. 

“I could kiss him right now,” you commented off-handedly, adjusting the ties of the boots so they sat better. You didn’t realise you said it out loud until you heard the muffled laughter of Jessica behind her hand. 

“He’d appreciate that,” she said under her breath, looking at you appraisingly. “Point him along to courting gifts.”

“What?” 

“What?” she ushered you out of the door before you could ask about her muttering. The warm redolence of sunny air clung to the honeyed timbers of the ship deck; you couldn’t help but breathe it in euphorically. 

Through the railings, you spied the familiar port town. The sight brought you comfort, but you were honestly more captivated by the ship that swayed slightly beneath your experienced legs. 

It was a comfortably sized vessel; large enough to house a well-trained crew and heavy cargo, yet small enough to still feel homely . Ochre timber gleamed in the mid-morning light, drawing your eye in almost every direction. And it was organised , with the heavy artillery stowed away under covers, and the rigging tied off in knots that would put the most sea-hardened sailor to such shame that they’d never show their face again.

“He’s by the figurehead,” Jessica pointed far behind you, where the front of the ship was situated. “I’ll go find Lyla to tell her you’ve woken up.” 

The quiet thumping of her hesitant footprints against the wood slowly faded out ( guess she hasn’t found her sea legs yet - and gods above you cursed yourself for such a stupid joke). Whatever figurehead was there was concealed by the side of the absolute colossus of a forecastle deck, where Miguel most likely perched. You snorted at the image, though he did seem like the type of person to revel in having the high ground. 

What would you even say? Hey, I know I pretty much collapsed on you back there, sorry! Sorry you had to lug my limp body all the way back to ship! Your index finger trailed the edge of the smooth oaken rail in a futile effort to ground yourself. Ardently, you wished that the ship were larger so as to somehow buy more time before you reached the steps at the base of the forecastle deck. 

Inhale . You were midway across the ship when you spotted his silhouette peering intently at the horizon. Away from you, away from your burning gaze. Your eyes darted away before he felt that prickling sensation. Why did you suddenly feel so inflamed ? The organ beating away to provide blood to each nook and cranny of your body suddenly felt much too raw, much too overwhelming for you to focus on walking. 

Exhale . Surreptitiously, you snuck glances over to where the richly-dyed navy of his shirt fluttered in the wind. Even though there was still considerable distance between the two of you, the muscles of his forearms as they tensed were still clearly visible to you when he gripped the railing. Did he struggle with adjusting to the surface of the sea, or was his nervousness induced by you , just as he induced yours? (You hoped so. Gods above , you hoped so.)

All too quickly, you reached the base of the steps leading to the forecastle deck. 

Fuck . You held your breath as your soles met each step; they lacked the characteristic creak you were accustomed to, letting you ghost up the stairs with nary a sound. It was way too late to escape back to the comfort of the decadent cabin. Wasn’t it?

Your silent ascent went unnoticed by the figure in front of you. To you, he seemed to be lost in thought. Was it the tense set of his shoulders that gave him away? Or was it the wood that practically trembled under the harsh curl of his clawed fingers? Or perhaps it was his bowed head, gazing at the sea in a mien that could only really be described as mournful . 

The undercurrent of emotion crashing under all the turbulent worry was intrigue . He was intriguing to watch: a poised sculpture strung with mighty sinew, a tightly restrained character written with the tragic humour of a poet, and an enthralling painting that you couldn’t look away from. 

Just like that. Just like that , your mouth moved out of its own volition; it shattered the fragile artwork before you.

“ Miguel .”

( Of course . Of course his name was the first precious word that graced the tip of your tongue. It rested heavy on your tongue: a reflection of the heavy burden on your heart.)

And suddenly, you knew what it meant when the poets of old described truly knowing someone. Countless scrolls of papyrus beneath your mortal fingertips couldn’t have ever prepared you for the sheer, omniscient awareness that filled you; your very capillaries blazed alight with a fervour you’d never once experienced before this. 

(“ Know this: when a heart understands itself and another, this is the crux of connection .”)

You saw him fully: the delicate tension of his shoulders dissolving as he whirled round; the minute trembling of his fingers betraying his raw emotion , the worry he’d felt; and the parting of his mouth betraying words that would ultimately be left unspoken. But you knew . 

You understood the sheer magnitude of your feelings, even before he rushed forward and grasped you within his arms. Between you, you could feel the palpable emotion ebbing and flowing beneath his feverish skin. No longer could you distantly watch from afar. 

Could he feel the connection too? Could he feel the bridge linking your two souls together?

(“ Pray, disciple, that you experience love for your neighbour, for that is the strength of humanity.” )

Even as he let you go, the firm warmth of his hand around yours remained. Was it your pulse you felt, or his? With every exhale, you felt the harmony of his beating heart racing against yours. Ever so slightly in sync - the cacophonous pounding in your ears distracted you. You had to tear away from the all-encompassing feeling.

“You’re finally awake,” a touch of disbelief tainted the reverent tone of his voice.  Even with the distant cry of the gulls against the hushed backdrop of crashing waves, you heard his whisper as if it were a clamorous bell. 

“Yeah,” you affirmed. Lucidity drummed throughout your entire body, but words still failed you. “What’s going on?”

It seemed that you had hit the nail right on the head; his expression shifted to one of hesitance. 

“Well, we’re currently in search of a captain,” the darker circles under his eyes looked more pronounced as he stifled his yawn. He squinted, then turned to you contemplatively. Wait. Wait . What did that considering, sidelong glance mean?

“Uhh,” you replied intelligently. A sliver of hope wriggled its way into your destitute little heart. This grand vessel, within the reach of your fingertips, under your command. Opportunity . New life breathed itself into you. 

“You don’t have to decide right now, of course,” he quickly assured you, sensing your hesitation. “In fact, if you wanted, we could try catch up to your old vessel should you want to go back.”

You could almost taste it on your tongue. Yes, please . The plea was ultimately shoved down your throat. After indulging in the freedom of your new life, you wouldn’t go crawling back ( especially since there was a high possibility the captain would just move on anyway ). Besides, even if you went back, the grimy label of a deserter would cling to you everywhere you went - even though it hadn’t been your choice. 

No, this clean slate was perfect. 

“I’ll take it.”

Those three syllables weren’t flavoured with the notes of joy and self-serving glee like you’d half-expected to drip from your mouth; rather, the piquant taste of determination ( and more importantly, responsibility ) spiked across your tongue. It extended to the solemn set of your shoulders, the serious crook of your fingers, and the contemplation of your furrowed brow. 

Resolution . You would steer this crew to prosperity , until you were damn sure that your captain would’ve looked upon you with pride. 

“I hope your cabin’s to your liking then?” he inquired politely, though you saw the mischievous glint in his eyes. “I made sure it was decorated to suit you.”

“You knew I’d say yes?” you accused. His shoulders hunched and shook with slight laughter, causing the pressure on your hand to increase. But you couldn’t stay mad - in fact, whatever mock-exasperation that had washed up had already ebbed away. The theatrical scowl painted on your face cracked into a smile, like if an egg broke to reveal the sunny, bright yolk inside. “But yeah, I loved it.” 

“I’m glad.”

When had he moved closer? He looked much too suspiciously innocent for your liking.

“You’ll have the option of picking whichever sailors you want to bulk the crew at each port,” he murmured. In the hush of conversation, could he hear your heart pounding and crashing against your chest? “A lot of my organisation will make up the crew, though. Think you can handle training them?” 

“Yeah, ‘course, piece of cake,” you ignored the extensive lack of teaching experience shining bright in your resume. You’d deal with it later; his proximity was much too tempting to overlook.  

“I’m sure ,” he commented dryly, seemingly preoccupied with intently scrutinising your face. It was agonising ; the tangible pull within your stomach begged you to do anything to alleviate the heavy air that settled over the two of you like a dense fog. His gaze travelled downwards, to where his gift was nestled against your sternum. “I like your necklace.”

“Me too,” you agreed. Smooth . Real smooth . The distance between your face and his was only a mere handspan; so close you could count each eyelash if you tried. Those piercing, beautiful carmine eyes snapped back at yours, hazed over with the shadow of dilation. Fuck . You were hyper aware of him: the way he swallowed thickly, the way his lips parted to expose the shine of fangs, and the way his warm body practically caged you into the railing. 

“Fuck, I missed you,” he breathed. He lifted your joined hands so he could press yours against his cheek (it was warm , and had a touch of roughness). You couldn’t pull away; something about his touch was highly magnetic. Fuck it . Your other hand lifted from where it was absolutely gripping the railing behind you for dear life; practically out of its own volition, it moved to cup his other cheek tentatively. 

His eyes blew open further in shock. Beneath the careful pads of your fingers, his facial muscles tensed and relaxed with his opening and closing mouth. Dork ( affectionately ). A hummingbird-like, fluttering pulse brushed up against your palm. He’s nervous . Miguel , the absolute behemoth of flesh and sinew, the ruthless vigilante, was at your absolute mercy . Those dilated eyes were shadowed with brows that betrayed his tentative desire . Gods above - it was absolutely intoxicating to witness. 

“Can I?” 

Even without your hushed question, he was already leaning into your touch: a silent plea to continue whatever you started. Subsequently, his face hovered closer and closer , until you could feel his breath fanning on your face. Even without the question, the conviction in those eyes and the thrumming blood beneath his skin echoed a resounding yes . 

Closer.

Closer , until the distance between the two of you was infinitesimal, and you were practically drowning in the gold flecks peppering those sanguine irises. 

Who was it that made a move first? Was it him, snaking his hands and curling them into the fabric of your clothes? Or was it you, raking your hands through that impossibly soft hair, and pulling him towards you? In that moment, you decided you didn’t particularly care.

Fuck . Nose-to-nose now, and you could already taste the salt of his skin. There’s no going back now . From where you watched beneath your eyelashes, his eyes had already fluttered shut: a trusting gesture that made your heart melt . 

His lips ghosted tentatively over yours; it wasn’t nearly enough. More . Your hands tangled further into his hair to pull him into you, and he let out a muffled groan against your mouth at the harsh contact. As if on instinct, his sharp nails jerked inwards to further press you into his body. 

It was electrifying . 

When his lips parted, you easily deepened the kiss. Tilting your head to the side more, you allowed yourself to savour the taste of him on your tongue: a faint trace of cherries, and the bitter, metallic flavour of blood. Your blood, you realised with a start - the slight pain on your tongue was probably courtesy of those sharp fangs. If you were being honest, you didn’t care .

And it seemed Miguel didn’t either; he eagerly lapped up the coppery liquid with a groan that reverberated down your throat, low and deep . 

You moved back with a gasp to catch your breath, opening your eyes and dropping your hands from his hair. He looked so completely dazed : ruffled hair, bruised lips and blown out eyes, hazed over with a lascivious sheen. A fragile bridge of carmine-tinged saliva connected the two of you briefly, before breaking as quickly as it had formed. Yet, the image seemingly captivated the two of you; a clear reminder of what had just transpired. 

“Fuck, that was-” Miguel ran a tongue over his canines, effectively interrupting himself. He slid his hands upwards until they mirrored your previous position: his hands, tenderly cupping your face with the reverence of a devotee. 

This time, it was he who initiated it. The brush of his lips against yours was careful and slow, unlike the hurried previous attempt; it was like the two of you had all the time in the world, frozen in time with the crash of waves and cries of gulls surrounding you in a chorus of glorious , unadulterated freedom. 

There was nothing to focus on other than his slow, methodical movements; the melding of his body against yours captivated you, much like a musician’s hand lovingly wrapping around the dips of a violin. When his long nails brushed up against your racing pulse at your neck, a small gasp escaped you - though, it was easily swallowed up by his waiting mouth. 

It seemed that the slight noise spurned him to lower his inhibitions. His nails gently traced the skin of your neck in swirling patterns, while those sharp teeth sucked and marked your lips with bruising adornment. 

(“ When you find those you cherish, keep them close to your heart always, for they will be your home .”)

Those dusty old philosophers from the copied manuscripts could take a goddamn backseat in the abyssal recesses of your mind. With his tongue eagerly in your mouth, this was your corner of paradise, and you were damned if you’d share it with those creaky manuscripts. 

Fuck , you would’ve gladly forgone air if it meant staying like this for the rest of time; you practically whined when he pulled away to let you breathe. 

“Desperate?” he teased. You opened your mouth to deliver a no-doubt Scathing Retort, but shut it as soon as his mouth moved down again; yet, it met the skin of your neck instead of the plush of your lips. The train of thoughts was absolutely derailed with a crash of expletives that wiped your mind blank. 

You hissed as his teeth grazed that point where your blood threatened to burst out of your skin with how fast your pulse raced. It wasn’t hard enough to break through the skin, yet the purposeful half-bites he was leaving would definitely leave a reminder. 

“Fuck, aren’t these venemous?” you gasped out as his teeth trailed past the loose collar of your shirt, exploring the terrain of your clavicle. He let out a rather sinister chuckle that punctured to your very guts. You very sincerely prayed that they weren’t dripping with venom, even more so when his teeth sank past the skin barrier. The dull pain wasn’t accompanied by the rush of agony (like you half-expected) but traces of pleasure as his tongue soothed the throbbing ache at the juncture of your neck. 

“Not when I don’t want them to be,” the hushed words soaked into your neck, with the air causing you to shiver slightly. You felt him smile against your skin. 

“Bastard,” you muttered as he drew back to proudly survey his handiwork. “Making me scared shitless for nothing.” 

“Well,” he pressed his body inwards even more so his teasing words could brush up against the shell of your ear. “Consider us even for you scaring me shitless.”

“I’ll show you even ,” you threatened, though the composure of your words quickly slipped when you took in the wash of maroon painting the ochre of his skin in a beautiful flush. He looked at you: eyes half-lidded in a reverent harmony of adoration and desire, the thin sheen of spit glossing his lips, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest reaching a brilliant crescendo. Heavens, I want him .  

Your fingers easily found the rough thread of his linen collar and tugged his neck sharply towards you. It was a vulnerable, blank canvas for you to mark as you pleased. Beneath your hands, you felt his surprised intake of air reverberate out of his throat. And my , what a pretty throat it was! Your eyes skimmed over the tiny, almost translucent scarlet scales dotting that neck, before zeroing in on faint parallel lines running around it - almost like gills , though you were sure they were merely decorative when he was human. 

Target found. 

Before you could even think it over, your lips had already met the poor, unfortunate bullseye. Score . Miguel stiffened, and you would’ve pulled back (you swear!) - yet, the deep groan you felt through your lips rather than heard shook you out of your stupor. You knew he felt your grin against his throat; really, who was the desperate one now?

By now, you were sure his neck would soon blossom with pretty, bruised plum shades. He was breathing very heavily, and the deep satisfaction building in your stomach threatened to spill out. 

You pulled back with a crisp pop , surveying your masterpiece with a critical eye. Perfect . This silence, this heavy silence that settled, was broken by the two of you catching your breath (it was never silent with the cry of the gulls and waves whispering against the hull anyway, but you could feel the quiet).

“Well,” he said, quite hoarsely. And that was the extent of what you both could muster up in terms of words. Well, indeed . Had it not been for the sound of voices registering in your ears, you’re sure you would’ve stayed in that trance for quite some time. 

Shit . 

If you were correct, fast approaching was Jessica and Lyla, and you were still wrapped around-

“Human!” 

The exultant cry of Lyla, and the accompanying footsteps of Jessica, elicited within you a speed you hadn’t thought possible. Hastily, you disentangled yourself from Miguel (who was absolutely no help, sending an amused look your way instead of assisting you). You looked much too suspicious for someone having a casual conversation - was it the over-innocent posture, or the too-rough clothing? 

“Lyla!” 

A genuine smile washed over your face as she came into view, burbling away in a large, water-filled bucket Jessica held. You almost missed Jessica’s amused expression flickering at you when she set the bucket down so you could crouch and coo at Lyla, and you certainly didn’t miss the pointed expression she shot Miguel. “So, you guys caught up , huh.” 

Really, between the scrutinising tone, and the complete lack of a question mark in her statement - it made your throat go dry in embarrassment. 

“Yeah,” you managed to squeak up from your crouch, to where Jessica was currently trying very hard not to laugh. “I got promoted.”

“Ohmygosh, you accepted?” Lyla’s very enthusiastic repertoire of tumbles ended up splashing you with cold water; the cold droplets effectively quelled your white-hot skin.”You’re our captain?”

“ Aye ,” you affirmed - much too eager to change the subject. “I’ll be running ship from now.”

Maybe you stumbled over your words a bit, maybe you didn’t. But at the end of the day, it was of no consequence. Here, in the midday sun, surrounded by gentle waves lapping at the hull and the distant (read: teasing) chatter of your new crew, it didn’t truly matter. 

No, you’d move forward, just like always; though, this time you had significantly Better Company.

[amphiptere-art]

You know. The visual aesthetic of Blue Moon with a muzzle Is something I've always enjoyed. The look of a blue moon treated solely as an animal that needs to be contained it's something I, enjoy.

The only scenario though wear Blue Moon gets a muzzle though is the executioner scenario. Which I solemnly talk about due to the repetitive, nonchalant nature of it. Also due to the nature that Blue Moon is a single entity in the universe also makes it so it's hard to come up with other worlds. Also the fact that the story is not revealed due to the ask series being touched.

So we're going to do a scenario similar to Blue Moon but not Blue Moon. The origin is similar, but honestly follows the original storyline for red blue and black more so. The old one where it was not connected to tsams, and was more so an "eclipse in the arcade machine". Except fitted differently than red blue and black.

I still call this AU Desolate Hunger.

The character in this one I will call Ravenous. They are more so holy a creation of the computer. The world starts out the same as RBB, but Ravenous's creation is radically different. It's almost opposite. The computer created the base code for ravenous. making a similar mistake to moon. The big difference is that they found the dangerous AI to be all rightish. They worked on it a bit more before they worked on the nicer AI.

Moon then found out about the computer making these AIs. Taking them out of desperation to find out if they could help him. Merging them together to hopefully improve upon what the computer had started. This time when merged the aggressive AI takes more precedent. Their metallic hunger was immediate. Unfortunately the nicer AI's age also took more precedent. Meaning that ravenous is simultaneously younger plus having an uncontrollable hunger.

Moon is of course not right in the head due to the kill code. So having half his arm torn off was enough for him to do something drastic. He gave them a muzzle. Welding it to their face. Restraining ravenous up in their room. Ravenous's hunger is much more extreme. They have to eat their fill within the day. So the first couple times Moon was with them they kept powering off and turning back on even hungrier. Even with the muzzle on they still had their claws. So Moon was unable to touch them. And when the kill code took over. He stopped interacting entirely. The computer of course in this opposite interaction, simply deemed them as failures.

Ravenous lies there chained up in the room. Signs of their childlike age showing through only when the computer was the only one watching. The poor young ravenous crying and whining. Desperately wanting for anyone or anything happen. For their freedom. If anyone walked in tho the hunger would take precedent.

Earth's goals significantly change. She still hates sun and moon. But she wants to help ravenous. Watching through the cameras was enough for her to feel sorrowful. She does not wish to use them. Although she is willing to let them loose so they may rampage.

Ravenous is of course different looking to Blue Moon. They look more so like a total eclipse than Blue Moon's partial eclipse. Their colors are switched out to a more cold blue palette with black. A vibrant almost neon blood red takes over most of their decorative features. The ribbon tails are still sensitive. The difference is that they have a single really long ribbon. Tipped with a single triangle instead of the forked tongue. The ribbons on their arms also are different. Instead taking the form of rope gauntlets. Only small ripped looking strands resemble blue moons long ones. The comet pants switched out with almost a reverse of Black Stars. They also aren't as tall as Blue Moon. Still significantly huge. 12 ft. Having similar body make to Blue Moon too.

I have officially made a sad boy. Other than the empty cup sad boys. But this sad boy has blue moon issues. You guys have fun.

[stepswowdsen]

【KagePro】 KuroEne Doodle WIPs + Kuroha teases Ene (NSFW) 🖤💙

KuroEne WIP 🖤💙

Ok this one isn't NSFW but there are a few I did in the batch that is so watch out

Chose a more muted colour palette than I usually would

Did these yesterday!

Wanted to do a quick rough colour draft to get an idea for colours...

I'm not sure when I'll get to refine this (clean up the sketch) but it's one of my fave drawings I've done so I wanted to add quick colours on it

Picked a muted colour palette for Kuroha and a more vibrant colour palette for Ene so I think I need to coordinate the colours later

First one's the OG

I'll probably do both a muted + saturated colours version

I'd have to mute the colours on Ene for a muted version

(+) Slight hue shift on Ene

KuroEne doodle version where I brightened the colours on Kuroha

I actually got to record me doing the rough colour drafts for this one, I just haven't edited it yet. I'll be posting the Speedpaint sometime soon?

(CW: NSFW)

Kuroha teases Ene with a forked snake tongue.

Heehee ty everyone! 🥰

KuroEne Doodle (NSFW)

KuroEne doodle. Evil snake bf and smol bunny 🖤 💙 🐍 🐇

After my gardening class ended, I started thinking of how Kuroha/Saeru, while possessing Konoha's body, could use Konoha's Eye Ability, Awakening Eyes to change his body to whatever he wants and… yeah.

The evil snake bf changes his body so that he gets a long forked tongue, fitting of a snake

The Ene is based on this 😂 Did it in like 5 minutes and I started laughing to myself

Kuroha is usually referred to as "No. XX" in merch (while Konoha is No. 9, and Ene is No. 6)

No. XX feels like teasing his gf who has twintails that looks like bunny ears!!! 🐇

Also as said before, "XXX" sounds like an innuendo

Btw I drew this lil doodle because I wanted to do a comic based on my previous ideas

Drew this yesterday night~

I didn't get the chance to draw the whole thing, but here you go.

I imagined a comic idea in my head where Kuroha uses Awakening Eyes to change his tongue into a longer forked snake's tongue and teases Ene with it

Long Version:

Posted about it here!

Short Version:

THE ENE IS SO FUNNY TO ME WHDSHHSDH LIKE IT FITS HER PERFECTLY

Her twintails do look like bunny ears...

KuroEne Rough Colour Draft Tests

OG

(+) Hue shift on Ene

(+) Red Hue shift on Kuroha

(+) Gradient map that increases saturation of the skin and darkens the colours slightly

(+) Brightened colours on Kuroha

(+) Brightened colours on Kuroha

(+) Red hue shift on Kuroha

I got to test these today!

(+) Red hue shift on Kuroha

(+) Light purple (Multiply Layer Mode) @ 40% Opacity that darkens the colours a bit on KuroEne

(+) Red hue shift on Kuroha

(+) Brighter colours

(+) OG but with slight red hue shift on Kuroha

I've been having fun playing around with colours, seeing which layers to turn off and such.

I've been playing around with Gradient Maps and Hue shifts and slightly different colours

The purple/red toned Kuroha one is also really nice cuz it has nice visual contrast against all the cool colours (blues) in Ene's design

Red vs. blue contrast <3

Plus, it fits Kuroha to be tinted with red...

Outer Science MV

Considering the shots in the Outer Science MV that's tinted in red and he smears the Mekakushi Dan members' blood over his face

It's so neat that Sidu chooses the shot to be red with black for visual aesthetics

[alphynix]

Retro vs Modern #07: Mosasaurus hoffmannii

The first scientifically documented mosasaur fossils were skulls discovered in the Netherlands during the 1760s and 1770s, but these remains were initially interpreted as belonging to a fish, crocodile, or whale. In the late 1790s their resemblance to monitor lizards was noted, and the fossils were soon recognized as belonging to giant marine reptiles unlike any known living species – a revolutionary concept at the time, and influential in the early development of ideas about extinction.

In the 1820s Mosasaurus hoffmannii was the first species officially described. For several decades it was thought to be a giant amphibious lizard with either webbed feet or flipper-like legs, with one of the earliest popular reconstructions being the 1850s Crystal Palace statue.

By the 1870s more complete fossil discoveries in North America had revealed the paddle-like flippers and fully aquatic nature of mosasaurs. Skin impressions showed overlapping keeled diamond-shaped scales resembling those of rattlesnakes, but proportionally much smaller compared to their body size.

1890s

Then, in the late 1890s, one mosasaur specimen was interpreted as having a mane-like "fringe" of soft tissue along its back.

Only a few years later this was realized to be a mistake, actually being preserved tracheal cartilage, but it was too late. The idea had already caught on in artistic depictions and quickly became a paleoart meme, with mosasaurs frequently portrayed with elaborate frills for the majority of the next century.

2020s

Early arguments about whether mosasaurs’ closest relatives were monitor lizards or snakes had settled down by the 1920s, with the consensus at the time being monitor lizards, and the first half of the 20th century saw little mosasaur research beyond the naming of a few new species. Much like the ichthyosaurs and plesiosaurs it was only really in the wake of the Dinosaur Renaissance that interest in these marine reptiles and their paleobiology really began to pick up again.

Rather than sea-serpent-like creatures we now recognize that mosasaurs actually looked more like lizards converging on whales or ichthyosaurs, with smooth streamlined bodies and vertical tail flukes. The size and shape of their scales varied across different parts of their bodies, parts of their bodies had dark coloration (likely with a countershaded pattern), and they probably had forked tongues.

They had a higher metabolic rate than most modern lizards, and may even have been warm-blooded. They probably also gave birth to live young, although a recently-discovered fossil soft-shelled egg found in Antarctica has been suggested to have come from a large mosasaur.

The debate about their evolutionary relationships has been reignited, too, with some recent studies once again supporting a very close relationship to snakes – although there's currently no clear consensus.

Our modern view of Mosasaurus hoffmannii is a large chunky mosasaur that grew to at least 11m long (~36'). It lived during the end of the Cretaceous period, about 70-66 million years ago, and inhabited a wide range of climates across much of the ancient Atlantic Ocean and various connected shallow seaways, with fossils known from Europe, Africa, and North and South America.

Its long jaws had a powerful bite force and it seems to have been a more visual hunter than some other mosasaurs, with relatively large eyes and a less well-developed sense of smell. It was one of the largest marine animals of its time and was probably a generalist apex predator, feeding on a wide variety of prey such as fish, ammonites, and other marine reptiles.

———

Nix Illustration | Tumblr | Twitter | Patreon

[zukuist]

appeal

“y/n decides to make an impromptu cupcake for the class’ angry boy. thing is, they’re bad at making food appeal to the eye. then comes in the said angry boy and.. yeah”

fandom/s: 僕のヘロアカデミア // boku no hero academia (bnha)

includes: k. bakugō (x reader)

your name is shortened to y/n, gender neutral, lowercases intended

note: so like.. it was his birthday yesterday and omg i completely missed it because of school >:( anyways, have this thing i whipped up. also there’s no editing soskdw sorry if this is bad

—

out of the many things you have done so far, this wasn’t definitely not the smartest.

sure, your inner conscience tells you that this would be considerate, and it would’ve been a.. kind gesture towards the upcoming birthday boy.

which is why, you managed to sneak out of your dorm past curfew, a few cooking ingredients that you bought 2 days ago in your arms, as you quietly trot downstairs, and into the kitchen.

you had an internal fight with yourself on why this would be a magnificent idea in the first place. the said upcoming birthday boy being bakugō katsuki, the class’ most feared, and definitely the one with the lowest amount of tolerance with sugary sweets.

so, why did you decide on making him a cupcake?

it’s logical. first, making a small piece of chocolate would be too small for a birthday gift, and he’d probably cackle at your face, if he saw that a piece of chocolate was his birthday gift

not saying that he wouldn’t laugh at you if you didn’t give him a piece of chocolate. the blond would still ridicule you regardless.

and second of all, bakugō despises cake. if he was presented with a large cake on his birthday, he’d probably pay no mind to the time taken to make it, and stomp on it heartlessly.

plus, the class all decided to make him a cake behind his back, so.. why would he need two?

and third of all, you.. have feelings for him. you’ve never actually said it out loud, it just simply haunted your mind for the past several months. you banged your head against your table when you realized that you’ve developed feelings for him.

him, out of all people.

you wouldn’t say that you’re.. nice to him. you have a comeback every time he throws an insult at you, and you take some time out of your day to beat his ass (which is 50/50 when it comes to results)

for once, you decided that you wanted to do something nice. after all, you don’t recall him being necessarily ‘mean’ to you on your birthday

and in bakugō terms, that just meant that he didn’t insult you for an entire day, and instead, ignored you. which you weren’t sure if that was any better.

you’ve thought of things like writing him a letter, buying him spice packets for food and.. getting him whatever he asked for?

you’ll settle with baking a cupcake. you don’t feel like being ordered around right now

it wouldn’t hurt to try, right? you just have to hope that the oven wouldn’t ‘ding’ too loudly, and you just have to rely on your luck that aizawa-sensei wouldn’t walk into the kitchen and see you make a chocolate-vanilla butter cream cupcake.

luckily, the oven doesn’t ‘ding’ loudly, you can thank yaoyorozu for making a quiet oven, just because of mina and kaminari’s late night cooking antics. you pull out the cupcake from the oven with mittens, and you’re just left.. staring.

“that.. can’t look right.” you quirk your head in confusion, “i followed everything in this recipe. why does it look like that?”

the cupcake looked nothing like what you’ve imagined. you had all the ingredients, read through the entire recipe, and you did everything correctly.

however, the cupcake was separated, split down the middle with what looked like.. bubbles? it looked disfigured, and definitely something that was incredibly inedible.

bakugō would never eat this. he would think that you poisoned it!

you hear foot steps echo through the hallway that would connect to the common room, and you panic. just.. panic. you quickly shuffle to disregard the cupcake liners, the chocolate mix, and most especially the sorry excuse of that cupcake.

a voice that’s familiar, well known, and one that strikes humiliation into you fills your ears “oi, which extra is baking in the middle of th—”

scarlet eyes settle on you, and you feel like a deer caught in headlights. you can’t help but notice the mop of disheveled ash blond hair, lacking it’s usual spikiness.

which you would’ve teased him about but.. not with what you’re caught with. the situation can’t be turned onto him.

you’re expecting him to just turn around and walk away, tsking in annoyance, but you don’t hear the echo of his foot steps “what the hell are you doing?” he questions you, straight on

you look down on the cupcake, well.. ‘cupcake’ you’ve just made, and you lift your head at him once again. “happy.. birthday?” you greet, “i was making a cupcake.”

he ignores the fact that it is his birthday. “it’s midnight.”

“i’m aware, bakugō.”

“aizawa’s going to beat your ass when he finds out that you’re— no but, what the fuck is that?”

it dawns onto you that he has seen your sorry excuse of a cupcake. your cupcake for the most part is.. put together? besides the messy frosting planted on top of the cupcake, there’s a tiny patch of unbaked cupcake batter, which is a sore to look at (and not in the good way.)

you’d say it looks like a bland batch of casserole but heck, even bland casserole looks better than this

“a cupcake..?”

“ugh. why didn’t you just get some from the fuckin’ convenient store?” he interrogates you for some reason, and it seems to be that the sleepiness from his eyes washed away.

“you’re acting as if you’ve never had a bad batch of food in your entire life!” you half yell, half shout, surprisingly still aware that if you were to raise your voice by an octave, aizawa-sensei would’ve definitely heard it.

“i haven’t. i’m just a fuckin’ natural at cooking.” he rolls his eyes in annoyance, but you’re just annoyed that he’s bragging.

and the fact that you had no source of food rebuttal, and the fact that there’s not a single case of imperfection in bakugō’s cooking record.

“look,” you sigh, looking at the failed cupcake. “you weren’t supposed to see this, at all. i was going to trash this and go to bed.”

“and?? i don’t see any deathly important appeal to a cupcake.” he stares down, observing how the icing was almost about to drip onto the clean counters.

“yeah, but it was a cupcake i made for your birthday!”

aaand that was it. that was totally it. you should’ve kept your mouth shut, and you should’ve just threw the entire thing in the trashcan, and sprint past bakugō, hoping that bakugō would think that he was having some sort of freakish nightmare.

he doesn’t say anything, and you can’t find it in yourself to look at him, even though you normally didn’t have an issue with that. you can hear him navigate through the dim kitchen, and you can feel him observe your ‘cupcake.’

“there’s no visual appeal whatsoever.” his voice is low, eyes averting to the ingredients on the kitchen island, meaning that he acknowledged that the ingredients used weren’t necessarily.. incorrect.

“yeah, figures,” you grumble, ready for another insult to be slammed into your face, and the salt to be rubbed merciless against the wound that was on your ego

but, it never came. “but, i suppose i could try it.”

“you can’t be serious.” you look at him, startled by the sudden suggestion, “don’t food poison yourself.”

“it’s my birthday, i can do whatever the hell i want.” he glares at you, ruby eyes zeroing in on you, and the cupcake.

“oh, well..” there was no way you were going to contradict him. you make a cupcake for his tasting only, so you’d guess that it was right of him to want to taste it, even if it did look horrendous in visual appeal

you shuffle around for a fork in dim lighting, and he stops you, “if aizawa sees a fork in the sink, he’s going to chomp your head off.”

right.. aizawa-sensei would definitely punish someone over an unwashed fork. “so, you want to eat this with your hands? that’s unlike you.”

“i have better ideas,” and before you could question what those said ideas even are, a piece of cupcake is shoved into your mouth, icing smeared all over the side of your mouth, as bakugō smashed his lips against yours

you stumble in surprise, and bakugō’s movements are agile, quick to press you against the kitchen counter swiftly, warm hands are firm against your sides, and his tongue eagerly collects the sweetness of the icing that was shoved into your mouth, his lips moving alongside yours with an inconsistency

but nonetheless, it’s exhilarating.

when he finally pulls back, you’re left with wide eyes, questioning what the hell just occurred, and why bakugō katsuki just decided to shove a piece of your cupcake into your mouth, and take it with his mouth

“the visual appeal isn’t the worst thing, and the taste isn’t bad.” he comments, “oh, and the cupcake lacks visual appeal.”

your cheeks flush with heat at the implication.

“thanks for the birthday gift.” he smirks with satisfaction, and before you could yell at him, he’s gone.

and then, your legs give in, and you fall down onto the floor, utterly stupefied

—

bonus :

“y/n! are you going to join us?” midoriya asks, obviously referring to bakugō being surrounded by all of your classmates, and being forced down into blow the cake’s candles.

“uh.. in a bit.” you smile with reassurance. midoriya seems to doubt you for a second, but he’s dragged away before he could ask for a follow up question.

you couldn’t stop thinking about what happened just a few hours ago. and what was painful was that he was totally smug about it!

on the outside, he looked well.. himself? but whenever no one was looking, he’d throw that.. look on you!

curse him.

bakugō finished blowing out the candles, after many protests, and when everyone is left to chatter to themselves, sero takes the initiative to ask the question first, “uh.. is y/n okay? they seem.. quiet.”

bakugō glances over onto you, and you tense, just knowing that he’s looking at you. “don’t be worried about that dumbass. they’re all shy about something.”

while kaminari and kirishima perk up at the word ‘shy’ in excitement, and they bombard him with inquires. bakugō eyes shift onto you once again, secretly thrilled just thinking about when would be the next time he’ll be alone with you again.

just so he can scold, and most especially tease you about visual appeal

—

©️ zukuist 2021, bnha|mha belongs to horikoshi kohei. do not steal ❕

[mxnrly]

advocate, im changkyun

angst, fluff ending !

I inspired this in way too many things, but mostly in my career. Being a psychologist in progress makes me so excited but also scared of not being able to seek for help as I am the one who should be helping. Also, I got inspired on the MBTI type, INFJ or, advocates and! this song from sleeping at last. 

It’s my comeback after a long time without posting so, I hope y’all like this!!

wc: 1.6k

⠀

“Let me be your healer. Only yours. Because you give your life for the others but you always put yourself last. So here I am, putting you first so you can have someone to take care of you too…”

Your mom always told you about how your priorities were upside down, because you always liked to take care of others before taking care of yourself, and your life motto was even “love yourself first”! but it was funny how you didn't apply that on yourself. 

But that's just who you were! Always shoving your heart for others to help their hearts beat. Always taking away the oxygen straight from your chest to help others breathe. Because that's who you were. 

An advocate. Someone who always liked to take care of others, no matter how deep in thoughts you were, no matter how tired you were… 

Taking a deep breath, once again, you were tired of it all, but you knew if he came right at you for advice, you would be there for him. Because that's what you do. Because that's what you are. 

An advocate. 

Pushing the door open, you took off your shoes, noticing the smell of food. It was the middle of winter, so the heat irradiated from the kitchen made you almost feel like crying. Holding the lump on your throat, you walked carefully to the kitchen, watching the back of your loved one. He had a white shirt, folded from his sleeves up on his elbows, he was wearing the black pants of work and his black socks matched. His hair was brushed back his forehead, and, although you couldn't take a look at his face, you know he was furrowing his brows and slightly biting his tongue outside his mouth. The clear representation of concentration. 

Flashing a smile, you took a step closer, knocking on the little table inside the kitchen making him jump a little. He was wearing a deep blue apron and, now looking at you, you could appreciate his beauty under the yellow lights of the kitchen. 

“Welcome home, love!”

His enthusiastic tone made your heart swell. Waving lightly, you caught his shining eyes, while he started serving the food. Cleaning his hands with a cloth, he took off his apron and hung it beside the fridge. 

You knew, outside the house, you were the psychoanalyst, but inside of it, he was the real mvp. With just one look, he could tell your emotions, just like now. 

After turning off the stove, he turned back at you and opened his arms, making his way towards you. His face was mixed with emotions, but the most evident ones were concerning and love. You knew how much he loved you, after years of marriage he had shown it to you in the most beautiful ways. Your favorite way? His attention. 

At work, you needed to pay attention to a bunch of people, making them feel better with what you wanted the most. But that's how you were. And you loved your job, even if sometimes it became too much, you were willing to give everything for the people at your consulting room. 

His arms engulfed you in a warm and loving hug. Your arms found their way to his waist, hugging him tightly as if he was going to disappear if you didn't hold him correctly. 

“Sweetheart, you look a little tired. When did you last eat?” The sweet, slow and deep voice of your husband rang into your ears. Holding a sigh, you just hug him tighter, denying the tears that threatened on coming outside its place. 

“Tell me, is something wrong? If something’s wrong you can count on me.” Once again, his voice broke the silence making your knees quiver. You were so weak, oh so weak. But you weren't supposed to say it. You weren't supposed to be feeling weakness. You needed to be strong. 

You… Must be strong. 

Taking in your silence, his right hand found its way on the back of your head and started rubbing your hair, swinging you left and right slowly, humming lowly. 

He knew how hard you were sometimes to yourself. Considering your job required you to be focused on different storylines across the day. You were drained. 

“It's okay if you can't find the words, I'll take your coat and this weight off of your shoulders.” His hands started taking off your long brown coat, sliding past your arms, showing your grey turtleneck shirt. 

Finding his way to the bedroom, he hung the coat on the closet. Going back to where you were, he hugged you one more time. You could take in the scent of his deep perfume. Roses, but not fresh roses, something more like, musky roses. It had a wooden scent, manly, he smelt like home. 

After a couple of minutes more, you both sat at the table. Taking in the visuals of the food, you couldn't help but feel blessed to have such a person as your soulmate. 

Holding the fork and digging into the pasta, he waited for your reaction. After the first bite, your brows shot up and a smile adorned your face. 

“It's amazing, Kyun!”

He smiled, feeling like the best cook in the world. Both of you started eating your meals, glancing at each other every once in a while. You used to have a little chat while eating, but the food was too good you couldn't help but stuff your mouth with more food every time you swallowed the current bite you had. 

When you were done and you saw he was done too, he took a sip of his red wine and looked at you. “Tell me, how was work?” He wanted to know. More than anything. He wanted to help get rid of the things that were bothering you. 

Taking in a big sigh, you pressed your lips before denying with your head. “It was good, tell me about you, could you find the solution to the problem you told me about?”

Tilting his head, he looked right into your eyes sighing deeply. “Baby, I don't want to talk about myself.” His tone was serious, reaching for your hand resting on the table, he gazed with his thumb at the back of your hand. His skin was warm, showing love with just a single touch. “Tell me where it hurts. Please.”

You knew you were caught. Since the moment he first took a look at you, he knew what you were feeling. He knew. He always knew. 

“I don't even know where to start,” making your head rest on the back of the chair, you looked at the ceiling avoiding his eyes. “already tired of trying to recall when it all fell apart, I guess…”

His eyes traveled to your hand, where the engagement ring laid, and under it, was the marriage ring. Without wanting to say anything, and instead, trying to give you time to think on your next words, and you were forever thankful for his patience. 

There was it, silence again between the both of you. The heartbeat was thumbing hard and strong in your ribcage. The tears were threatening to spill again. Trying to contain the emotions, blinking repeatedly looking everywhere but your husband. 

“I just want to love you well,” You said between a broken sob. Your voice was already affected and you couldn't help but keep going, because in the end, he had seen you in this state more times than you'd like to admit. “I just want to learn how, somehow, to be loved myself…”

With a rapid pace of breathing, your chest was violently going up and down, but no sound came from your mouth. Across time, learning how to swallow the pain, the emotions down her stomach, and the noise that came with such events, became a speciality you had. And you didn't know whether to feel proud or concerned. 

“Like a tidal wave, I'll make a mess,” His voice spoke above the war in your head. Your mind was a mess, a mix of threads with no beginning or end that only caused more damage than good. Your right hand covered the one he was using to cover your left. “or calm the waters, if that serves you best.” Continuing, he reached with his free hand for your face, cleaning the tears with his fingers. 

Watching his face, the adoration in his eyes everytime he looked at you, only made your chest become more tight and ready to explode. You loved him. With all your soul.

He was your advocate. 

Getting up his seat, he held your hand making you mimic his actions. Face to face, he cleared the rest of the tears, and closed the distance, kissing the frustration and anxiety out of your system.

He knew, oh God, he did know how you functioned. How the emotions that sometimes drowned you, could take the best or worst out of you. 

The warm touch of his lips made your head spin once, twice, thrice, until you were intoxicated by his love. And then, there wasn't silence anymore, there wasn't pain. There wasn't… Evil. Nothing could hurt you now. 

A sweet melody embraced your bodies, making you feel like floating. Maybe when you both would take a breath, and your breathing becomes erratic, everything would go back to what it was, but it didn't matter anymore. Because you had him. 

“And what a privilege it is to love you,” his forehead bumped into yours lovingly. A smile spread on his lips making you smile even wider. “ it's a great honor to hold you up…”

[sk1fanfiction]

the many faces of tom riddle, part 5

 - more myth than man... or not? the mortality of tom riddle and the anatomy of a villain-

That leaves us with Ralph Fiennes’ portrayal of adult Tom Riddle/Lord Voldemort in movies 4-8.

I generally find adult Tom Riddle disappointing, even in the books, in terms of character depth. Instead of delving into his motivations and the inner psychology of a villain, we get... slight body horror? And in the movies, it’s even more egregious. 

If a story is as good as its villain, adult Tom Riddle is a bit of a let-down, especially on-screen.

“I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost . . . but still, I was alive.”

Perhaps the very first time I watched it, I found this scary, but I must confess that nowadays, Voldemort’s resurrection is more funny to me than anything else. The forked tongue and the nose slits, yes, are supposed to allude to Tom Riddle’s loss of humanity, but I don’t think it...worked out that way in practice.

I know that’s how it is in the books, but ugly equals evil (and vice versa) is a tired trope. not only that, but under the CGI, Lord Voldemort is so difficult to relate to, so inhuman, that it’s hard to (1) see his true depravity (2) connect with him emotionally (3) at least for me, not laugh at him flapping around the graveyard in GOF like an oversized crow. 

Now, the reason I’m going on about this is not (just) me being petty. Lord Voldemort is the Boggart for most of the characters in the HP universe, meaning their greatest fear is Lord Voldemort. He represents Fear; as such, he should be utterly terrifying. Now, I don’t mean horrifying in that sense, but Voldemort’s grand entrance should at least feel somewhat unsettling, have some sort of a Gothic atmosphere...

"But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron."

Visually, this looks great. But it’s not scary. And I’m not a purist by any means, but the words are scarier than the book. Darkness induces fear. 

“The lack of any kind of visual stimuli increases anxiety, uncertainty, and tension.”

So, having Voldemort’s pale body materialize isn’t as scary as it could be.

Furthermore, I think Fiennes’ overexaggerated expressions would actually come across as properly horrifying/threatening rather than funny if they just left his face alone. Yes, Fiennes does manage to emote the fear and the anger through the CGI, but it’s like he’s too alien to be scary, at least to me. The amount of memes with Voldemort suggest I’m not the only one this way inclined.

I think there’s probably a problem going on with the uncanny valley. (Images from the Mori essay linked).

[When things are still]

[Creepy things are creepier when moving]

Now, I assume Voldemort is meant to be zombie-creepy, or at least that how Harry describes him in the books.

"The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry...and Harry stared back into the face that had haunted his nightmares for three years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's but with slits for nostrils...."

Now, we can’t get Harry’s experience of being haunted by Voldemort in his dreams, because what I think makes Voldemort’s countenance so truly frightening to the other characters isn’t his snake-like nose or his red eyes, but the potential. Voldemort is, in essence, the Grim Reaper. You are at his mercy, and you’re probably going to be dead. 

“This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.“

And yes, Voldemort can be quite funny and witty, but..

“I will allow you to perform an essential task for me, one that many of my followers will give their right hands to perform.” (To Peter Pettigrew)

...it’s still incredibly dark, sadistic humour. Whereas the teenage Tom Riddle we’ve been discussing has just barely dipped his toes into evil, Voldemort is, well... swimming in it. At this point, he think he undeniably enjoys causing pain.

And much of what makes Voldemort scary is subtle. 

For example, what I personally consider haunting is the fact that he’s got a cave full of Inferi. A cave full of reanimated dead bodies. 

Either he dug them up, which is unlikely... or perhaps, a twenty-seven-or-so-year-old Tom Riddle would lie in wait like a bird of prey, very quietly and patiently, perhaps reading a book, waiting for an unsuspecting Muggle to wander past. Maybe killing is a game to him at this point, when it’s not so personal as killing Harry Potter. Maybe it’s a whispered Avada Kedavra, and then he carries the dead body away to his cave. Maybe he Imperiuses them to walk off the cliff. Maybe he tortures them first.

Shudder.

And I don’t think you can show that kind of horror through any CGI or make-up, so...

You know what is terrifying? Revolting? True crime; real-life people who do unspeakably horrible things. And I think a lot was missed out on, in stripping Tom Riddle physically of his humanity. Yes, Riddle is a monster...

But, as we’ve seen, he’s a human monster, not some eldritch horror from the seventh level of hell or something.

I just think it would be interesting to have this perfectly normal-looking human do all the horrific things Voldemort does. I want to see that sick joy in a human face and feel disgusted. I want to see fear make his bottom lip tremble, and feel a misplaced sense of empathy. (Think President Snow from the Hunger Games -- now, that’s a sick, twisted villain who we can relate to as a human being, but still love to hate -- or what about The Joker?).

And out of everything they chose to CGI, why on earth did they not make his eyes scarlet? That might have made him look at least somewhat menacing, rather than a failed lab experiment.

(Don’t even get me started on his and Bellatrix’s death scenes in the movies-)

Here’s President Snow. He’s got a cute little granddaughter, he sends kiddies to kill each other Battle Royale-style every year, and he poisons all his political opponents. He’s also a master manipulator and has a penchant for white roses. They cover up the smell of the sores in his mouth from eating the poison too, to conceal his treachery.

Heath Ledger as the Joker in Dark Knight (2008), who is, according to NYT (which I totally agree with), the best Joker. Now this is a villain done right, with many Voldemort-like traits. On a scale of one-to-ten, he’s absolutely terrifying. Why? He’s (unlike Voldemort in the movies) incredibly intelligent, shows young-Tom-Riddle-like skills for charm and manipulation, plays with humans like they’re his own personal psychology experiment (and to hell with the Institutional Review Board), and has one, single, very clear goal -- chaos. Like Voldemort, he wears an inhuman mask that’s not horrifying in its own right; but unlike Voldemort, the human is all there -- terrifying, real, and with a bottomless, obsessive desire to destroy. His disordered thinking is all out there for the audience to see. The Joker’s motivation is to enjoy himself; whereas Voldemort seems to lack drive. Why does he want to take over the world -- who knows, with Voldemort? The Joker wants to see it burn.

Let’s try to do the same with Lord Voldemort:

[SLIGHT FLASH WARNING]

I had to go with this because Voldemort isn’t legitimately terrifying in many scenes. And yes, this unrefined anger somewhat speaks to Tom’s immaturity

By this point, seventy-one year old Tom Riddle is a hollowed-out shell of a human being. After decades of building his power, he was defeated by a one-year-old, and ended up slumming it as a spirit for a decade, got defeated again, was a shrivelled-up baby for a year, then finally got his body back.

He’s angry, okay! And Fiennes does a great job of portraying the sheer, destructive, unbridled rage of this character.

The body language. again, since his face is inhuman, this is super important. and Fiennes’ body language is great. Voldemort/Riddle commits to his actions. He is very emotionally-driven.

But yet, he doesn’t feel capable, in the way that the Joker or President Snow do. Yeah, we know anecdotally that he’s incredibly evil, sadistic, and second only to Dumbledore in terms of power, but he loses to a baby, and then that same baby as a teenager. So, we really could have done with seeing Voldemort’s power, cruelty, and evil firsthand a lot more often.

Voldemort is not well-characterized. I don’t understand his motives, and the ones that I do understand are not compelling.

Not to die? Well, he’s already made several Horcruxes. Why not sit back and relax? Why start a war and risk himself?

JKR said that Voldemort’s great desire was to become all-powerful and eternal. But that’s... boring! It does little to tell us about Voldemort, other than that he’s a villain and a wannabe dictator. 

Furthermore, the charm, manipulation, and cunning that are hallmarks of younger Tom Riddle’s personality are gone.

Is Voldemort (to return to Jungian terms) all shadow? An empty creature of simple creation and destruction, perhaps? We’ll discuss this further down...

And this isn’t a problem of having a fantastical world with magic and the like. Grindelwald’s quiet, self-possessed, almost coy “So you think you can hold me?” was infinitely scarier than anything that has ever come out of Voldemort’s mouth. It was chilling. 

OOTP is my favorite book, and the Ministry sequence is one of my favourite in the films. 

This scene where he psyches out Harry, talking so quietly that he could just be a little voice inside his head (and again, during the possession scene)? Absolute perfection. 

Why? Because this showcases what’s truly scary about him. Voldemort can get into your head. He can make you do things. And perhaps, if we had seen that more often, we’d understand how scary he is.

I wish this had been his grand entrance, and not whatever that scene in GOF was. Somehow, him screeching “I WANT TO SEE THE LIGHT LEAVE YOUR EYES!” is not menacing. At all. 

But, I can’t help but think how much greater the emotional affect would be if he had more human features (think the burned-and-blurred, waxy features from Dumbledore’s memory). 

Just imagine these scenes if Voldemort looked human, and spoke as quietly as he did in this one.

Because of the reason that I have little to go on in terms of characterization that I haven’t already covered, we’ll discuss the myth and legend of Lord Voldemort.

I can’t decide if the statue in the films is supposed to be the Angel of Death or the Grim Reaper. He has a skeleton and carries a scythe, but he also has wings. There are so many different interpretations, attitudes towards, and personifications of Death across the world that I don’t want to draw any one conclusion. But I must wonder if Lord Voldemort, with his yew-and-phoenix wand (which carries heavy symbolism of immortality and rebirth) and almost deified figure is meant to be a personification of Death himself? His name, Lord Voldemort, is a shade close to Lord Death.

For years, it has stumped me that wizards and witches are afraid to utter Voldemort’s name, especially since we only see the Taboo in the middle of the last book. It didn’t make sense just based on fear; in the real world, we don’t circumvent Hitler’s name, for example.

Perhaps this may have been obvious to others, but it wasn’t to me.

Here’s a counterargument to myself; why Voldemort shouldn’t look human.

Voldemort, in the Wizarding World, is seen as a literal deity.

I promised to attempt to answer this question in Part 3: 

And so, I can’t help but wonder if the opposite is true… if Tom Riddle creates Horcruxes, would that grant him additional magic powers?

In Part 3, I likened Tom Riddle to a sorcerer in Russian folklore, Koschei the Deathless, also famous for sequestering his soul in objects. This source suggests that Koschei was considered not an ordinary magician, but a representative of the ‘other’ world, the world of death.

So, what if... creating Horcruxes makes you... more than human? Now, I could definitely see god-like status being appealing to sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle. Perhaps, even appealing enough to kill for. Now, his proclivity for Avada Kedavra makes sense. We know it’s an incredibly sinister spell, but at the same time, it’s a very humane way to kill. Why might it be so horrifying?

Here’s a weird theory.

To the best of my knowledge, no one but Voldemort is seen using the Killing Curse more than once or twice. 

Perhaps, ordinary mortals can only cast Avada Kedavra a few times, but Tom, having split his soul and having become in some way a non-human instrument of Death, can cast it however many times as he likes, and that is part of what serves to make him so terrifying.

This makes the idea of Voldemort tossing around Avada Kedavras actually incredibly terrifying, if you take into account what that might mean.

The collective cultural fear of speaking Voldemort’s name supports this theory.

Take the chthonic (underworld) deities of Greek mythology; most notably, Hades and Persephone, the king and queen of the underworld.

Hades, the god of the dead, was feared. 

So feared that the word ‘Hades’ (”the unseen one”) was so frightening, that people came up with all sorts of euphemisms to circumvent actually saying it and he was rarely even depicted in art. For example, they would refer to him as Pluto (”the rich one”), Clymenus ("notorious"), Polydegmon ("who receives many"), and perhaps Eubuleus ("good counsel" or "well-intentioned"), amongst many other names. 

However, he was not seen as evil; just stern, cruel, and fair. Like most Greek gods, he had an associated cult (the Death Eaters, anyone?)

Another interesting connection between Hades and Voldemort is that Hades was associated with snakes.

Persephone (suggested to have a pre-Greek origin and probably pre-dates Hades), who was also a vegetation/fertility/spring goddess, similarly, was referred to as Despoina (”the mistress”), Kore (”the maiden”), etc, because as the terrible Queen of the Dead, it was considered unsafe to speak her name aloud. In mythology and literature, she is sometimes referred to as ‘dread Persephone.’

--Just like how Lord Voldemort is referred to as The Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You-Know-Who... (and if you’re Dumbledore, ‘Tom’.)

Her central myth served as the context for the secret rites of regeneration at Eleusis (which was basically a mystery cult devoted to her and her mother, Demeter), which promised immortality to initiates.

We don’t know for certain what exactly went on, because, mystery cult -- the members were sworn to secrecy -- but it revolved around immortality and rebirth and possibly psychoactive drugs. 

Perhaps ironically, in comparison to the Death Eaters, anyone could join, as long as they could speak Greek and had never committed murder.

And that concludes my assessment!

[mythiccheroacademia]

“Say cheese, take a picture. Strike a pose, make a scene, take a picture.”

—Say Cheese | KiDi

Word Count: 1.3k Pairing: Todoroki Shouto X Reader Context: Soulmate!AU, Reader doesn’t live in Japan Warnings: hints of explicit content, explicit language

All characters are 18+

A/N: Welcome to the third installment of the 2.5k celebration! This wasn’t difficult but tedious? I rewrote the entire thing twice LMAO. Anyways, I think this is currently my favorite song on the list. KiDi is the man fr 🇬🇭 This is one of his newer songs and I hope I did it justice. I was thinking a fun long-distance relationship with a hint of “will you like what’s actually on the other side of screen?” No (real) angst this time! Enjoy <3

Todoroki Shouto | Say Cheese

Midoriya nearly winced as he watched his friend stab into his steak a little too harshly to be considered normal.

“Everything alright, Todoroki?”

This time, he actually winced when the icy-hot hero’s eyes flickered up to meet his own with a dirty glare.

“Right. Stupid question.”

Shouto merely grunted. Izuku sighed.

He had hoped taking Todoroki to his favorite restaurant would lift his spirits a bit after recent events. However, Midoriya should’ve known better when Todoroki got the steak instead of soba.

The green hero grimaced when he plunged the fork into the filet.

Izuku carefully chose his next words.

“You know…this doesn’t mean you’re out of the game.”

“Easy for you to say. Your soulmate didn’t ‘curve your ass like a grade’,” Shouto sourly huffed.

Izuku placed his hands against his mouth in a prayer like fashion in an attempt to hide his laugh.

What happened between you and Shouto had been a…surprise to everyone.

During a mission that required help from international heroes, Shouto had found you. His soulmate. One look at your matching birthmark and he was quick to approach you.

You two hit it off right away.

Your hero agency was only needed for a week, but Shouto had taken every opportunity he could to know you. From the way your nose twitched when you got annoyed to the silent flutter of your lashes when he softly kissed the skin beneath your collarbone. The moment he saw your smile, he adored all that was you.

The icy-hot hero had always been a bit skeptical over the concept of soulmates, yet he was ready to share his life with someone he hadn’t believed existed all but seven days ago.

When you left Japan, it was difficult.

However, you two kept in constant contact. Despite the time differences and the unconventional schedules that came with being a hero, you made it work.

Facetime calls were a must. Shouto wanted—needed—to see your face at least once a day. Whether it was to say a quick good morning or to end the night with heavy rants about hero politics, he wanted it. Even if it was just to observe you get ready for work, he’d quietly take in your beauty. He won’t admit to his secret album of screenshots.

If he couldn’t call you, he texted. Sometimes it’d be long conversations centered over food. Other times, it’d be random pics of things that reminded you of each other. He especially liked the ones he’d get late at night where the clothes you wore left little to the imagination and he’d quickly lock his office door so he could visually discover what was left behind the tiny strip of underwear.

The first “I love you’s” were exchanged over the phone and, afterwards, Todoroki had stared at your picture on his screensaver for half an hour.

Six months went by of calls, texts, pictures, and grandiose anniversary gifts, before you were able to meet again due to another mission.

When he offered to pick you up, you oddly declined. Shouto hadn’t thought anything of it.

When you finally met, you curved him.

At least, that’s how Bakugo put it.

He hugged you, you were stiff. He tried to kiss you, he caught your cheek instead. And for the rest of the day, you actively avoided him. He immediately confronted you about it and you said you were tired. That’s how you played it off for the last few days.

At first, Shouto was outright depressed. Then he was angry for a day. Now he was just bitter.

Everything was perfectly fine up until your arrival. Did he do something wrong? Were you two fighting? He didn’t understand it and it was driving him crazy thinking about it.

Izuku watched with concern as Shouto coldly rubbed the mark on his shoulder. He sighed as the temperature of the room seemed to drop.

“Don’t forget that you’re meant to be together, Todoroki. Just talk to them,” he reminded.

“How?”

“Remember how Momo’s having that pool party tomorrow?”

“Yeah…”

[Next Day]

“So, you gonna ignore your soulmate today too?” your friend, Jax, nonchalantly asked as he gathered silverware.

You miserably sighed and put your head in your hands.

“I’m the biggest dick of the century.”

“No kidding.”

“Now, now,” Momo softly chided. “You said so yourself. You were overwhelmed.”

Ochako, who stacked the food cartons, nodded in agreement. “You met your soulmate for a week and had to continue 99% of the relationship over long-distance. I can understand why you’d be scared to physically meet Todoroki again. It’s different. Especially after how serious you two got.”

“Still doesn’t abstract from your lack of communication skills,” Kai reminded. “You hurt the poor man’s feelings.”

Iida nodded. “Todoroki is…confused to say the least.”

You nervously looked up at them. “Be honest. How mad is he?”

Your friends remembered how Bakugo and Kaminari’s teasing made the usually mild-tempered hero burst into angry flames.

They looked to each other before collectively staring at you in silence.

You dramatically groaned.

“It’s not like I don’t like him anymore. I love him. I do. It’s just…I was nervous! When I saw him, I panicked!”

Unbeknownst to you, the kitchen door opened.

Iida motioned behind you. “L/N, I believe there is—”

“Shh, they’re having a moment,” Ochako quieted, oblivious.

“He’s just such a beautiful person. He’s so kind and thoughtful and he has so much good to offer the world. It blows my mind that someone like him exists. For me. It’s so easy to be my best self behind a screen. I’m just afraid he won’t like what he sees in real life…”

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

The soft sound of your soulmate’s voice made you freeze. You slowly turned to see him stare at you with an unreadable expression.

“We’ll be outside,” Jax said before your friends filed out.

You gulped beneath the intensity of Todoroki’s stare. Not only were you embarrassed, but you were hyperaware that you were in a swimsuit. It didn’t help your nerves as you took in his well-defined muscles and the happy trail disappearing underneath his shorts.

Why does he have to be so damn fine?

Todoroki’s thoughts weren’t far behind yours as he took in your physique, but he had things to address.

“Y/N, sweetheart, please talk to me.”

“Shouto,” your fear was clear in your whisper. “I’m sorry.”

He moved closer to you and you both felt the warmth from your birthmark when his hands found solace on your hips.

“You know I love you, right? Everything about you.”

“Everything I let you see,” you gently corrected, eyes to the ground.

The shame and insecurity in your chest made your eyes burn, but you couldn’t blink the tears away before Todoroki tilted your chin to meet your gaze.

“Then, show me the rest, Y/N,” he said, voice deep and genuine. You gasped as he kissed your birthmark. “I want the good and the bad. I want you. All of you, my love.”

You closed your eyes and sighed into his embrace, letting yourself finally feel his physical presence. It was like his words melted away your doubts.

He wanted you.

Why were you trying to convince yourself otherwise?

“Okay,” you whispered, laughing through your nose.

The red and white hero pulled away to soak in your features before diving in to capture your lips. It had been six months. Six full months since you two had tasted the other and damn if it wasn’t worth the wait.

With each passing kiss, he seemed to sink deeper into you. Soon enough, you didn’t know where your mouths started or ended. All you concentrated on was how his tongue massaged your own as his hands tried to memorize every curve of your body.

Todoroki impatiently groaned as he attached his lips to the sweet spot on your neck.

“Oh! Shouto wait—”

“I meant it when I said I want you,” he growled before his hands traveled downwards and squeezed your ass.

You quickly figured out you would also be seeing more sides of your soulmate as well.

[rekrappeter]

w a r d c a m e r o n x fem!reader

warnings: baby this is full of sugar, literally, let me introduce you to sugar daddy!ward cameron. severe age gap, however, reader is 21+. lower case intended my lovies. suggestive. i also don’t condone cheating but it’ll happen 

summary: in which reader and ward agree to be something more

if you like this idea, please send in some blurb concepts

you weren’t entirely sure what ward had proposed that night, but that didn’t stop your mind wandering to the endless possibilities of what he could have meant. you didn’t have any other encounter with him, the only time you seen him was during breakfast in the mornings and dinners in the evening. he would look up at you from down the table, a smirk resting on his lips as your tongue wetted your own. 

‘stop that,’ rafe muttered through clenched teeth, his fork playing around with the broccoli on his plate. 

‘what are you talking about?’ you asked, smirking at him. 

‘giving those eyes to my father,’ everyone was too preoccupied with their own conversations to hear what rafe had said, but you were far too aware of the burning gaze ward was aiming at the side of your face as you spoke to his son.

‘why? you jealous?’ you teased, making rafe roll his eyes at you. you scooted your chair closer to him, resting your hand on his shoulder, brushing your fingers along his jaw. chancing a glance at ward, you smirked at the annoyed look on his face as his gaze flickered towards you and rafe to his wife, rose. 

rafe grabbed your hand in his, lifting it from his shoulder and placing it down by your side. ‘enough,’ you pouted at his words, turning your focus to finishing your gourmet dinner.  

you had wandered away from the party downstairs in the cameron’s mansion, seeking a place to be by yourself. your room was too obvious, rafe would come looking for you once he realised that you were gone. you entered a room down at the end of the hall, welcoming the view of ward cameron’s office. it was extravagant, he definitely went all out when designing it but from the little that you did know about ward, he was very focused on his business. 

you lounged back on his desk chair, helping yourself with the whiskey he held close to his desk. you felt powerful in the chair, gazing out at the open space, the vintage paintings decorating the walls. ‘you’re very nosey,’ you smirked at the sound of his voice, seeing the door open up and ward stepping through the doorway, making sure to close it after him. 

‘i was just feeling a little tired,’ you hummed in delight.

‘did i not give you a big enough bedroom?’ he chuckled, walking over to his desk and leaning on it, his thigh brushing your leg. you didn’t hide the fact that you were appreciating him in his suit, the white button up hugging his muscles nicely, with his black slacks tightening around his thighs. he undone his tie the moment he stepped foot in the office, in hopes to release some of the frustration he was feeling. 

‘it’s very big actually, gets a bit lonely,’ you replied, raising your eyebrow in a challenge. 

ward nodded his head in understanding, a smile tugging on his lips. ‘have you given much thought to me offer?’ 

you spun in the chair slightly, allowing your body cladded in a dress to be more visual to ward. ‘your offer was very vague..’

‘so, you don’t need anything?’ he asked, eyes scanning your body quickly. you spread your legs, making him swallow before his eyes found yours again. 

‘you would get me anything?’ you pushed.

‘anything.’

‘and what would i have to do?’

ward’s stare became intense, his palms sweating, ‘nothing.... yet.’

‘do you have many of these arrangements?’ he shook his head at your question, but you were curious to know why he was suggesting this, or what he was even suggesting at all. ‘so, you would be my... sugar daddy?’

ward grimaced at the words, running his hand over his beard, sucking in a deep breath, ‘if that’s what you want to call it.’ 

you lifted yourself from the chair, feeling hot under ward’s gaze as you closed the gap between your bodies. your chest was pressed against his, his eyes flicking down to the cleavage on show but returned to your eyes seconds later. ‘and why me?’ 

ward kept his hands to himself, despite yours circling around his neck, taking the tie off completely. ‘you’re a college student, i figured you could use someone to look after you...’ you placed the tie on his desk, your fingers fiddling with the buttons of his shirt, slowly unbuttoning them, ‘not like that,’ he whispered, your eyes snapping to his. 

‘what’s in it for you then?’ you whispered, scared to speak too loud incase it broke you from this moment. 

‘knowing i’m helping you, knowing i can trust you, knowing i have someone to talk to.’ his jaw was tense.

‘are you lonely, mr. cameron?’ you asked, making him suck in a deep breath, ‘it’s okay if you are, i am too.’ his lips looked so kissable from this ankle, the hair of his beard outlining them beautifully. but you weren’t going to be the first one to make the move.

‘what do you want me to get you?’ he asked, his fingers brushing along your exposed collarbone. you revilished in the moment, wondering how his fingers would feel inside your pussy. you thought about it for a moment, a smirk on your face.

‘something nice,’ you simply replied.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.1 (BAON)

Summary:  Stretch and Edge are happily living their best lives together, despite the occasional setbacks. This might be another one.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships,  Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags To Come

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

"that's it, babe, i'm finished. stick a fork in me, i'm done."

Edge looked over to where his husband was flopped back in the grass, an arm slung over his eye sockets. His sweatshirt had been shed some time ago, followed by his tank top and now he was stripped down to his lovely, if somewhat sweaty, rib cage. He couldn’t blame Stretch for his exhaustion, they’d been working hard since early this morning and even he was starting to feel weariness setting in.

"Not quite finished, but close," Edge allowed. "It's looking very good."

That was enough to Stretch to rise all the way onto his elbows in outrage. "excuse me, it is looking fantastic. amazing. brilliant. gimmie a second to find a thesaurus and i'll toss a few more adjectives your way."

Edge had to admit that he was right. Their new pond was shaping up into a fine addition for their backyard. Surrounded by large stones to support the two small waterfalls, the narrow path that led to it from the coop was surrounded by plants that were both visually appealing and of types that any domesticated poultry would find an appetizing snack. What couldn't be seen was the dedicated filter and drain that would keep the water clean and the automatic vacuum that would run at night to keep bottom muck free for their little aquatic acquisition.

He'd spent days researching the best way to build it, another few designing it and ordering the necessary supplies. If they were going to have a duck pond in their increasingly hectic backyard, then they were going to have the best one that he could possibly manage, but it wasn’t only the aesthetic that made all the effort worth it. There was also the way Stretch scrambled up and shifted his sprawl across Edge’s back, hugging him tightly. “hey, babe, thanks for doing this.”

“You’re welcome,” Edge leaned back into his arms, “but I honestly can’t fathom why you would ever think I wouldn’t.”

“i don’t think you wouldn’t,” Stretch said. The words were muffled, his mouth pressed close to Edge’s temple. “but you made it a priority over your kitchen when you really didn’t have to."

The kitchen was still waiting on its remodel and that was certainly his next project, but the issues there were entirely cosmetic; the kitchen was still useable, if less than aesthetically pleasing. A small duckling would not remain small for very long and needed a pond as soon as possible. The little basin Cheese had been using was not an adequate substitute.

“Of course, I did,” Edge reached back to gently touched Stretch’s cheekbone, traced the arch with his thumb, glove whispering against bone. “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t put my grand duckling first?” He highly doubted he would have said the same when they first came to the surface. In fact, he would have assumed anyone who even suggested such a thing to him was a raving lunatic. These days, adjusting his life for not only Stretch but also chickens, neighborhood children, and experiments that would be right at home in any mad scientist’s laboratory was not only automatic, it was also a pleasure.

Stretch snorted, nipping teasingly as those fingers wandered down to his jaw. "yeah, okay, grandpa. welp, we got the water and we've got the plants in it. we put in those tablets you got to regulate the ph and we've got the little waterfalls going. can we bring cheese to it now?"

Edge drew away, crawling across the grass to pick up his clipboard. He made a show of checking the list until Stretch was practically rolling on the ground in moaning impatience.

"I believe we can introduce our newest family member to their own personal playground," Edge allowed. He nearly fell back on the ground when Stretch scrambled over right into his lap, flinging his skinny arms around him.

"yes!” Stretch cheered, “time for swimmies!" Too loudly and right into Edge’s audial canal. Before he could plot any sort of revenge, ticklish, pleasurable, or otherwise, Stretch was already squirming free and bouncing to his feet. He might have used up all his energy allotted for labor, but it seemed he kept a reserve stored for excitement.

'Swimmies?" Edge mouthed, but he only shook his head and climbed to his feet to begin picking up the tools scattered about, setting them back into his toolbox. Despite the day's work, his leg was only just starting to ache. He stretched it out with a grimace but didn't yet reach for his cane. After so much bending and moving today, he'd likely need it tonight and possibly some time with an ice pack as well. It was definitely getting better, slowly but surely. Today was simply pushing him to his limits.

"cleanup can come later, babe, you gotta watch!" Stretch called.

Obediently, Edge sat in one of the deck chairs Stretch had pulled over that morning for breaktime. "Watching."

With a flourish worthy of a game show host, Stretch opened the coop door and three chickens plus a duckling came scurrying eagerly out. Before they could get far, Stretch scooped up Cheese, holding the little bundle of yellow fluff and cooing to them. Already they were visible larger, soon they would begin to shed their baby down and real feathers would begin growing in.

The tiny quacks rose in volume as Stretch carried Cheese towards the pond and before he even made it to the walkway, the little duckling was squirming loose. Stretch set them down hastily before they could fall and Cheese made a beeline straight for the pond, splashing in, their little webbed feet paddling furiously as they quacked enthusiastically.

Nugget was less than pleased with her adopted child's watery delight. She stood on the artificial shoreline, flapping her wings and loudly expressing her displeasure. Cheese ignored her loud scolding and cackles, swimming happily, and finally Nugget began to sulkily scratch around the fresh landscaping in search of bugs, occasionally giving her child a grouchy glare. Noodle and Dumpling were less concerned with the latest member of their flock and were already inspecting their new territory.

"guess it works," Stretch laughed. He was nearly clapping his hands in glee as he watched Cheese contentedly swim circles around their new watering hole.

“It better, after all that effort.” Edge set both hands at the small of his back and stretched, groaning as his joints popped. “Let them swim for a while and then we can go get cleaned up so I can start on dinner.”

Stretch scrambled for his phone, wincing as he checked the time. "shit, i didn't tell you, i'm meeting andy in town tonight. sorry, babe, it slipped my mind."

"Not a problem.” His dinner plans could be easily adjusted to account for leftovers. More curious, and suspicious, was those two going out for the evening, particularly without himself and Antwan invited along. “What are the two of you up to?"

“checking out a few bands,” Stretch said promptly. He scooped his sweatshirt off the ground, his voice briefly muffled as he pulled it over his head. “see, catty gives andy a list of local bands who profess to be monster supporters to check out. word gets arounds that being supportive of monsters can get you gigs at our events and the embassy pays well.” That was both explanation enough and a guilty relief. Neither he nor Antwan were fans of the sort of music that Catty was likely seeking. “andy is checking their sound but also trying to poke around and see if it’s all just lip service since the only asshole we want on the payroll is your bro.” He leered, running his tongue lightly over his teeth. “you’ll have to wait for my lip service until i get home.”

“an impressive feat, considering your lack of lips,” Edge said dryly. He waited for Stretch to secure their flock back in the coop, despite Cheese’s heartbreaking protests for a longer swim time. Then he took a step towards the house and while he was sure his expression didn’t change in the slightest, he accepted the cane when Stretch pointedly handed it to him. “Thank you.”

“uh huh, try saying that a little less like ‘fuck off’ and i’ll buy it,” Stretch said cheerfully. “gonna head upstairs to change. hey, wait.” Just inside the door, Stretch pushed Edge up against the wall, both arms braced on either side of him as he leaned in. The sharp thrill that rumbled through Edge’s soul was sadly disappointed when all Stretch did was say firmly. “promise me you won’t spend the whole time i’m gone working. do some of your action figures or make some muffins. do something else, okay?”

“I promise.” Still caught in the loose cage of Stretch’s arms, Edge stripped off his dirty gloves and dropped them to the floor, then reached up to cup his face lightly, cautiously, between his bare hands as he leaned up to kiss him with gentle affection.

“liar,” Stretch murmured against his mouth. He stole another gentle kiss, another slightly less gentle one, then drew back, “you’ll tell yourself just one more thing and then get caught up in something important so when i get home, you’ll be sitting on the sofa and your leg is gonna hurt like a bitch because you didn’t move for five hours.”

“That does sound like me,” Edge agreed, stealing a last kiss before letting Stretch escape upstairs.

What he did not say was that the house tended to be too quiet without Stretch in it. Even when he was only sleeping next to Edge, his presence carried a certain weight that seemed to fill the room. Work was more immersive than any of his hobbies and he would be less likely to be constantly about to speak to Stretch only to remember that he wasn’t there.

Ridiculous, really, that he could miss Stretch before he was even gone, and he wasn’t about to say a word. He wouldn’t try to hold Stretch back for the world, certainly not from his friendship with Jeff.

He was setting up his laptop on the coffee table when Stretch came back downstairs, dressed entirely from Edge’s side of the closet, the warm pulse in his soul was far less from affection and more foreshadowing of the night he hoped would come when Stretch returned. Edge might not have chosen to wear a striped shirt with that jacket, but it was undeniably attractive on Stretch’s tall, slim form, particularly coupled with jeans that clung to his femurs, all the way down to the borrowed boots on his feet.

Stretch was never oblivious to his gaze and playfully struck a pose that would have given Mettaton a fit of jealousy.

“like the coming attraction?” Stretch said teasingly. He gave a little shimmy and Edge’s mouth went dry.

“Always.” He let it come out in a rough growl, watched the brief flicker of orange color Stretch’s eye lights.

His tongue flicked out over his teeth, his own voice lowering to that whiskey-sweet rasp that Edge loved so much. “don’t lose your raincheck, you’ll get to call it in when i get home.”

He leaned down for another kiss, one that Edge gladly granted. But before he could head for the front door, Edge caught his hand, drawing it to his mouth to press a light kiss right above Stretch’s wedding band. Later, he couldn’t say why he added, “Love? Be careful.”

It wasn’t his normal version of a sendoff, obvious in the way Stretch startled, blinking down at him. “aren’t i always, mama bear?”

“Absolutely not.”

“okay, well, i’d argue that. but my reputation kinda precedes me and you’re also something of an expert witness.” He twisted his hand in Edge’s loose grip, fingertips brushing against his jaw. “i will be tonight. deal?”

“Deal.”

With a last kiss, Stretch was out the door, heading off for a night of music and fun, and Edge was alone.

He headed for the kitchen first, absently reminding himself to get working on the schematics for this remodel next. The meal he’d planned for tonight suddenly lacked appeal and instead, he decided to make it tomorrow when Stretch would be home. A sandwich would do for tonight. Before he left with his plate, he rummaged through the freezer for an ice pack to keep the dull ache in his leg from rising to a throb.

By the time he was settled on the sofa, the silence in the house was already nagging at him, the memory of his husband dressed in his clothes lingering at the back of his mind, and with it, some nebulous agitation, something that he couldn’t properly express.

Better to cut it off now before he was truly distracted. Edge opened his laptop and soon was absorbed in his work. To the point he didn’t really register the time until his phone chimed and when he picked it up to check the message, the first three words turned all the lingering, warm anticipation in his soul to ice.

We have him.

~~*~~

tbc

[snarkwrites]

happy birthday | pietro m. | mature.

Notes:

Look ya’ll... I have zero shame for this. Z E R O. I wanted to read this, I couldn’t find anything I hadn’t already read similar for Pietro,  (( Either Pietro you wish to imagine here tbh because honestly, they’re both lovely dudes )) so I am simply writing the filth I want to read in bed later... And dragging you lot straight to the naughty corner with me.

Also, this is totally unbeta’d. Because we fly by the straps of our bra in this house. Any errors, wonky positioning, lack of condom or anything else you find is purely on me and I own it.

Prompts used:

Ah, none. Although, birthday sex could totally be one, I suppose.

Pairing: 

Pietro Maximoff x Barton!OFC, Nicola, whomst I’ve used previously with him...

Fandom : 

Marvel Cinematic / X - Men (if you’re gonna visualize Evan’s version or whatever) 

Warnings:

Straight up sexual content and unprotected at that. No minors allowed. That means all you lovelies out there under the age of 18+ need to go elsewhere. Keep scrolling because this is absolutely NOT for you.

Tagging:

@micolegg​ -because our discussion earlier kind of maybe... inspired this.

@chasingeverybreakingwave​ 

@kyleoreillysknee​ 

[ faq | tag list doc ] 

                                         Happy Birthday,

“Damn it, all I want to do is sleep. But noooo.. Can’t even get him out of my head long enough to do that, apparently.” I grumbled to myself as I threw my plaid comforter off and slipped out of bed. Grabbing a t-shirt and pulling it on only to scowl at my reflection in the mirror on my bedroom door when I realized that I’d done it again. I’d gotten the laundry mixed up.

The shirt I was wearing?

The olive green one Pietro Maximoff wore for training at the compound most of the time.

,, He’s not awake. It’s not like he’s going to see you in it.”  I reminded myself just as I went to tug it over my head. ,,Besides, I thought further, it’s soft and comfy.” 

We’re not even getting into the fact that despite the washing, it somehow still kind of smells like him. Or that I even think Pietro Maximoff smells good enough to eat to begin with.

The line of thought made my stomach growl and I remembered that there was still some of mine and Lila’s birthday cake down in the fridge.

,, And you still have a little tequila too.. Maybe a few sips will put you out. At very least, your brain will be all fuzzy and warm and you won’t be constantly thinking about him. And the way all he has to do is look at you a certain way and you turn into an actual mess.” the thought spurred me into action and I stepped out into the hallway, tiptoeing quietly down the stairs. Then into the kitchen.

Knowing my dad was on a mission and my mom and siblings are notoriously heavy sleepers, I chanced it with turning on my phone and going to my Spotify app, finding a Billy Idol song and hitting play after lowering the volume.

I danced around the kitchen, first scaling the counter and reaching up into the high cabinet I’d put my bottle of tequila in earlier after I’d been gifted it. Then I stepped over to the fridge and opened it, leaning in.

Still shaking my hips to the song, humming along quietly. Giggling, because I haven’t snuck downstairs for a midnight snack since I was at least my sister Lila’s age. I dug around in the silverware drawer until I found a fork and my mom’s corkscrew that she uses on her wine so I could pull the cork out of the fancy bottle of tequila.

Billy Idol gave way to Def Leppard just as I managed to get the bottle open. I raised it to my lips, taking a few sips. Nearly spitting it onto the floor. It burned. It burned so bad as it rolled down my throat and settled into a lazy heat in the pit of my stomach. I wiped my mouth and held out the bottle, raising a brow at it. “Thor wasn’t lying when he said it was ‘the best alcohol.’ earlier.” I muttered mostly to myself, sitting the bottle down.

Now to get the plastic lid from hell off the sheet cake. I bit my lip and tried to carefully pry it free, but that wasn’t happening. The lid crackled and the sound seemed to echo like a stereo on blast.

“Shit.fuck.” I grumbled, trying to grab it better and pull at it again. I flipped off the lid when I thought I heard a door opening upstairs. Raising the bottle of tequila to my mouth again, I took another long sip.

It burned slightly less. But I could feel my ears starting to get warm. And I giggled a little. This time, when I tried to get the lid off the sheet cake, it came away. Not quietly, but it was out of my way at last. I sprang up onto the countertop and crossed my legs, sitting the cake next to me. Reaching for the discarded plastic tiara that Lila had been wearing earlier when we blew out the candles. Sitting it on my head and pouting when it tried to slide off again. Giggling a little louder than I should’ve at the whole thing.

I spread a bite of the cake with my fork and just as I raised the fork to my lips and was about to take the bite, the kitchen was flooded with light. And for some reason, this only made me giggle and nearly drop the fork when I went to shield my eyes from the brightness.

I managed to avoid it, recovering nicely and slipping the fork between my lips. My eyes settled on the doorway, fixing on Pietro and the way he leaned in the frame, sleepily. Staring right back at me.

Go Fuck Yourself started to play and I wanted to melt into the kitchen tiles. As if there wasn’t enough lingering tension already between us. And then I remembered. I was sitting here, right in front of him… wearing one of his shirts. And not much else.

,, he won’t see me in his shirt, I said. It’s  cozy and I refuse to change just to go sneak some birthday cake and a few shots of tequila, I said. Clearly, I’m an idiot.” I thought to myself as he stepped completely into the kitchen. Slipping the pocket door closed behind him and leaning against it, an amused smirk as his eyes roamed over me slowly.

Deliberately.

He rubbed his hand over the back of his head and whether I wanted to or not, my eyes followed the movement of his hand, settling briefly on a muscular arm as the movement made it flex just slightly.

I stabbed the fork into my half of the cake again, raising the fork to my lips after speared a piece of the cake. I shifted around on the counter a little, letting both of my legs dangle over the edge, wiggling my feet. Antsy, but with no real reason as to why.

Neither of us was saying anything but we were both staring at each other. Intently. And that lingering tension between us? Settled in all over again; thicker somehow.

,, well, I did walk in on him after he showered earlier and promptly froze in place gawking at the poor guy… and he did nearly walk in on me changing the night before… then there’s all the little accidental touches. The flirty and snide way he says things sometimes. And that accent, dear god..” my mind was more than happy to remind me exactly why there was so much tension between Pietro and I lately, it seemed. 

Before I could bat a lash, Pietro stood in front of me. Stepping closer so that he stood between my legs, a hand resting palm down on the counter on either side of them. Neither of us had spoken a word yet.

I felt my breath catching in my throat.

He eyed the tequila bottle sitting to my side, completely forgotten in favor of the cake next to it for the time being. For some reason, I started giggling and I couldn’t stop. And despite all efforts, it wasn’t quiet, either.

Kissable lips curved upward in an amused sort of smirk. 

“You’re up late.” I muttered as my giggle fit died away and all I could do was gaze up at him, curious.

“And so are you, kotyonok.” Pietro stated, shrugging it off. His eyes left mine, settling on my lips. I barely managed to catch myself before I whimpered at his little lapse into his mother tongue. “You always call me that. What does it mean?”

“Kitten.” he answered with hints of that cocky smirk, shrugging as he said it and met my gaze all over again. His thumb rolled over my lower lip, coming away with pink frosting. When he licked his thumb and held my gaze while doing it, I gulped. Nearly choked on the bite of cake I’d just taken. His hand raised and he reached for the tiara sitting crooked on my hair, straightening it.

“So greedy, kotyonok.” he teased, chuckling quietly. I managed to mumble in response, “It’s a pretty damn good cake.” as I leaned in just a little closer. Cautiously.

There was a bruise on his jaw from his sparring session at the compound earlier. My fingertips grazed against it and before I could pull my hand away, his hand raised, fingers circling my wrist. Holding it there. Sort of nuzzling a stubbled cheek against the palm of my hand.

If I thought the air was thick before, I was wrong. It was so thick right now I could barely breathe, let alone think straight. He released his grip on my wrist and I dug the fork into my cake again, raising the fork to his lips. His mouth closed around the fork and as he took the bite and then licked frosting off his lips, despite all my best efforts, my eyes were absolutely glued to his lips and the way his tongue rolled across them slowly. When he groaned at the sugary sweet taste of the birthday cake, I whimpered before I could stop myself.

He studied me intently.

I reached out for the bottle of tequila sitting near me, taking another long sip. Grimacing at the contrast between sweet and bitter and the way the liquid burned it’s way down my throat all over again.

My legs brushed his sides and he tensed slightly. Didn’t drop my gaze or anything, he just tensed up. My heart was racing a little, there seemed to be this anticipation building up in me. Like something was about to happen. I just didn’t know what it would be, exactly.

“ I wanted to be here. Earlier. For your birthday party.” he mumbled as he leaned in closer. Almost putting my body completely against his own. I managed a smile and gazed up at him, my head tilted slowly. His hands left the counter top and settled on my bare thighs. Skimming over them as he held my gaze.

“It’s okay. I get it. Training.” I wondered what he was up to. But if I stopped to think about it, he was always more… Affectionate. Touchier towards me. I always get the sense that the little ‘accidental’ touches and the few times we lock eyes in a room together that it’s never exactly accidental. That he’s flirting with me. And I was warned by his twin sister Wanda that he could be a flirt for the most part, so I never really thought much about it beyond the way it seemed to frustrate me because it only made me want him more.

“ It is probably better I wasn’t on time. Now I can do this...” Pietro mused quietly. Biting his lip as bright blue eyes settled on my lips all over again. And he leaned in more. Closing the distance between our mouths just a little bit more when he did so. So close that when I licked my lips my tongue brushed right against his mouth.

And something in him snapped. One of his hands left my thigh and settled across the back of my neck. Pulling my mouth against his mouth. His tongue slipped past my lips. Tangled with mine. My legs wrapped around his waist and I melted against him completely. The kiss deepened and Pietro was scooting me closer so that I was clinging to him a little more than I was actually sitting on the counter, his hands skimming over my sides, groping my body and making me whimper quietly, the sound swallowed by the kiss.

I was starting to get light headed. We pulled away to breathe and he chuckled quietly. “If this were Sokovia, kotyonok.. I would’ve stolen you a gift.”

“Hm?” I gazed at him. Still a little dazed that he’d kissed me like that. Wanting to do it again so badly I could taste it. Before I could stop myself, I was hooking my fingers into his belt loop. Using the connection to pull him close all over again. The end result was him scooping me off the counter. Carrying me up the stairs as I rested my face against his neck, giggling quietly.

He pushed open the door to my bedroom and stepped inside, over to my bed. Dropping me gently onto the bed and turning to lock the door behind him. Tugging the tank top he’d been wearing over his head and letting it settle on my bedroom floor. I barely managed to keep myself from whimpering out loud. He came to a stop beside my bed and I sat up, raising my hands. Hooking my fingers in the waistband of his sweatpants in an attempt to pull them down only to have him shake his head no at me and gently push me flat against the mattress all over again.

He let his sweats pool around his ankles and my eyes settled on his cock and the way it stood at attention.

 I swallowed hard, my eyes widening as they met his. He settled on the bed with his body between my legs. His hands raised, taking hold of mine as his mouth crashed against my lips all over again and his tongue found mine, tangling with it. Taking complete control of the kiss as it deepened to a point where I felt myself getting light headed all over again. One of his hands let go of one of mine and made it’s way down my body. The kiss broke and as we were catching our breath he muttered lazily against my skin, “ Stop me. If you don’t want to do this, stop me.”

I was absolutely not about to stop him. The thought hadn’t even been entertained. Not as bad as I wanted him. I gripped his jaw, pulling his mouth against mine all over again. “No. I won’t. Because I want you. Please don’t stop.” 

His hands skimmed down my sides, fingertips catching in the hem of the t-shirt I was wearing, working it up over my body. Tossing it on the floor of my bedroom with the growing pile of clothes. His fingers caught on the sides of my panties, tearing them out of the way. Tossing them down onto the floor also. I licked my lips as I stared up at him. My gaze lowering when his hand left my hip and disappeared between our bodies, circling his length. Guiding it over my dripping folds and making me whimper quietly as a shiver raced through my body. He met my gaze, that cocky smirk playing at his lips as he teased at entry, making me shiver all over again, fighting to keep from whimpering out loud. His finger rested against my lips and he leaned down a little, muttering softly, “Shh. We don’t want to wake anyone.” as he buried inch for inch inside of me slowly. Going still when I tensed up a little, letting me adjust to his size. His lips burying in mine when I tried to rock my hips against him to get him moving again. His hands gripped my hips, pumping me up and down on his cock, making me arch away from the bed and try to cling to him, greedily pulling his mouth against mine all over again. Nipping at his lips as I met his deep and slow thrusts frantically. Trying to get him to speed up just a little as my orgasm started to build.

The soft creaks of the bed had us stopping, listening to make sure it wasn’t loud or obvious, laughing quietly against each other’s skin. He feathered little kisses against my neck and throat and my fingers dug into his shoulders as I gazed up at him and whispered softly, “I think we’re good. My mom and siblings could sleep through a level 5 hurricane.” After a second or two of him continuing to listen just to be sure, he started to fuck into me slowly all over again. His hips smacking softly against mine and the bed beneath us creaking softly.

“Oh. oh yeah.” my head fell back as his cock pistoned in and out, striking right against my spot, “Faster.” 

“Not tonight, kitten. Slow.” his mouth crashed against mine, swallowing up my pleas and whimpers and his hands slipped down, gripping my hips tightly so that he controlled the speed. My toes curled into my sheets, trying anything to get just a little more leverage and I wrapped my arms around his neck, my nails dragging up and down his back. I could feel my stomach tensing up. I was getting closer, dangerously so. All I wanted to do was cum but just like every other time before, Pietro seemed to pick up on the exact second I got just a little too close and he went still. Kissing me all over and muttering things against my skin in his native tongue. Rolling his tongue over my skin. Tracing the outline of my lips until I was lowering my hands and pulling his mouth against mine because I just couldn’t take the teasing anymore. 

He started to fuck me into the mattresses all over again. Slow and steady. Reaching up at one point to grab my headboard and keep it from banging any louder against the wall. His hips snapping against mine at an almost bruising steady pace. Bottoming out and as he did so, having to bury his mouth in mine just to keep me from moaning louder. Chuckling as the kiss broke to mutter against my mouth softly, “We have to stay quiet, kotyonok.” 

The look in his eyes and the smirk on his face told another tale entirely. He was relishing every single moan and whimper. He’d love it if I could scream.

I’d love it if I could scream.

I melted against him, shaking and clinging as I tried to keep myself from getting off. Dangerously close, poised right at the brink. His hips met mine erratically and he whispered against my neck “So close.”

“Let go, Pietro. Please? I..” my words fell away as bliss took over. His hands gripped my hips, guiding them against his as he started to pick up speed. Teeth nipping at my neck. Leaving small marks, but marks that I knew I’d barely be able to hide in the morning. The thought already had me smiling.

“You what?” he questioned, gazing down at me. Biting his lips as his eyes met mine and he bottomed out all over again, his cock drilling into my spot and making me nip at his neck and leave a mark of my own behind just to keep from screaming his name and waking up everyone in the house.

When I finally managed to get it out, “I wanna feel you.” he licked his lips as his eyes met mine. A soft smirk. He nodded. His hands squeezed my hip harder, pumping me up and down on his cock as my nails dragged down his back and my legs wrapped tight around his waist, squeezing as my orgasm ripped through me, making me clench tight around his cock, flooding it. It pushed him right over the edge and his thrusts sped. They got harder. I could feel him tensing up as he slammed into me and fucked me through my own orgasm, his cock throbbing. Filling me up as his thrusts slowed all over again and he pressed himself against me, crashing his mouth against mine. Our foreheads rested against each other, and as we tried to catch our breath and come down from the high, he collapsed into the bed beside me, pulling me so that I was draped over him. His arms going around me, his fingers dancing over my bare skin as he gazed up at me.

“Happy birthday, kotyonok.”

I smiled at him, nuzzling my nose against his nose. Cuddling against him as I let out a long and content sigh, totally relaxed. 

I was definitely not going to have any trouble falling asleep now...

[meandmyechoes]

so here's my chinese translation for montrals / lekku 

丫角 [aa1 gok3] / 丫尾 [aa1 mei5]

they are difficult because not only do we not have a human equivalent, we barely have an earth equivalent.

First, I have to decide one or two syllables/characters.

one word: 1) most organs are monosyllabic 2) naming of body parts should have been an early development in civilization

two words: 1) such is a proper noun in modern chinese 2) like calves and thighs, montrals and lekku are connected despite separate functions, so like calves [small leg] and thighs [big leg] they should probably share a root with a modifier?

I started with the plain-speak: horns/head-tails. Even though montrals quite convincingly has a skin covering unlike antlers or cattle horns, it's still 角 anyway. Then I went on to search for a older, ideographic character as the modifier. It got me thinking, who do we call people— girls, who have two hair structures on the separate sides of their heads? Yes, the perfect word: 丫

As you can see, the letter Y is obviously a pictorial character, depicting a forked branch, and later borrowed to describe a young girl with two hair buns. and that is the exact concept for Twi'leks!

In conclusion, 丫 is primitive enough, and visual enough, so I just pair it up to make丫角 [forked horns] for montrals and 丫尾 [forked tails] for lekku! (which also fit the shared root requirement and is a disyllabic noun!)

Otherwise, as previously mentioned, [ling4], from 羚 [montain goat], is a good prefix, so I narrowed down five candidates:

on the visual front: 翔 [(decorative) feathers] 崚 [hills] (Shili is mountainous, and of how Kiros Togrutas incorporate montral aesthetic in architecture) on the message front: 靈 [soul/wit] i'm relating this to more how they can use echolocation/hear ultrasonic and that would've been seen as a supernatural ability or like a spiritual connection 齡 [age] isn't this clever with how you can vaguely tell a Togruta's age via the height of their montrals?!

but I also think a little mythical allusion in 麟角 is not a bad idea? especially 麒麟 is the old tongue for giraffe (still is their name in Japanese), who also has ossicones?! But 麟角 also has the cultural meaning of 'extremely rare (and valuable)' so...

but you see, the whole reason I'm putting it here is because it's still just a bit odd to stuff it in the Ahsoka novel... and I'm just not brave enough to receive critique even though I'm quite sure no one will pay as much attention *sigh*