#and clawing for beautiful poetry tattoos

[redrobin-detective]

Catch me getting freaky on the Poetry Foundation

[moochou-eats-paper]

39 moths and I

@autismkhksj I think you asked me to tag you when I wrote poetry even though that post was ages ago

anyways I wrote a something. It feels too long and story like to be poetry. Anyways.

tw: blood, fire?, SH, suicide (please don’t kill yourself)

Every forty seconds, life falls from the killer’s own hands. A suicide, you may call it.

One.

A singular comment hits harder than it should. Each word is like a sharpened blade.

Two.

Each word is now an immortal sigh, passing through your mind eternally, gossip among the grass, reeds and wind.

Three.

Society walks until he finds a camping place beside the lake, beautiful and serene, the stars smiling with unspoken words of love and encouragement.

Four.

The murmuring breeze crept into the public’s jacket and plays in his hair. The cool night made him sit down by a bench.

Five.

Urgent whispering finally tips Society off the tip and a match is struck, disturbing the tranquility of the lakeside.

Six.

The flame drops onto a fire pit glowing with heat. However, this heat is one of burning hatred and not a cosy glow.

Seven.

Society did not mind. Embers are spat out from the fire and frolic in the air before landing on the grass. Society stamps on them.

Eight.

Light fills the air and sky, leaving the stars dim compared to the fire and they are forgotten.

Nine.

Each crackle grows crueler and crueler as it hisses and sputters more. Anger, sadness, neglect. Hatred, depression, cowardice. Betrayal, anxiety, fear. Hurt.

Ten.

Society turns a blind eye to this and merely stokes the flames, enjoying their profit of the growing flame.

Eleven.

Worry grows evident in your face. Indents on your forehead leave ugly reminders of the words and their poisonous sting.

Twelve.

You sit alone and think. Your life is ablaze and even if the fire is evil, it can still hold the passion of the world of wronged people who seek for revenge.

Thirteen.

The tears that leave a salty path in its wake cannot dampen the inferno but neither can a lake, deep and inky and swallowing the sky.

Fourteen.

Maybe it could, that endless flowing water, so gorgeous and clear, unlike the dark emotion inside you. Get closer, you think but for now, it’s too late and the lake is too far. Ironically close.

Fifteen.

Such answers and possibilities tauntingly close but wildly out of reach. One step before your collapse.

Sixteen. 

Even if feelings such as serenity and excitement are so different, each leaves a person with a trace of a smile. These feelings now swam deep into the lake, too far.

Seventeen.

Society looked on, focusing on the fire. Each shift in the embers was a hand clawing at your heart and taking a chunk with bloody fingers.

Eighteen.

Society was a blur, ignoring your screams. Haunting faces appeared in their fire, yet he still did not mind.

Nineteen.

A choice is made. Silver is held in a trembling hand and brought to skin, severing it, like a fleshy chasm flooding over with rivers of blood.

Twenty.

This blade is the same one that was first drew your blood, many many days ago. Yet this time, the hand that brandished such an innocent yet evil weapon was yours and not one of an enemies’.

Twenty one.

Perhaps it was. You were your own enemy, refusing to undo the chains that hug you tightly yet wanting to fly and spread your glorious wings in one final fall.

Twenty two.

Society watches a moth come to his fire. A beautiful creature. So fragile and serves little purpose but so natural and beautiful. Just like you.

Twenty three.

Society swats the moth away. Only more come, to his dissatisfaction.

Twenty four.

You think to yourself about what it truly would be like. Freedom of living and the restraints of this vulnerable prison and the things people do to it.

Twenty five.

Moths flock the fire, interested. Naive, it seems, is what they are; they are unaware that they flutter mindlessly around such a dreadful thing. The thing that eats away at the crumbling soul inside you.

Twenty six.

Scars line your arms like tattoos, like art. Life is a form of art, you are but a puppet on a string, discarded after use.

Twenty seven.

Moths flutter, dipping in the frosty air with every word in thought. Does that dangerous yet beautiful thing really have the capability to hurt you? You just need to experience it first to know.

Twenty eight.

Screams deafen you, shrieking about how you do know. You do have experience. Perhaps it’s not just pain but something further.

Twenty nine.

How you only wish to be held like a newborn baby in arms that have a mother’s gentle touch. To be held, cradled.

Thirty.

The longing to leave and run is far far greater. To plunge into the inky void. The curiosity.

Thirty one. 

Moths fluttered weakly around the fire, curiosity building up like the flame in front of them. 

Thirty two.

Society is bored. They want more. Society is a very busy person.

Thirty three.

Your will is struggling to thrive. What are you to do when all is hopeless.

Thirty four. 

The fire grows, a roaring mean voice. A siren, begging you to come and join it. 

Thirty five. 

You sit at a window ledge. Or a knife is in your hand. Nobody can solve this now, you’ve gone in too far.

Thirty six.

Fear strikes you. Hotlines exist and so do family. The wonders of life truly are amazing.

Thirty seven. 

Yet the problems outweigh the precious golden moments. Your decision is made.

Thirty eight.

A moth wanders closer to the flame than ever. How mesmerising it is on the surface.

Thirty nine.

Flames engulf them. Each moth looked on, too curious. As each moth dies, Society smiles a little. How fun. 

You look at the fire, corpses littered around you and smouldering in the fire. You look back at Society, who gives you a nod. Hesitation. Then a fiery death.

[saschagemruler]

I got my second tattoo about a week ago

It's a semicolon on my inner wrist on my left hand. For anyone who doesn't know, a semicolon tattoo (for the quick definition) is representative of instead of ending your life, you've decided to continue it. Some people get it to honor loved ones- friends, family, partners- and others get it for themselves. I'm the latter.

This tattoo is very melancholy for me, very bittersweet- it invokes a lot of feelings. Which is good, that's what I wanted it to do.

I got the tattoo for a lot of reasons- it'll blend in nicely with a design I'll get later on with my little brother, it's the perfect time to get it- but the main reason may... seem bizarre or counterintuitive.

See, I was (and sometimes still am) heavily suicidal from middle to highschool (and possibly younger). I would assume a lot of people would think that means I have a lot of self harm scars. No judgement for that, makes sense considering how such thoughts are portrayed in media- long sleeves hiding delicate knife marks, sad and beautiful poetry, a fake smile that perfectly hides the haunted look in your eyes until your true love- I mean someone truly notices you. Of course for some that was their experience but... not for me.

No, it involved something much less pretty. Breakdowns in the middle of the night, clawing at my skin until the only reason it wasn't broken was because I had cut my nails, rapid mood swings where I'd be on top of the world one moment and in two hours want to walk into traffic or ingest bleach (and then repeat the cycle all day), not showering until my need to be clean was pounding at my head- all hid very carefully under a thin mask of the perfect pastor's child.

Fun little detail some may have noticed- very little physical harm to myself and any that did happen quickly faded away in mere hours. Now I do have one self harm scar- very faded on my right hand where I stabbed myself with a spork- and I have delved into the knife on skin (albeit ending up with no scars other than vague imprints and being screamed at for doing such a thing with my younger siblings in the house).

Now I harmed myself plenty- I just mimicked my biological father's form of abuse. Emotional and mental with just enough physical that wouldn't leave any marks. Clever- wouldn't he be so proud of me? Regardless still I left no physical scars on myself. Nothing to remind me of the time I was so desperate to leave the living world- other than the mental scars still festering and reopening to this day.

And so... the main reason for getting my tattoo is most likely revealing itself.

Did you know tattoos are just very pretty scars? Well... not just but they certainly are scars.

But yes, that's my main reason for getting this tattoo... after all what's one more scar to the bunch- both inside and outside? And besides, every scar has a story, a lesson, a moral, a heart. I'm just speaking a thousands words... with a sweet little symbol.

And for those who want to commend me on my strength for getting through such tough times... don't. I'm not strong- simply persistent, petty, and full of enough spite to light a volcano on fire. Strength was never a factor.

If you've managed to not only find this post but read it all the way through... thank you.

[wolfisland]

27 & 28!

27: a description of the person i love

my fiance! ive been talking about my wife (and partner system as a whole but right now this is about my wife) a lot lately and i will continue to do so.

anyways, shes pretty short (we have a 6 inch height difference lol) and very soft looking and has really gentle features. she has wavy/curly dark hair that she usually wears in a claw clip. she has these fucking gorgeous dark brown downturned eyes with long lashes and they get kind of puffy when shes tired and its so cute. lots of really cool tattoos (she has a half sleeve and this super sick thigh piece. we also have matching pinky tattoos) and a nose ring and round glasses. usually wears a lot of darker colours, but my favourite go to outfit of hers lately is a long dark pleated skirt and turtleneck because its winter and she looks like an alt girl from a 90s movie. super into it.

she has a beauty spot on the opposite cheek to me and she has dimples when she smiles and perfect teeth because she had braces. she does the megan thee stallion smile lol. shes gorgeous. like shes genuinely so beautiful. her eyes are my favourite eyes in the whole world. i realised so many of the characters i design to be love interests for mine have similarities to her as well, and that started before we even got together 😭 before i even realised i liked her.

shes so fucking funny and literally endlessly kind. im not someone with a lot of social stamina but i spend most of my day with her and i never get tired of being around her. we have the stupidest in jokes and the dumbest exchanges and i constantly say we have a silly relationship because we DO. we have so much fun together. i love hyping her up and im so proud that shes mine. she makes me a better person and i write fucking poetry about her man. shes literally my best friend in the whole world and she has been since i was like 18. shes always so supportive and shes incredibly fucking smart too, shes in stem and when we hang out while she studies im just in awe at how clever she is. i love her music taste, i love that we bond over it. i love that she gets me and i get her and it feels kind of like even if the rest of the world is against me at least shes always on my team, and im always on hers.

ive changed a lot since we first got together, quite drastically too, and sure shes changed too but ive pretty much done a total 180 as a person from who i used to be (for the better though) but shes always been so patient about loving each person i grow to be. i think we complement each other really well. we generally cover each others bases and what i struggle with shes usually pretty good at and vice versa. we make each other stronger i think. i love taking care of her and she takes really good care of me. just being around her makes my day better. i really cant wait til we like actually live together.

i know this is like barely a description at this point and just me rambling but i could really talk about her for hours. i sometimes do just straight up.

basically tl;dr i love my hot smart fun kind wife

28: a description of a person i hate

too many to count. insert random white person whos Wronged me here.

wanna be nosy? here's your chance!

[sab3rto0thed]

there’s something about being twelve and swearing that you will kill yourself. not now, but eventually. before you turn sixteen. you will peak at fifteen and all of the life will drain out of you.

as it was, that prediction was not entirely untrue. at fifteen, you basically drop dead. off the grid. you learn to exist in only your bedroom. those four walls become your blackest nightmare. you fucking die over and over again, every night. you swallow pills or glass or grief.

there is no proper way to sum up eight years’ worth of grit into a single polished piece of poetry. i cannot clarify just how bad it was.

i was not going to graduate high school. i was not even going to live. each day was a tightrope walk, a contest of grasping at straws. on my best days, i would learn to live with myself by spilling out all of my secrets, waiting for someone to look at me with enough disgust that i could finally move the blade.

on my worst days, i would be hunched over in my room, the victim of a black out. it was those days that i did not think i was going to make it. i fought so hard, fingernails clawing on tile.

when you are twelve and your parents are emotionally vague at best, you love whoever loves you. and when everyone you love gives up on you, you learn to give up on yourself. your fucking elementary school honor roll goes out the window as soon as you hit middle school. your beautiful, pale white fucking forearms form scars like tattooed flower stems. you think yourself repulsive, but to some eighteen-year-olds, fifteen-year-old girls who hate themselves are a fetish.

i was never dishonest, at least. until i was sixteen, i never lied; and even then, i wavered, always telling half-truths. i would only lie to preserve faith. when the boy i wanted to be my best friend told me that his best friend did not do that to me, i nodded with some sway. girls are whores and we did make out eventually, which was building up for at least two years. like i said, a fetish. they do not want you to grow.

you wait for the world to end, thinking that every day is your last. sometimes things get better, but then they just get bad again. here you are, seventeen, doomed to continue this cycle of violence. it doesn’t matter how many people you cut out. you cannot eliminate disease. once it has touched you, it will always fester, its roots clinging to your liver. you cannot kill it without killing yourself, and god you do not want to kill yourself. you really, really do not. you have been fighting so long.

you are a walking void, doomed by the narrative, your fate to drag everyone around you down. you actually do not care about anyone anymore, and you have not cared about others who actually cared about your health in so long that when it happens, you splatter all over the floor. you do it multiple times, waiting for them to get tired of cleaning up your mess. they don’t. 

when you finally learn to talk about it, peeling the stitches from a single wound, your friends hold you close. there is nothing about the gesture that feels lopsided or wrong. for a moment, you are safe, collided between worlds. you do not want to die.

when people began to believe in me again, i was almost sure it was too late. i did not believe in myself. i was a sarcastic asshole on my good days, and on my bad days, i was tying that noose around my neck. no one needed a girl like me. i had burned out at fifteen, just as i predicted. i would be nothing and no one, not even enough to graduate high school. it was always going to be this way.

no, they said. we will not let you become a walking tragedy. stop with the blunts and the moving around and the weed and the alcohol. you do not need to get wine-drunk in the kitchen at two in the morning, go out and smoke a cigarette at five so you are constantly sedated. 

they did not pry, which i appreciated. i was not good at responding to prying, because when i had, i was gutted from the inside out, my body hung out to dry. instead, my english teacher read each word that i wrote with careful consideration despite the fact that i ditched his class more than i was there. when he called me endearing, i felt something inside of me begin to unfurl, a flower coming out of winter. when his wife told me to stay, just for a little longer, because i was in tears, the flower found the sun.

i still had bad days. my grief turned to anger, and sometimes my anger would turn inward, using the pincushion of my body. it had been used to doing this since i was twelve, and it was not keen on stopping it now. i had to guide the blade away. i told it that we couldn’t do this anymore. i told it that we were going to graduate, because we had promised.

on may twenty seventh, after a year of tears and losses and the hardest i had ever worked in school since i was eight, i graduated. i did not believe i was going to graduate. i thought they would apprehend me as soon as i stepped off of the stage with my diploma in my hand. i thought someone would scream. i thought the world would collapse, the principal would stall the ceremony. they would take my diploma from me, say you did not do enough, and have everyone watch as i murdered myself in the grass. there would be no more running up staircases. that would be it. neither my grandmother nor my mother graduated, and here i was, doomed by the fucking narrative.

my friends who did not make love conditional had been watching me the whole year with careful eyes and heavy hands. as soon as the ceremony was over, i fled from them. i fled from everyone. my heart was in my throat. i could not quite believe it. eighteen, a graduate. my bravado carried me through interactions and i did not break until my english teacher, the first person to believe in me in five years, told me that he and his wife were unbelievably proud of me. unbelievably proud.

i have never had someone be unbelievably proud of me. i put my cap that i had decorated with glitter down, placed my phone to the side of me, and in the back of my aunt’s fancy rental car, i broke. it had been a long fucking eight years, but here i was, still standing despite the scars and the breakdowns and the fact that my mother once threw up when she saw the beast she had created. i had made it. i was eighteen, my diploma in my hands. i had fucking done it. i had graduated high school. it was the purest act of defiance, the proudest thing i’ve ever done. it was more than just an education. it was a break in the narrative. it was spite. and on my worst days, it was a year-old promise to the people that were unwavering in their belief in me, despite the fact that i was a troubled child and i could not do anything that was untroubled. it was this: i will graduate.

so i did. it was as simple as that. i walked across that stage with my friends, my heart an ocean, and the world shifted on its axis, acommodating me. i had made it through high school. i did not have my driver’s license because i had wasted time trying to bleed to death, but now i had freedom on my fingertips. i was a high school graduate, the first person on my mother’s side of the family. i was a fucking high school graduate, eighteen-years-old. the proof was in pictures and emails and that fucking diploma.

a high school graduate. eighteen. me, and the world at my fingertips. and people that are unbelievably, unfailingly, unwaveringly proud of me.

it aches in a way that nothing has ever ached before. i would not change it for anything.

[last-c2usade]

PROFILE (viewable only ooc)

Name: M█████ A█████

Alias(es)/Title: S. Adamantine.

Species: Openseadweller Alien.

Age: old!!! 327? (not that old for a seadweller honestly since they live around 1K years but yeah)

Sign: Aquarius (tho his human star sign would probably be... maybe Sagittarius?)

Blood Color and Caste: Bright Red (near pink), royal member of the Underwater Court.

Gender: Male (he/him)

Sexuality: Bi, aromantic.

Occupation(s): ex-conqueror, author, numbers cruncher, ship captain

>Physical

cw self-harm ment

Big round blubbery guy! Like a beluga or an orca. Round flattish face, big nose, chubby cheeks, big square chin. Thick horns that flow back over his head and end in harpoon-like hooks. Webbed hands, big thick tail with dorsal fins. Thin colorful purple fins over his long, sharp ears, near his horns, down his tail. Thicker, stouter fins down his back, on the back of his arms, down his tail, at the end of the tail. Has a big scar over his nose. Darker forehead, white around the eyes. Dark tips (hands, end of tail, horn tips, nose). Thick paint around his eyes like this (thick around the eyes like eyeliner, with wings at the tips). Claws that are usually painted black. Self-harm scars on the insides of his wrists and on his thighs. Thick heavy tattoos on both of his arms depicting various important events in his life. Think biker tattoo sleeves. Big tattoo on his back of half-folded bat wings. Big tummy! Fat! Blubbery. Stretch marks as well. No stripes! Just darker back and lighter tummy. Spattering of beauty marks / freckles all over.

Most of these won't come up except for the stuff that you see on the outside. His wrists and self-harm scars are always covered and he tries to cover his tattoos when he's in professional court settings.

When in uniform, Adamantine wears a full-body wetsuit under sleek-black armor (not full body, just a chest-plate, kneepads and gauntlets) made by Armourer, marked with Ada's caste symbol and the symbol of the empire, as well as his name. Wears a bright purple sash that crosses horizontally across his front, tied at his waist. He wears heavy, military boots that match his armor.

When out of uniform, he wears black tight leather or denim pants, a black or brown button up shirt open at the top or, when at much more casual, a band t-shirt under a brown leather vest or just a band tank top. He wears brown leather cowboy boots and brown leather arm bracelets that are thick enough to cover his wrists, or a watch. He dresses like a biker, and he LOVES brown leather.

Pets: None!

Religion: Part of a clown church cult i don't have a name for yet which worships pain and suffering as a source of power (thus the self-harm scars).

MBTI: idk yet!

Likes: reading, writing prose and poetry, fixing/doing mechanics on his bike and various other machines, swimming (he swims really fast!), old man things like pool and billiards, drinking various exotic alcohols (he might have himself an addiction), coffee and tea, tobacco and smoking, horse riding when he can, MATHS and NUMBER CRUNCHING, killing, pain, conquering by force, spa day, Armourer, Bentiv

Dislikes: court drama (and most of the royal court with it), being left out of the group, not being respected, being hot all the damn time my god is he sweaty sometimes, having to use his legs for an extended period of time (he'd rather swim. or drive), being rushed, soda and cheap or fast food, having to micromanage people, people who question him, and people who dig into his past

Positive traits: smart, talkative, willing to talk to you about things if they interest him, patient as hell, creative, kinky, and he's learning to be relatively friendly and approachable!

Negative traits: judgey, automatically thinks he's better than you (he's working on it), bitey, will question authority if he thinks it's stupid, pushy, his way or the highway stubborn sometimes, clingy, automatically assumes the worst, shy

Misc brain stuff: hyperempathy, has a hard time saying no, bpd girlies be like, ptsd, suicidal. trying. really. hard. to be nice. to you. : }. can get panic and anxiety attacks if pushed too much. uncontrollable anger that'll make him say shit he regrets if you press the wrong buttons.

Disabilities: none! other than the brain shit. which there is. a lot of.

Random stuff i find fun: he's a cusp-blood, half clown half violet. has weak psionics for making you feel what hes feeling. activates whenever he feels a super strong emotion. is part of a clown church cult as a result. does this to say fuck the court. hates the court passionately. your character Would Know (if they remember) that he's been kicked out of the royal court for some big disaster. they would not necessarily know unless they were there that day that he was kicked out for trying to colonize a planet, being told he can't because it was A. unnecessary B. took too much resources C. doubted he could do it, did it anyways and not only conquered the unconquerable but got more than 3/4s of the army he took to wipe it out killed. (and that he managed to do it because he yelled so hard at the empress and demanded his place with such amount of force she had to reward him for it.) Also! his blog name is a reference to "Foundations of Decay" by MCR lyrics, and his title is a reference to a quote from Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Which I haven't read so I'm a poser and I can't vouch for it, but some vibes tell me Ada would LOVE the big sweeping suffering of the Russian classics.

Relationship Status: Somewhat Dating Armourer. They're close friends (not as close as Armourer is to Bentiv tho). Has a best friend I know nothing about. Good friends with Bentiv! OPEN to advances, but he's very very picky. You can try. He will be Super Judgey and/or get super attached instantly (which. if he does. he'll then proceed to entirely rely on you for his wellbeing. he's. working on it. maybe.).

[vidalinav]

She walks down the stairs and he thinks of playing cards--a red queen tucked sweetly between her fingers. 

Is that what she is? 

The red queen, all proud and villainous. She’ll purse her pretty pink lips, spouting off with your head! 

His head is much too pretty for that, Cassian decides, so he squares his shoulder back and tries not to look frightened. Though, it can’t possibly be fear that warms his blood just so. 

God, when has he last seen her?

It has to be last November. It’s a small town after all and news of the Archeron sisters is gossip for all of its residents. He’d know if she bothered to leave this place in any case. Out of the three, Nesta is the sister who visits the least and it’s a wonder he can remember every detail of her perfect face. 

All night I dreamt of bonfires and burn piles and ghosts of men. What sinful thing will you burn away tomorrow so that others won’t see?

Those are the only words she ever speaks to him and Cassian can recite them in his dreams. Ada Limón, he learns later, and the fact that she’s an English professor. Reciting poetry must be nothing new. 

But she won’t be attending the Fire Night Festival she means, when he asks some rambling question during their time in line waiting for a latte. He’s never spoken to her and it’s then he learns why. Because he’s a blubbering fool.

Perhaps, he’s naïve too, to think she’ll bother with them all when she has this whole big house and all of its woodwork to keep her company. Cassian certainly wouldn’t want to leave this place, or the woods surrounding it, or the creek just up the road.

Besides Cassian knows who she is. She’s the one who runs her fingers down the spine of the book in her hands, tapping at the cover impatiently. She’s the one he imagines whose fingers glide along the tattoo on his back, and he thinks about how it might feel to have her small hands tracing each whorl.

How will it feel when her claws sink into his flesh? Will it feel like heaven or will he scream in agony? 

Cassian can never quite tell when he sees her face. 

She’s as beautiful as sin and in her dressing gown of red, she’s even more so now.

Nesta looks like fire. Like burning. Like sin. 

Will you burn the sinners too? 

“You’re late,” she calls out from the top of the stairs, “so I don’t know why you bothered to show up at all.” 

“I was surprised that you called,” he answers instead, waving his tool box as if they might be explanation enough for her words. “You didn’t leave much details so I brought as much as I could.” 

Cassian packs almost everything if he’s honest. He won’t miss the opportunity. He can barely believe his eyes when he sees the message on his phone. A no nonsense date, a time, an address, and click. 

“Who else was I suppose to call if I needed repairs?” Nesta blinks slowly at him and every movement of her body seems to come with clicks. A sharp tap of her small heels, as graceful as if she’s dancing in ballrooms. It’s a music of its own, here in this foyer. “You do offer repairs don’t you or was the flyer mistaken?” 

Her sharp tone sings of disdain, but Cassian pays no mind. In fact, his face lights up without any grievance, his smile a waxing crescent moon. “It’s been a dream of mine since I was young to work on this house.” 

“No child I know dreams of work.” 

[justalarryblog]

💚 Just A Little Something by @hostage (2k) | Mature

"You know, I've never-" Marcel begins, but Louis cuts him off.

"I know," he smiles softly.

"No, I mean-" Marcel furrows his brow adorably, trying to get his point across. "Not- not even a kiss."

Or, Marcel brings Louis an entirely new meaning to "working in pairs."

💚 Strangers In The Night by @kingsofeverything (9k) | Explicit

Louis never thought he’d meet his soulmate.

Harry never thought he’d meet a vampire.

💚 Heart Eyes by @snowy38 (10k) | Explicit

He fidgeted nervously, long fingers pushed through his soft fringe, fingertips lingering on the thick curls that he felt formed there. He hoped his hair looked okay. He hoped he looked okay.

He hoped-

“Oi oi!” Niall’s loud, Irish voice cut into the small space along with the loud chatter of the party; the door assumingly opened. He swallowed.

“Fuck off!” A northern accent complained; the sound of bodies wrestling before it went quiet again; the clunk of the lock confirming to him that his suitor was now locked inside.

Harry knew the voice. He knew. And if he hadn’t known the voice, he would have known the smoky, sweet scent of the boy before him. Seventeen years old, friends since they were eight, and they’d never been pushed into the kissing cupboard together before.

💚 In All Its Imperfections by @BriaMaria (15k) | Explicit

From: Louis Tomlinson

To: Undisclosed Recipients

Hello!

I’ve asked the front desk and you lovely folks are the ones who are on the same level as me in the car park. I found a to-do list today that looked somewhat important because it has lines of poetry scribbled at the bottom that seemed like they might be for a card project. The stationary has a moose in a canoe at the top of it (and he is quite adorable). Let me know if it’s yours!

Cheers!

“Oh. My. Fucking. God,” Harry whispered, his eyes darting over the sentences again willing them not to make sense. They did, they did make sense. “Oh. My. Bloody. Fucking. God.”

The next thing he knew he was on the floor, staring at the ceiling, with a very concerned Liam hovering over his head.

“What happened, mate?” Liam asked.

Harry just pointed to his computer.

Liam bent over Harry’s desk to read the email. “What? This isn’t bad. Is that your to-do list? Did you finally come up with the inside text for those cards?”

“Leeyum" he groaned. “It’s what’s on the list.”

“Oh,” Liam paused for a beat. “Is it dirty stuff?”

Harry nodded.

There was more silence. And then, “Dirty stuff with Louis?”

💚 When Two Worlds Collide by @pastelpunkdan, orphan_account (16k) | Teen And Up Audiences

Harry was the middle triplet of Marcel and Edward. He was bullied by Louis Tomlinson, who was the biggest popular kid in school. He got all the girls(and guys). He slept around, smoked, did drugs, and had a number of tattoos that was uncountable. Harry’s plans of being the good kid all his life is shattered when Louis admits some unsaid feelings to Harry.

What will happen when their two worlds collide?

Song: Two Worlds Collide by Demi Lovato

💚 Sail Across Me by @canonlarry / iwillpaintasongforlou (21k) | Explicit

Harry is a prince that is about to be forced into marriage against his will and running away to sea seems like a much better option. Louis is the captain of the infamous pirate ship The Rogue and he has a thing for helping defenseless creatures. Especially when they're as pretty as this one.

💚 Give Me Truths by @canonlarry / iwillpaintasongforlou (110k) | Explicit

'Just like a little cat,' Louis thought later, as he drifted off to sleep. 'A little kitten with his claws sunk right into me.' It isn’t that terrible of a thought, after all.

.............

Louis is a psychology student with a tattoo count as high as his genius IQ. Harry is in a (sort-of) relationship with a homophobic man and hates himself a little more every day. Things fall apart and Louis puts him back together.

Or, the one in which Louis falls in love with a fragile boy and tells him every beautiful truth in the world, as long as it makes him happy.

Part 1 of The Rainbow Cookie

✨You can also check my fic tags for more! ✨

[acenixon]

bold what applies to your muse.

color.   red.  brown.  orange.  yellow.  green.  blue.  purple.  pink.  black.  white.  teal.  silver.  gold.  grey.  lilac.  metallic.  matte.   royal blue.  strawberry red.  charcoal grey.  forest green.  apple red.  navy blue. crimson.  cream.  mint green.  magenta.  pastels.  bubblegum pink.  blood red.  ivory.

elemental.   fire.  ice.  water.  air.  earth.  rain.  snow.  wind.  moon.  stars.  sun.  heat.  cold.  steam.  frost.  lightning.  sunlight.  moonlight.  dawn. dusk. twilight.  midnight.  sunrise.  sunset.  dewdrops.  clouds.  light.

body.   claws.  long fingers.  fangs.  teeth.  wings.  tails.  lips.  bare feet.  beauty marks.  moles.  freckles.  bruises.  canine.  scars.  scratches.  ears.  wounds.  burns.   spikes.  feathers.  webs.  eyes.  hands.  sweat.  tears.  feline.  chubby.  curvy.  short.  tall.  normal height.  muscular.  slender.  trained.  piercings. tattoos.  strong.  weak.  shapeshifting.  junoesque.  svelte.  long hair.  short hair.  dark circles.  big.  small.  prosthetic.  experimented.  cyborg.  halos.  horns.  wolfish.    

weaponry.   fists.  sword.  dagger. spear.  scythe.  bow and arrow.  hammer.  shield.  poison.  guns.  axes.  throwing axes.  whips.  knives.  throwing knives.   pepper sprays.  tasers.  machine guns.  slingshots.  katanas.  maces.  staffs.  wands.  powers.  magical items.  magic.  rocks.  power loader.  flamethrower.  metal rod.  shotguns.  needles.  sniper rifle.  dart gun.

material.   gold.  silver.  platinum.  titanium.  diamonds.  pearls.  rubies. sapphires.  emeralds.  amethyst.  metal.  iron.  rust.  steel.  glass.  wood.  porcelain.  paper.  wool.  fur.  lace.  leather.  copper.  silk.  velvet.  denim.  linen.  cotton.  charcoal.  clay.  stone.  asphalt.  brick.  marble.  dust.  glitter.  blood.  dirt.  mud.  smoke.  ash.  shadow.  carbonate.  rubber.  synthetics.  yarn.  slime.  ivory.

nature.   grass.  leaves.  trees.  bark.  roses.  daisies.  tulips.  holly.  lavender.  lilies.  petals.  thorns.  sunflowers.  seeds.  hay.  sand.  rocks.  snow.  ice.  roots.  flowers.  ocean.  river.  lake.  meadow.  forest.  desert.  tundra. savanna.  rain forest.  swamp.  caves.  underwater.  coral reef.  beach.  waves.  space.  stars.  clouds.  mountains.  fungi.  cliffs.  sunlight.

animals.   lions.  wolves.  black panther.  eagles.  owls.   falcons.  hawks.  swans.  snakes.  turtles.  ducks.  bugs.  roaches.  spiders.  birds.  whales.  dolphins.  fish.  sharks.  horses.  cats.  dogs.  bunnies.  praying mantis.  crows.  ravens.   mice.  lizards.  frogs.  bears.  werewolves.  unicorns.  pegasus.  dinosaurs.  dragons.  felines.  foxes.  centaurs.

food / drink.   sugar.  salt.  water.  candy.  bubblegum.  wine.  champagne.  hard liquor.  beer.  coffee.  tea.  spices.  herbs.  apple.  orange.  lemon.  cherry.  strawberry.  watermelon.  vegetables.  fruits.  meat.  fish.  pies.  desserts.  chocolate.  cream.  caramel.  berries. nuts.  cinnamon.  burgers. burritos.  pizza.  vanilla.  cookies.  sushi.  spring rolls. poke.

hobbies.   music.  art.  piercing.  watercolors.  gardening.  knitting.  smithing. sculpting.  painting.  sketching.  fighting.  fencing.  riding.  writing.  composing.  cooking.  sewing.   training.  dancing.  acting.  singing.  martial arts.  self-defense.  electronics.  technology.  cameras.  video cameras.  video games.  computer.  phone.  movies.  theater.  libraries.  books.  magazines.  poetry.  philosophy.  cds.  records.  vinyls.  cassettes.  piano.  violin.  cello.  guitar.  electronic guitar.  bass guitar.  harmonica.  synthesizers.  harp.  woodwinds.  brass.  trumpet.  flute.  drums.  bells.  playing cards.  poker chips.  chess.  dice.  motorcycle riding.  eating.  climbing.  tree climbing.  running.  vivisection.

style.   lingerie.  armour.  cape.  dress.  robes.  suit.  tunic.  vest.  shirt.  boots.  heels.  leggings.  trousers.  jeans.  skirt.  shorts.  jewelry.  earrings.  necklace.  bracelet.  ring.  pendant.  hat.  crown.  circlet.  helmet.  scarf.  neck tie.    brocade.  cloaks.  corsets.  doublet.  chest plate.  gorget.  bracers.  belt.  sash.  coat.   jacket.  hood.  gloves.  socks.  masks.  cowls.  braces.  watches. glasses.  sunglasses.  visor.  eye contacts.  makeup.  pantyhose.  stockings.   thigh highs.  eyepatch.  collar.

misc.   balloons.  bubbles.  cityscape.  landscape.  light.  dark.  candles.  war.  peace.  money.  power.  percussion.  clocks.  photos.  mirrors.  pets.  diary.  fairy lights.  madness.  sanity.  sadness.  happiness.  optimism. pessimism.  realism.  loneliness.  anger.  family.  friends.  assistants.  co-workers.  enemies.  lovers.  loyalty.  smoking.  alcohol.  drugs.  kindness.  love. embracing.  feathers.

[pastelpaperplanes]

Papillon's wings remind me of a butterfly. I bet someone would give him a nickname associating with butterflies and danger with all the danger he puts himself through.

yes by design his wings are a little nod to those of a butterfly! His skinny little pretty but delicate frame are all little ideas attributed to a butterfly ✨

But my original idea behind his name though actually relates to an old French prison tattoo. A butterfly tattoo would mean that it’s wearer is a thief! The brand has something to do with the double meaning of Je vole, which translates to both I steal and I fly

See Papillon’s specialties are both espionage and thievery. Before being recruited to the Decepticon ranks straight out from behind bars, Papi was a ehhh For Hire Merc of sorts, only it was his looks and cold talents with manipulation that were his weapons, claws being the third and not nearly used as much as he’d liked them to be.

Papi could steal information, loyalty for a night, classified codes, and overall the sense of his victims for any side at a specific price. He’s damn good at what he does and it doesn’t take long before he’s seduced his way into control, has his poor target’s attention and spark in a tight hold, and has their money in the palm of his hands.

This got him into trouble though when a client set him up with a target far too clever, saw right through Papi’s game far too quick and sent him straight to the Vosian prisons. If it had not been for Megazark himself buying his bail, Papi would not have last much longer in the dark and cramped cell holds. Papillon found himself indebted without a choice to the rising Decepticon faction, when tensions finally exploded into the Great War, Papi had no where else to go and simply stuck around for the protection and pocket money (which he stole of course) later his stay became more centered around his trine and then later Firstwatch.

So yes, his name is a nod to that prison brand and I’d also like to kinda tie into the idea of Gilded Butterflies.

We all laugh at gilded butterflies has several meanings depending on how you interpret it. megan fox I adore your tattoo and it’s kept me up at night

Butterflies being valuable and beautiful on the outside, but are in fact insubstantial on the inside—overdressed to appear like more than they actually are.

Or a gilded butterfly meaning a person trapped behind simply being seen for their looks, poked at simply because those looks must have been the only attributing factor to their name.

The way I kinda view Papillon is in a way like a gilded butterfly. He’s beautiful and that has absolutely been a key factor in how he’s warped his personality to fit another’s perception of him for a job. Because of his background and skills he’s earned more than a few rumors and sultry labels within the Decepticon ranks. Papillon has disguised himself under the ruse of again, using his beauty for gains—and he’s a good at it, leading to him getting those smeared labels.

As much as he likes the power that comes with the Maneater personality,,,,Papi honestly was lonely. It’s hard to make allies if no one knows what version of you they will get that day. That’s why he became fixated on Firstwatch, so far one of the only mecha to gently reject his less-that-innocent advances and insist on getting to know him rather than know his frame first.

Hahah that’s the long answer(s) I guess behind the origins of Papillon’s name!! Prison and poetry >:3

Short answer would be I LIKE BUTTERFLIES and if I get to make a pretty little skinny seeker w that design in mind I’m HAPPY

[sweetsubharry]

Hey Lott! Any chance you could grace us with a punk Louis fic rec? That would literally make my day! (No rush). Thank you sm<3 you are amazing

Hiya! awh that’s so kind of you to say! I would love to!!! I love punk Louis au!! I hope you like this! 💖 ^-^

please remember to stay safe and read the tags everyone!

In All Its Imperfections by BriaMaria 

Hello!

I’ve asked the front desk and you lovely folks are the ones who are on the same level as me in the car park. I found a to-do list today that looked somewhat important because it has lines of poetry scribbled at the bottom that seemed like they might be for a card project. The stationary has a moose in a canoe at the top of it (and he is quite adorable). Let me know if it’s yours!

Cheers!

“Oh. My. Fucking. God,” Harry whispered, his eyes darting over the sentences again willing them not to make sense. They did, they did make sense. “Oh. My. Bloody. Fucking. God.”

The next thing he knew he was on the floor, staring at the ceiling, with a very concerned Liam hovering over his head.

"What happened, mate?" Liam asked.

Harry just pointed to his computer.

Liam bent over Harry’s desk to read the email. “What? This isn’t bad. Is that your to-do list? Did you finally come up with the inside text for those cards?”

“Leeyum" he groaned. “It’s what’s on the list.”

“Oh,” Liam paused for a beat. “Is it dirty stuff?”

Harry nodded.

There was more silence. And then, “Dirty stuff with Louis?”

Give Me Truths by iwillpaintasongforlou

'Just like a little cat,' Louis thought later, as he drifted off to sleep. 'A little kitten with his claws sunk right into me.' It isn’t that terrible of a thought, after all. ............. Louis is a psychology student with a tattoo count as high as his genius IQ. Harry is in a (sort-of) relationship with a homophobic man and hates himself a little more every day. Things fall apart and Louis puts him back together.

Or, the one in which Louis falls in love with a fragile boy and tells him every beautiful truth in the world, as long as it makes him happy.

tell me that I'm wrong but I do what I please by moonlightlouis

au where Harry and Louis are in a relationship and someone hurts louis' baby so he defends his honor

but he cant be what you need (if he's eighteen) by lingerielarries

“I need you to do something for me.” Harry said, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger.

“It seems like you’re asking me to kill for you, H.” Louis laughed nervously.

“It’s nothing that drastic, I promise. It’s just. I don’t think it’s a secret that I’m not a.. normal eighteen year old.” Louis furrowed his eyebrows at that, narrowing his eyes at the younger boy.

“Are people giving you a hard time?” Louis wondered. Harry shifted in his seat and brushed some of his fringe off his forehead.

“Yeah, that’s. That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.” Harry swallowed nervously. He could feel the sweat pooling at his hairline so he wiped it with the sleeve of his sweater. “I need you to uhm, pretend to be my boyfriend.”

or

the one where harry is sick of getting bullied and casts louis as the hot punk boyfriend to scare them away. louis needs harry to return the favor.

punk!louis and flowerchild!harry

the love is ours to make (so we should make it) by lingerielarries

“I’m.. Harry. I nanny? For Ernest and Doris?” Harry responded.

“A nanny? How old even are you? You look twelve.” Louis remarked. Something caught Louis’ eye, and a closer look revealed that Harry had a coat of pink nail polish on his fingers.

“Nineteen. I’m nineteen.” Harry replied.

“Right. Nineteen, wears pink, flower crowns and paints his nails. Who the actual fuck did my mum hire?”

or

the one where louis takes some time off from life to return home, only to be met with a strange boy in pink and a flowercrown as the nanny of his siblings.

You're So Square (Baby I Don't Care) by mmaree

“So does it say who my new co-counsellor is?”

“Yeah, it does.” Zayn doesn’t even try to hide his smirk and Louis just knows.

He sucks in a breath. “It’s that bloody Styles kid, isn’t it?”

Zayn starts cackling, and Louis takes a moment to rethink every life decision he’s ever made, figure out where he went wrong and why karma hates him so much.

“I’m stuck with Britain’s Biggest Boy Scout for the rest of the summer, aren’t I?”

***

Or a summer camp au where Louis tries to sort out whether he wants to murder or snog his perky co-counsellor.

Way to Your Heart by fallenflowercrowns

High school AU, where Louis is in a band and Harry likes to come to the rehearshals for no particular reason. Punk Louis with a lot of tattoos and everything. Shy Harry with an angel face and not many friends. Strangers to lovers. Quick sex in the rehearshals' room (just handjob or blowjob) Happy end.

Harry pines but is oblivious, Louis is a punk with a big heart, Ziam shag behind everyone's backs and Nick is actually not in love with Harry.

Your Nickel Ain't Worth My Dime by orphan_account

Louis just moved into a house next to Harry, and they have bedroom windows that face each other.

Piercing The Petals by orphan_account 

"You're really pretty."

"Thanks Lou." Harry blushed. Louis couldn't help but smirk at the boy with flowers on his brown locks.

"Tell you what, If you let me fuck you into this mattress, I'll make you a new crown. Whichever flower you want. Colours and all." And Harry didn't need to be told twice before he started stripping.

The Moments When My Good Times Start to Fade by paintsplatteredteardrops

Where Harry is a flower child who works in a bakery and Louis is a guitarist who has no idea what it is he wants.

Because We Can by KrisStylinson

Harry's the bizzare new kid who likes flowers too much, Louis' the epitome of punk who's not as smooth as he seems. Those two things shouldn't mix as beautifully as they do.

A nice, long journey through Harry and Louis' intersecting lives, starting with the day they meet in high school—including meddling friends, a Styles-Tomlinson family Christmas, a first time, and a couple's holiday in Paris.

i’d burn this city down to show you the light by you_explode

Harry's a sheltered rich kid and Louis's a punk with a heart of gold. They meet when Louis breaks into Harry's house, Harry obtains an instant and all-encompassing crush, and they spend the summer falling into a whirlwind romance.

Forget Your Ex by RainbowSkinnies

He just had to get right back on the horse, that’s what Harry kept telling himself. It was what Nick had told him he should do too, because after all, wasn’t that the way to get over someone; to get under someone else? Sayings like that had to exist for a reason...

When Harry's boyfriend of two years leaves him for someone else, it's fair to say he's rather a bit upset, but his friends have a solution for him. Nick and Niall are hosting a start of term house party at their flat, having invited everyone they know from uni. Who knows, with a bit of luck Harry can find a rebound shag and finally forget his ex...

[smilepal]

Character Study:

Tagged By: @noirapocalypto

Tagging: @shinycorvidae

Layer 01: The Outside -Name: Hiro Oda -Eye Color: Blue--decided to keep it instead of replacing it with optics. -Hair Style/Color: Hiro has messy black hair, kept shorter on the sides. It's usually worn in a bun or a short ponytail. He has black hair, and spends an embarassing amount of time on it. -Height: 5'4. He more than makes up for it with his personality though, or at least so he says. -Clothing Style: His Style is cyberpunk meets urban samurai-likes lots of layers and stylishly over (or under) sized shirts. He likes to scavenge clothing he finds on jobs, so his wardrobe reflects this. He wears a wide range of colors, and isn’t always the most subtle, with occasional pops of bright neon--especially in the clubs. He usually wears comfortable, flexible shoes or boots--preferably ones that are good for climbing/running and making a quick getaway if necessary. When on missions or out and about, he disguises his face using his old Tyger Claws mask. He has two--one in red and the other in black. It's a chore trying to get him to wear formal clothing, he hates getting dressed up and prefers fabric with a shine/interesting textures (especially leather, but he wouldn't say no to a dash of latex on occasion, anything that catches the eye). -Best Physical Feature: He's attached to his tattoos, despite that they represent a part of his life he's very much done with but he thinks he'd look strange without them. He's confident about his appearance and spends a lot of time working on it, and is a touch vain. Layer 02: The Inside -Fears: He's afraid of more than he likes to let on. He's afraid of water especially if he can't see the bottom of it--he never learned to swim. He's definitely afraid of losing people he cares about--there's not very many of them and he's afraid of his defection from the Tyger Claws painting a target on them. While not exactly a fear he finds the Badlands unsettling--there's so much open space and it's oddly quiet, especially after the noise and lights of Night City. -Guilty Pleasures: Real coffee (even though it's a frivolous expense), baking, and trying to pet every stray cat he can find. -Biggest Pet-peeves: How people tend to treat joytoys/dolls, as if they're disposable. As someone's who's past is a bit spotty, it's a sensitive topic and he gets grouchy/tight-lipped if you push him too much -Ambitions for the Future: Beyond finding a way to extricate the chip and keep both him and Johnny in one piece? He'd like to eventually make enough doing merc work to be able to just make a living fixing stuff. He's a good mechanic and would love the time/financial stability to be able to work on his hobbies more. Layer 03: Thoughts -First thought waking up: I don't have nearly enough coffee for this (in the event he managed to actually sleep in the first place) -What they think about most: Trying to keep their partners safe, in NC this is a constant job and requires a lot of vigilance -What they think about right before bed: So much--they have terrible insomnia so post-sleep anxiety is fairly common. -What they think their good quality is: They're generous and have a strong moral compass--will occasionally not charge people for gigs despite the monetary loss, especially if it seems like he'd be taking advantage of the situation or it doesn't feel right. He's kind, even if he does come off as rather prickly. Layer 04: Either Or -Single or group dates: As he has two partners, a lot of his dates tend to be group dates. He's not one to set up formal dates though. He'd rather just go out for a casual cup of coffee or a late night bike ride. He only realizes it's a date after the fact, usually. -To be loved or respected: He'd rather be loved. He's seen where only wanting respect gets you and he'd rather not turn out like his corpo older brother -Beauty or Brains: He definitely coasts by on intuition, luck and good looks at times so he's a bit biased but in regards to a partner, it doesn't matter much to him? A sense of empathy/loyalty are

more important to him than either. -Dogs or Cats: Cats! He loves them (and owns two--a Sphinx named Kira, and a black cat he's dubbed Goro--as it seems to share the same look of general disapproval.) Layer 05: Do They... -Lie?: Yes, if it's to protect their partners or for work. -Believe in themselves?: It depends on who's asking. They come off as very confident but it hides a lot of deeply rooted insecurity. They're more sensitive than they like to let on. -Believe in love?: A bit. They admire the idea of it but don't think it's for them. It's something they secretly really crave though--even if they'd have a hard time admitting it. -Want someone?: Yes. They end up with @shinycorvidae's V (Vic) and Johnny because damnit they're getting a happy ending. I don't care if it's not cannon 😂 Layer 06: -Been on stage?: Yes, it's a common thing (or at least, previously had been) and they're fairly desensitized to it. -Done drugs?: Tends to try really hard to stay away from them. Both his parents had issues with them and definitely played a role in their death. He uses airhypos/anasthetic grudgingly but that's it. -Changed who they were to fit in?: Not to fit in, per-se but to slide under the radar better. They know that it's safer going unnoticed in Night City most of the time and that's the way they like it. They're good at putting on masks for people though. It takes a lot of patience, and a bit of a thick skin to get them to drop it and show facets of their real personality through. They're a lot softer than they first let on though. Layer 07: -Favorite Color: Black/red especially together. He's also partial to blue -Favorite Animal: He loves cats (and has two that he dotes on like his children) -Favorite Book: It would be challenging to get him to admit it, but he can't read very well. He loves it when Vic reads to him though, because she seems to enjoy it so much and he likes hearing her voice. She's a fan of the classics, and he enjoys the poetry the most. -Favorite Game: Not a game per-se but he's really into racing. Bikes are a hobby of his and he's damned good at it, and has very little fear (and more than a little recklessness). He also wouldn't say no to a game of pool once in a while, particularly if he can rope his friends into a game of it. Layer 08: -Day their next birthday will be: He doesn't know his birthday so he decided on Oct. 31st. -How old they will be: 25 (at least he thinks so) Layer 09: I... -I Love: My partners, and the people I've let get close to me -I Feel: Determined. We'll find a way where we get to decide our future, whatever the cost. -I Hide: My fears and ugly bits of my past. I don't like letting other people know and making them worry. I don't want their pity. -I Miss: Jackie. There's still a lot of guilt there. -I Wish: We had more time, or at least a more clear solution. I feel adrift.

Thanks for tagging me @noirapocalypto! It was really fun to fill out--and I'm always happy to talk about my characters :)

[iris-ymir]

Alter Files!

Short introduction to Iris’ two alters, Irene and Lareine! 🖤

Irene

NAME: Irene d’Espair ALIAS/NICKNAME: Wench, Vixen (Varg), Fox bitch, Yellow Eyes (Iris) AGE: 168 RACE: Daughter of an Old One GENDER: Female SEXUALITY: Demisexual, polyamorous MARITAL STATUS: Obscure ALTER TYPE: Demonic alter Physical Appearance ––– – HAIR: Long, bright red hair, usually tied up onto twintails. EYES: White, dead eyes, lacking all emotion (Sometimes appears yellow in Iris’ hallucinations). HEIGHT: 5′7′’ BUILD: Hourglass shape. DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Pointy ears, long fingers with claw-like nails, and sharp teeth. May sometimes have small horns on top of her head, or spawn several additional eyes. During hallucinations, the appearance varies a lot. Personal ––– – PROFESSION: Dream eater, deadspeaker, soothsayer & witch. HOBBIES/INTERESTS: Illusions, art, poetry & occultism. FAVOURITE FOOD: Sweet mead, spicy steak & roasted vegetables. LANGUAGES: Common & hingan RESIDENCE: Nightmare world BIRTHPLACE: Black Sea FEARS: Losing herself.

Lareine

NAME: Lareine Kira ALIAS/NICKNAME: Shrimp (Iris), Girl (Varg), Young miss (Arsene), The other (Evangeline) AGE: 16 RACE: Hyur midlander GENDER: Female SEXUALITY: N/A MARITAL STATUS: Dating? ALTER TYPE: Teenage alter Physical Appearance ––– – HAIR: Shoulder lenght, platinum blonde hair. EYES: Poison green HEIGHT: 5′0′’ BUILD: Petite and doll-like DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Small beauty mark under the left eye. White rose, painted red, with two cards (Queen of hearts & Ace of Spades) tattooed on her right shoulder. Tends to carry around a white rabbit plushie and an old, broken pocket watch. Personal ––– – PROFESSION: N/A HOBBIES/INTERESTS: Reading, baking, painting & adventuring. LANGUAGES: Common & ishgardian FAVOURITE FOOD: Cupcakes and tea. RESIDENCE: Wonderland BIRTHPLACE: Blacksoul Manor, Ishgard FEARS: Iris, losing her knight, the Wonderland falling into ruin & loneliness.

(Dollmaker I used for silhouettes HERE!)

[dreaming-gamer]

It’s the little things - Nero X V

Fluff, Modern AU, Established relationship, sickfic but it's just a little cold

It was always the little things that told Nero if V was feeling under.

If V was still asleep when Nero woke up, curled into a ball with his raven black locks on Nero’s shoulder, Nero knew V was tired.

If V didn’t wake up when Nero moved, instead embracing Nero’s pillow as his boyfriend pulled away (so hard to do when V looked serene while slumbering, but breakfast wouldn’t make itself), Nero knew V was catching a cold. V was usually very still while sleeping, falling asleep in one position, usually with his head on Nero’s arm or shoulder, and staying like that until morning. Unless a nightmare woke him, which was fortunately not that often.

When they had started to live together, Nero had kicked him in his sleep more times than either of them could count. Thankfully he’d improved with time, possibly since Shadow, their cat, had started to claw at him if his feet got too close.

Finally getting himself out of the soft clutches of the blanket, and his boyfriend’s arms, Nero put down a pair of fluffy slippers by the bed, leaving V to sleep a few more precious minutes. Shadow was happily spread out over V’s feet, just as Nero slipped out of the bedroom.

Nero wouldn’t say he liked V getting sick, but there was a small part of him that did enjoy something about it. Those small things he could do to make V more comfortable. Those small moments that V let himself be cared for, and vulnerable.

A cold meant V’s already small appetite would probably be even smaller, so Nero needed to make something that was easy to eat, not to mention easy on the stomach. Now, he wasn’t an ace in the kitchen, definitely not a chef, but when it came to making food for V, he did enjoy it. 

Their pet bird Griffon chirped inside his cage when Nero came downstairs, holding a finger up to his lips.

“I’ll let you out once V’s up.” He grinned. Otherwise, Griffon just might fly up there and wake V on his own. The bird, despite his tiny size, could be quite… loud.

From an overhead cupboard, Nero gathered a packet of rice and turned to the stove.

It didn’t take long to turn the kettle on and fix a pot, with some rice and water. Nero fixed himself up in the bathroom quickly, just in time for the kettle to boil. Their kitchen was simple but had all appliances they needed. The cupboards were light in colour, inviting a homey feeling, thanks to Kyrie’s advice when it came to design.

Griffon’s chirp told him of the other man’s entrance before the soft steps of the blue, fluffy slippers with bunny ears. Nico had thought they were hilarious. Nero disagreed, but at least they were warm… and somewhat adorable on V’s pale feet.

“Good morning. Pardon my late arrival.” V’s voice was audibly raspy, his green eyes still a bit hazy from sleep, which wasn’t a common sight.

“Morning sleepyhead! You could have stayed in bed a few more minutes. Porridge’s not finished yet.” Nero gave him a gentle smile and gave a nod towards the kitchen table. “Tea’s done though, so sit.” As Griffon kept chirping, he absentmindedly opened the birdcage on the counter. The tiny, blue feathered bird pecked at his finger, before flapping his wings and flying to perch at V’s shoulder.

“Good morning to you as well, Griffon.” The pale man, dressed in one of Nero’s sweater that hung rather loosely on his lean frame, smiled at the bird, before turning to his boyfriend.

“I’m afraid I have little appetite for breakfast, Nero.” V admitted with a weak, apologetic smile, making his way to one of the chairs. Shadow brushed against his leg on her way towards her bowl. “And who is a… sleepyhead, if I might ask?” He added, sounding amused. The smirk on his face was as charming as ever, but it didn’t take away the tiredness in those green eyes.

Nero came over to the table with a teacup in his hands, steam rising from the ginger tea, the porcelain the same brown colour as V’s favourite poetry book.

“You, for once.” The silver-haired man replied, placing the cup in front of V and leaned in to kiss V’s cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit under. I do not wish for you to catch my disease.” V chuckled, Nero never seemed to worry about germs however and he placed his forehead against V’s.  

“Just call it a cold. You’re not gonna infect me that easy.” Nero chuckled. V’s forehead did feel too hot though, so Nero kissed V’s warm cheek lovingly. V made a small sound as if tickled.

“I am not as certain about that. You are the kind of man to catch a cold, and yet keep going without acknowledging it, until it becomes too much.” V pointed out with a small smirk.

The tips of Nero’s ears turned red.

“That was just once.” 

V replied with smirking wider, as if saying “do keep telling yourself that”. 

“You’re gonna call in sick to work, drink tea, have some porridge and stay put in bed, until you feel better. And I’ll fix the stuff around the house.” Nero said, carefully pulling away, a determined, but happy tone in his voice.

V had been so busy lately, with literature lectures at the university, helping other professors arrange for guest lecturers coming to visit and helping out at a book fair at the local library. Come to think of it, V tended to crash after having a lot to do for a while. He liked being busy, especially when it came to literature, but Nero sometimes wondered if he wasn’t doing a little bit too much.

“As wonderful as that sounds… if memory serves, you have a meeting at work today?” V pointed out, lifting the teacup to his lips, sipping, despite the steam rising from the cup. Nero would never pull off drinking something that hot without burning himself. V just looked graceful, with or without a cold.

V chuckled at the sight of the gears in Nero’s head turning.

“Fuck…!”

***

Okay, so everything didn’t go according to Nero’s plan. His work had been adamant about him having to come in for the meeting, otherwise Vergil would have his head. And Nero believed it. If his boss hated one thing, it was tardiness.

That didn’t mean that Nero left the house without being sure that V had been properly cared for, back in bed with some rice porridge to eat, plenty of tea to drink, books to keep him occupied and cold medicine ready to take as soon as he’d eaten. And their pets had been told to make sure V did eat. Not that neither the feline nor the avian could speak, but they had always had a soft spot for V and Nero could swear they looked after V just as much as he did.

V said he’d be fine even if Nero went, but Nero wouldn’t leave without swearing it would be alright for V to call, whenever he needed to, or for whatever reason. V had gazed at him, eyes slightly wide, before they softened and his lips quirking in a small, mischievous smirk. His green eyes had looked as if they said ‘thank you’, without V having to form the words on his lips. Nero’s heart had melted at the sight, before finally having to tear himself away to work.

***

For the entire day, Nero wanted nothing else than to go back home to that fragile, beautiful man. The second the boring, long-ass meeting was done, he checked the display, no calls, no messages. On his way rushing out of the conference room, he’d said yes, he’d check out whatever they wanted him to, later. First, he had somewhere to be.

The house was quiet when he arrived, having to stop himself from opening the door too quickly, he had almost hit himself in the face with the door once, the first day he’d come home from work to their new home. Tugging his shoes off, he glanced into the kitchen.

“I’m home. V?” He said softly, in case his boyfriend was sleeping upstairs, or in the living room.

When no reply came, he sneaked upstairs.

The door to the bedroom was open and the first thing Nero saw was Shadow’s head turning, looking straight at him with her knowing red eyes. She laid curled up against V’s thigh.

“Hey. V, you awake?” The words remained whispers as Nero made his way into the room, smiling to himself at the sight.

V’s head rested on a pile of pillows, stacked against the bed frame, his soft black hair flowing over the cushion cover. His favourite poetry book, the one emblazed with a capital V on the cover, was open over his stomach. His face was a tiny bit flushed, but he appeared to be sleeping soundly. Griffon perched on the bed frame, watching Nero.

Nero carefully sat on the bed, checking for a reaction. The grin grew on his face as there were none, V looked so beautiful that Nero just wanted to watch him. Be close to him when he woke up, ready to give V whatever he needed to brace the cold, whatever he needed in the world.

Only the tattoos on V’s hands were visible, due to Nero’s sweater that he apparently had decided to sleep in.

Nero bit his lip. The last thing he wanted was to disturb V, he looked so precious when he slept, but Nero had really missed him, during the hours he’d been gone. His chest felt all warm, just watching V be at ease. Safe and loved as he should be.

Carefully, Nero scooted closer to his boyfriend, threading his fingers through V’s. His long fingers felt a bit chilled, but Nero’s warmth would help with that soon. To the sound of V’s calm breathing, Nero laid down next to V, slowly and careful not to wake the sleeping beauty. For just a little while, he wanted to stay there, wonder what V could be dreaming of. It didn’t take long for his eyelids to relax from V’s scent, his warmth and the sound of his peaceful breathing.

***

V thought he was having a pleasant dream, when he sleepily opened his eyes, his throat parched from sleep, aching from the cold. When trying to sleep earlier, he’d shifted between being too cold and too warm every minute, but at least that had seemed to settle, thanks to the medicine. For the moment, he didn’t feel too hot, nor was his nerves aching with the pain that always seemed to course through them when sickness struck. 

Seeing Nero beside him, his arms holding onto V’s arm, his head on it... V’s heart clenched a bit as he swore he could hear a tiny snore from Nero. Something about seeing the silver-haired man curled up against him, so completely relaxed felt like something from a dream. Like more than he deserved.

V inhaled a shaky breath. Nero’s love still made him wonder if this was a dream he was going to wake up from soon, from time to time. His heart felt so warm, as if it would explode like a supernova.

Was this kind of happiness permitted? How could he ever make Nero as happy as he always made V?

It was always the little things that made V love Nero so. Like the surprises he liked to pull, bringing V to art exhibitions or museums, even a classical music concert once. How he’d been so bad at making tea in the beginning of their relationship, always making the tea too bland or too strong, but he’d learned, a bit in secret to make it just like V wanted it. He even remembered what blends V preferred. He soaked up the small details about V with seemingly effortless attention that had surprised V in the beginning. Sometimes it still did. Every time, V felt as if he fell in love all over again. Or maybe he loved Nero just a little bit more.

How can I ever let you know, just how precious you are to me? V did want to make sure Nero wouldn’t catch this cold as well, however… Nero being so close was oh, so tempting.

Carefully, he lowered his head, placing a fluttering kiss in Nero’s hair. The short strands could tickle when brushed one way, but V was so careful they only felt soft.

A chirp from overhead made him smirk and he held up his free hand.

“Jealous are we, Griffon?” He said with an amused tone, his cold making his deep voice sound raspy.

The bird perched on his index finger with another, louder chirp. V felt his smirk soften into a smile as Nero made a sound and shuffled against his shoulder, lifting his head.

“Hey beautiful. How you feeling?” V felt his heart go warm at Nero’s words, delivered with an adorable, sleepy tone.

“I’m quite fine, Nero. Just a sore throat, I’m certain my fever has lessened.” He replied, his deep voice raspy.

Griffon flew to the window, chirping when V lowered his hand as he felt Nero scoot away, trying to get up.

“I’ll make you some more tea.” V’s hand managed to catch onto Nero’s lower arm. His grip wasn’t tight, just a quiet request that made Nero shift his gaze back to him.

“Stay, please.” V tugged gently, meeting Nero’s alluring eyes, smiling as they softened and Nero settled down again, letting out a content sigh against V’s shoulder.

“Sure you don’t need anything? Your water glass’s empty.” Nero wondered, looking up at V.

“You are all I need.” V replied, feeling a smirk play on his lips when tips of Nero’s ears turned slightly red. Another small thing he loved about Nero, how open his reactions were. V might enjoy teasing him, but there was still truth to his words.

“Well…” Nero chuckled, his face alight with a grin and that soft redness on his cheeks making him as beautiful as a picture to V’s eyes. “...that can be fixed.” 

“I’m delighted to hear it.” The poet smirked, placing another kiss against Nero’s forehead. “If I may…” He carefully grabbed his favorite poem anthology and placed it in Nero’s hands. “...read for me?” As much as he enjoyed to quote poetry aloud, right now it would probably do his slightly sore throat a disservice. 

Nero paused, watching the brown cover with the golden V staring back at him. V knew poetry was not Nero’s strong suit, if he ever listened to V’s quoting, it was more to hear his voice than anything. Nero reading poetry however? Didn’t really happen.

“Alright, fine.” His boyfriend snorted, opening up the book to a random page. “Got a request?” 

“Whichever you prefer.” V’s voice was still a bit raspy, his throat in need of water but he didn’t wish to leave for the kitchen, nor for Nero to move, just yet.  

“No judging if I stumble.” Nero demanded, scanning the pages, turning them lightly, seemingly in search of a poem that was simple, maybe one that he too could appreciate.

His fingers stopped searching, as he came upon a particular page. 

“Alright...” Nero mumbled, clearing his throat just a little bit before starting on the first words of the page.

“Love and harmony combine,

And round our souls entwine

While thy branches mix with mine,

And our roots together join.”

Nero’s voice wasn’t as smooth as V’s whenever he quoted, but the fact that Nero made an effort, not to mention chose that poem out of all of them… It brought a warmth to V’s chest again, his smirk softening into a smile as he just listened. When Nero stopped, V glanced at his boyfriend with a silent question in his green eyes. 

“Poetry’s definitely more your thing. I don’t get the rest.” Nero admitted and V couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Nevertheless... I thank you… for your lovely attempt.” V smirked. 

“Hey, at least I got this part. We’re not trees, but I mean…” Nero stopped, the tips of his ears turning a charming red as if he just realized what he was saying. 

“Love and harmony do combine and round our souls entwine.” V agreed, his hand seeking out Nero’s and threading his long fingers together with Nero’s. 

“Honestly, I barely get that passage either. But it sounds good.” Nero grinned.

V could not hold back another chuckle. 

“It certainly does.” For now, he truly wished to hold on to this love and harmony. The look in Nero’s eyes revealed the same and V didn’t protest as the other man slowly leaned in and kissed his lips. It was soft, felt wonderful really. Convinced him even more that there was no place he’d rather be, than in this space, feeling loved and protected. 

When the kiss came to an end, he missed Nero’s soft lips instantly. 

But...

“Let’s hope you do not catch my cold. However...” He put a light finger against Nero’s lips when his boyfriend opened his mouth to argue. “... I do not mind, taking care of you, every once in a while.”

“That’s my line.” Nero grinned, before leaning in again. V let him, welcomed him with his plump lips as they just lived in the moment. 

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

@la-vita and @thedyingmoon

[hermitreunited]

💜💜Klaus Character Studies! 💜💜

I’m not going to pretend Klaus isn’t my favorite character. I couldn’t convince anyone of it even if I tried. Most of my recs for the @tuafeedbackfest are probably for fics about Klaus, but these ones are united in being very interested in taking a very close look at why and how Klaus is the way he is, how he thinks - in depth looks into who he is as a person. 

of all the ways to hurt me, hurting yourself is the worst by @toomuchsky

a study in klaus hargreeves & vulnerability, as told by ben hargreeves.

Rating: T⎜Word Count: 5k+⎜Complete (1/1)

I love this fic so so much, it’s always going to be a classic rec from me. Snippets of Klaus’ life, told by Ben, starting from pre-series and going through the end of the first season. It’s got a lot of insights and angles that are so smart and good and was pretty formative for my feelings about Klaus and Ben’s relationship. Not always liking each other or getting along, but shot through with a painful sort of love.

misery loves merriment by painting

When he can, Klaus enacts the artistry of charisma, indulges his unending, clawing devotion for the grounding comfort of human connection, uses the ceiling of his practice and resources to his advantage and shares the high with others. The older he gets, the more he needs to carry and the less he has to spare.

Rating: T⎜Word Count: 10k+⎜Complete (4/4)

From four different outsider’s perspectives, at different points in Klaus’ life, mainly to do with his drug use. Well-written in a way that feels almost delicate, or maybe that’s how Klaus himself feels. It engages with the contradictions of Klaus in a neat way - he’s friendly, but so so lonely. Each of these onlookers is able to see real truths about him, but we know there is so much going that still remains hidden. 

Fly me to the moon by @niishiki​

Luther can't sleep and finds a restless Klaus. Deciding to help his brother through this worst of his withdrawal, Luther shows him the stars.

Rating: T⎜Word Count: 3k+⎜Complete (1/1)

Really lovely post-apocalypse midnight bonding session for Luther and Klaus! They both have their own issues to overcome, and in this sleepover-like atmosphere, they are both able to just be honest and find some comfort in it.

Poem For The Junkie by tube_socks_are_cool

You breathe the word fuck like it's a prayer and you've been too busy licking up lines on your apartment stairs to notice god died screaming.

Rating: T⎜Word Count: 222⎜Complete (1/1)

I don’t know anything about poetry or saying smart things about poetry, but I think this is really beautiful.

something borrowed by painting

Her brother is still so jumpy for somebody so entrenched in the macabre, voluntarily or not, and when his shoulders drop from what had been a jolt of anxious tension as he recognizes her and relaxes, Klaus connects to Allison with imploring green eyes.

"Can I help you?" he says, and he has the nerve to sound a little bit offended at the interruption as though Allison is the intruder in the situation instead of the other way around.

Rating: T⎜Word Count: 8k+⎜Complete (3/3)

Didja notice this is the same author as the outsider pov one? There’s some similarities here - the good writing style, for one, and it similarly deals with Klaus navigating social interactions. This one is after some not-apocalypse and features sober Klaus and sibling bonding!

the sugar rush, the constant hush by @indigoecho

The scars across his body mark a treasure map of mistakes. Tiny shrapnel scars and rosy-red roadrash, a lifetime of being thrown to the ground by Academy training and the real world. The ivory line tracing across his jaw, almost invisible. The tattoos and the traintracks, the pockmarked puncture wounds scattered like a horrifying constellation across his body.

He’s so tired.

Rating: M⎜Word Count: 3k+⎜Complete (1/1)

Starts pre-series, but mainly tracks Klaus’ thought process throughout the season. It’s got some really neat insights, picking up on all the right things that don’t get delved into as much on the show but that always intrigue me to think about.

[tsukuna]

Chapters: 5/?                                         NEW CHAPTER POSTED

“Ahehehe,” Griffon cackled, “Jus’ look at all ‘em roots sucking up all that blood willy nilly!” He continued to babble about how funny the roots were, as expected. You tuned back in after he said, “Ya know, I’ve been thinking…” Both you and V tilted your heads. “Shouldn’t we have helped the humans run away first? Right now they’re just sitting ducks for the Qliphoth’s roots.”

“What’s the point? No one would have believed me anyways.” Based on how quickly he responded, you assumed V thought about the situation earlier.

You scratched your head with a sigh. “There’s just too many of them. If I come across one who can possibly be saved--” not like the one you just saw “--then I’ll help.”

Griffon nodded to both your responses. “Eh, whatever, not our problem. I’m sure it’ll work out.” You couldn’t help but inwardly chuckle at the comment. It would work itself out... with the solution being the roots devouring and engorging themselves on human blood. “We should focus on that rookie instead. Ya sure he’s gonna come back? Still think we shoulda gone with.”

“Nero will come back.” You were sure of it.

V nodded. “That child’s not the type to simply accept defeat like that.”

“Oh really? Didn’t realize you two knew him that well,” Griffon teased.

“Oh, I understand him very well,” V responded to the bird. “You would know what I’m talking about if you saw the look in his eyes.” 

“Geez, I wonder who he got that from.” Griffon seemed to be insinuating something, but try as you might, you could not figure it out. 

A gurgle and slither erupted from behind. Another smelly demon. Unfortunately, it was something that you would have to get used to for the next month.It was one of the most ugly things you looked at: a bulging, insect-like head, the body of a man, spikes coming out of the back, clawed feet. To top it off, it was holding two handy-dandy, person-sized knives. The demon appeared to be stronger than the Empusas, undoubtedly, but considering they were a let down… you couldn’t imagine these guys were that much. Nothing compared to Urizen, nothing compared to Vergil.

It ran and sliced at V, only to be decapitated the next moment by Shadow. V redirected the blade away from his body, a cocky smile adorning his face while the cat growled at its body. You sidestepped the bubbling fountain of blood that gushed from its headless neck.V, however, did not, opting instead to skewer the demon with his cane. You primarily watched over him during his moments of weakness or while the two of you were resting. Despite being covered head to toe in blood, you recalled one of your initial thoughts about him. He’s really beautiful.

“I don’t understand your expression,” V’s comment pulled you out of your thoughts as he looked over you curiously.

You flushed a little in embarrassment, but decided to be honest anyways. “Ah, I was simply thinking you looked cool and beautiful.” He simply stared at you, so you added, “You smell like shit though.” Smooth. 

He sniffed himself and confirmed it. “Demon blood isn’t the most lovely fragrance.” With a sigh, you took a moment to lean against the balcony and shut your eyes. You heard a quiet conversation happening between V and Griffon, but decided not to wedge yourself into it.

That didn’t stop you from picking up what you could though. You listened to words about Dante, appearance, defeat, answers, but had no definitive answers on how they connected. However, the bits and pieces did bring you back to your dream of Vergil and of Dante. V knew about that past, but if you wanted to pry out pieces of information, you knew you’d have to offer up some pretty substantial facts about who you were. 

“Holy shit!” Your eyes snapped open at the sound of people screaming. It appeared your moment of reprieve was over. After all, you told Griffon that if you were around and could help, you’d at least make the effort. Your attention turned to V, and you were curious about what he was going to do.

“Human? ...Human,” he muttered. You quirked your brow at the words, but jumped over the railing and made your descent. Fighting was easy enough, with or without V; though part of you did hope he’d join and keep you company. How selfish and spoiled have I become? Despite the distance, you landed on your feet comfortably and gracefully, having already summoned a sword as your weapon. A brief glance over the people showed expressions of unhinged horror, eyes red from screaming and crying, face covered in sweat. The dead carried similar expressions, but theirs were unchanging. 

“What the fuck?!” You heard Griffon screech from above and saw V coming down as well. You smirked to yourself. I guess I’m getting what I wanted. “There’s no point!” Griffon insisted to V. “Just let them die!” It was a fair point, you acknowledged as you began slashing at the skeletal demons equipped with scythes. Shadow, Griffon, and V were by your side shortly. Cleaning up the demons (for now) would be a quick task. “Didn’t ya say you didn’t want to drain your powers?”

“I just have to do what I can,” he said flatly. “Even if it’s only a fraction of what I could normally do.” 

“Tch. And who’s the one who’s gonna have to pick up and re-glue your pieces?” You complained, but you didn’t truly mind.

V joked, “How could I ever repay you?”

“Let’s stay side by side, hm? That’s payment enough!” You exclaimed between swings of your blade.

“Simple enough.”

--

You and V split off from each other for bouts of time during those next two days, with Griffon typically being the one to find you and bring you to V’s location. It wasn’t always necessary though. Every once in a while a Nightmare would fall from the sky and obliterate everything as it crashed. One of those instances happened a little too close to you and loads of sharp and blunt objects alike assaulted you. You did not let V hear the end of it that day, much to his chagrin. There was a sense of delight that you (and Griffon) took in him apologizing so many times. You finally accepted one of the ‘I’m sorry’s in exchange for him cleaning up the wounds on your face. It wasn’t like you could see them to clean them, though it did make you feel a little shy to have him so delicately touching your face.

By the third day, you two had separated once again in search of food this time. Much of the city was already a.) raided or b.) destroyed. Finding food was no easy task. Only a short time ago, the group of you were eating normal food (albeit it was the cheapest available). Griffon squawked expletives while you and V made plans to cook and eat him one night. Your holy grail had been smashing machines or finding abandoned houses and restaurants. Unfortunately, they were growing farther and fewer. The search left you a great deal of time to introspect (for better or for worse). Your first thoughts wandered to your new companion V. He was generally mysterious, quiet, and level headed. But it was oh so entertaining when that facade dropped. Reveal something about yourself? V would readily offer information of the same importance about himself. Mention poetry? V could talk about it endlessly if there was the time. Griffon spewing random shit? V would get noticeably irate and even give the demonic crow a rap on the head. There were even times where you saw him smile without reservation. Every time he looked at you with that expression, you got fuzzy and warm and you couldn’t help but reciprocate.

Which brought you to your next line of thought, who was he to you and what were you to him. At the very least, you felt him to be your friend--your very first friend, in fact. You had never spent time with anyone but your mother, yet falling into comfort with him was… simple enough. Even physical touch between the two of you never felt threatening. It was the opposite, it made you feel warm. 

V could be fragile at times, and you were fiercely protective of him. While you didn’t voice the concern (it’d surely make him feel inept), you were hesitant to let him split from you. You wanted to always be with him and keep him safe. Your eyes wandered to your ring of blue opal and dark metal. It was your most precious treasure and your curse. Much of your energy was imbued within it, and a decent chunk of that energy was being transferred to V whose body just couldn’t seem to heal itself. Should I bestow it to him?

It was a sure way to make sure he didn’t crumble to pieces while you were apart. But if something were to happen to it, if it were to break… you were dead. You shook away the thought, you knew you could trust V. Especially if you explained the why’s and the how’s of it. You were certain he wouldn’t hurt or betray you, and you knew V was confident in you doing the same. You had a feeling he had also never had someone to call a friend, but you hoped he was willing to call you one. Surprisingly, you pouted and shook your head at the thought. 

It was at that moment that you realized that perhaps you had a bit of a crush. You had never had one, so perhaps you were wrong, but the ache in your chest made you doubtful. From the moment you saw V, you thought he was cute--wavy black hair, tattoos, and an aloof expression. 

His deep green eyes were another feature you could stare at. Ah shit, I think he’s hot. Despite being alone, your face flushed as you understood that you liked him. Or as a child would say, like-like him. 

But was it reciprocated? The answer to that question was uncertain. Unlike your physical reactions, V didn’t appear to ever be flustered by you; however, he didn’t mind you touching him or being close at night. But was that just him thinking it was a means for survival? Regardless of his feelings, you had to debate whether or not to share your own. You were both grown adults, and you were sure you could take rejection. And so it appeared there was nothing to lose. Perhaps you could test the waters first by giving him the ring. It was all such a mundane, human experience.

You groaned dramatically. “This fucking sucks, man,” you complained despite there being no one around on your search. Not even a demon lurked about, strangely enough. What was even more unfortunate was the lack of any sustenance in the entire area you were assigned to search. Hopefully V and Griffon had more luck. It would be incredibly lame to die to starvation instead of fighting. As if they knew your search was over, you felt the tremors of Nightmare crashing somewhere in the city, and the plume of dust and debris indicated where they would be. It was time to reunite, and so you pushed away any childish, lovey-dovey thoughts to the back of your mind to be discussed later. 

Luckily, you had divine-like stamina, so it wasn't too long or hard of a sprint to make it to them. The location appeared to be a now destroyed grocery store with a mass of demon carcasses lying around. "Uh, what happened here?"

"V here smashed the whole fucking store to get rid of the demons! And all the food with them! There's nothing here! Nada! Zilch! None!" Griffon appeared to be pissed to say the least. "All that's left to eat is these demons!"

You grimaced at the thought. "That's all there is," you asked, hoping it was a mere jest on Griffon's part. 

"Sadly," V turned around, blood smeared on his mouth. Your lips stretched into a frown. 

"I already warned V that he may get the shits!"

After a moment of silence, you sighed. "If this is all there is, this is all there is." Your eyes locked onto the biggest body. "How do we plan to transport this? Cause I am not willing to stay here, and I'll drag you away from it too if I must." 

"Hah," V let out a brief laugh, reminding you of your previous thoughts. Ugh. "I was thinking we would all work together--you and I, Shadow, and Griffon." 

You began to pick up a squishy, bloody demon's body. "Let's get a move on then."

"I still think you guys are gross, just so you know," the demon pointed out. 

"Thanks Griff, I appreciate your kindness and concern," you rolled your eyes. 

The group embarked on a new adventure--finding somewhere closer to sleep for the night. On the way, Griffon informed you that V saved a mother and child trapped in the store. The man seemed displeased about being outed but you just smiled. It was sweet and you wondered why he did so  was it simply convenient, or did he care? You sniffed around before pulling V by the hand. "There's no demons right nearby." It was a secluded courtyard with a fountain in the middle. For now, it was safe, but you pulled out sheets of paper and began to scrawl on them in case. You knew V was looking at you inquisitively. "They're wards," you explained. "They won't forever, but they will for the night and morning at least." He nodded in gratitude. "How about we have Shadow butcher these bodies outside of the little area though? Can you do that girlie," you scratched her behind the ears, and as she took bodies outside the area, you were sure she understood. 

"We could try cooking them," V offered. "I doubt that that would make them any worse."

"Let's do it," you agreed. "Think you can start gathering sticks while I put these up?" You motioned to the sheets of paper. 

"Of course," he got up and began searching while you slapped wards around each pillar. You wished you would be able to enjoy the nicer  change of venue, but it was hard to do so when you remembered the food that awaited you. And those pesky feelings. But you were a big girl, and the show must go on. 

In a short period of time, sticks were gathered, Griffon created fire by shocking them, Shadow returned with pieces of the meat, and it was cooking (and emitting an off-putting smell). You and V stabbed sticks through them once they were done and took a bite.

“So how’s the roasted meat?” Griffon asked, flapping around. 

“Absolutely vile.”

You chimed in in agreement. “I’ve had to survive on some lowly, near inedible things, but holy shit,” you held back the tears that pricked your eyes, “this is the worst thing I have ever eaten.” 

“Ungrateful! Both of you!” The demon pecked your head. “What the hell were you even expecting?!”

“Something similar to fried chicken,” V wished gloomily, which Griffon found to be absolute insanity. You giggled, they were a funny pair. You and V choked down as much meat as you could before tossing the scraps to Shadow. She purred in delight while munching. The crow complained and yelled at Shadow to not eat up all of you and V’s food, eliciting a growl. “You two are causing quite the ruckus.”

“You trying to piss me off?!” 

“No. It’s just,” V paused, “I have a strange feeling.” In the next breath, Griffon dug his talons into V’s shirt and dumped him into the fountain. 

He cackled at V, telling him to wash the stink off and strip down. While V scowled at being dumped suddenly, he appeared to agree with needing a bath.

“Gotta agree with the bird,” you smiled at him. “Just leave your clothes on the edge whenever you’re done, and I’ll help take care of them.” You added with a wink, “Don’t worry, I won’t peak.” 

“Don’t think it matters either way,” V chuckled, and you punched him in the shoulder as he untied his top. You turned around with a smile and blush. The sound of wet clothes plopping next to you happened shortly after. 

“Alrighty gang,” you turned to Shadow and Griffon, “let’s try to dry these up. Especially you,” you pointed at the bird, “Since you soaked them and all.” 

V spoke up from behind, “Just get them dry before my skin gets all wrinkly from the water.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Griffon then turned back to the cat, “Wring it out, dammit!”

“Let’s put it over the fire,” you suggested after getting the excess water out. 

You didn’t sit there long before you a “What the fuck!” from Griffon. You turned around to see him pulling V by the arm out of the water. “Hey, hey, hey! The moment I look away you start drowning? Are you a fucking infant?!” You couldn’t help but laugh at the insult. Griffon cooed in baby speech as he brought V his clothes.

“I’d barely call these dry.”

“Sorry,”  you shrugged. “I can only work so hard to clean up the mess of this chatterbox right here.”

“Well, as long as it’s wearable, anything goes,” V spoke softly as you assumed him to be getting dressed.

“If only we had the luxury of a towel.” As V came to sit back down near the fire, a sigh passed from your lips, “I should probably rinse off my clothes and bathe as well,” you started with unraveling your bandages--bloodied by now. The rest of your clothes came off soon after. V kept his gaze forward to give you a bit of privacy; Griffon however pressed you with questions.

“What’s that big ol’ tattoo on your back?” He perched on the stone in front of you.

“It’s a blooming lotus with the light of a full moon above it,” you described. “My mother gave it to me as a child. Said it was of religious importance and it would complete me.”

“Hehhh? What the hell does that mean?” He tilted his head.

“I have theories, but never questioned it. I agreed with whatever to get the rituals and experiments over with,” you mumbled uncomfortably. You placed your foot in the water and shivered, it was cold and you did not relish the thought of immersing your whole body. “But that’s enough free information for now,” you said, finally getting inside the fountain. While the chill wasn’t nice, knowing that you’d be semi-clean afterwards was a comfort. You looked to V quietly reading his book and pondered if this was the moment to admit your feelings. It may be a little less embarrassing for him to not see your expression and for you to not see his, after all. 

Timidly, you took off your ring and moved up right behind him. “Here,” you put it in front of his face.

“Your ring?” He questioned. “Do you need me to hold onto it while you are in the water?” V opened his palm for you to drop the ring in, which you did. “Nope, it’s yours now.” You added, “If you are okay accepting it of course…”

Unexpectedly, he turned his head to look at your face. “Why would you give this to me? Don’t you need it for survival?” His face scrunched, clearly concerned and hesitant.

“Well,” you began, “I trust you with it, and it will help keep you safe when I can’t be there.” V made a strange face you couldn’t discern. “This way, wherever you go, I’ll always be with you,” you smiled.

His green eyes stared at the ring, but he finally closed his hand. “I don’t understand you,” he admitted. “Why do you care to help me so much? You have since you met me. Even amongst all the insanity and information I have omitted, you have stuck by my side. And now you wish to give me a piece of you.” V’s face scrunched. “Why?”

Your stomach flopped. “Well, it’s because I like you of course.”