#as for me…I need him body and soul

[ascesabo]

the great irony of early one piece antagonists believing zoro was the actual captain and using luffy as a puppet ... oda really threw us a bone and curb-stomped it right in our faces. yes, zoro could be a captain in his own right. yes, zoro could match luffy in strength. yes, zoro knows this perfectly well. and you know what? he chose luffy two years ago, and he will continue to choose luffy again and again. roronoa zoro, the pirate hunter, who followed a wannabe pirate with a nonexistent crew on a whim because luffy brought him his swords and made a half-assed attempt at a bargain. zoro, who made a vow to never lose again on both his and luffy's honor. zoro, who told luffy he'd make him commit harakiri if he got in the way of zoro's goal, only to turn around and be willing to sacrifice his dream if it means that luffy reaches his. zoro, who stood in place and took luffy's pain and told a warlord to take his head instead of luffy's, who got down on his knees before his supposed rival and begged mihawk to mentor him so that he could return strong enough to protect his captain. zoro, who has conqueror's haki- a natural born leader- but chooses to stay at the right hand of a man he has deemed greater than himself.

and the thing that luffy fears most? being alone. being rejected. being left behind. and what should have been his foil- the pirate hunter to his pirate king, the nonbeliever to his divine, the king of hell to his sun god- instead becomes his first and most devout follower; the one who demands to follow him to hell and back. oughhhggg i'm sick to my stomach

[starry-bi-sky]

DPXDC Idea: Mother of Monsters Dan(yal)

Specifically Fem!Dan because I made this in mind with my Fem Danyal Au bUT. The best part about Dan is that I get to play dress up with her, and Fem Dark Dany is gonna go by Layal (pronounced lae-el) because it means "the nights" and it sounds similar to Danyal, and I think she'd choose that name to mock Dany. ANYWAYS

Mother of Monsters Danyal. She may be evil but she's an Al Ghul at her core (even with vlad's soul merged with hers - however, considering that Layal looks and sounds like Dany, she considers that soul to be the more dominant one.) and loves animals. And she might be heartless, but she adores the monsters of the infinite realms.

Mother of Monsters Layal who hates everyone but utterly dotes and adores on every manner of beast she comes across. Stealing the eggs and infant young beasts of the Infinite Realms to raise as her own because she wanted them. Her own island full of monsters, a monstrous menagerie of her own. She steals most often from poachers or exotic pet keepers and other menageries -- the full grown beasties can keep their young.

And with every monster she raises, she can shapeshift their features onto herself, allowing her to change her shape from humanish to any matter of monster or hybrid creature. She calls herself their mother, and them her children. Her precious little babies, capable of incredible mass destruction and mayhem.

From little griffins the size of kittens, to stymphalian vulture chicks, and leviathan young hatching from eggs the size of her pinkie, to creatures native of the ghost zone that didn't even have names in the living realm. There really wasn't a limit to what or who she would take in and she didn't limit herself to any form of mythology. If they were beasts and they were unwanted, she wanted them. And as such, amassed her own mini army of "children" willing to listen to her any command.

Earth doesn't know what hit it when she attacks them.

There are many monstrous forms she could take on, the first one I've thought of is a combination of various serpentine/reptilian features. The body of a naga -- her lower half long and serpentine, her upper still human -- with spiked fins connecting from the bottom of her arms to her sides, ever seen Sinbad where Eris goes "you might have seen my likeness on the temple walls" and her arms do that fin thingy? Same concept. Her hands are webbed and taloned, perfect for slicing through the skin of the living, and her teeth are needle-sharp and shark like. Her hair can either be spiny and feathery-like like the spines of a lionfish, or frilled like a frilled-neck lizard. It's perfect for dealing and doting on her reptilian and amphibian-inclined darlings.

I'm more of a fan of aus where Dan is a sibling of Danny's rather than their kid, so Layal's redemption(..?? probation?) proceeds with her legally becoming Danyal's "twin" sister, who had been lost to the foster system before the Fentons adopted Dany, and was only recently reunited with her. The two of them look so alike that the lie is easy to take root and spread.

Layal is very indignant to the fact that she's now ten years in the past and has to restart her menagerie all over again. Do you know how much blood and sweat went into raising those children? How dare you separate them from their mummy. Although she'll admit she does miss their juvenile years, so she won't mind (too much) needing to raising them again. Dany is helping her retrieve all of them though, dammit.

long story short: epic the musical's "Scylla" has a CHOKEHOLD on me and this is the result of it

Unlike her Dan counterpart, Layal's voice is dancing and sirenic. It's purposely alluring and motherly, in order to lure people into a false sense of security until she feeds them to her "children." Echidna doesn't have shit on her. She almost seems friendly and reasonable, until you get too close and realize it was all an act and she drops it to metaphorically swallow you whole. She's like an anglerfish that way. She and Dany both sound like Scylla from Epic.

[leclace]

unfortunately next year i will have to root for a driver not in ferrari too... y'know.... the italian

[timetravelstudies]

This got long and annoying so its under a cut now

The way in the fight w the museum director insul gets the same big injuries he has given trianon (so far), aand particularly the ones that T thinks back on often as specific sources of fear/humiliation/control (pepper sprayed in the eyes; kicked in the balls; choked with smth small and thin ((wire / car window)))….. im too tired to formulate a proper Thought abt this but the fact this all happens right in front of tjat one painting of dante & virgil in hell + insul and the director are in the exact same pose right as insul is about to die* is obviously so meant to evoke the idea of contrappasso….. at this stage trianon isnt “””strong””” enough (doesnt understand Insul enough and most importantly doesnt fully inhabit himself and his own strengths) to be able to pay back Insul’s violence (as he does later, though not in such a literal way anymore) so tje director will do for now🥰 bc they both need to descend into hell they both need to be subject to physical and psychological violence in order to strip down layers……. so its cool how the director serves that purpose for this phase 1 both in story for insul himself (who eats shit in this fight) and also as a sort of alert for the reader like make no mistake they are BOTH gonna get put thru the ringer. even the top has to wade through cocytus! or smth

[wifeyoozi]

I may not have a father but sure as hell I have one fine daddy

[ancha-aus]

Gifted Drabble - NewAgeAU - Blood Contract

Hello! I got a gift! I am not obsessed with your AU of my AU at all :D

Okay so... I may have gone a bit overboard. As always. It is just a gift for my friend. It is theirs to do with whatever they want :D So if you @spotaus like stuff from it be free to see it as canon :D and use however you like <3

I tried not to go too far with world building or lore because, again, it is yours but i always sneak in little things :3 Hope you like it :D

*-----------------*

Nim looks up from her papers as she glances through the window of her carrage.

Ugh. It is always so slow.

Her powers and her magic hums in her. Burning hotter than the sun in the desert. Warming than a burning fire. So ready to do waht is needed. So ready for her to pick what she wants and how.

And this is still the weak version of it all.

She sighs as she leans back. She is getting older. Her weak body isn't able to handle the magic as well as she used to. Good thing that her heir is almost here.

Nim looks to the side and grabs one of her special magical orbs. She had a few made specially for this trip. She activates it with a touch and the orb shows her own personal healer.

The healer bows and waits after a respectful "My king."

Nim hums as she lounges back in her soft seat "How is my heir?"

The healer walks to the side and there is the one carrying her heir. The healer uses magic and speaks to her "Both of the twins are growing well and even. Neither of the souls seems to be progressing quicker than the other and both are almost fully grown. The chances of both twins being born healthy is getting near the 60% now!"

Nim feels herself smile as she purrs softly "Finally."Finally good news. It had taken a long time for her to finally have one of her many mates manage to carry her a heir. The risk of carrying twins rather large and most of the monsters dying before the twins had a chance to be born. taking her possible heir with them to be one with the stars.

One of her many mates looks up at the orb and looks at her "My liege! I am so excited to meet your children! Will you be back soon?" they look at her. hopeful and desperate. Nim knows there is full loyalty.

Nim just gives a smile "I will be back when I get back." This trip is very necessary.

After all. The one carrying the twins won't survive. The soullings will be too big for the carrying soul to handle or deliver safely. meaning the temporary mother will die soon after the twins birth. and Nim will take her rightful place as their mother.

But Nim is a very busy woman. Very busy and very powerful. She does not have the time to raise two children. One of which to the perfect sacrifice and the other as her perfect heir.

Which is why she is looking for the right person to take care of her heir.

She smiles as she remembers herself. the rush of power. the emotions running high. claiming what was rightfully hers and growing so much more powerful. Her first mate. There ready for her to finally claim as hers as they had always been.

Nim sighs wishfully. Such a shame they didn't live long. They had been perfect in every way. So handsome and kind. With her every step of the way. They had even managed to carry twins on the first try!

Only for them to die. Their soul burst when the soullings grew too large.

The soullings had survived.

She had killed them.

And she started over.

Attachments are a weakness waiting to be exploid.

But this time! This time! it will be perfect. her little heir will have the perfect little first mate. She will encourage her heir to have multiple mates. form a harem early on. the first one to start it off and keep track of it and the others to make possible heirs.

It will be perfect. Just like their kingdom.

The carriage stops and Nim leaves it. It is some poor useless town. Just useful to retrieve sacrifices from.

Or... to find someone who seemed promising. This better be worth her trip. the last four options had been lacking.

She walks through the town. Her guards behind her with her few items she picked for this. People see her and look away right away. they bow and do not make eye contact.

Good.

They are all beneath her.

She walks straight to the place she had found. She gets to a small shack of a place. seems like it is a small store for everyday needs. Most likely the only spot for this small town to get things.

She walks in.

There is a skeleton behind the counter who looks shocked before quickly bowing and muttering softly "My king. You honour us." another skeleton walks out of the back but quickly bows at the sight of her.

Fear in the air.

Nim holds up a hand "Rise." both skeletons rise as she looks around. the two adults. where is number three? "I am here for a very special quest. Everyone in the household is to come outside. This plac eis far beneath me." ugh. The very fact she had to step into this raggy run down mess of a store. selling cheap and second hand wares?

disgusting.

She leaves the store and walks out to the street. people are watching through the windows and a few remain by the edges of the road.

It takes only a moment before the first skeleton walks out. He stands before the store and kneels down on the ground and stays kneeled.

A few moments later the skeleton from behind the counter walks out. behind her walks a much smaller and younger skeleton. There he is.

She joins her husband and kneels as well. The younger skeleton moves to join his parents but Nim holds up a hand and snaps her finger.

The young skeleton freezes and stares at her for a moment before looking down adn mtutering "I... I... I will... kneel? sorry?" he keeps looking down adn shaking as fear hangs heavy around him. There is even more fear from the two skeletons already kneeling.

Nim walks over to the child and looks at him "How old are you?"

the child flinches but speaks "I am seven your highness..." and he stays silent.

Nim nods to herself. That is the right age after all! At least this time her sources were useful and correct. It is often a hit and miss if the sources turn out to be either of those.

Nim nods and looks at one of her guards "Bring me the seeing orb."

She ignores the fear around the skeletons. and how more fear joins their feelings from the people around them. They should be afraid. The only thing which lets them live as they are is her mercy. They should be thankful that they are even allowed to stay near her very presence.

The guard walks over and gives her the seeing orb. She aims it at the young skeleton and speaks "Who will he be if I choose him." And she stares into the orb.

It takes a moment. a few quick flashes. She sees her castle. Lessons. training. filling meals and-

oh?

Seems like this child will be an exceptional pretty skeleton.

Good. It would just be poor planning if she gave her heir an ugly first mate. she looks to the guards and nods before looking at the skeleton as she hands the orb back "What are you called?" Hopefully it is a good eough name. otherwise she will have to spend energy on thinking off a better one.

The skeleton shrinks futher in on himself but answers "My name is Ccino mister- i mean... my king..."

nim considers the name. Ccino is not a name you hear often. it is clearly not a royal name but it is rare enough to not be obvious as a commoner name...

Nim nods "You may keep that one." she naps her fingers "To the carriage."

Ccino looks confused but her guards walk over and grab him. He lets out a distressed chirp as he looks back to his parents "mom? Dad?!"

both skeletons had risen to their feet "Ccino?!"

The mother looks at her begging "please... please why are you taking ccino? we... we payedour taxes and gave most of the extra we earned! we swear we have prove and documents to proof this!"

The other skeleton tries to get to ccino but guards blcok him. Ccino is pushed into her carriage and the carriage is locked. Ccino looks through the window clearly panicked and with tears running down his face.

Nim slowly turns to the skeleton daring to speak to her "There is a very important position which he will be filling."

The skeleton trembles as she glares at Nim. Tears running down her face "That is my son!"

nim just watches the other. unimpressed and annoyed "Adn you are being hysterical. Then again." she snaps her fingers and the guards grab both adult skeletons "It is important that new servants know their place."

Nim slowly pulls out a contract she had put together. As long as the child is underaged his parents will be in charge of binding documents concerning him. She uses magic and the contract unrolls. Nim taps it ones and her own signature appears on it before letting a few of her own drops of blood fall on it.

Nim speaks calmly "You will sign this. and Ccino will be property of the royal family." she lets it fly closer to the held skeletons.

the female shakes her skull and struggles "No! Never!" The other skeleton is much the same.

Nim sighs as she raises a hand. She can't believe she has to use some of her actual powers for this. it is as if these idiots don't even see the oppertunity. that a future in the castle will be much brighter and perfect than whatever mess of a life he could have here.

both skeletons shudder as they slowly raise their hands.

"No! No! Please don't! Don't take our son! please!"

The begging is annoying and their desperation is hard to control.

See? This is exactly why she will make sure her heir is much stronger. Much much stronger.

The signatures appear on the paper and the guards raise both the parents hands above the contract. Nim watches as the guards cut both hands and blood drips unto it.

Sealing the deal and contract with magic and blood.

It rolls itself up and nim takes it as the skeletons sob and beg. She waves towards the building the both are moved into it before the door closes.

Nim watches the building for a moment before using a simple fire spell to set it ablaze.

The flames are mesmorising.

The screams and cries are annoying.

She watches until the fire dies down. she watches as the guards search the remains. Only returning with dust mixed with the ashes. No way to even know which is which.

She turns her back on the no longer existing building and walks towards her carriage. she enters it and takes a seat in her usual spot before turning her sight on the shaking ball of bones in the corner. Sobbing and crying loudly.

Nim speaks as they start moving "You will pull yourself together if you wish to be useful. I have no need for useless things."

Once he had the first few classes she will tell him what his role will be.

No need to explain to someone who may not even make it through the first week.

If he does however make it through? He will need lessons on how to care for children and all that comes with it.

But she has people for that. No need to get herself involved more than she needs.

She relaxes as she looks through the window. Enjoying the view.

What a perfect day in the perfect kingdom.

[cosmicvaca]

Tiger and Bunny pin ups 💚❤️

Commissions | Ko-fi | Art Tag

[sneeb-canons]

Mind and Heart both know how to cook and bake. Mind prefers baking because of the rigid instructions, and Heart prefers cooking because he can experiment with the recipes.

Soul should not be allowed anywhere near a kitchen. Heart asked if Soul wanted to cook once and he brought out a Mountain Dew cookbook. He’s never asked again.

Headcanon #319

[koukouture]

gOD Nanami is so fucking-

*cums violently*

Mappa was COOKING they made him so fucking beefy and for what??? For him to die the next episode???

[the-gay-prometheus]

Actually I'm ok with the fact that I didn't get to go to NYCC for Alex's panel because, having reviewed the footage, I think if I was there in person I would have simply actually passed away

[acourtofquestions]

Rowaelin Chapter 41 Kingdom of Ash:

She'd rebuild it—what she had been.

Perhaps one last time, perhaps only for a little while, but she'd do it. If only for Terrasen.

Rowan swooped from the mast, shifting as he reached her side at the rail. He surveyed the night-black sea beyond them. "You should rest." She slid him a glance. "I'm not tired." Not a lie, not in some regards. "Want to spar?" He frowned. "Training can start tomorrow."

"Or tonight." She held his piercing stare, matched his dominance with her own.

"It can wait a few hours, Aelin."

"Every day counts." Against Erawan, even a day of training would count.

Rowan's jaw tightened. "True," he said at last. "But it can still wait. There are ... there are things we need to discuss." The silent words rose in his animal-bright eyes. About you and me.

Her mouth went dry. But Aelin nodded In silence, they strode into their spacious quarters, its only decoration the wall of windows that overlooked the churning sea behind them. A far cry from a queen's chamber, or any she might have purchased as Adarlan's assassin.

At least the bed built into the wall looked clean enough, the sheets crisp and stainless. But Aelin headed for the oak desk anchored to the floor, and leaned against it while Rowan shut the door.

In the dim lantern light, they stared at each other.

She'd endured Maeve and Cairn; she'd endured Endovier and countless other horrors and losses. She could have this conversation with him. The first step toward rebuilding herself.

Aelin knew Rowan could hear her thundering heart as the space between them went taut. She swallowed once. "Elide and Lorcan told you... told you everything that was said on that beach."

A curt nod, wariness flooding his eyes. "Everything that Maeve said." Another nod.

She braced herself. "That I'm-we're mates."

Understanding and something like relief replaced that wariness. "Yes."

"I'm your mate," she said, needing to voice it. "And you are mine."

Rowan crossed the room, but halted a few feet from the desk on which she leaned. "What of it, Aelin?" His question was low, rough.

"Don't you..." She scrubbed at her face. "You know what she did to you, to ..." She couldn't say her name. Lyria. "Because of it."

"I do know."

"And?"

"And what do you wish me to say?"

She pushed off the desk. "I wish you to tell me how you feel about it. If…"

"If what?"

"If you wish it wasn't so."

His brows narrowed. "Why would I ever wish that?"

She shook her head, unable to answer, and stared over her shoulder toward the sea.

It seemed like he would close the distance between them, but he remained where he was.

"Aelin." His voice turned hoarse. "Aelin."

She looked at him then, at the pain in his words.

"Do you know what I wish?" He exposed his palms, one tattooed, the other unmarked. "I wish that you had told me. When you realized it. I wish you had told me then."

She swallowed against the ache in her throat. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"Why would it ever hurt me to know the truth that was already in my heart? The truth I hoped for?"

"I didn't understand it. I didn't understand how it was possible. I thought maybe ... maybe you might be able to have two mates within a lifetime, but even then, I just ….." She blew out a breath. "I didn't want you to be distressed." His eyes softened. "Do I regret that Lyria was dragged into this, that the cost of Maeve's game was her life, and the life of the child we might have had? Yes. I regret that, and I wish it had never happened." He would bear the tattoo to remember it for the rest of his days. "But none of that was your fault. I will always carry some of the burden of it, always know I chose to leave her for war and glory, and that I played right into Maeve's hands."

"Maeve wanted to ensnare you to get to me, though."

"Then it is her choice, not yours."

Aelin ran a hand over the worn wood of the desk. "In those illusions she spun for me, she showed me variations on one more than all the others." The words were strained, but she forced them out. Forced herself to look at him. "She spun me one dreamscape that felt so real I could smell the wind off the Staghorns."

"What did she show you?" A breathless question.

Aelin had to swallow before she could answer. "She showed me what might have been—if there had been no Erawan, if Elena had dealt with him properly and banished him. If there had been no Lyria, none of that pain or despair you endured. She showed me Terrasen as it would have been today, with my father as king, and my childhood happy, and..." Her lips wobbled. "When I turned twenty, you came with a delegation of Fae to Terrasen, to make amends for the rift between my mother and Maeve. And you and I took one look at each other in my father's throne room, and we knew."

She didn't fight the stinging in her eyes. "I wanted to believe that was the true world. That this was the nightmare from which I'd awaken. I wanted to believe that there was a place where you and I had never known this suffering and loss, where we'd take one look at each other and know we were mates. Maeve told me she could make it so. If I gave her the keys, she'd make it all possible." She wiped at her cheek, at the tear that escaped down it. "She spun me realities where you were dead, where you'd been killed by Erawan and only in handing over the keys to her would I be able to avenge you. But those realities made me ... I stopped being useful to her when she told me you were gone. She couldn't get me to talk, to think. Yet in the ones where you and I met, where things were as they should have been ... that was when I came the closest."

His swallow was audible. "What stopped you?"

She wiped at her face again. "The male I fell in love with was you. It was you, who knew pain as I did, and who walked with me through it, back to the light. Maeve didn't understand that. That even if she could create that perfect world, it wouldn't be you with me. And I'd never trade that, trade this. Not for anything." He extended his hand. An offer and invitation.

Aelin laid hers atop his, and his callused fingers squeezed gently. "I wanted it to be you," he breathed, closing his eyes. "For months and months, even in Wendlyn, I wondered why you weren't my mate instead. It tore me up, wondering it, but I still did." He opened his eyes, and they burned like green fire. "All this time, I wanted it to be you."

She lowered her gaze, but he hooked a thumb and forefinger around her chin and lifted her face.

"I know you are tired, Fireheart. I know that the burden on your shoulders is more than anyone should endure." He took their joined hands and laid them on his heart. "But we'll face this together. Erawan, the Lock, all of it.

"We'll face it together. And when we are done, when you Settle, we will have a thousand years together. Longer."

A small sound came out of her. "Elena said the Lock requires—"

"We'll face it together," he swore again.

"And if the cost of it truly is you, then we'll pay it together. As one soul in two bodies.

Her heart strained to the point of cleaving. "Terrasen needs a king."

"I have no intention of ruling Terrasen without you. Aedion can have the job."

She scanned his face. He meant every word He brushed the hair from her face, his other hand still clasping hers to his chest, where his heart pounded a steady, unfaltering rhythm.

"Even if I had my choice of any dream-realities, any perfect illusions, I would still choose you, too."

She felt the truth of his words echo into the unbreakable thing that bound their very souls, and tilted her face up toward his. But he made no move beyond it.

She frowned. "Why aren't you kissing me?"

"I thought you might want to be asked first."

"That never stopped you before."

"This first time, I wanted to make sure you were ... ready." After Cairn and Maeve. After months of having no choices whatsoever.

She smiled despite that truth. "I'm ready to be kissed again, Prince."

He let out a dark chuckle and muttered, "Thank the gods," before he lowered his mouth to hers.

"You're my mate." Her words were a breathless rush. "And I am yours."

The world might have been burning around them for all she cared, all he cared, too.

"Together, Aelin," he promised, and she heard the rest of the words in every place their bodies joined. Together they would face this, together they would find a way.

Together we'll find a way, their mingling breaths, the crashing sea, seemed to echo.

Together.

[deduction-substitute]

I have this other weirdly specific au again...so obviously its not very canon compliant

Lucky, because of Graveyard Girl, is able to see ghosts.

Some have been there the whole time, while others appear when a new survivor/hunter arrives. They look the same as the day they died, but still age "mentally"

Those who have kept Lucky company since the start of his stay include Miles, Michiko's husband, Sam Bourbon, and for some reason, Nathaniel Norwell, whose cause of death is unknown to everyone but himself

Three more ghosts appeared. Vera, Claude, and Ella arrived at the manor the same time their sibling did, which gave Lucky some insight to the survivor/hunter

Its weird seeing them just. Lounging around without no one noticing them at all. Even more disconcerting if its one of the twins; Lucky's had to stop himself from calling out to Ithaqua with the name "Nathaniel" more than once. He doesnt want to know what would happen to him if he did

Theyre a weird found family that should've never been founded in the first place. Sam loves teasing the others like theyre his younger siblings, Nathaniel's a prick, Vera loves to comment on every single thing, and Claude and Ella won't stop squabbling with each other (or ganging up on Nathaniel). Miles is the only normal guy here and Lucky is so grateful that he's sane enough to deal with everyone else's bullshit

Lucky gets used to every new addition, and he likes to think that he's getting a hang of the whole ghosts thing

And then the novelist arrives at the manor. With a ghost that wears the same face.

[moeblob]

sorry for ocs two days in a row have some babies from an adult's life time ago (aka 2005 I believe? is when I made them?)

[nocentis]

Black Arum ┆ Siegrain

Content warning: main character death, cannibalism, gore, toxic/unreliable narrator, highly canon divergent character portrayal. Read at your own risk. You will probably take psychic damage from this.

╳┆A lure was stuck in the soot between his lungs. Many times he'd felt the tug — enough that the wire fray had worn a rut where his ribs met — and many times he'd found her on the other end, reeling for remnants of him that no longer existed. She would aim to break him open, sift around in the cinders for those specks of him she wanted to confiscate, keep for herself, so that she could finally be rid of him. Once those flecks were washed and panned, the remains would reek like plough mud closure. For that reason he would come to her whole, every whit of ash accounted for.

A cherry little game they'd play. Her with flint and steel, eager to reignite that paltry spark of "good" that flickered freely for a lapse before he remembered himself. Him with tinder and kindling, letting it light only to call on the rain again. Her with just enough hope. Him with just enough time.

That resolve was so very compelling. More than her beauty, her candor, and even that glow he so loved to bask in — that luster he wanted to hold between his teeth and bury under his nails — more than that, her tenacity was a toothsome temptation, and he wasn't keen to deny himself anything.

So when he felt the pull, he caved to the beck and spooled the lisle. That day, the line seemed lighter, thinner, than it ever had. It should've been strong. Tensile. Instead it felt gossamer fine and just as frail, poised to tear at an ill touch, and he wasn’t exactly renowned for his gentle hands. Still, he gathered it with both palms and wrapped it proudly around himself like a ceremonial sash, grin scrawled across his face something devilish.

╳┆He found her lying in the shade beneath a long-lived magnolia, still and silent as she never was, with the color of her namesake spread around her head in halo streaks. Battle-torn, as she so often was, and yet uncannily... passive.

Anything he'd planned to say went out the airlock. Instead, he stood there with an anchor in his stomach, reaping the benefit of doubt.

Not a frown nor a sigh when he darkened her sanctum, only heavenward eyes tearless and unblinking and a resigned breath just short of peaceful. That worn tether waned phantom thin, light as helium, and the tension in his chest went slack.

There was no definite snap. No dramatic severing or ear-popping moment of clarity. Only the vague sense of loss so fresh a wound that denial was a numbing salve.

“Get up,” his voice a command, sandgrit against whetstone, thickened by an unnamed antigen.

The silence felt like mockery. A placid scene void of chittering fauna, clouds' drum, or even the most timid breeze. It wanted him to hear the absence of her breath and the stillness of her chest. It wanted him to hear the hollow. The empty. The nothing. Wanted it to resonate; to find the furthest reaches of his mind and clean them out until all that was left was this icy, clarifying silence.

He knew the end when he saw it. This was something much worse. It was robbery.

Her life wasn’t for the world to take. It was for him to hold in his hands. 

Something wet and pathetic slicked his tongue — some whiny, pleading thing — and it was stubborn as oil. The authority slid to the back of his throat and left him choking, “You are the indomitable Titania. You’ve laced fingers with Death time and again only to rise and slay and conquer, so get up.”

Her warmth was set to a slow drip, spilling from her in tired beads and seeping soundlessly into her chosen ground. Little whispers of her lost to greedy loam, sullied, never to be returned.

A waste of precious love. The sod won’t drink of her as he will. It will take of her and give back what? New “life” so fragile and fleeting? A feeble weed will take root, bloom its days few, and curl itself inside out? Pathetic. An insult to her legacy. An insult to the diamond-split sharp of her bladesoul.

His heart boiled over — popping, sticking, simmering sicksweet saccharine. It colored him cloying, flooded his mouth, and forced him to kneel at her altar.

"Please," he keened, hollow and morose, and his own pleading sickened him, “Say something.”

The sun trickled through the leaves like ichor, lighting up her black-blown eyes and the thin ring of honey surrounding them. Dim, distant, and dead as the moon.

His hand carved a path to her face, fingers featherlight against her fading flush. He brushed her bangs from her eyes and forced an unbroken breath through his quavering mouth. He traced each scar too faint to see and the parts of her skin their star kissed. Memorized the map of her face — each curve and crease, each fine hair, and every eyelash. He would carve out a space in his mind in her shape and fill it with the thousand sweet nothings he kept in his pockets.

He gathered her hand and threaded it with his own. When he opened his mouth, a rickety twine escaped from the deepest point of his chest, so he forced his jaws shut to keep the grief corked. He uncurled her fingers and pressed his cheek into her palm, trapping her there against his own scarred skin. His eyes fell shut as he breathed in this borrowed touch — this moment fated, stolen from him by this world's insatiable avarice.

He kissed her palm directly in the center; held it against his mouth and felt his own ruined breath echo back to him from the deepest grooves of her skin. Again, he begged, “Please, Erza.”

Of the armors innumerable now haunting this hallowed ground, this one least befit her. 

He revered Death. If there was a god, surely it was Death, he thought, for Death asks for nothing but life. The dead don’t know that they’re dead. They know a split second of euphoria and then a sharp, definite end. Isn’t that the work of a gracious god? One last stroke of color whether in peace or peril, and then eternal rest. Back to the dust you sprouted from.

But now he couldn’t see any of that beauty he often waxed poetic about. All he could see was change yet to come. All he could see was her, and he wanted her back.

He wanted her back, yet he knew better than anyone that there was no such thing as resurrection. While Death might be gracious, it was not generous, and it was not to be reasoned with.

The thought of her buried deep, bathed by the dark and abandoned to rot — it washed his mouth acid sour. It ate straight through his tongue and lingered in the roots of his teeth, burning, raging redhot in his jaws’ marrow.  A grave didn't suit her anymore than a pyre.

Soon she would be cold. Stiff. A feast for flies and their insatiable young. In the days to come, she would bubble and bloat and sallow. Her skin would loosen and slough off. The sun would bleach her bones. The meat of her would melt into oil and fat and bogspit. She would mix in with the soil, the groundwater, and this thankless magnolia would thrive.

It was tall, thick, with branches spread in all directions. The lowest of its limbs showed off the varied deep greens of its large waxy leaves, their undersides a chalky brown. A few white flowers bloomed, palm-shaped petals open in praise like they'd come to witness and worship. There was no question why she'd chosen to crawl here. It must've reminded her of home.

Despite its beauty, it was hardly worthy of her. Nothing in this ravenous world was. Her grave should be carved within his chest. There, he could keep her warm. He could host her in his veins. One day, they would wade the waters of woe together. Until then she could live under his skin.

He wouldn’t allow her to spoil. Wouldn’t place her gently into time’s whittlesome hands only to lose her peel by peel by rotting peel.

This world has taken much from you. Do not allow it to take her too.

A carnal ache etched itself into bone, a depth of passion he hadn't felt since he wrought for a false Heaven.

She is a fruit, ripe as a plum and twice the taste. Peel her open. There is a seed at her core. Plant it in your soot-field chest and watch her bloom anew.

What are these hands for if not this?

Flesh like sheets of silk. Muscle like rope. Blood like honey. Bone like an ivory trove. The splitting, the squelching, the straining, ripping, snapping; it burrowed marrow-deep and lingered there. Her chest peeled apart like jagged teeth, jaws croaking their rusted tune, and inside that redslick maw was the center of the universe.

The heart upon its throne, still as she, shielded by her precious lungs. It slid into his palm like it was always meant to be there. Raw, rich, and so very scarlet. Its sinews strained against his pull — those hollow vines that fed even the furthest parts of her — so he wrenched them free and draped himself in them like matchless finery.

Eat. Eat ‘til you’re sick. There’s a hole the size of her in the pit of your stomach. Eat until you fill it. 

What are these teeth for if not this?

Tough as leather; smooth as rubber. His teeth slid right off the rind and clicked together with nothing but metallic sheen between them. He gnashed at that ink-dripping muscle until he found a spot weak enough to tear apart. It tasted of rare meat and iron; a heady gore thick enough to drown in. He swallowed, gasped, and that first new breath felt like a blade.

The child inside him saw her split-open ribs as his cradle. He wanted to crawl inside, curl up, and die. He wanted to paint himself her color.

He lost his vision to the hot, angry wash. His own sobs were a distant sound, muffled by meat and blood and his own desperate fingers. He was numb in the mouth and in the shake of his hands, but he forced himself to eat, eat despite the choking, the gagging, the wet, weeping remorse.

Don’t you dare throw her up. Be grateful. Swallow and say thank you and finish what you’ve started.

He bit into his own palm, indistinguishable from her core, and he cried out in sour relief. His hands spread raw grief over his face, through his hair, and down his neck.

You’re no better than this starving world.

He curled into himself, hands clutching his own aching chest, and despite the cloudless sky, he called upon the rain.

[sluckythewizard]

The Altered Beast[FULL SUITE] COULD be arthur bennett or adjacent to whatever hes got going on in tha finale. if ur brave enough. IF UR BRAVE ENOUGH [tldr its just about Things eating Things and becoming New Terrible Things. it also fucking jams]

[asfdhgsdkjhgb]

had quite the night drive earlier this evening.