#beware of the red string

[bolddeducktionneverfails]

A Fun, Little Detail I Noticed About Both of Launchpad and Della's Living Spaces:

⛹️‍♂️🧺🏀🎶They're playin' bas-ket-baaaaaall~🎶🏀🧺⛹️‍♀️

[crushmeeren]

ok BUT LISTEN!!!

megumi as your familiar???

you’re a witch and he finds you, as familiars do, a huge fluffy dog that’s colored so pitch black it’s like staring into the void.

he’d wandered Japan without a purpose for years, until he felt the red string of fate wrap around his heart and guide him to you.

he’s your guard dog, literally. he’s there for every new mix of potion gone wrong. he’s there to growl and snap and terrify every person who tries to scam you out of your hard work. when he’s human, he does the same thing — only this version involves way more hurtful comments.

the entire community knows to beware of megumi. to walk on the far side of the road when you pass by.

and megumi knows he’s breaking every rule in the familiar handbook, because he’s sure there’s one out there somewhere, by being in love with you.

granted, it helps ease his guilt that you feel the same. that you’re soulmates.

should i expand on this? reblog it every time i think of something new? create short one shots periodically?

ugh idk, but now this idea is haunting me

[deathlooksgoodonyou-if]

It was the summer of 2010 when you found Jules Hawkins by the lake. But it didn't look like Jules Hawkins.

After all, how could it? Jules Hawkins was a god. And as you know, gods like Jules are unbreakable. If you knew anyone death couldn't touch, it was Jules. And yet, somehow it felt like you had never seen Jules look more like them than they did, that day, dead by the lake. Plump cherry lips, now parched and blue, dirt on their perfect knees, golden hair sticking to their forehead, exquisite clothes matted and muddied, skin, ghostly pale.

Even in death, even as Jules became a child of soil and dirt and ruin, Jules managed to look like art. How could this creature of beauty be anyone else but Jules Hawkins?

A string of murders follow the passing of Jules Hawkins and in the desperation of avoiding being tangled in the web of this cold blooded murderer, you end up right in the thick of it when you find out the killer may have set their eyes on you next.

Of course, you ended up in the killer's radar. You had always been a child of misfortune, after all.

��� Customise your mc. Choose your appearance. Play as male, female, non-binary or trans; straight, gay or bisexual etc.

• Play as an emotionally scarred individual. Escape the hell you call your mind, alone or with the help of allies. Or succumb to the voices.

• Find your predator before your predator finds you. Or keep running. How far will you run? Do you even want to run?

• Befriend, antagonize, manipulate or romance fellow residents of Ravenwoods.

• Heavily character driven.

• The lake calls out to you. Will you listen?

JULIAN/NE "JULES" HAWKINS. [he/him or she/her] [semi ro]

You knew Jules in the way you wish you never did. Jules is embedded into your very bones. Jules is a part of you. You wish you could escape them.

Jules may be no more for the world but they are alive and breathing in your haywire brain and they are not very kind. Not that they ever were. But the Jules that haunts you, plagues you like a disease is ruthless with their words in a way the old Jules could never be. Not to you.

Description : Pale skin. Rosy tint to cheeks. High cheekbones. f!Long wheatish blonde curly hair with bangs. m!shoulder length curly wheatish blonde hair. Almond shaped brown eyes. Arched eyebrows. Long, thick lashes. Bow shaped lips. f!willowy frame. 5'11. m!broad back, narrow waist, long legs. 6'2.

CHAE WARREN. [he/him]

There are few you consider friend and Warren is one of them, alongside Sujin. He is revolution in a glass jar. A little rough around the edges, with bullet holes in his paper heart. Lately, the air becomes laced with awkwardness when its just the two of you around. You wish you weren't fairly perceptive. Perhaps that could have made you oblivious to the way Warren's adams apple bobs and his throat tightens when you are around, the way his fists clench when his tongue slips or the way he glances at you thinking you didn't notice.

Description : Sharp jaw. Medium complexion. Monolid chocolate brown eyes. Straight eyebrows. Thin pinkish lips. 5'7. Athletic figure. Short dyed dark red hair.

JESSICA HAWKINS. [she/her]

Jules' twin. You never bothered to acquaint yourself with her. She had always seemed too saintly and your mother had taught you well to stay away from that kind. Those who hide their tainted souls behind rosemary lies, platinum smiles and bright eyes stitched from sunshine. Beware of them, your mother had told you. But is that what she truly is doing? Spinning honeyed tales from saccharine lips?

You would never know. Unless you choose to. If it helps, Jules lips always quirked upwards and the crease in their brows mellowed whenever her name rolled off their tongue.

Description : Kind almond shaped brown eyes. Long, thick lashes. Bow shaped lips. Arched eyebrows. High cheekbones. Straight blonde hair, reaching her back. Pale skin. Willowy frame. 5'10.

DYLAN JEANE. [he/him]

Jules' boyfriend, Dylan. Well, ex boyfriend now. He seems to harbour a deep dislike for you. No matter how hard he denies it— the slight tensing of the muscles in his jaw always give it away.

You had always been curious about him. Jules and him were an odd pair. How could Dylan be what Jules desired? They were polar opposites. Jules was tidal waves and traditional typhoons. He is ruddy sunsets and roseate dawns. He is habit, he is routine, he is rigid, he is never changing. A sad strange kind of tragedy. Jules was anything but that. Jules was everything at once. Jules was never the same. Jules was uneven. Jules was hurricanes and tsunamis.

There is a natural downwards turn to his lips, his shoulders always a little hunched as if the burdens of life have dripped down from the ceiling and chosen to settle like dust upon his shoulders. You wonder what weighs him down so terribly. He talks as if every breath he takes from his lungs rattles him to the core. Perhaps it does. He seems to have taken Jules' death as hard as you, if not worse.

Description : Short slicked back midnight black hair. Heavy lidded hazel eyes. Slender built. Wears rimless rectangular glasses occassionally. Angular face. Sharp lips. Upwards eyebrows. Fair skin. 6'1.

AIDEN HAMILTON. [he/him]

The second child of the sleazy mayor. Boy of many faces. You don't trust him one ounce. For good reasons. It irks you to watch his eyes glimmer as if you are a specimen that intrigues him. You don't trust the myriad of unhealthy secrets he hides behind his charming gaze, the sly smile that tugs off the corner of his lips or the disarming lilt of voice as his salty tongue rolls off silken threads of honeysuckle lies frictionlessly. It comes to him as naturally as breathing. The impurity of his father's gold taints him, it runs in his veins and he embraces it willfully.

He is hiding skeletons in his closets and everybody knows that. What it is however, is a different story.

Will he let you in on a secret?

Description : Unruly brown wavy hair, in a middle part. Luscious lips, heavy lower lip, a small faint and old scar at the corner of his mouth. S-shaped eyebrows. Sea green hooded eyes. Tanned complexion. V-shaped jaw. Toned build. 6'4.

HEATHER HAMILTON. [she/her]

Eldest child of the mayor. You are not particularly friends but she is not a bad company to have around either. You like her. You have met in passing and she always has a quick smile reserved for you. You know she is a dreamer with a pomegranate heart. She has also somehow inherited her mother's love of parties. Hers tend to be a little more wild and carefree, though. Just like her.

Uncharacteristically, she is also fond of painting. Will you be her muse?

Description : Straight brown hair in a bob cut. Hooded brown eyes. Heart shaped lips. Soft arch eyebrows. Skinny frame. Tanned complexion. Dimples on both cheeks. 5'7.

MIA MORGAN. [she/her]

Mia Morgan is the kind of girl who will rip your heart out, eat it raw and call it love. With midnight eyes of catlike grace that could rival any godforsaken abyss and lips richer and darker than the blood running in your veins, she's the kind of girl that would skin you alive and chew on your fickle heart but then kiss your eyelids and tell you 'good night, baby' and you would like a lovesick dog spiral back to her, yearning for more.

Why? Because you are a fool? No. Because she was Mia Morgan and Mia Morgan was born for seduction and playing with the strings of childish hearts. A holy ruination. Destruction in its most, enchanting, enrapturing form.

Will you let her destroy you?

Description : Wispy bangs, short hush cut, black hair. Dark cat eyes. Beauty mark on upper lip. Soft jaw. Chubby cheeks. Crimson pouty lips. Fair complexion. Curvaceous figure. 5'2.

KIM SUJIN. [she/her]

She considers you a close friend, sharing every secret with you.

Description : Bronze skin, wide set brown eyes with gold flecks, button nose, freckles, curtain bangs, medium length chestnut brown hair. 5'3.

ARTHUR MORRIS. [he/him]

Aiden's friend. He's an asshole.

Description : Mahogany complexion, hollowed cheeks, has a stubble, ebony eyes, buzzcut, brawny. 6'1.

PARIS HILL. [he/him]

Local heartthrob. He looks handsome till he opens his mouth.

Description : Sunkissed complexion, wide lips, honey brown eyes, blonde hair in a fringe. Buff arms and broad back. Has an unhealthy obsession with shades. 5'10.

AUNT AUBURN MACKENZIE. [she/her]

She loves you dearly. There is nothing she wouldn't do for you.

Description : Brown hair, generally tied in a loose bun. Wrinkles near eyes and smiling lines around her mouth. Thin lips. Stout and a little hunched frame. Brown complexion. 5'1.

MOTHER. [she/her]

A woman with a twisted understanding of love. You haven't seen her in years and while you may have forgotten her face, her voice still rings crystal clear in your mind, like an old cassette on repeat.

FATHER. [he/him]

A man you knew but never quite understood. It is his face that stares back at you everytime you look in the mirror.

MAYOR JOHN HAMILTON. [he/him]

The mayor of Ravenwoods. It would serve you well to have him as an ally. Having strong connections has always proved to be useful.

Description : Beige skin. Hooked nose. Green eyes. Bushy brows. Short hair, close cropped. Smooth blonde hair. Plump frame. 5'8.

MEERA CHAUHAN HAMILTON. [she/her]

Wife of the mayor. She may be a little snobby but she means well. Most of the times. After all, who isn't a little selfish?

Description : Tanned complexion. Almond brown gold eyes. Brown hair wavy reaching her mid back. Slender frame. 5'10.

LAWRENCE HAWKINS. [he/him]

Father of the Hawkins siblings. You would rather not get involved with him.

Description : Pale skin. Blonde slicked back hair. Blue eyes. High cheek bones. Sharp jaw. Wears frameless rectangular glasses. 5'11.

AURORA HAWKINS. [she/her]

Mother of the Hawkins siblings. You would rather not get involved with her.

Description : Blonde hair, generally tied in a tight bun. Pale skin. Brown eyes. 5'9.

OFFICER RYAN DOUGLAS. [he/him]

He's a good man. He tries his best.

Description : Rosy complexion. Dark brown eyes. Short brown hair. Average build. 5'8.

DEMO. (DECEMBER OR SOONER!)

COG FORUM. (DECEMBER OR SOONER!)

EXCLUSIVE CONTENT. (TBD!)

FAQ.

> Rated 18+ for mature themes such as (heavy spoilers ahead!) explicit language, sexual themes, questionable behaviour, toxic relationships, murder, elitism, child abuse, domestic violence, insomnia, toxic relationships, manipulation, transphobia, racism, internalised transphobia and homophobia, death, childhood trauma, mild nudity, feelings of being watched, stalking, infidelity, hallucinations.

Reblogs are appreciated! Thank you for your interest! <3

[owenstar]

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 - 𝘤.𝘴 ☆

𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴: 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 ( 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 ) , 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴! 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳, 90'𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥. 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥.

𝘱𝘳é𝘤𝘪𝘴: 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘴 𝘣𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭'𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵.

𝘢.𝘯: 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 "𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴." 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺!

saturday night, 11:57pm august 1, 1998

you’re laying across your white canopy bed, humming softly to the vinyl record spinning on your nightstand as you doodle in your pale pink notebook.

the wind bustles gently against your open window pane. the leaves scratch against the crystal. summer was ending, and it was almost time for school to begin again. you were nervous; it was your freshman year of college, and you were anxious about starting a new chapter of your life. you swore to devote yourself to your studies.

you still lived at home and you were happy. mom and pop didn’t plan on letting you go any time soon until you were married. besides, you weren’t crazy on leaving anytime soon.

you get up from your bed to take the needle off the vinyl to listen to the night news before bed.

“beware of the balloon killer! he’s still roaming around the streets!”

“rob, it seems that the balloon killer’s victims are among young college kids.” “keep those college dorms locked tight! no parties tonight. stay home and stay safe. stay alert for the balloon killer.”

“the balloon killer calling card seems to be deflated balloons. we found at least twelve scattered around UCLA’s campus last monday.”

“stay safe everyone. and may God bless you all.”

you shivered at the sound of the killer. he’s heartless. murdering innocent souls. you turned the radio knob to off and walked to your bathroom for a quick shower.

you drop your pink silk pyjamas on the granite floor. entering the tub and letting the hot water hit your shoulders and run across your bare body. after twenty minutes, you walk back into your room. the window was opened wider then how you left it.

you don't think much about it until you notice a white deflated balloon with a black string on your pillow.

“christopher!” you whispered, trying to stay quiet due to your parents sleeping in the room next door. “where are you?” you tightened your towel around your naked body. looking outside the window, only seeing darkness due to the night sky.

“hey princess,” a husky voice rings behind you. immediately, you turn. there he is. the balloon killer. or, as you know him better, christopher sturniolo. your … you don’t even know what to call him really.

“what are you doing here?” you huffed, staring at him as he sat on your vanity chair. all you could see were his eyes. those piercing blue eyes. the balloon killer, or chris, wore a black mask with a black hoodie and dark jeans. his hoodie had a red balloon stitched onto it in the corner. you could recognize his stupid blue eyes anywhere. they were your obsession.

“missed my girl.”

chris stood up and slipped the mask off. his long hair rustled, covering his droopy eyes a bit. his chiseled jaw and prominent cheekbones stood out to you. the small cut on his lip. he’s never looked this intriguing before.

“you know i don’t like you here this late. especially dressed like that.”

“well, i wanted to see you. especially when you’re not dressed at all.” chris smirked slightly, hinting at the fact you’re still wrapped in a towel.

your cheeks rushed red. you wrapped the towel tighter, your fingers turned white.

“come on ma’, you’re not happy to see me? it’s my birthday,” chris pouted. “celebrate with me.”

“you know i don’t like this new hobby you adopted. it scares me.”

“im sorry, mama, i promised you i would never hurt you, tho.” he smiled gently and pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear.

you felt a mixture of confusion and unease stir in your chest as chris's fingers brushed against your skin. his touch, once familiar and comforting, now felt foreign—cold, almost predatory.

"i… i don't understand you anymore, chris," you murmured, stepping back a little, your heart racing. you couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was horribly wrong, even though his presence had always felt like home to you—until now.

chris tilted his head, studying you with those piercing blue eyes. he seemed almost… hurt by your words. but it didn't stop the dark edge in his voice when he replied.

"why? because i’ve changed? because i've had to do things… to survive? you wouldn't understand, princess." his smile twisted slightly, but there was a shadow of something softer behind it.

"i do it all for you.”

"you don't have to do this for me, chris," you said, your voice a little louder now, trembling with a mix of fear and anger. "you’ve crossed a line. you’re not the same person i knew. i’m scared of what you’re becoming. what you’ve already become."

his eyes narrowed for a moment, and you could feel the tension in the room shift. the deflated balloon on your pillow seemed to mock you, a sickening reminder of his twisted path.

"you don't need to be scared," chris whispered, taking a step closer. "i'm still your chris. the one who used to make you laugh, the one who always protected you. that hasn't changed." he paused, his gaze flickering to the balloon again. "but maybe you need to understand that I’m not the same anymore. i can’t just go back to the way things were. you can't expect me to just disappear."

he was standing so close now, too close. your heart thudded against your chest, and you instinctively took another step back, gripping the towel around you tighter.

"you can't stay here anymore," you said, more to yourself than to him. your hands trembled, but you had to keep it together. you had to.

chris’s lips pressed together in a thin line, but his eyes softened for a split second before darkening again.

"don't say that," he whispered hoarsely. "don’t leave me. i… i need you." a chill ran through you. you couldn’t stay here any longer. not with him. not with the balloon killer lurking in your room, pretending to be someone you once loved.

"please, chris," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "i don’t know who you are anymore. I don’t know what you want from me."

he stared at you for a long moment, as if weighing his next move. Then, he did something that shocked you. he backed away, sitting back down in your vanity chair with a sigh, like the fight had suddenly drained out of him.

"i'm sorry," he murmured, though the words didn't carry the weight of sincerity you’d hoped for. "i just wanted you to see. to understand. i’m still the same person, underneath it all. but… maybe I was wrong to come here tonight."

the sound of his voice—the vulnerability in it—made your heart ache for the boy you once knew. but you knew the truth. the person in front of you wasn't him anymore.

you grabbed the phone from the nightstand and dialed the only number you knew could help you now. as you held the phone to your ear, you didn’t dare take your eyes off chris. he didn’t move, didn’t say anything. he just stared at you, as if he, too, was waiting for something.

"get out of my house, chris," “you need to go.” you said softly, as the sound of your parents’ footsteps echoed down the hall.

chris hesitated, his fingers twitching as if he was going to reach for you. but instead, he just looked at you one last time, the sorrow in his eyes unmistakable.

"goodbye, princess," he whispered, his voice almost breaking as he stood up, pulling the mask back over his face. "i’ll always love you."

and just like that, he was gone—vanishing into the night, leaving behind nothing but the eerie silence and the lingering sense that you had just said goodbye to something far more dangerous than you had ever imagined.

the police arrived moments later, and though they took the balloon and the evidence seriously, you knew it wasn’t over. you couldn’t escape him. not really. because, somewhere deep down, you knew chris wouldn’t stop. not until he had you completely, just like he’d wanted all along.

but for now, you were safe. and that was all you could hold onto. for now.

 🏷 : --

[abnomi]

IDK if i was the first to notice this or not but i havent seen anyone talk about this before!! i love going crazy over colors and now is my Chance.

something subtle but notable about Ralph's design is how he has a teal undershirt. (debatably turquoise or green or something, but it is teal in this post..sorry green/turquoise truthers...)

i wondered for a bit why exactly that was a feature of his design, as it stood out to me for some reason; its a contrasting color to red, his main color, of course, so i brushed it off as an accent.

upon further inspection, however, what does that mean with the knowledge we have of him wanting to be good? or about who he shares a connection with?

green/blue is generally known to symbolize goodness, as its the opposing color to red, a color that can represent evil or danger depending on its context.

as you can see here, this crude caricature of Ralph is lacking that extra pop of color; the nicelanders dont see the good inside of him, only seeing the external deep red hues :-(

it doesnt end there, though. which character in this film is represented by a certain teal color?

someone Ralph carries close to his heart, someone who helped define his personhood and who he is internally. that spunky racer girl who relied on him just as he relied on her. not just a glitch, but Vanellope.

Vanellope represents someone who is able to accept herself and grow stronger because of it, and in exploring her own identity, Ralph took a journey of his own alongside her. she's a figure of love, passion, and resistance. taking this into account, her main color symbolizes the same.

we can also see bits of red in Vanellope's design!

interestingly, the main spots we see it in are her licorice hair tie, the stitches and strings of her hoodie, and the bottom of her shoes.

now i could be overanalyzing this a bit, but each of these features have something in common: they're all used for support. the tie supports her hair, the threads keep her hoodie together, and her shoes let her run around and be a kid safely. yeah, she made all of those by herself on her own terms, but Ralph supports her too, right? shes the heart and hes the practicality.

not to mention the MEDALS OHHH the medals. beware ⚠️🚨 im going to overanalyze this like crazy ok let me be neurodivergent about this

all three of these medals have differences that could mean a variety of different things. I'll break each one down individually:

Vanellope's gift

handmade with love, the medal itself is teal (if we ignore the brown underside). as stated before, teal implies love and resistance. this is also quite obvious due to the gift being heart-shaped.

relating to that last point, notice how he wears it close to his chest? it's practically a second heart to him! what else is close to his chest? TEAL UNDERSHIRT. wow!!! so that love was there with him the whole time!

the ribbon itself is pink, not blue or red like traditional medals. this is less significant, i will admit, but i find it nice how its so simple yet defies what a "real" medal is meant to look like, ESPECIALLY in relation to Ralph's expectations as to what a medal should be.

Hero's medal

It's a reflective gold, something that hypnotized Ralph immediately upon being greeted with it (kind of like a certain racer heeheheehoo)... this is all pretty obvious; gold is for winners, and supposedly, only heros can be winners.

something a little less obvious, though, is the blue of his ribbon. so, why is it blue, specifically? now, this isn't teal, this is more of a royal blue. something similar to Felix's palette... a hero. Ralph treats goodness as something attainable, love as transactional. it's not real, it's not genuine. he wears this symbol of heroism without truly EARNING it.

The cake

notice how the ribbon around his neck is red in this imaginary scene? the medal designed for Felix and his wins? his contrasting color? on Ralph, it's almost indistinguishable from his shirt because he isn't supposed to wear it. it wasn't created with him in mind.

ok ok just one more thing. ☝️ Turbo and Ralph parallel with their color schemes.

red as a color carries a dual meaning. on one hand, it can mean passion, love, adrenaline and strength. on the other hand, it could represent evil, malicious intentions, a warning, something dangerous. both Ralph and Turbo share red in their palettes; something to note, Turbo lacks any cool colors.

Ralph is seen as evil when he is truly anything but evil. the red makes him a bigger target considering his position, but this red relates to him internally on a more positive level. its his strength, what keeps his softer core safe. above his teal undershirt.

Turbo is seen as this intense fireball who's just passionate about racing, a little tough guy who just wants to have fun. we all know that this isn't the case. he is dangerous, he is a cautionary tale, a warning and simultaneously a threat.

considering how much as the two parallel each other, its no surprise that they share a color, one that can be interpreted in so many ways. one that ultimately means the reverse for their roles.

[mariahcarreyyy]

What about Lando and his girl getting drunk one night out. And when they come back they’re super horny but then when they’re in the middle of things they see a champagne bottle and they think it’s absolutely amazing idea to fuck her with it. She comes around it and Lando has pictures but then the next morning it just so happens they don’t remember much so when she’s sorer than usual they think they just got carried away but then they discover the pics and are shocked because the things they did w that bottle are wild even for them

accidentally slipped into my docs n wrote this 1.6k 'blurb' mb yall extreme nsfw 18+ under beware⬇️⬇️

The uncontrollable giggles, muffled by Lando's pillowy lips on yours, tumble out of you and his mouth at the same time you both stumble drunkenly into your shared flat. His hands never left your body, trailing up your sides, kneading desperately at your tits over your skirt, and cupping the globes of your ass.

"Lando, fuck," you whine against his lips, arching your back further into his fingers when he starts rolling the nub of your nipple between his index and thumb.

Lando hums, pulling off of you and grinning hazily at the string of spit connecting you. Too drunk and horny and desperate to fucking cum, you two don't bother walking oh-so-far (a few steps) to your bedroom. Hell, neither of you bother to take off your clothes.

A small gasp leaves your red, swollen lip when Lando's massive hands grip the underside of your thigh and haul you up onto the living room table. The pleasure bubbling in your lower stomach made your hips buck in the air involuntarily.

Except, it wasn't in the air. It was Lando who had you splayed against the wood and leaned over you, placing your bodies flush together, heatedly.

"Lan, Lan, I need..." you trail off when his hand trails up your inner thigh, palming your pussy.

And lando fucking moans, all high and whiny, when he realizes that you were bare and that you hadn't worn any fucking underwear. One piece of cloth had covered your grinding bodies at the club, and it makes him feral.

"Fuck, baby, yes, yes, whatever you want," he and you gasp in unison—him because he can't fucking get enough of you and you because he's not fucking giving you enough of him. "Whatever you want."

Apart from the hitching of your breath from Lando's relentless fingers rubbing between your folds—close but never quite where you needed it—you're silent. You don't really know what you want. You could barely fucking breathe with the amount of alcohol you'd downed tonight.

Lando seems to sense your frustration because he pulls away from your wet, needy pussy, wiping the slick on your inner thigh, and suggests breathily, "My fingers, hm? Want me to fuck em into you, get you all nice 'n full? Or d'you want my mouth, baby? I'll give y'anything, anything you want."

"Hmm, uh uh," you protest, placing one of your hands to tug on his curls as you ponder. "Wanna be full, fuller."

The light pout on your face made Lando coo internally, resisting the urge to kiss your jutted bottom lip away. You crane your neck to the side, met with a fancy tablecloth and glass vase adorned with your favorite flowers Lando had gotten for you. As if the objects in the room would verbally tell you what you wanted. And, to be fair, they kind of did.

Your bottom lip is now pulled in between your teeth, and the wheels in your head are visibly turning with the lewd scenarios at a thousand miles a second. Lando catches your sudden mood switch, following your eye line, only to be met with the gifted champagne bottle he'd gotten for new years.

Unopened, clean, and perfect to be fucked with.

"Shit, y/n," Lando growls low when his drunken brain wraps itself around your idea, dipping down to your jaw and pressing wet, frantic kisses against it.

"Lan, lan, please," you whisper. "Need it, wanna be full, wanna."

Lando groans loudly at that, nodding frantically and reaching over the table to grasp his fingers around the thick bottle. Your thighs rub together needly, fingers tightening on the little hairs at the back of Lando's neck in anticipation.

"Okay, okay, fuck, y/n," he breathes out, tugging your skirt further up your abdomen and almost choking on his spit when you spread your legs far, your pussy glistening with need and want and Lando and that fucking champagne bottle.

One of Lando's hands presses your lower stomach further on the couch while the other edges the knob of the bottle closer, closer, closer to your swollen clit. A loud, high moan fills the room, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to look at the scene between your thighs. Lando's eyes are stuck on it too, wide and slightly red from intoxication.

You buck your hips up, coating the top of the bottle with your slick when you pant. “Lan, please, no teasing, I can't—fuck!”

Lando typically prides himself on his ability to resist you. Just enough to get you really worked up and begging for his cock. But, looking into your eyes, glassy and desperate, he is just a man. He’d lined up the knob to your hole, rubbing languidly just to see your pussy clench on absolutely nothing. And then he’d thrust it inside your walls, almost groaning with you when he saw the stretch.

The stretch, almost ripping you into two, and you weren’t even taking a quarter of it yet.

“Lan, ‘feel s’good, full, fuck, fullfullfull," you blabber incoherently, but Lando feels the weight of your words and fucks the bottle back into you with the same intensity.

You aren't going to last long. And with the thought buried deep in the back of your mind, you knew you wouldn't. Not when Lan was practically doubled over, fucking the stupidly thick bottle into your walls. While his massive hands gripped onto the base of the bottle, your walls gripped onto it like a vice, like it was a cock you needed to milk.

Lan balances the bottle slightly on his thigh to bring his shaky hand down to your pussy, tracing the letters of his name onto your clit.

"Holy shit, Lan, fuck, I can't," you gasp, arching your back into his touch. "I'm close, I-I'm so fucking close."

"Let go, baby, cum f'me, go on," Lan heaves, like he's the one being fucked.

So, when Lan sends a particularly hard tweak at your wet clit, your hole tightens impossibly around the bottle, and a choked moan slips past your lips. If Lando wasn't aware of just how durable champagne bottles were, he'd be worried about it cracking.

"Fuckkk, yeah, baby, j'st like that, such a pretty slut, a cock's just not enough for you, hm?"

You don't bother responding with words. The white spots filling your eyesight and borderline pornographic moan do it for you, whimpering pathetically when fucks you with it through your orgasm.

A blinding flash illuminates the dark room. With furrowed brows, you look up at Lando—or rather, his phone and his shit-eating grin.

You can't find it in you to tell him to delete it.

And that, the look Lando's giving you behind the camera, drunk off of you now, and not the drinks from the club, is almost enough to get you needy again.

"Shit," you whimper out when Lando drags the bottle out of your pussy, walls gripping onto it like you'd die without it.

Lando grins from above you, and you want to kiss the dip of his cupid's bow where it forms a heart. So, you do. Cupping the back of his neck, you tug at his hair to meet his soft lips, smiling when his palms grasp onto the back of your thighs.

Lan picks you up like you weighed nothing—youcannotgethornyyoucannotgethorny—and you wrap your legs around his waist, detaching from his lips and burrying your face into the crook of his neck as he carries you into the bedroom and under the covers.

Even drunk, he was a gentleman.

"I love you," Lan mumbles when he circles his arm around your waist and pulls your back flush against his chest.

You hum, interlacing his hand with yours and squeezing once, twice, three times before your eyes fluttered shut. A fond laugh leaves Lando's mouth; he kisses the nape of your neck until his eyes burn sleepily.

"Lan, lan, lan," you say, shaking his limp frame with two hands on his broad shoulders. "Goddammit, Lan, wake the fuck up."

A less-suggestive groan than last night filled the room, and Lando buries his head further into the pillows. Maybe if he smushed his face hard enough, the pounding in his head would transfer onto the cushions.

You huff, extending your arm to your bedside table, and curl your fingers around your phone. The shriek that echoes across the room when you click on the camera app is enough to have Lando shooting up, eyes wide on your frame.

"Shit, fuck, what's wrong?" He exclaims, cupping both of your cheeks and eyes and flitting over your face once, twice to make sure you're not hurt.

You glance back down at your reflection on the screen. "Sorry, I j'st look horrible, and also."

It's Lando's turn to shriek when your palm strikes his shoulder, muttering while he rubs over the red mark, "Fuck was that for?!"

"I don't fucking know, Lan, I think your dicks' tripled in size," you whine embarrassedly, pointing at your gaping hole and aching thighs underneath the covers.

Lando's brows furrow, glancing down at himself. He's hard and fully clothed. "Baby . . . we didn't fuck last night."

"I- what?" you pout, confused.

His hand pulls your phone out of your grasp. But whatever Lando had planned to do was quickly discarded when he accidentally swiped left and his eyes blew wide.

"Uhm, y/n," he murmers almost shyly. "I may have found out what happened."

You crane your neck to the right, nervously so. Out of all of the things you'd expected your boyfriend to show you, it had not been a picture of you, sweaty and writhing with your pussy wrapped around a fucking champagne bottle.

"What the fuck?" You choke out, bringing a hand down to your pussy and fuck, how the hell had you taken that?

Lando's still staring at the photo with a gaping mouth—almost as stretched out as your hole. You'd laugh at yourself if you weren't equally shocked. "Fuck, y/n, that's . . ."

Weird? Nasty? Slutty?

"Hot."

Yeah, you probably should have expected that from Lando and the bulge straining his pants.

# not calling this a fic bcs of how poorly written this is HAHAHAHAHA i just love this idea and knew i had to write it

# reblogs and likes are appreciated if you liked it tho 🩷🩷 !

[joelalorian]

Fall Into Me - Epilogue

dbf!joel x f!reader | WC: 3.7k | E 18+ mdni

Series Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Explicit, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. A wedding, father/daughter dance, tears, laughter, unprotected p in v (reader's on birth control and they're married now so...), Sarah calls reader Mom, mention of Ellie...

A/N: This is the end, folks! They are a real family now. I'm not crying, you're crying. As we all know by now, this fic was inspired by the song Fall Into Me. Another song dear to me inspired a particular scene in this chapter - Butterfly Kisses. Check it out if you'd like. **it always makes me cry, so beware** This story is dear to my hear and I'm grateful for all the love it has received. Thank you for joining me on this journey!

Moodboard by the lovely @mrsmando. Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Chapter Eleven | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The autumn sun began its descent, painting the sky in beautiful shades of orange and red as it approached the horizon. Joel stared out the double-paned glass, too focused on calming his nerves to enjoy the rolling landscape of the vineyard below. Palms sweaty and heart thumping heavily in his chest, he tugged at the collar of his dress shirt, popping the top two buttons open to help him breathe.

“Cold feet, son?” JB questioned from the doorway before slipping fully into the room. Tommy followed behind him, anxious to see why Joel was taking so long.

Their presence startled Joel and he grimaced. “Not me,” he grunted, still struggling to inhale deep, full breathes as his heart raced.

“You sure about that, brother?”

Joel directed a scowl in Tommy’s direction. “I don’t have cold feet, but I’m terrified she does,” he admitted gruffly. He couldn’t meet the other men’s eyes, feeling vulnerable.

“I promise you, son. Spud does not have cold feet,” JB soothed. “In fact, she has much the same worry about you.”

“A match made in heaven, I’d say,” Tommy chimed in with a grin, bumping his shoulder against Joel’s.

“Come on, now. Get your asses down to the vineyard before Maria comes looking for ya. She’s on a war path, that girl a’ yours,” JB directed with a wink to Tommy. “I gotta get back to Spud, make sure she doesn’t run off to find you before it’s time. Meet again at the altar, fellas.”

The brothers watched your dad leave. Throwing an arm around Joel’s shoulder, Tommy led him toward the door. “The ol’ bastard was telling the truth, ya know. She’s terrified of you getting cold feet. Emily and Sarah have been calming her down for an hour now, insisting that you can’t wait to marry her. That girl loves you more than anything, brother.”

Joel beamed, eyes softening at the thought of you walking towards him in a flowing white dress, wildflowers clutched in your hand, and eyes brimming with tears of absolute joy. The mental image soothed his nerves more than any words could and he finally let Tommy lead him from the room.

Fresh air with the slightest chill met them as they exited the building. The soft hum of a string quartet filled the air while guests arrived and took their seats. A charming wooden arbor adorned with colorful flowers, delicate greenery, and a white sash served as the altar at which the two of you would become husband and wife.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Joel walked down the aisle, nodding at some of the guests as he took his place in front of the arbor. He stood tall, looking undeniably handsome in a slate gray suit sans tie, the top few buttons of the ruby colored dress shirt left open offering a glimpse of his tanned chest and a sprinkle of hair. Thick curls were swept back from his face, facial hair trimmed to perfection with that little heart-shaped bare patch visible.

Stepping up to his left side, Tommy smiled broadly at the small crowd. His longer curls were tied back neatly, and he tucked a few stray locks behind his ears and sent a cheeky wink to his woman sitting in the front row. Maria rolled her eyes playfully. Tommy watched Joel’s hand flex, fingers bouncing against thigh in a nervous tick he had since childhood and braced a hand on his shoulder. “You got this, big brother.”

Before Joel could respond, the string quartet began to play Pachelbel’s Canon and he stood taller, eyes locked down the aisle in anticipation of seeing you. Tommy rushed off to the side to take his place in the processional.

Sarah appeared from behind a row of lush, thick vines, looking like an angel in a white dress with a ribbon of material matching Joel’s shirt tied around her waist. The little girl insisted that her dress match yours, not understanding that, traditionally, only the bride wore white. But you didn’t give a hoot about tradition, helping Sarah to find the perfect white dress, adding the sash as something unique. The recollection of the joy on Sarah’s face when she tried on the dress for the first time made Joel’s heart melt.

Sarah danced down the aisle; face lit up with glee as she scattered rose petals along the way from a small wicker basket clutched in one hand. When she reached the end of the aisle, she spun in a circle, allowing her dress to flutter around her, and tossed the last of the rose petals into the air, much to the delight of the guests and her father.

“Hi Daddy!” Sarah called, bouncing over to the place she was told to stand the evening before. Joel melted at the happiness on his daughter’s face, and he beamed back at her proudly. The little girl’s antics drew a soft rumble of laughter from the guests before all attention turned back down the aisle.

Tommy and Emily stepped past the vines next, looking resplendent in their formal wear, the shade of Emily’s dress reminiscent of a glass of finest pinot noir, matching the hue of Tommy’s dress shirt. Joel nodded at them as they approached, lips quirked in a half smile. His hand clenched at his side as he fought back the nerves again.

Moments later, the rest of the world fell away when you appeared, one hand clasped around your dad’s arm. The charming colors of the setting sun were no match for your beauty. Joel had never seen anyone or anything so perfect in his entire life. A crown of vibrant flower blossoms secured in your hair, the breeze rustled a few locks and the short train of your simple white gown.

Joel couldn’t take his eyes off you – not as you walked down the aisle to him, or when JB shook his hand in that ceremonial way of giving you to him, and certainly not as the officiant rambled through the ceremony. To put it simply, you mesmerized him.

He would almost regret it later, but the entire ceremony was a blur. The only parts he remembered included your face smiling broadly at him, the love in your glistening eyes as you repeated the vows you chose together, and the kiss after being declared man and wife.

“You’re stuck with me forever now, darlin’,” Joel’s gravelly voice rumbled in your ear after the sweet kiss.

Your tinkling laughter carried in air, spreading merriment throughout the vineyard. “Oh no, whatever will I do,” you whispered back.

“Can we go dance now?” Eager to get on with the fun part, Sarah interrupted your little moment.

“Of course, nugget. Let’s go dance!”

The little girl squeezed her way in between the two of you and having tossed her empty flower basket aside without care, slipping her hand in yours and the other in Joel’s to tug you both back down the aisle.

“Someone’s eager to get the party started,” Joel chuckled, lips spread in a jaw-aching grin as his little family made their way to the reception area. Your eyes sparkled back at him, full of happiness and love.

The winery boasted a lodge with an oversized deck suitable for your small celebration and enough rooms for the guest to stay the night. The path from the ceremonial area back to the lodge weaved through thickets of grape vines, plump fruit nearly ripe for the picking as the three of you ducked under and around the vines.

The vineyard was charming, a lucky find in your search for the perfect wedding venue. It was the only compromise Joel willingly made on a venue – he longed for a quiet, backyard wedding, but you insisted on something slightly grander in scale.

Maria and Tommy did a great job of recreating the ambiance of that night long ago in Joel’s backyard for the reception. Fairy lights were strung high across the deck, music playing softly as the guests mingled with cocktails and hors d'oeuvres in hand. High top tables were scattered about, centerpieces full of colorful hydrangeas.

It was perfect.

Wanting to save money, you kept the guest list to less than thirty people, mostly family and close friends, and opted for a bulk purchase of disposable cameras rather than springing for the cost of a wedding photographer. In addition, you insisted on a tier of cupcakes over an actual wedding cake, the icing matching the ruby red color of wine. Sarah and JB offered to put together an eclectic playlist for the winery to play through their sound system rather than put forth the cost of a band or DJ. All in all, it was an entirely family run affair that didn’t break the bank and you couldn’t be happier for it.

You and Joel mingled with the guests for a while before it was time for your first dance. Staying on theme, Joel had one request regarding your wedding song – it had to be Fall Into Me. You could hardly deny that one request, especially as the song meant so much to the both of you, practically telling the story of how you came together. Just like that night in his yard, Joel sang the words in a soft, quiet voice meant only for you, your bodies swaying side to side across the floor like you were the only two there.

None too soon, your dad led Sarah onto the dance floor, letting her stand on his feet as he danced around, just like he used to do when you were little. Maria and Tommy soon joined them, along with Emily and her husband. Before long, the party was in full swing.

You fought back tears during the father-daughter dance. Just as Sarah insisted on her dress matching yours, she wanted to dance with Joel during the traditional time. You were more than happy to have them join you. The battle against the tears was lost during the first chorus of Butterfly Kisses.

JB held you tighter as the first tear fell, brushing it away with a calloused thumb. “Feels like just yesterday when you would dance around on my feet like that,” he said, voice rough and quiet with the choke of tears in his throat. “Now here you are, grown up and married, with a family all your own. You’re not my little Spud anymore.”

Thank fuck for waterproof mascara, you thought as a sob escaped. “Dad,” you drew out the word in a sob, tears flooding your eyes, falling faster. You could barely get out the next words, throat aching and vision blurry. “I’ll always be your little Spud, no matter how old I am.”

Joel danced closer to you, checking in with a concerned look as you cried. “Darlin’, you alright?” His eyes darted between you and JB, the shimmer in the older man’s eyes matching his own. Dark eyes softened into molten chocolate, and he gestured to your dad to switch partners.

JB let you go after a bone crushing hug and a kiss to your forehead. “Take care of my girl, ya hear?”

Nodding solemnly, Joel shook JB’s hand. “Always.” He ushered Sarah into JB’s arms, letting them dance for the rest of the song as he pulled you close. Joel pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “I told you this song would make you cry, darlin’.  Let me wipe those tears away.”

Sniffling, your lips tilted up in a watery smile as he dabbed gently at your face. “I know, it always does. But it’s so beautiful, I had to include it.”

“Almost as beautiful as you,” Joel murmured, head nuzzled against yours. “Sarah already told me she’ll have this song at her wedding, too. I just know I’ll be crying like a god damned baby during the dance.”

That earned a laugh from you, the tears finally easing as the song ended. “Has she started planning her dream wedding already?” Joel nodded, a chuckle rumbling softly in your ear.

The evening carried on, dancing and drinking and laughing with everyone in celebration of you and Joel. You never really imagined your wedding as a kid, more concerned with being a tomboy and other, more important things. But you think now that if you had it likely would have imagined something exactly like this.

“Come on, Mrs. Miller,” Joel said when the lights finally dimmed, and the notes of the final song faded into the night. “It’s time to say goodnight to our guests.”

“Congrats, brother!” Tommy called cheerfully when you and Joel approached. His eyes large and glassy, a slight slur to his words providing evidence of a thoroughly enjoyable evening. “You two throw a great party. Do you need us to watch Sarah for the night so you can—”

“Alright you,” Maria jumped in, cutting the younger, drunker Miller brother off. “I doubt they want your drunk ass watching Sarah. Do you have someone lined up?”

“Oh, yeah, we’re good there. My dad is hosting a sleepover now that he is officially a grandpa. He’s insisting on being called Poppy just like I called my grandad.” You laughed at the memory of that conversation. JB was so excited to have a new nickname just for Sarah.

“Great! I would have been more than happy to help out but I’m going to have my hands full with this one,” Maria said with a gesture to Tommy where he swayed on his feet with a cheesy grin plastered on his face.

“Alone at last,” Joel whispered, carrying you through the threshold of the wedding suite. “You look beautiful in this dress, but I can’t wait to get you out of it.”

Any exhaustion you felt from the long, exciting day vanished at the smoldering look in your husband’s eyes. Your husband. Holy hell. Suddenly nervous, you slowly slipped the dress from your shoulders. Though you and Joel had been together more times than you could count, this would be the first time you had sex as a married couple.

Would his expectations be different? Should they be? Were you expecting something different? Should you? Fuck, why didn’t you think to ask Emily about this earlier?

“Darlin’?”

You glanced up to see Joel’s brows furrowed, realizing that you zoned out with your dress still around your hips. Warmth spread through your cheeks in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Joel. I’m… I’m a little nervous for some reason and got in my head about it.”

His lips tilted upwards as he stepped closer to help ease the dress down your body with gentle movements, knowing exactly what you needed to hear. “There’s no need to be nervous, sweetheart. It’s just you and me, like it always has been. We just have rings on our fingers now.”

And just like that, all worries fled your mind.

Once your dress was out of the way, Joel helped remove your bra and panties, leaving behind a trail of kisses on your dewy skin. His calloused hands, large but gentle, caressed every inch of bare skin before him, trousers growing tight as his body reacted to the sight of you.

His pupils dilated before your eyes and you pressed your lips to his, tongue teasing into his mouth to tangle with his in a searing kiss. He tasted of whiskey and chocolate and something so uniquely Joel, and you drank in the taste like a starving woman.

Still wearing far too much clothing for your liking, you ripped open his dress shirt, sending the buttons flying across the room. Oops. Manicured nails scratched down his bare chest, along his belly, until your fingers met the confining layer of his pants. After watching you fumble with his belt for too long – which, in reality, was only like two seconds, you swear – Joel brushed your hands aside and, without breaking the kiss, yanked the belt open and practically ripped his pants open to free his aching cock.

“What a lucky wife I am,” you purred, breaking the kiss, as your hand grasped his length. Your thumb traced over the bulbous head, smearing the precum pooling there, before bringing it back to your mouth for a little taste. “I get to experience this for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t tease, darlin’,” he growled low in his throat. “Besides, I’m the lucky one. I have the sexiest wife.”

Pants and boxer briefs shoved to the floor, Joel ripped off his socks and swept you right off your feet. Your legs automatically wrapped around his hips as he walked to the large bed. Kneeling on the mattress, he never let go as he settled you on your back.

Already dripping for him, and too anxious to have him inside you already, you didn’t need any foreplay to be ready. His cock slid, with torturous slowness, inside your warm walls with the slightest nudge of his hips. “Fuck, darlin’, you’re so tight,” he breathed against your neck, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin as he fucked into you.

A pleasurable burn spread through you, his cock splitting you open. “Mmm, so good. Fuck me, dear husband. Fuck me like you mean it.”

“As my wife wishes.”

Hips snapping, Joel set the perfect pace to bring you to the edge, heels digging into his ass with each powerful thrust. Fingernails scratched down his back, piercing the skin as he brought you to the peak, the orgasm causing your back to arch and muscles to spasm.

“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing my cock like a fuckin’ vise. Gonna make me come too soon.”

The orgasm seemed to last forever, pleasure washing over you in waves until you trembled beneath Joel. “It’s never too soon. Come for me, babe,” you gasped when the ability to speak finally returned.

Joel’s thrusts became sloppy near the tail end of your climax, and he spilled inside you as soon as the words left your mouth. His ragged breaths tickled your ear, sending gooseflesh down your body from neck to toes. Your name fell like a prayer from his lips, praising you for how good you made him feel.

“I love you, Mr. Miller,” you said, peppering his handsome face with kisses when he slipped from you and fell to the side with a heaving chest.

“And I love you, Mrs. Miller.”

You don’t know where either of you found the energy, but you made love twice more that night and once again in the morning. After each time, you admired the sparkle of the rings adorning your left hands, the jewelry a tangible symbol of your commitment to each other in this life and the next.

“Mom?” Sarah asked from where she sat doing homework at the breakfast bar while you made dinner. Joel would be home any minute.

“Yeah, nugget?” You grinned, heart swelling every time she called you that. You lost count in the year since the wedding, but Sarah calling you mom would never get old. It was a treasure you never thought you’d experience before you met Joel.

“Do you and Daddy want more kids?” At twelve years old now, Sarah’s voice lost that babyish tone you used to love. She looked and sounded more grown up each day, but she was still her Daddy’s little nugget.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. We’ve talked about the fact that I don’t want to have a baby and he doesn’t want one either. But I wouldn’t be opposed to adopting a child in need, if he wanted to. I’d have to talk to your dad about it though.”

Sarah went quiet while you stirred the pasta and checked the sauce. It was nearly ready, just another minute or two.

“Why do you ask, kiddo?”

Sarah looked up from her work to meet your gaze and shrugged her shoulders in a way that told you she was searching for words to explain herself.

“I dunno. I guess I always thought it would be cool to have a sibling, but then all my friends that have one or more always complain about them.”

Tilting your head to the side, you dug a little more. “So, you’re just curious?”

Dark puppy eyes gazed up at you again. “Yeah… well, no. There’s…” She paused as the timer went off and you drained the pasta and mixed it into the sauce.

“There’s what?” you questioned, placing the large bowl of pasta on the table along with a plate of warm garlic bread, hearing Joel’s truck pull into the driveway. “Come sit and tell me.”

Before Sarah could begin, Joel walked in and kissed you both hello. He washed his hands at the kitchen sink before joining you at the table and you both listened with rapt attention as Sarah explained her friend’s situation.

“You know my friend, Ellie?” she asked, to which you both nodded.

“The snarky one in the grade below yours? Yeah, I like that one,” Joel replied around a mouthful of food. “What about her?”

Sarah grimaced at her father’s poor table manners, earning a smile from you before she continued. “Well, she’s in foster care but her foster parents are awful. They drink a lot and don’t care about her. She ends up hiding out in the detached garage all the time, even staying there overnight just to get away from them.”

“That’s awful, nugget. I’ll look into her file on Monday, see if there’s anything I can do,” you replied. You didn’t realize she was in foster care. As a fifth grader, you haven’t had her in class yet.

Joel looked at you with big cow eyes, brows arched in question. You could practically hear him thinking – he hated the thought of a child suffering in any way. Before either of you could say anything, Sarah spoke up again.

“Well, I was hoping maybe we could adopt her, and she could live with us,” she said hopefully. “You know, since you don’t want a baby and I still want a sibling. It’s like a compromise or whatever.”

Turning to Joel, you could see the same hopefulness in his dark eyes, and your heart thudded in your chest. “Why don’t you invite her over for a sleepover this weekend so we can get to know her a little more. And in the meantime, we’ll look into what we’d need to do.”

Dinner forgotten, Sarah bounced in her seat and asked for your phone to call Ellie. “You guys are gonna love her, I promise!” Bounding away from the table to call her friend, Sarah stopped short at the edge of the room. “Oh, Ellie loves dogs. Do you think we could adopt one of those, too?”

fin

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[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood Season 1 Masterlist

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Updates every Friday: A work in progress

Chapter 1: A prophecy foretold Chapter 2: Fireflies and Funerals Chapter 3: A debt made Chapter 4: The Arrival Chapter 5: The girl who leaves, the Woman whom returns Chapter 6: The unholiness of burning Chapter 7: Gossip and Needlepoint Chapter 8: Schemes and Artisans Chapter 9: The Feast Chapter 10: Beware the Blood Red Roses Thorns

Chapter 11: Words of a Scandal Chapter 12: The Whore that Lies Chapter 13: On Your Knees Chapter 14: From the Shadows Chapter 15: White Poppies Chapter 16: The Tourney; The Joust Chapter 17: The Tourney; The Melee Chapter 18: Ruination Chapter 19: Tea & Charity

Chapter 20: Sympathies for Maegor the Cruel Chapter 21: Moon Flower Chapter 22: The Ugly Seat Chapter 23: A Woman's Shame Chapter 24: The Boy With the Stars Chapter 25: The Seafarer Chapter 26: Dragonstone Chapter 27: Betrothal Chapter 28: The Sting of Bitter Betrayal Chapter 29: Little Nightshade

Chapter 30: In That House On Top Of The Rock Chapter 31: The Stranger's Company Chapter 32: The Hunt Chapter 33: Brōzi, riña hen narys Chapter 34: There's no measure 'within reason' for women Chapter 35: Pulling the Strings Chapter 36: Boris Baratheon Chapter 37: The Image of a son Chapter 38: Wine and Company Chapter 39: Once in Ivory, to the sound of bells

Chapter 40: Trapped like a Fox Chapter 41: The illusion of choice Chapter 42: Two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer Chapter 43: The Depravity of Desire Chapter 44: Think of the Stars Chapter 45: Blood in the Water Chapter 46: The Boundaries of a Winged Pig Chapter 47: The Vigil of the Old Gods Chapter 48: The Stag that Rages Chapter 49: The Stag hunts the Stag

Chapter 50: The Performance of Grief Chapter 51: Once in front of the fire, two become one Chapter 52: The Funeral of Boris Baratheon Chapter 53: The Hunger of Man Chapter 54: The Funeral Procession Chapter 55: Keeping Alliances Chapter 56: Souls tied, intertwined by our pride and guilt Chapter 57: Wisps of Smoke Chapter 58: A Missive of Ravens Chapter 59: A Claim of Bastardry

Chapter 60: The Last Supper Chapter 61: The Taste of Silence Chapter 62: Waves Chapter 63: In the Eye of the Father Chapter 64: The End of a Noose Chapter 65: A Fool with a Fool's Honor Chapter 66: The Son of Duty Chapter 67: The Daughter of Insolence Chapter 68: The Tempest of a Woman Chapter 69: Birds in a Cage

Chapter 70: The Beast Beneath the Boards Chapter 71: The Tower of the Hand Chapter 72: Ill Tidings Chapter 73: A Woman's War Chapter 74: Salt and Smoke Chapter 75: A Golden Crown of Sorrow pt. 1 Chapter 76: A Golden Crown of Sorrow pt. 2 Chapter 77: Haunted By The Daylight Chapter 78: A Boy And His Dragon Chapter 79: Vengeance Hungers

Chapter 80: The Bloody Hand of Dread Chapter 81: The Fool That Loved You Chapter 82: The Coward's Heart Chapter 83: The Death of A Son Chapter 84: A Sister's Rage Chapter 85: The Red Dress Chapter 86: A Vow of Fire and Blood Chapter 87: The Sworn Shield or The Boy Chapter 88: Cursed Child Chapter 89: Byka Ābrazȳrys

Chapter 90: The Mother's Prayer Chapter 91: The Favor of the Smallfolk Chapter 92: A Mother's Search Chapter 93: Once in grief, heart of black but forced in green I Chapter 94: Once in grief, heart of black but forced in green II Chapter 95: Once in grief, heart of black but forced in green III Chapter 96: Once in grief, heart of black but forced in green IV Chapter 97: Etched in Flesh Chapter 98: Think of Home

[redzania]

fic yapping below cut about quilt ( quincy x tj ) BEWARE!

just finished reading every single tj x quincy and seeing every single tj x quincy post on tumblr what do ido with my life now........ WEEPS WEEPS WEEPS WHY R THERE SO MANY QUILT DIVORCE AO3 FICS ON TUMBLR WEEEEEEEEEEEEEPS Good lord if i had an account i would show the authors how amazing their fics are i loveeee thier fics so much

ALSO ALSO height difference fic is FIRE one of my favorites it made me start rolling on the ground JOYOUSLY the strings and its observer ABSOLUTELY AMAZING AND FIRE AND COOL ITMADE ME START WEEPING AND LEAPING AND RUNNING AND CRYING Amazingw ork! STRING THEOCRACY TOO I LOVEEEE THAT FIC DUDE it also made me leap a lot of times joyously! how i love quincy my favorite dw character ever

BLUE AND GREY too GOOD GOD that made me WEEP SO MUCH HOW COULD YOU TJ OH OH and the red means i love you too GOOD GODD ALL THE FICS ARE SO SO SO SUPER GOOD PRIDE IS NOT A SIN TOO OH MY GOSHHH Love me some yuri in my yaoi! AGHHAHGHHHH special shout out to missing what was never there SUZIEE NOOO HONEYY WEEPS WEEPS WEEPS SHES MY SECOND FAVORITE HOW COULD YOOUUUUU

im gonna start screaming if i see any of the authorsr on this sitehajnd see my post

[ririka-ilios]

Eidolon art "blueprint"

I've been looking over Eidolons in Star Rail today and thought it'd be fun to try and figure out how exactly the art on them works (i.e. what is the principle behind it, what they have in common between different characters, that sort of stuff).

There will be 1 (ONE) 2.1 story spoiler in here, so beware!

I haven't seen anyone else discuss this, so I've taken it upon myself to write an essay on it! This is relatively small and based entirely on my observations of the art. Feel free to use this as a basis for designing eidolons for your OCs if you want.

There will be example(s) for each part to help visualise the point I'm making as well as descriptions for the ones I'll use (some of the descriptions are much more detailed than others).

Eidolon 1

Shows view of the character from the back 3/4th to the left, up to their shoulders.

Eidolon 2

A close up of either of the character's eyes, showing off the details.

Eidolon 3

The view is entirely unique: the perspective, pose, and focus of the composition is meant to showcase an aspect of the character's personality.

Examples:

● Dan Heng. Back view, focus on his earphones as well as the maple leaf in his hand;

● Silver Wolf. Front view, focus on the game console in her hands;

● Himeko. Front view, focus on her facial expression and the pen in her hand.

Eidolon 4

Gives view of the character mostly from the front (either full-on or at an angle) or with them facing the camera in some way, up to their shoulders. Often has characters establish eye contact with the camera, but not necessary. Another showcase of their personality possibly might even represent how they interact with others.

Examples:

● March 7th. Back view with her head turned to look at the camera, making a peace sign. She's the only real outlier I've found so far, but it fits her personality fully;

● Aventurine. Front facing the camera, tipping (pulling down?) his hat and hiding one eye behind his hand as a result, obscuring his face;

● Bronya. Front, turned to the right, has a serious listening expression, one hand one her chest, closer to the heart. Perhaps a show of sincerity and dedication.

Eidolon 5

A close-up of the character's neck/collarbone area (despite the popular belief, it doesn't actually focus on their chest). The angle varies, as does the amount of character's expression shown, but generally, most of it is obscured (even in fuller pictures).

Examples:

● Herta. 3/4th angle, focus on the key hanging from her choker. The only part of her expression we see is her typical smug little smile;

(This Herta is one of many puppet avatars so the key might be a play on that. She also has a keyhole on the front of her outfit, though they're different sizes. There's also a key on a book cover in her splash art. Another fun fact, her upgrade materials are "Keys" as she is one of the first Erudition characters)

● Dr. Ratio. Focus on the pendant/decoration on his collarbones (maybe the Intelligentsia Guild insignia?), he has that "lips in a thin line" sort of expression;

● Black Swan. Focus on the heart decoration on her collarbones (reference to the stained glass in her ultimate, which in itself, loosely, calls back to Fuli, the Remembrance). She has her slight enigmatic smile.

Eidolon 6

Like E3, the view is entirely unique. The only consistent thing is that it ends at about the middle of a character's chest. The character is naked, showing them at their most vulnerable.

Examples:

● Misha. View from the side, his body turned in on itself as he hugs some sort of glowing orb. As a result, he's only illuminated at the points of contact. His expression is relaxed, but there's an interesting amount of seriousness in it, as if he's soothing/protecting the object;

● Sparkle. 3/4th to the left, has her hands up to her chest, one holding onto the other. A red string is tied into a four-petal flower shape around her pinkie finger, which sticks out from the rest of her fingers. Her expression is fully relaxed, her mouth is even slightly open, but the face paint is still on, and her hair is tied up;

● Acheron. View from the front, though her body is slightly turned to the left. She's in her self-annihilator state: hair white, the red thorn-like tattoos surround her lower neck and collarbones. There are red flowers outlined in white, either blooming on or flowing near her, some on her shoulders, some covering her left eye, others flying off. Interestingly, the flowers are placed loosely on a diagonal, bottom left to top right. Her expression is fully relaxed, mouth open slightly, and her hair is flowing to the side. That, paired with the flowers, makes it seem like there's a breeze passing by.

The conclusion I came to, upon finishing this analysis, is that Eidolons can be interpreted as the layers to characters' personality. With E1 being what anyone in the crowd could see – their back, no face, nothing to truly identify them by, and E6 is them at their most relaxed, most open point.

[narcissiah]

Game Theory ▪ Blurb / Imagine

Hwang In-ho x GN!Reader

Summary: You were a previous player in 2023, and the winner; however, due to technicalities on your part, you were never rewarded the winner's prize. An exchange happens between you and the Front Man in that final confrontation in the limo. Word Counter: 666 (lol) Warnings: Non-consensual (ish) shared drink? Other wise, none that I could find, but please let me know if there are. Also not proof-read, beware mistakes. Written as bullet points if that bothers anyone. Author's Note: This is based off a multi-chapter series I've been (failing to) writing. I got bored and wrote this blurb instead to get me out of that cursed writer's block. Hope any curious readers out there enjoy, and if you're interested for more, let me know!

In 2023, you entered the games as Player 004. 

The not-as-superstitious players called you “Unlucky,” and the superstitious ones refused to play with you at all. Death was a certainty; none of your fellow players expected you to last long.

Over the course of five days, 456 players were whittled down into 238 (Red Light, Green Light; a stampede-turned-massacre). The 238 fell into 151, which fell down to 79. Light’s Out came and went, as did 25 unlucky players, leaving 54 survivors in the wake of the murder spree. 

Eventually, the 54 survivors lessened and lessened, until 2 finalists stood on the eve of the sixth day. 

Then, on the sixth day, the organizers of the games crowned you the winner—only to disqualify you in the same breath. Something to do with technicalities. 

You had a wound in your lower stomach—a dramatic wound, for sure, lots of blood and pain and what-have-you. It wasn’t fatal, but suffice to say, you weren’t paying much attention to why you weren’t getting the winner’s prize.

The staff patched up the wound (none of them were doctors, you were later told by a medical professional) and sent you on your miserable way, with black cloth tied around your eyes, arms bound with string behind your back, and stuffed inside a car.

However, before you truly parted ways with the demons on earth, you were granted a one-on-one with who you assumed was the leader of the events.

He, as you could tell by the unmasked voice, gave a long speech about morality and how the pinnacle of human cruelty is hurting the ones we love most, sipping on something as he spoke. 

“The prize is living with what you’ve done. The punishment is knowing your sacrifices were for nothing.” “Please,” you moan, delirious from pain and exhaustion, “let me die.” These words spill from heartache coated in shame and disgust. 

In the six days the Front Man has watched you, these are the most honest words you’ve said. They’re probably the most honest words you’ve ever spoken in your life of deceit and lies.

And for that, he gives you a little reward.

You heard the Front Man shift in his seat, the high-quality leather squeaking beneath him. Gentle fingers grazed your chin, tilting your head up. He places the drink against your cracked lips, the chilled glass wet from condensation.

If you weren’t so fatigued and disoriented, buzzing with agony that’s not entirely physical, you would’ve turned your head like a petulant child, swearing with a vocabulary fit for an edgy teen. You probably would’ve headbutted him if you thought he was close enough.

Obediently, you open your mouth and swallow the rest of the Front Man’s drink. 

It’s champagne, but it’s the sweetest ambrosia you’ve ever tasted. Tears burn the back of your eyes, and a bitterness coats your tongue, molding so perfectly with the sweetness. The Front Man takes the empty glass away.

 His gentle hand stayed on your chin, his fingers caressing your skin with a deceptively intimate touch. You can all too easily picture that hand moving down to your throat, joined by his other, the pressure applied bruises the muscle, cutting off your breathing—

“What do you offer the world? You are one of the worst people to survive; you leave trails of pain and suffering wherever you go, all for your own entertainment. These games bring out the vileness in people, yet even you surpassed your own depravity. I should do you the favor; the world would be better off for it, wouldn’t it?”

A chill sweeps down your spine, your stomach churns. Itching to get away from him, you retreat as far as you can from his oppressive presence. It takes a great deal of effort you don’t have, leaving you panting, shivering and sweating.

“Goodbye, Player 004. Maybe there is still someone out there who loves you as much as you love your hubris—as long as you don’t hurt them first.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By His Command 2

Summary: you meet the wife. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, possible pregnancy and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: Thank you for reading! Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

“Take your boots off,” the martha girds.

You unbutton the red boots and step out of them. You scoop of your valise once more and face the woman in green. She is already marching further inside.

The martha leads you down a long hallways without a word. You keep your head straight. The aunts always told you to keep your eyes to yourself. Those lessons did not come easy. Reflexively, you put your hand over your ear, expecting a blow at the very thought of peeking.

You pass open doorways but your attention is fixed on the hem of the martha’s dull green smock. She goes to the left, another wing of the hallway, not as far until she turns again, then stops completely. She steps to the side and puts her hand against her apron.

“Your room. You will sleep here and in the mornings you will not come out until you are summoned. Understood?” She explains sternly.

“Yes,” you answer.

“Go inside, put your bag down, and wait.”

You look at her but she refuses to meet your gaze. You quickly retract and turn instead to the closed door. She reaches to twist the handle and push in inside. You don’t miss the sliding latch on the outside.

You enter and she pulls the door shut. It brushes your skirt, nearly catching the fabric as it hits the frame. You spin and stare at the barrier, the metal bar on the other side scraping into the hoop. You’re locked in.

The iciness of the exterior seeps into the small room and nips at your layers. You shiver and place your valise on the low dresser against the wall, the paint peeling away from the aged wood. The weight of your bag causes it to creak.

You slip your gloves off and lay them beside the valise. You tuck your hands in your sleeves and retreat. Not far as the room isn’t very spacious. A bed with a rusting metal frame, a contrast to the pure white bedding pulled taught across the mattress. You push your hand beneath the pillow and feel the lumpy surface. It is at least a place to sleep. 

You look up and stare at the metal bars across the window. The frame was recently whitewashed but cannot hide the scratch marks etched into the wood. You try not to think of it.

Your steps groan in the floor as you carry on to the doorway to the left, the only aside from the entrance. A simple bathroom with only a toilet and a sink. There is a slightly dingy smell to it. Odd to think that in a house so resplendent from the outside, that it should hold such a pathetic cell.

You flinch as you hear a metal schlock and you back out of the bathroom. You turn and face the door as it opens. A woman in blue enters, a hat pinned to her spiral blonde locks, a hit of brown reaching to her ears. Her thick straight brows draw together as she raises her chin. You gape at her senselessly. This is the wife.

“Closer,” she beckons you forward with a fine leather glove.

You obey, edging nearer as her eyes bore into you. You watch the wall over her shoulder as you force your shoulders straight. You squeak as she yanks on the string of your bonnet and tears it away. She drops it and grabs your arms, turning you as she clicks her tongue.

When you face her again, she braces your hips and squeezes, feeling along your stomach as you try not to squirm. She lets you go but frightens you as she latches onto your chin, forcing you to look her in the face.

“Pray that you can do your duty,” she sneers.

You swallow tightly, trembling as her dark eyes pierce you like daggers.

“Blessed be the fruit,” you recite.

She glares at you, stepping forward as she bears down on you, walking you back as she grips tighter and tighter.

“I asked for a strong one,” she shoves you and you flail back onto the bed in a heap of flapping fabric, “don’t fear, it won’t be long. He’ll make short work of you.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows and blink at her dumbly. She scoffs and shakes her head, turning on her heel and strutting out. She slams the door in her stead and the lock chafes into the ring. 

The hollowness of that place settles over you. Not like the center where the other girls cowered with you, where their weeps kept you company. It’s only you now.

[nekohime19]

Bimawen # 7 : first ever friend

Mengai is finally admitting Wukong is his friend let's celebrate 🎉🎉

The moon was ruling over the night. Its light falling upon those beneath it with the same kindness no matter the standings. Inside one particular room, lighted by the fading flame of a half-melted candle, one monkey was pacing left and right. Mengai was going in circles. His long tail sweeping dust again and again. He had a hand over his chin and a frown etched on his lips. The black-furred monkey was facing a rather tricky problem. 

Was his boss sincere when he said he thought him to be likable?

A beast inside of him was writhing with anger. It's not possible, it roared. It clawed and bit, trying to make every inch of his flesh bleed red. Who would be mad enough to like you? It shouted. The words echoing in his head. Bleeding in his veins. It hurts to think that way, even if he would never admit it. But perhaps it hurt less than being betrayed later on by honeyed lies. Beware, beware. It hissed. Words slithering in his head like a well-used poison. 

Yet, even if the beast he created after years of hiding his true self was loud, it couldn't drown the other voice rising within him. 

What if it was true? What if his boss truly liked him? The voice was tentative, almost afraid to let itself be known when faced by the viciousness of the beast. Yet it was here. So undoubtedly here. His boss didn't gain anything by lying. He was the one in charge, he didn't need to fool Mengai with niceties. Wukong didn't strike him as the type to elaborate such an intricate betrayal either. If he didn't like someone, he would be the kind to shout it out loud, not afraid of the consequences. 

But what did he like about him? What was worthy of being cherished? He was envious. A husk searching for his own self. What could even catch the gaze of another? 

Yet, if someone found something to like within him, then perhaps it meant he wasn't as bad as he thought himself to be. Mengai shuddered at the thought. He spent so much time hating everything that he was, it was odd to even consider himself good enough to be liked. It was disorienting. Saddening. If he had goodness in him, why did he never notice it? Wasn't he supposed to be the most knowledgeable about his own self? Wasn't he supposed to know himself better than anyone else could? 

What was Wukong seeing that remained invisible to his own eyes? 

One familiar songbird perched itself on the windowsill, chirping with all the indignation a body so small could contain. Mengai glanced at the bird. Its golden feathers were more ruffled than usual, proof it flew for quite some time before deciding to come. His bead-like eyes were swirling with outrage. It began to pace on the windowsill. Hopping left and right with a thundering expression. Its nagging chirps echoed in the silence, cutting through the room's darkness. 

“Are you mad because I didn't go to the river?” Asked the macaque as he approached the windowsill, he tried to touch the bird but his fingers were nipped before he could even graze it. Mengai quickly removed his hand and held it to his chest. Nipping was quite hurtful. 

The songbird let out a series of angry chirps, his wings puffed out in fury. “Look, I didn't have time to fish tonight.” Sighed the black-furred monkey, he tentatively offered his arm to the bird. “But you know you can still stay with me for a bit, birdie.”

The songbird narrowed its eyes at the offered perch. It decided to grace Mengai with its mighty presence and elegantly perched itself on the monkey's arm. Mengai snorted. What a dramatic bird. “You know, I had a lot to think about tonight, birdie.” Hummed Mengai as he laid on his bed, birdie hopped closer until it settled comfortably on the monkey's shoulders. Its warm lil body was quite comforting. 

“My boss said he liked me.” Mumbled the macaque, he didn't notice how the bird tensed. As taut as a strained bow string. “And, you know, that made me think a lot.” 

Mengai gazed at his room's ceiling in silence. The old wood was becoming familiar. He knew each crack. Each nook and crannies. He knew each spiderwebs as if he built them himself. It was almost terrifying to find familiarity in a place that should be nothing but a stranger's home. But could he really call his boss a stranger? He knew Wukong's habits, the flames of his character, the weight of his pride. He knew of his iron-strong hands and his squirrel-like cheeks. He knew the color of his eyes and the sound of his joy. But what were they? Friends? Acquaintances? Colleagues? 

Mengai didn't want friends. He was scared of opening the keep guarding his heart. What if Wukong decided to pierce his feeble organ with the sharp edge of a blade? What if he decided to cradle it like the most precious of gems? In the dead of the night, Mengai admitted to himself that he was scared. He was afraid of being hurt. Of being betrayed. The wounds on his body could heal with time but the wounds on his heart would forever bleed. 

“I'm afraid.” Mumbled Mengai, voice as light as a wavering ray of moonlight. The bird perked up and hopped closer. “What if it's a lie… What if he's lying… What if…” The black-furred monkey couldn't finish his sentence. He let the words float in the air, let them roll off his tongue and leave him. The macaque was so lost in his musing he didn't notice the determined spark igniting in the bird's beady eyes. The songbird pressed itself against Mengai’s neck in a pitiful form of comfort, hoping to share at least a fragment of its warmth with the other. 

Mengai sighed. He felt like he was cracking his skull open with those questions. Perhaps he should brush it away. For now, he would just let himself feel a sliver of happiness at the thought of someone liking him. In the dark of the night, nobody would be able to see the soft smile gracing his lips. 

Except for one songbird too curious for its own good. But even then, it would keep this sight deep within itself, a secret guarded forever, like westward dragons guard their gold. 

***

The next day felt like any other. Mengai was shoveling one of the horses’ stalls. Cleaning every nook and crannies of it. He learned to be used to the smell of hay. It caressed his nose like a feather. Coming and going like the sways of the tide. 

“You're doing a good job.” Mengai didn't think anything of this. He thought his boss was talking to a horse, it wasn't the first time he did so, as such the black-furred monkey ignored him. Yet Mengai felt eyes boring in his back. He didn't like the feeling so he turned around. He was quite surprised to cross eyes with Wukong. 

The bimawen was pinning him down with his gaze, bright sun-like eyes weighting on Mengai's measle form, it almost felt overwhelming. “You, huh, need something?” Asked the assistant, trying as much he could to hide the waver in his voice. 

“I'm just praising you.” Shrugged Wukong, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As natural as drinking a gulp of water or breathing in the smell of the sun. Mengai felt confused. His boss never praised him before. Not like this. Not with this much openness. 

Wukong stared at him some more, almost as if he expected something to happen. What was Mengai supposed to do? Thank him for the praise? Sneer at him for the sudden change? Or ignore it like it was nothing but a ghost lost in the wind? Gradually, the bimawen's face was obscured by a frown, he sighed and walked away after a few minutes of cutting silence, muttering something about “idiots not knowing their worth.”

Mengiz huffed and resumed his work. A mogwai's mind was too intricate for him to understand, he should just let it go. Two clones peeked from the stall on Mengai's left, glancing at the figure of their retreating boss. Then, they turned towards Mengai with a twist of neck, very much like meerkats. 

“He praised you.” Mumbled one clone as if it was some sort of grand achievement.

Mengai chose to not answer, truthfully, he didn't know what he could even say. The praise came out of nowhere. It tickled his ears with the honeyed sweetness of candies. Fed his ego until it rumbled in satisfaction. Mengai kept shoveling. Hoping no one would even notice the proud smile blooming on the edge of his lips. Was it pathetic to be this thrilled by one measle praise? Perhaps. But he couldn't help himself. His heart was starved for saccharine compliments, in search of any sense of recognition it could get. 

The clones looked at each other with a hint of mischievousness, their gaze veiled by the thick cloth of secret, unfathomable for those not sharing their minds. Mengai stopped trying to understand their ways. They acted as if they knew something he didn't. He didn't like it. But he said nothing of it. One gesture of curiosity, one gesture of weakness, and those meerkats would tease him for the rest of the day. He could already hear their infuriating voices : “Oh you didn't notice?” or “It's quite obvious though.”

Those damn peach-brained mogwais. 

Whatever they discovered in their boss' odd behavior, the black-furred monkey didn't want to know. 

Weirdly enough, his boss kept praising him throughout the day. Little nuggets of compliments thrown here and there at the most sudden times. He was praised for his nimble hands. For his efficiency. For the way he handled the stables. Mengai felt something melt in himself each time he received praises. His steps became a little bit lighter. His face a little bit brighter. It was like he was being fed after years of starvation. 

There was still a doubt slithering in the back of his mind. Why was Wukong doing this? What was his purpose? But the more this kept happening, the more the doubt settled in a reluctant acceptance. The more the beast's voice faded away in his storm of thoughts. 

Wukong kept doing so for three days. 

Soon, without Mengai even noticing, the praises became his own thoughts. He caught himself, at the end of the third day, thinking that he was good at handling the saddles. Something he never thought before. He never had any thoughts about his work. Seeing it as a mundane task he was obliged to do. But since Wukong began to praise him, he began to notice what he was doing exactly. And he noticed he was doing it well. Of course he wasn't perfect, but there were things he was good at, things he never truly took the time to notice before. 

It felt nice to be proud of his work. 

He began to appreciate the satisfying feeling of finishing a good work. He began to smile more, hiding it in the curve of his hand. It was thrilling to look back at the saddle he cleaned and thought to himself “I did a good job with that”. It almost made him excited to come to work. Excited to see what he would do well. What he would accomplish today, as small as it was. He never felt like that before. He never felt proud of something he did, never truly took the time to. It felt unbelievably good. 

The only downside was the infuriating smirk etched on Wukong's lips. As if he knew exactly what he was doing with his nuggets of praises and was proud that his master plan was working. Mengai wanted to punch that smirk off. In the deeper parts of himself, he could admit that he was thankful his boss took the time to do something like that. It was strange to even think someone would care about him enough for this. But at this point it was difficult to even deny it. There was care in Sun Wukong's sun-kissed eyes. Somehow, it scared him as much as it thrilled him. 

Mengai was currently accompanying Bean on her usual outing. Walking alongside her in the meadows surrounding the stables. The pregnant mare was in the last days of her foaling, milk had already began to appear in her teats, as such she couldn't follow the others horses when they went on their daily stroll. But it didn't mean she never went outside her stall, quite the contrary, she had her own private outing, often supervised by Wukong himself (or Mengai when the bimawen was running on Peach's back). 

The sun was falling out of its throne, illuminating the sky with its last fading fire. The meadows were peaceful. The grass swayed at the whims of the winds, the birds flew above them, piercing the gray clouds. Mengai was still quite cautious around dragon-horses but Bean was… she wasn't as intimidating as the other. Perhaps because she was in the midst of motherhood, her features were softened, rounded. Besides, Mengai wasn't going to be afraid of a heavily pregnant mare. The light was gliding on her green scales, making them shine like the most precious emeralds. She stopped walking after a bit and looked up at the sky, Mengai followed her gaze and stood at her side as silent as a shadow. His ears flickered. The foal's heartbeat ringing in them. It was almost fascinating to hear it. To hear life being formed. He didn't know it would be so captivating. He liked to stand near Bean, only to hear it. 

Bean pawed at the floor and turned towards him. Mengai dived in her steady gaze, quietly contemplating the sparks swirling in them, sparks of quiet strength. She heigned and pawed on the floor harder. Mengai tilted his head in confusion, then he noticed the shine of sweat on her scales and the sounds of rustling coming from the foal.

“Wait, wait, wait, are you-” Bean huffed, as if what she was trying to say was obvious and he was an idiot for not realizing it sooner. Mengai was almost offended, but he had more urgent matters to consider. “I, huh, you stay here alright!” Squeaked the black-furred monkey as he rushed towards the stables. He barged in and cried : “Bean is foaling!!” All the clones stopped what they were doing and turned towards him with a twist of neck, like a whole mob of meerkats disturbed by a loud sound. 

The next few minutes were a blur, Mengai helped a few clones guide Bean inside, the mare seemed more at ease when he was near, for some odd reasons that escaped him. One clone turned into a bird and took flight, rushing to warn Wukong (who was busy running with the horses on arches of clouds). Mengai sat on Bean's stall floor, the mare was standing and sitting, not able to stand still for one minute. She didn't seem to want too many people in her stall. Most of the clones were pushed away by the mare herself. Mengai just sat quietly, not daring to move even for a brief instant. Sometimes Bean would approach him and push him with her snout, requesting pets. Mengai had the feeling he was used for comfort but he didn't complain, he petted the pregnant mare when she wanted and let her be when she wanted to pace. It was an odd experience. All along, he could also hear the foal moving inside their mother's belly, probably positioning themselves for the foaling.

Wukong barged into the stall after ten measles minutes. Bean turned towards him and huffed in frustration, clearly angry he wasn't here from the start. The bimawen awkwardly scratched his neck and cooed at the sensitive mare, fondly patting her head, she reluctantly forgave him. 

Wukong sat on the floor, next to Mengai, and let Bean pace as much as she wanted. The black-furred monkey wondered if he even needed to be there now that his boss arrived but he didn't want to anger the pregnant mare by leaving. Besides, it was better to not put too much stress on her. 

“So, how long is this going to take?” Asked Mengai, for all he saw in the mortal world, he never experienced a foaling before. 

“It depends but generally it'll take at least a few good hours.” Shrugged Wukong. 

“And we let her be?”

“For now.” was Wukong enigmatic answer. Mengai frowned, millions of questions burning on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't know if it was the best time to ask them. The bimawen must have seen his conflicted expression, he flicked his forehead and said : “Don't break your head, Mengmeng. I'm here so everything is gonna be okay.” Mengai grumbled and rubbed his forehead, chasing the sting of the flick. His gaze returned to the pacing mare and he stood silent, watching her intently. 

Bean paced for two more hours, then a fluid escaped her and fell on the floor. Her water broke. Immediately, the mare lay down on her side and Wukong rushed to her, monitoring the birth. Mengai stood as still as a statue, he scouted closer when Bean heigned and awkwardly petted her, putting her head on his lap. She seemed to be eased by his touch and closed her eyes. 

After forty minutes, Mengai heard Wukong scowl. The blonde-furred monkey looked like he took a bite out of a sore lemon. This worried Mengai. “Is everything okay?” Asked the black-furred monkey as he put one hand in Bean’s mane and scratched behind her ears. She leaned in his touch, seeking comfort. Mengai shivered, out of fear or surprise, he didn't really know. It was odd in a way to see such a mighty creature be so weakened. It lessened his fear. 

“Not really. The foal is not well positioned.” Cursed Wukong. Before Mengai could inquire what it even meant, the bimawen rolled up his sleeves and conjured a bottle of oil with one of his hair. Then Wukong poured a generous amount of oil on his hands and applied it on Bean's birth canal. Mengai watched the process with round eyes, it was quite fascinating to see Wukong's assurance, he did it with speed and grace, each movement carefully calculated to not hurt the mare. Bean flinched when she felt Wukong touch her, she pressed closer to Mengai. The black-furred monkey gulped but ultimately allowed it. Even if it was uncomfortable, he didn't have the heart to push away a foaling mare. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Mengai saw Wukong hands dive within the mare. He heard the foal being moved inside, delicately repositioned. Then, the bimawen gently tugged the foal forward, in perfect sync with Bean's own contractions. After a lot of work, from both Wukong and the mare, the foal was finally born. 

It was a small creature with scales as pale as the snow, its mane was incredibly fluffy, bouncing around like clouds at each of its steps. It wobbled on its thin legs before being able to stand straight. 

“It's a boy.” Smiled Wukong as he guided the foal towards Bean. The mare perked up and nuzzled her son, familiarizing herself with the fruit of her bowel. Mengai watched the scene with round eyes. He didn't have parents. He was born out of the darkness itself. Alone. He never truly thought about it, never truly lingered on it, but the scene before him almost made him wish he had a mother. 

If he had been loved like that since his birth then maybe he wouldn't have let hate fester in his own heart. It was wishful thinking. He knew he couldn't change the past, as much as he wished. It almost felt unfair. But before he could dwell on the thought, Wukong patted his back and praised him :

“You did a good job calming Bean.” The bimawen looked radiant. His fur was ruffled, his arms were sullied with blood and fluids, yet he looked like it was one of the best days of his life. He looked as bright as the sun itself. And for once in his life, Mengai thought that maybe, instead of being envious of what he lacked, he should just appreciate what he was seeing.

There was beauty in the bond connecting the foal to the mare and, perhaps, instead of wallowing in his own wishes, he ought to simply admire the essence of something as simple as the blooming love between son and mother. 

Wukong supervised Bean until he deemed that everything was alright. Once he was satisfied, he sat down and played with the foal. His touch was delicate, as if he was handling a precious piece of glass, Mengai watched him with curiosity. It was almost odd to see his boss being so gentle. It was a side of him he wasn't used to. Suddenly, Wukong turned towards him and grabbed his hand, tugging him forward. Mengai had no choice but to let him do as he pleased. 

The blonde-furred monkey presented his hand to the foal, the little creature sniffed him, his breath warming the tips of Mengai's fingers, and curiously pressed against his palm. Mengai gulped, he gazed at Bean (who didn't seem to be bothered by his proximity with her son) and at his boss. 

“Come on, don't tell me you're afraid of a baby?” Chuckled Wukong, Mengai scowled, no, he wasn't afraid of a baby. He wasn't that much of a coward. The black-furred monkey scouted closer and carefully touched the foal, the little creature blinked up at him, diving in his eyes, before leaning in his touch. 

The foal was admittedly very cute. His scales were sleek and warm, almost soft under the pads of his fingers. Mengai caught himself enjoying the experience. Enjoying the puff of breath caressing his hands. It was a novelty to see such a mighty creature be this small, be this frail. It made him think… Maybe dragon-horses weren't that bad? 

“I'm going to spend the night here, how about you?” Wukong's voice broke him out of his transe. Mengai pondered the question. Technically speaking, he wasn't needed here anymore. He could go back to the mansion and spend the night under the warm blankets of his bed. But, somehow, he didn't want to leave. As he gazed in the foal's candid eyes, he felt the sudden urge to stay, to see, to learn. 

“I'm staying.”Mumbled Mengai, if he had turned his head, he would have seen the bright smile blooming on his boss's lips. 

***

Night had fallen upon them, the darkness veiled all in quiet peace. Wukong had fluffed out some hay for the both of them, it wasn't as comfortable as his bed back at the mansion but somehow it didn't bother him. The foal was curled next to his laying mother, both were exhausted by the effort of birth. Mengai was on his piece of hay, quietly contemplating everything that happened. Wukong was next to him, arms crossed behind his head. He looked as relaxed as one could be. 

“So what did you think of your first foaling?” Asked the bimawen with a curious shine in his eyes. 

“Stressful.” Grimaced Mengai. The whole experience had taken years out of him. “... Beautiful.” He added more quietly after a brief moment of reflection. Wukong hummed, the smile on his face unwavering. 

“Don't be surprised if Heaven's officials come tomorrow. They'll need to see the foal.” Warned the blonde-furred monkey, Mengai didn't like the sound of that but he knew he couldn't do anything about it. 

They stood in silence for a long moment, appreciating the serenity veiling them. Mengai frowned when he heard the faraway rumble of a coming storm. The black-furred monkey hated storms. He could only hope nature would take pity on him and turn the storm away before it could burst. 

“Do you have parents?” Suddenly asked Wukong, his voice filling the silence around them. 

“No.” Replied Mengai with a frown on his lips.

“Me neither.” The mumble was almost too quiet to be heard. The black-furred monkey was quite shocked by this. He always thought his boss was born in arms full of love. If not, how could one explain how bright Wukong was? 

Mengai felt an odd sense of kinship. He always thought he had nothing in common with his boss, nothing but their appearances. After all, Wukong loved himself, he was as loud as a cascade, as bright as the sun, as passionate as the raging fire. Him, on the other side, hated who he was, he was as quiet as a drop, as pale as a fading candle, as dull as ashes. It was strange to realize he shared something with someone so different. But in a way it comforted him greatly. 

“Do you ever wish you had parents?” Asked Mengai, the words escaped him without him noticing. But he didn't regret it. By now, he knew Wukong wouldn't chastise him for asking something. Oddly enough, his boss seemed to care about his words, he never tried to muzzle him, it brought him a warmth he didn't want to name.

“I thought about it.” Admitted Wukong. “about what it would feel like but I don't like to linger on what ifs.” Mengai hummed, he let his boss's words wash over him. He agreed to an extent that living in hypothesis wasn't good yet he couldn't help but marvel. 

“I wonder if I'd be different if someone guided me.” Mumbled the black-furred monkey. 

“Probably.” Snorted Wukong. “But, you know, being born alone doesn't mean that you will never be guided. It doesn't mean you'll stay alone for the rest of your days.” Mengai sighed and closed his eyes. 

“I don't know… I'm pretty alone.” It was contradictory in a way to want company but to fear it at the same time. To long for it but flee it. Perhaps it was selfish to want something that he avoided. But he couldn't help himself. His heart and head were at war with each other. 

“You Mengmeng.” Chuckled Wukong, his eyes curved like moon crescents. “You're not alone, you're with me.”

Mengai felt his heart squeeze itself dry. He didn't dare look at Wukong, fearing his sun-kissed eyes would burn him alive. “Because you're my boss.” He tried to justify, hoping it would calm the fire dancing in his veins. 

“Because I'm your friend.” Corrected Wukong as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Mengai blinked, surprised. 

He didn't understand. When did they even become friends? They never talked about it. Never mentionned anything. There was no declaration, no gesture of affirmation. Not that Mengai kenw a lot about the ways of friendship, but was it really that easy to call someone else a friend. Was it that simple? Perhaps sharing a laugh with someone was enough. Nothing else was needed. It was odd. Wukong was odd. 

They were friends. 

For all his fear of companionship, for all his cautioness about opening his own heart, Mengai couldn't help but smile. 

He had a friend. 

His ever first friend. 

He wasn't alone. 

As he thought this, the sky bursted open, rain and thunder fell on the earth. The black-furred monkey winced and curled on himself. He hated storms. They rumbled in his ears, percied every once of his flesh. It felt like blades diving in him. He hated it. He always spent most of his storms alone. After all, storms made him vulnerable, easy to target, easy to hurt. He couldn't allow himself to be seen in this state. Not when the outside world was so cold, so harsh, so full of dangers. 

Mengai didn't even realize the hand tentatively touching his shoulder. His boss was trying to shake him out of his trance, in vain. In a moment of sheer protective instinct, Wukong grabbed the trembling form of his assistant and hid him in his arms, curling around him like the sea curl around the earth. 

Mengai breathed in the smell of peaches, he nosed the soft blonde mane, trying to ground himself with the feeling of Wukong. When he realized what was happening exactly he tensed, not sure if he should run away or indulge himself. In the end, he let himself relax, let his body melt in the arms of another. It burned. To be held. To be hid form the cold world. He wasn't used to the warmth. 

Yet he realized he didn't mind the burn of Wukong's embrace that much. He could get used to it. 

In the recess of his mind, he admitted he loved it. 

Ch1 / Previous / Next

[env0writes]

Umber Embers Vol. 3, 9.17.24 “Black Cat and Hare Brigade”

You are a special boy You can lie And for this sin, this ploy The more you do, assuredly you’ll die Beware Black hares Who send you on your way For soon, shall you have that price to pay Are you real? Oh, foxy ladies you – Who lie and beguile and lay to feel Are you feeling something true? Placate, playdate Black cat, starry-eyed follows Foolish trust to sit and wait Across the town-red nosed-grown – both drown “No” –You Lied Like a real boy tried Convicted, acquitted No truths knowingly admitted Pass entry, join gentry To revile your machinations All-while, kin likeness stand sentry Turncoat or turn eyes to accusations Liar! Deceiver Fire! Conceiver Banners for you, one so special Proclaim childish wishes of fame A noose made of string – Borne for you, all the same

@env0writes C.Buck   Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artists!

[anomura]

tagged by @survivedthenight 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Last song: taking what's not yours by tv girl

Currently watching: abbott elementary s04 and what we do in the shadows s06! technically still watching glue and true detective but it's been a while i don't have time 😭😭

Last movie: miller's crossing (1990)

Relationship status: single. not even a crush to entertain any delusions.. dire times

Current obsessions: still mainly mota but i think the brain rot has shifted more to bucky lmao. and callum ofc. also peanut butter toast with banana slices on top, coke zero, painting my nails dark red, the bald and the beautiful podcast/trixie and katya in general, weed (😭), disease by lady gaga and love me more by mitski

Last thing you googled: "define ascot" i'd never seen the word before lol

Silver or gold jewelry: silver!! always

Do you have any tattoos: no i'm scared of permanent change

Piercings: just my earlobes #boring

Currently reading: just started beware of pity by stefan zweig today!

Hobby you would like to try: sewingggg i think i'd really like it i love repairing my clothes when they rip and making scrunchies. i'm just too lazy to actually start doing it fr

Coffee or tea: i'm not very big on either but i drink Way more coffee so.

Favourite video games: 2064: read only memories, turmoil, spider-man ps4, the red strings club, the last of us part II, solitaire spider if that counts lmao

Star sign: leo! can you tell

i think the ppl i was gonna tag have already been tagged so not @ ing anyone but feel free to do it if you want!!!

[divsere]

The Black Witch

this is the story of a miracle birth,

of The Black Witch unheard-

peiced together by Lucifer himself.

amidst streams of blood and screams so bright,

she drew her first breath- an ungodly sight;

welcomed by dead crows in lightning sky,

upon a rainy thunderstorm night.

her first cry was so-

it haunted the professionals slow.

an etched prediction upon shooting stars-

"beware, seek caution, be on your guard",

proved she was born to raise mayhem,

upon the green green Earth.

therefore a fair deal of "accidents" befell,

on her crooked path- yet her eyes stayed dark,

as if Mr. Beelzebub's self, sitting atop a frightful hawk,

kept his gaze fixed over his pricey art.

at the ripe age of three,

His beloved prodigy,

wrote in blood red-

love letters to Death.

she began to bind her soul tight,

to the very essence of life,

in exchange of flies, then bird cries-

soon she was named 'a precocious child'.

at eight, the villagers prayed

against the wicked young hag,

for she played with youngins her age,

lured them to black,

then sacrificed them for her dad.

the commoners soon enough realized-

the pattern of snow, rain and sunrise,

reflected her state of mind.

and so they switched their plight,

gifted her candies and juices iced,

which she-annoyed-left out to dry.

when she turned fifteen,

and walked the woods so mean,

each cold cold night- her laughter alarming.

she drew with stick- strange symbols on mud,

seemed to speak some dated string of words-

which likely affected the cattle heards,

for they lost their shit and produced bitter curd.

with a whisk of her hand, the white clumps

collected in an oddly shaped gold cup.

she handed it to The Devil, as a bestowal.

upon his crimson skin, it left an icy 'stache.

on her sweet sixteenth,

she was gifted The Ultimate Diary,

by her father, The Demon King of Hell- fiery.

it just contained silly sounding names,

whose apparent fates she held in hand,

some on the way, some already dead.

by her last year on the planet, her eighteenth-

she had learned to terrorise and play clean.

quilled down hundreds of spells on a long piece of sheet,

expertised on runes, poppets, and sigils.

she could pass around hexes like the plague,

and convince wild animals to behead.

she had gathered quite a collection

of recipes involving flesh, bone, and snake skin.

she had become a genius beloved child,

ready to sit by His throne and expand her mind,

expand her work load, expand her magic unkind.

witnessed by Lucifer's pure delight,

the crusty ground rived up terrified.

she was carried by him, flown beneath,

and seated on a royal throne by his side-

like a perfect spawn, ready to test her teeth.

soon, the villagers began to celebrate life,

for they knew she awaits them when they die,

a chant of "let there be light" set them grinning;

father and daughter, against the living.

what a lovely reunion; what a haunting picture-

The Black Witch of Hell and The Dark Prince who birthed her.