#bloo dy

[bloos-bloo]

Art block hit me HARD- So I must throw Leshy in a dress 🫡

[koyagifs]

𝐰𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫

pairing: jongho x f!reader au: 9th member | best friends to lovers | pre! poly | genre: fluff | word count: 2.2 k synopsis: how jongho entered the poly relationship with you and the others warning(s): takes place during halazia era

Jongho panicked when he realized he was starting to develop feelings for you. It caught him completely off guard—he never expected to fall for anyone in this way, especially when he’d always envisioned relationships as something exclusive, just between him and one other person. But everything shifted when he noticed Yeosang getting more affectionate with you—cuddling close, resting his head on your shoulder—especially when Hongjoong and Wooyoung were around. That was when Jongho felt it: the twist of emotion he couldn’t quite name, a mix of jealousy, confusion, and something dangerously close to longing.

So, he started pulling away.

Not in big ways—Jongho wasn’t cruel like that—but he started avoiding those moments when the others were around. He’d show up a little later to group hangs, claim he was tired or busy when he wasn’t, and avoid eye contact with the others whenever he sat a little too close to you.

But feelings don’t fade just because you want them to. And every time you looked at Jongho with that gentle, concerned expression—every time you asked, “Are you okay?” with that softness only meant for him—it chipped away at the wall he was trying to build around his heart.

And maybe… just maybe… he didn’t hate the idea of sharing you. Maybe what terrified him wasn’t the others, but the fact that his heart had already decided you were worth breaking every rule he thought he had.

You had just wrapped up promotions for Halazia, and the well-deserved break couldn’t have come soon enough. For the first time in months, your schedule was quiet, your phone wasn’t buzzing with rehearsals or interviews, and the sun outside actually felt warm on your skin instead of a blur through a van window.

Wearing a soft sundress that swayed gently with each step, you slung your bag over your shoulder and slid your favorite book inside—the one you'd been dying to read since it first came out but never had the time to touch. The pages still smelled new, the spine barely cracked, and just the thought of curling up somewhere peaceful with it made your heart flutter with anticipation.

The boys were scattered around the shared house, doing their own version of unwinding—Hongjoong was sketching in the corner of the living room, Wooyoung was trying (and failing) to convince Yeosang to join him in a dance challenge, and somewhere in the kitchen, Jongho lingered quietly, pretending not to glance your way every time you passed by.

You hummed softly under your breath, the melody light and aimless as your bare feet padded across the floor. The atmosphere was peaceful, golden sunlight pouring through the windows and casting lazy shadows across the wooden floors.

As you passed each of them, you paused to place a gentle kiss on their lips—starting with Hongjoong, who smiled into it before returning to his sketchbook. Wooyoung caught you by the waist and kissed you back a little longer than necessary, smirking when you swatted at his chest. Mingi tilted his head up with that sleepy grin of his, always eager for affection, and San—ever dramatic—sighed like he was being blessed by the heavens. Yeosang didn’t say a word, but the way his fingers lightly brushed your wrist as you pulled away made your chest warm.

You offered soft cheek kisses to the rest—Yunho, who ruffled your hair in return; Jongho, who froze for just a second too long before mumbling a flustered thank you.

Seonghwa smiled, soft and familiar, before gently patting your head. His hand lingered just a second before sliding down to your wrist, fingers curling around it delicately.

"Where you off to?" he asked, his voice as smooth as ever, laced with that quiet warmth he never had to force.

The smile that bloomed on your face in response was radiant—so effortlessly you that it made every heart in the room stumble a beat. Even Jongho, who’d been watching from the kitchen, couldn’t help the way his throat tightened.

"Oh," you said with a cheerful lilt, "I’m heading to the park. I figured since the weather’s so nice and we’re all on break, it’d be the perfect time to finally catch up on some reading."

You held up your bag slightly, the book poking out just enough for Seonghwa to spot the title. His eyes flicked to it, then back to your face, his thumb brushing your wrist absentmindedly. You didn’t notice the small crowd of attention you’d gathered—how Hongjoong had set his pencil down, how Wooyoung had tilted his head with a faint smirk, or how Jongho, frozen in place, had stopped pretending to rinse his mug altogether.

"You going alone?" Seonghwa asked, the question casual—but something in his eyes said he was trying to read between your words.

Before you could answer, Jongho’s voice, steady but a little too fast, cut in from behind you.

"I could go with you. If you want company."

The twinkle in your eyes when you turned to him made Jongho’s heart lurch in his chest. He had no chance of hiding it—not the soft curve of his lips, not the way his ears flushed slightly pink, or the way his grip on the kitchen towel tightened just a bit. You looked so genuinely happy, so effortlessly warm, that it made it impossible for him to keep up the distance he’d been trying to maintain.

You nodded eagerly, the sunlight catching the edge of your smile.

“I’d love for you to join, baby bear!” you said, your voice bright, laced with that affection only you could pull off so naturally. “We’ve barely spent any time together lately.”

The nickname—your nickname for him—sent a quiet ripple through the room. Wooyoung arched a brow, clearly fighting a grin. Yeosang's gaze lingered on Jongho with a knowing tilt to his head. Even Seonghwa, still gently holding your wrist, glanced between the two of you before letting go, a soft chuckle under his breath.

Jongho cleared his throat, trying not to look too proud of himself.

“Alright,” he said, reaching for his hoodie draped over the back of a chair. “Lead the way, then.”

As you walked toward the door, Jongho fell into step beside you—just close enough that your arms brushed now and then. And though he didn’t say much, the faint smile on his lips never quite left.

" i bet you 5,000 won that they'll come back being together,"

Jongho couldn’t help it—his eyes had been on you the entire time.

You lay sprawled out on the blanket you'd carefully spread over the soft grass, the sun casting golden rays across your skin, making you look almost ethereal. Your sundress fluttered slightly in the breeze, and your hair caught the light in a way that made it impossible not to stare. The book you’d been so excited to read now rested on your face, covering your eyes, though your lips curved into a faint, relaxed smile.

You were at peace.

And Jongho? He was a mess.

He sat beside you, arms looped around his knees as he tried to convince himself he was just enjoying the quiet, the weather, the break—but his gaze kept drifting back to you. Again and again. The way your chest rose and fell slowly, the way your fingers absentmindedly brushed at a blade of grass near your side. Everything about you made his heart ache in a way he wasn’t used to.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He’d told himself he’d just tag along, make up for lost time, be a good partner. But now, watching you under the sunlight, looking so breathtakingly yours, he wasn’t sure how long he could keep pretending that his heart wasn’t fully in this—that he hadn’t already fallen.

And then, as if sensing him, you peeked from beneath the book, blinking up at him with a sleepy little smile.

“Are you staring, baby bear?” you asked playfully.

Jongho froze, caught red-handed, and cleared his throat.

“…Maybe.”

You hummed softly, stretching a little as you sat up, your hands brushing back your hair before placing the book beside you on the blanket. The warmth of the sun clung to your skin, and your dress shifted with your movements, the breeze tugging at the edges. You turned your gaze toward Jongho, head tilted, a knowing look playing on your lips.

Jongho looked like he was trying to play it cool—arms still around his knees, eyes now focused very intently on a distant tree. But you could see the way his jaw tensed, the way his fingers fidgeted slightly against his wrist.

"You okay?" you asked gently, voice laced with that concern only you could make feel so intimate. "You’ve been quiet."

He finally looked at you.

And for a second, everything fell away—the group, the pressure, the unspoken rules he’d written for himself. It was just you, with sunlight in your eyes and that soft, inviting smile he could never seem to get out of his head.

Jongho exhaled slowly, then spoke.

“I didn’t think I’d feel this way,” he admitted, his voice quiet but steady. “About you. About… all of this.”

You blinked, but you didn’t interrupt.

“I thought I could keep some kind of distance,” he continued, eyes locking onto yours now, full of something vulnerable and real. “But I can’t. You’ve always made things feel safe—and now it just feels like… I don’t want to miss out on any of it.”

His gaze dropped for a moment, like he was scared to see your reaction. “Even if it means sharing. Even if I’m still figuring it all out. I just… I want you.”

Your breath hitched, heart skipping once, maybe twice.

And for once, Jongho didn’t look away.

He reached for your hand, gently taking it into his own and lacing your fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world. His grip was warm and a little hesitant, like he still couldn’t believe you were letting him hold you like this. But when your thumb brushed against his knuckles, he held on tighter.

His eyes searched yours—quiet, steady, unshaking now.

“I know it’s been a while since one of us actually said it,” he began, his voice soft but weighted with meaning. “But I think… it’s because we’re scared. Scared to confirm what we feel. Because once we say it out loud, it’s real. And real means it can change things.”

You stayed quiet, your fingers still locked with his, your heart pounding against your ribs like it wanted to answer for you.

He gave you a small, almost shy smile. “But I don’t want to be scared anymore. Not when it comes to you.”

Jongho leaned in just a little, forehead almost brushing yours, eyes flicking to your lips for a brief second before returning to your gaze.

“So… I’ll go first,” he whispered. “I like you. A lot more than I planned to. And I’m done pretending I don’t.”

He spoke the words softly, but they landed with the weight of something real.

“You make me feel at peace, like… home. It’s something I’ve missed since we debuted. I used to miss home,” Jongho paused, his thumb grazing over your knuckles with delicate affection, “but then I realized… home is you.”

And just like that, your heart was racing.

The confession didn’t come with grand gestures or dramatic declarations—it came in Jongho’s quiet steadiness, his sincere eyes, his hand wrapped in yours like it belonged there.

You felt your breath catch in your throat, eyes stinging just slightly from the rush of emotion his words pulled from deep within you. For a long time, you’d been surrounded by love, warmth, and safety with all of them… but Jongho’s words hit a part of your heart that had been waiting—aching—to hear this from him.

Your free hand reached up, brushing his cheek with your fingertips, and he leaned into the touch without hesitation.

“I think I’ve always been waiting to hear that from you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with everything you couldn’t quite say out loud. “And now that I have… I don’t want to let go of it.”

Jongho leaned forward, gently bumping his forehead against yours, his smile soft and full of emotion.

“Then don’t,” he murmured. “Stay. Be my home too.”

You smiled, eyes soft with something deeper than words, and gave a quiet nod.

And then—like gravity finally gave in—you both leaned in, slow and steady, as if the moment itself was holding its breath.

When your lips met, the world seemed to slow.

Everything else—the distant sound of birds, the wind rustling the trees, even the warmth of the sun—faded into something muted and distant. All you could feel was him. The way his lips moved against yours, unsure at first, then surer, like he’d been waiting for this just as long as you had.

Jongho’s hand slipped around your waist, drawing you closer, the other still holding yours like he couldn’t bear to let go. The kiss wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was soft, reverent, filled with years of held-back glances, of quiet what-ifs, of growing affection that finally had a voice.

When you finally pulled back, your noses brushed, and Jongho let out the smallest, breathless laugh—like he couldn’t believe it actually happened.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admitted, still close enough for his breath to tickle your lips.

You smiled, your forehead pressing lightly against his. “Me too.”

For a moment, you both sat there in the quiet warmth of each other, the book forgotten beside you, the park wide and endless—but it didn’t matter.

Because right now, your world had narrowed down to one thing: him.

[nemisisnemi]

No YanSim Au! by @quartztwst

ah shit another rival arrives on the scene? what a pain- *explodes*

General Info:

Nemi! A 3rd year and part of the Board Game Club.

They're quite infamous in the school for the kitchen incidents, thus leading him to be banned from the cooking club and any kitchens within the school for his 3rd year.

Azul's information dealer? Yea. They have a thing set up with Azul where he gives Azul blackmail... valuable information on other students during their club meetings

Something gone wrong? There's a commotion nearby? Look for Nemi since they're either directly or indirectly responsible for crazy things happening around the school. He's usually at the center of things like this.

WAS THAT THE SOUND OF SOMETHING CRASHING? Oh never mind, it's just Nemi fighting and falling onto something. Wait. NEMI'S FIGHTING AGAIN? IT HASN'T EVEN BEEN 2 DAYS SINCE THEY WERE LAST IN THE INFIRMIRY-

Eliminate!

Nemi is one of the harder rivals to get rid of as it's hard to get him alone, much less talk to them. It doesn't help that they also have fighting experience and a ton of valuable information to use at their disposal

Befriending Nemi is your best bet.

Being friends with them will lower Nemi's suspicion on Quartz's odd behavior and also give Quartz access to blackmail on other students and rivals! Becoming his friend also gives Quartz access to Nemi's schedule and makes it easier to find Nemi and get him to be alone and stab them

Another method of elimination besides outright killing Nemi is expulsion. Take a picture of the information inside Nemi's file on other students, gather evidence of it being used against others and report it to school officials to expel Nemi

It won't take much to expel Nemi as he isn't on the best terms with the school faculty, just know that it's quite difficult to get your hands on Nemi's blackmail file as Nemi doesn't let anyone get near it

The most difficult elimination method is to matchmake Nemi with their crush/childhood friend Leona. Nemi refuses to address their feelings but instead, represses, and hides it. Good luck trying to get Nemi to even admit they like Leona more than just a childhood friend

Items:

Glasses: Prescription glasses that allows Nemi to see when he's too tired to put in contacts.

Candy: To keep Nemi company while they gather information on others. Usually lemon, or blue raspberry flavored.

Coins: He couldn't be bothered to find his wallet to put the coins in. It comes in handy occasionally when he wants a drink or snack from the vending machine

Cracked phone: Someone please get Nemi a new screen protector...They keep dropping their phone

Used bandages: It's been used to patch themselves up after a fight

Suspicious pencil: Why are there some weird splotches on this pencil? Wait...Is that bloo

alternate version with glasses + extras below:

OC Q&A:

1. Does your OC have parents or family in the AU? If not, what is their current living situation?

They're currently living with a friend in a shared apartment as they more or less cut contact with their parents

2. What are their thoughts on Quartz?

He's a bit suspicious of Quartz, feeling a bit creeped out from how she's always around the corner watching Azul. They'll start gathering information on Quartz if they're not befriended in time and let to assume Quartz has a crush on Azul

3. What is their thoughts and relationship with Azul? How did they meet Azul?

They're friends with Azul. He finds it a bit weird that Azul has so many admirers despite his decently shitty reputation. Nemi met Azul when he joined the Board Game Club

4. What are their relationships with other characters/OCs?

Nemi isn't on the greatest terms with others characters/ocs as he has information that can be and or has been used against them

Riddle: He's dress-coding Nemi every moment they're spotted. Untidy uniforms and dyed hair is against the school dress-code after all...

Leona: Nemi usually bothers him. Unfortunately for Leona, he's childhood friends with Nemi. It feels like there's more here than meets the eye...some tension perhaps?

Idia: They're gaming buddies and clubmates. Nemi likes to poke fun at him occasionally for being a hermit as if they're not also a bit of one

Floyd: They're interested in a sparring match against him

5. What grade/year is your OC?

3rd year!

6. What is your OCs goal for the school year or in life?

To have at least one piece of blackmail valuable information on everyone in the school

7. Your OC is being framed for murder of another student by Quartz, how does your OC react to that? Does your OC know it's Quartz?

Nemi will quickly prove their innocence through blackmail alibis!

If they can't prove their innocence through alibi, they'll shove the blame/frame a random student and start investigating who framed him. Nemi won't know it's Quartz immediately, but with a bit of investigation and blackmail, they'll find out

8. Your OC notices Quartz carrying a weapon in her skirt pocket. That's strange since the female school uniforms don't have skirt pockets. Does your OC report this?

They note this information down in their file, ready to have it be used against Quartz if needed

9. Where is your OC usually with or at during school? Classes? With Azul? Skipping class? Where do they eat lunch?

Nemi can usually be spotted all over school. Tough luck trying to talk to him since they'll likely be on the move, gathering juicy information on others.

He's in class around 50% of the time, but usually he's skipping to gather information or because he finds the classes boring.

At lunchtime, you can usually find them on one of the benches at the rooftop, usually eating alone.

10. How are your OC's grades?

Decent. It would be a lot higher if they actually attended class...

waahhhh this was so fun to draw and think of lore for! I finally got to work on this after being busy all week with college! now i gotta get back to doing homework-

tagging:

@spookyavenuestreet @elenauaurs @raguiras @oya-oya-okay

@puowei @aivy-saur @amatsuchan-eiliniel @aprityormarj @distant-velleity

@fungifanart @glidiaxoxo @le-monchou @cherrytreegrove @ceruleancattail

@cheshanoneko-draws @valy-gc @vauxxnm @boopshoops @loser-jpg

@nyx-of-night @celestcelest @twistedwonderlandshenanigans @thehollowwriter @lumdays

(lmk if you want to be added or removed)

[hardpee]

that episode of fosters home of imaginary friends where bloo is freaking out looking for cheese but he keeps imagining him dying in every scenario in these crayon drawn sequences. what disorder is that i have that

[cconfusedkat]

He has such a whimsy ...... Nothing could explain hims whimsiness ......

I finished this a couple of hours ago but then i took a nap ,,,, without further ado i finally gave sozonius a proper ref :-DD obvi hes not a bishop but hes still a unique follower SO !!!!!!!! I give him my all 🗣

I know the researcher label kinda is misused here but i wouldnt know how else to describe his role tbh ,,, he's kinda like a preacher but ALSO not ???? At the same time ??? And the casual clothes on the left was decided bc i wanted to give him a similiar outfit to Allure/lamb !! And just cuz his fav color is yellow :-]

I ALSO WENT ALL OUT ON THIS ONE ,,, i gen cant believe i decided to make him that tall but i always got this funny tall vibe from him tbh 😭,, do you think he bumps his head into the temple door for an early morning sermon whenever hes extremely exhausted /j

And a blank ,,,, i like how he and leshy are the ones that look the most miserable in their cultist wear (outfits on the right) 😭 he is NOT happy to be there 💔💔

Also a shit post from the 9th (because i procrastinated This long on him)

[theallianceofcelestials]

has WH lunar or WH bloodmoon (or all three) had a ptsd episode/ panic attack around each other/ eclipse?

if so, (and you want to) may we please have a Drabble?

Around each other? Yes! Around Eclipse? Probably as well! Though he probably didn't try helping them at all in the beginning when they didn't trust him

Also, I have no idea how a panic attack or PTSD episode actually look like, haha, but I'll try my best

Bloodmoon feels as if their chest is constricting in on itself, squeezing painfully until the vents they take in don't reach whatever they have for lungs.

The more air they take in, the more the world begins to spin, simultaneously becoming hazy and turning sharp with focus. Everything sounds like it's coming from underwater, but also as if it's shouted right in their audials.

They grab onto their chest, because there's something wrong. There's something very wrong, but they don't know what that is!

They have no idea what's going on. The outside world is nothing but a terrifying, unknown blur before them now, too washed away to make any sense. There might be something moving, but they're not sure. They're too focused on the growing, sharp pain originating from their chest to pay attention.

Why is this happening?

They're back with their parents in the house, but they're also looking at a looming skull above them, opening its jaws so wide it should be impossible.

It feels like they've ran a lot, like they've just started dashing out of the village and didn't stop until... until... until something

The pain in their chest worsens, somehow blocking what minor air made its way in, and they hunch in on themselves, panting and gasping in the hope at least a little bit will make it in, but it doesn't feel like it, it feels like they're dying, like they've been thrown to the ground again, and they really wish someone would be beating them instead because at least they could handle that

Something touches them, and they jump, their optics snapping open to take in whatever's before them, something reddish and black, and just those simple colours make the knot in their chest relax the tiniest bit. It's enough to make the world clear enough to see the blurry outline of their mother.

"Blo-oon h- -e?"

They just stare at him, realising whatever touched them is now wrapped loosely around their wrist, gently tugging occasionally as if to take their hand away from where their claws have dug into their own chest.

Strangely, the more they focus on their mother, the better they feel. The sharp coiling pain in their center is beginning to slowly unclench, letting them greedily gulp up some much needed air.

A hand, at least they think it's a hand, is pressed against their forehead, and it's blessedly cold. When did they get so warm?

"Bloo-moon, ca- h-ar me?"

It's more understandable this time, and they give a nod. Eclipse before them seems to relax slightly too, giving a big sigh of relief.

"I'm goi- to hug yo- -ow. Is th-t alri-t?"

They think about it, before giving another nod. They don't think they can talk right now. They're too busy venting in air.

Mom moves forward slowly, gradually pulling them into a soft hug, which they notice they can easily break away from if they wanted to. However, they'd rather press their head into his chest, going limp once they can hear the soothing inner machinations of the witch's systems.

They close their optics, ignoring the way how the world rapidly gets blurry then focused again. It's much easier to cope with whatever's happening without seeing.

"Alright, you're fine now. I'm here."

A hand slowly, very slowly, begins caressing their upper arm, and they really appreciate just how lightly their mother is touching them right now.

"Can you think about three things you're hearing?"

They can hear their mom, which they think is the most important thing of all. However they can also hear a bird singing nearby, and a cricket croaking already.

"If you've finished that, could you think about three things you're feeling?"

Mom, the grass beneath them, and the dress mom's wearing tickling their face.

"Once that's done, is there anything you can smell?"

Mom, the fresh scent of rain, and whatever dinner is.

"I'm going to pull away now, alright? Just enough so I can see if you injured yourself. I'll still be holding you"

They give a nod, feeling ridiculously thankful for the hands that're loosely holding their arms. They have a feeling they should open their optics, but they aren't ready for that yet. Just... not yet.

"It seems like your claws came out, which is not surprising. The scratches you gave yourselves however are light. We'll take care of them once you're calmer."

They grimace in slight discomfort as the stinging of the wounds makes itself known, but there's nothing for them to really do about it. They feel too shaky still.

"Lunar was very worried about you, and he's waiting in the house right now. Should I tell him once we head in to leave you be for a bit?"

They nod, leaning back against their mother. He doesn't say anything more, just holds them.

[bloos-bloo]

Chat,, holy fuck- we’re 1 away from 400 followers..

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?? GUYS?? WHY ARE THERE SO MANY OF YOU??? HELLLOOOOOO???

[kymsys]

hiii i'm obsessed with your merman au!! if it's okay i totally let it take over my brain for a hot minute so ummm here's a little gift if you will accept it 👉👈 sorry to bother, i just HAD to write something dkfdl;fjg. your art is so gorgeous btw <33

--

After weeks of secretly housing Satoru in his private garden, Suguru had devised a way to safely return him to the ocean without being caught. He'd even relayed all the information about the kingdom's fishing system so Satoru would be able to steal the occasional fish without getting caught in the nets himself. He had to admit, he would miss having his little secret around. But he knew he couldn't keep Satoru cooped up forever. Satoru was a creature of adventure. He was probably tired of Suguru anway.

After a few attempts, Suguru successfully scooped Satoru up in his arms, Satoru wrapping his tail around his waist to stay up. His skin was cold to the touch. He teased Suguru as he clumsily navigated the path in the dark, even though he'd already walked it alone several times, and Suguru hated the way his heart stuttered at the siren's breath on his ear.

Really, Suguru should've done this much sooner. He should've released Satoru as soon as he realized he was falling for the creature. It was hard not to when it was in Satoru's nature to be enticing. Suguru let himself spend far too much time with him in the garden, let Satoru flutter his fingertips over his collarbones, let him beckon him closer and nibble on his ear playfully, let him lick the blood off his wrist when he got scratched up. He was never sure if Satoru was threatening him or flirting with him, never sure if it was all a game or if there was actually part of him that was interested in Suguru.

Suguru willed his mind to stop racing as he knelt down on the rocks and lowered Satoru into the water. Satoru immediately swam away and back, did a few turns and flips, gleefully splashing in his newfound freedom. Suguru smiled, heart tugging in his chest as Satoru slowly moved farther away. He was about to turn around when Satoru came back up to the edge of the rocks, resting his forearms on them and beaming up at Suguru.

"Care to join me?" He teased with a sharp grin. Suguru huffed out a laugh and shook his head.

"What, you're not dying to get away from me?" Suguru shot back, trying to keep his smile light even though it felt heavy on his face. Satoru pawed at his ankle and Suguru obliged without thinking, sitting and dipping his feet in the water, Satoru folding his arms atop his thighs.

"If you could breathe underwater, I'd drag you in here with me." His eyes practically glowed in the moonlight, a deceptively innocent smile curling at the corners of his perfect lips.

"You'd do that regardless." Suguru let himself give into the urge to push Satoru's hair off his forehead. It would probably be the last time anyway. Satoru's smile dropped the slightest bit.

"No." He reached up to touch Suguru's cheek, lightly stroking his cheekbone down to his jaw. "Not to you."

MANGO HOW DARE YOU WRITE SMTH SO BEAUTIFUL 😭😭😭 its amazing i love it so much HNGGGGG. THANK YOU?! thank you so much, i cant believe ppl love my merman au so much, thanks for this sweet gift and thanks for indulging with me 🥺 funnily enough @kingdomofred had also written that suguru took gojo out of the ocean into a pond. ARE WE ALL VIBING TOGETHER? it seems to be a thing for sure xD okay i have to dive a bit deeper into why i love your writing so much: the way that suguru isnt sure if gojo actually likes him or he is just acting accordingly to his siren behaviour?? it breaks my heart, its so bittersweet but yet i love it so much !! it fits so perfectly and i love the resolve at the end that yes ofc gojo likes him ; u ; ♥ . the image you described of suguru carrying gojo and the way gojos tail would lay around sugurus waist?? THAT IS SO FUCKING NICE?! definitely gonna put that on my to draw list !! and gojo nibbling on sugurus ears and licking his wounds and blood....fuck thats hot. i have no other words left. truely. THANK YOU MANGO IM IN LOVE 🥰(made my day)

[raelly-writing]

Safe and Solid (Wolcred, 6.0 MSQ)

In from the Cold follow up fic. :') It's haunted my WIP folder for over a year and I'd really like to call it done so I don't have to deal with this headspace anymore.

----

“Are you quite certain you are feeling alright?”

The question was expected - even when her visitor was just about to leave her room.

Before Viana even had a chance to think of it, the well-worn excuse slipped off her tongue. “Of course, Y’shtola,” she replied with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’m just a little tired after the journey from Garlemald. Airships don’t exactly make for comfortable sleeping arrangements after all.”

Something jagged, cold and ugly stirred in her chest. The urge to scratch at the itch crawling over her skin was maddening, but she fought it down by crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe.

A week had passed, dammit.

Y’shtola’s pale eyes narrowed, as though by peering into her aether, the lie would be laid as bare as the ground after spring’s thaw. The sudden pang of guilt was sharp. It wasn’t a lie. Not really. Her unease wasn’t related to the events at the moon, anyhow.

She’d explained what happened. She’d talked about it. Told them.

She should be fine. Needed to be fine. There was no time for-

Clearing her throat, Viana ignored the rolling nausea in her stomach. “And if I were to feel anything that could be ill effects from being soaked in Zodiark’s aether,” she continued, “you are my first stop.”

A tension filled moment of silence followed as Y’shtola regarded her thoughtfully. “Fine,” she finally responded, but the unhappy way she pressed her lips together made it obvious she wasn’t convinced. “I’ll have no more foolish heroics on my watch.”

Despite the rancid taste at the back of her throat, Viana huffed out a short laugh. “Only if you promise not to do something that requires tossing yourself into the Lifestream again.”

“Hah!” Y’shtola tossed her head back, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Cheeky as always. Perhaps I have naught to worry about after all.”

Inclining her head, Viana offered her a smile that wasn’t entirely forced. “Thank you for checking on me Y’shtola, but I think I just need to sleep in a proper bed for once.”

Y’shtola hummed and put her hands on her hips. “Alright then. I’ll leave you to get your rest.”

The unspoken command was all too clear.

With a low chuckle, Viana nodded obediently. “Good night, Y’shtola.”

For a moment, she watched Y’shtola walk towards her own room, before she let the door close with a soft thud of finality.

Exhaling wearily, Viana turned around and leaned back against the sturdy wood as she regarded the room. In the wake of Y’shtola’s departure, the stillness settled over the space like a suffocating blanket that pressed down on her from every angle. A jittery energy prickled at her fingers, the churning sensation in her chest too strong to ignore.

It wasn’t the first time she found herself missing Ardbert’s ghostly presence.

Some things he’d just understood without her needing to explain.

Suddenly a shiver crawled over her skin and Viana’s eyes shot to the large window and the night beyond. Was that snowflakes that fluttered in the red gloom of the dying day? The sudden lump in her throat stole her breath away, and before she knew it, she’d crossed the room and yanked the curtains into place. The phantom ghost of winter nipped at her bare arms, prompting her to rub her hands over them.

Hells, when did her fingers get so cold?

The thought, as fleeting and innocent as it’d been, summoned uninvited memories from the corner of her mind that she’d done her best to shove them into for the past several days. Staring at her hands, she flexed them.

They were hers, weren’t they?

‘Borrowed flesh’.

Blinking, she struggled to draw breath.

Borrowed.

Polished black steel covered the arms before her. Pain stabbed at the side of her chest - sharp and piercing.

Burning ceruleum fumes stung in her nose, and the thick, iron taste of congealed blood in her mouth made her choke and tear up.

Borrowed.

But when she blinked again, the black steel was gone and no fatal gunshot was staining her white shirt with red.

Viana stared, doubt nagging at her mind as she traced the familiar latticework of pale scars covering the knuckles and fingers with her eyes.

Borrowed.

Fandaniel’s voice was like ice cold claws digging into the very fabric of her soul, poison bile eating away at her mind.

Borrowed.

Drawing a shuddering breath, Viana shut her eyes and tried to focus on the sensation of her hands on her own skin, the scratch of her blunt nails digging into her flesh. It was fine. Borrowed. She was herself. She had stopped him. Borrowed. She was in Sharlayan. In her room. Borrowed. Not struggling through the snow, stumbling over frozen stiff bodies amidst smoldering wreckages and crumbling ruins.

Borrowed. Borrowed.

She. Was. Fine.

Borrowed.

“Viana?”

Snapping ramrod straight, she whipped around, every muscle in her body coiled tight and heart racing from a surge of adrenaline. “Seven Hells Thancred!”

“You didn’t hear me the first two times.” Without taking his eyes off her, Thancred took off his dark overcoat, having evidently stood there halfway through the action, while trying to get her attention. She hadn’t even heard him entering in the first place. “Are you feeling ill?”

Despite his casual tone and relaxed body language, she could detect the undercurrent of concern in his voice. Even more so, the careful way he kept his attention on her, as though she was a particularly flighty animal. Hells, she certainly felt like one.

No answer came to her, not even the one she’d repeated so often. “I…” Viana shifted her weight onto her foot, her searching eyes falling on the empty tea cups left on the table. Turning away from him and his damned perceptive gaze, she walked over to collect them. “Sorry, I was deep in thought,” she responded firmly while walking over to the sink.

“Anything particular?”

Snorting, she flipped on the water with a little more force than was perhaps necessary and began to rinse out the cups. The heat of the water brought some warmth back to her numb fingers, and with it the world back a little more into focus, allowing her to gather a few scattered threads of her thoughts. “Oh you know, the end of the world as we know it.”

“Viana…”

Tension settled into her shoulders at the low, concerned rumble of his voice. A few quiet steps was all she heard before she felt the careful press of his fingertips against her lower back.

Inhaling sharply, she froze beneath his touch.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to unease you.”

Her skin burned where he’d touched her, but the moment he withdrew his hand she felt herself tremble like she was seconds from crumbling entirely. Was he leaving? Her whirlwind of thoughts and feelings refused to assemble into a coherent explanation, her plea for him to not leave getting caught and tangled in her throat.

The sharp clatter of porcelain against stone jerked her attention back to what she was doing.

“Shit,” she hissed and quickly picked up the cup and snapped off ear. Did she have any adhesive around?

“Viana…”

“I need to fix this,” she muttered. It was a clean break. The market should have something strong enough for it to hold. Was less she could do about the chipped edge but…

“Viana, stop.” A hand on her arm kept her from walking away from the sink. Immediately, she tensed up, breath caught in her throat and shoulders stiff, but Thancred didn’t jerk his hand back as before.

“I'm sorry,” he continued, “but you're obviously not alright.”

Clenching her jaw, Viana stared down unseeing at the pieces in her hands as she struggled to find the well-worn excuse. ‘I’m fine.’

She was.

She had to be. Too much was going on. But it felt like the words had turned to stone and settled in her chest, the weight of them making it hard to draw breath.

Dimly, she was aware of Thancred moving into her field of vision. His touch was a light whisper down along her arm, until he cradled her hands in his.

“Remember what we agreed on?” He spoke with a firm but gentle tone as he took the mug pieces from her trembling fingers and carefully set them down on the counter. “Don’t hide.”

His hands were warm against hers, steady and reassuring. She could sense him searching for her eyes, but she couldn’t make herself meet his gaze. Guilt tugged at her at the reminder of their hushed argument and subsequent promise in those final days they’d spent on the First. Hells, she’d been none too happy about him hiding the condition of his soul back then, and here she was doing the same thing.

It’d been so easy to avoid his concerned looks while they’d been traveling back from Garlemald - to just keep moving out of pure momentum and not let him, or any of them, catch her. Always keep busy with something, anything, to be the unbreakable figure the Alliance soldiers expected her to be.

“I’m sorry Thancred, I…“ She wet her lips as she clenched her hands, searching for the dull pain of her nails against her palms to jolt her back to reality. “I don’t know what to say.”

The quiet whisper felt like an admission of defeat. Drawing a shuddering breath, her shoulders slumped. She hadn’t felt this helpless since their desperate venture down beneath the sea to save the Exarch and face Emet-Selch. That time there’d been a goal, something to push towards even when she had felt her own body betray her more and more with every step.

Now… Now there was no such thing. Just an oppressive yet infuriatingly intangible threat of doom looming on the horizon.

A tremble shook her. Nevermind the sensation that she was losing the grip on what was real or not. The feeling of hot tears burning in her eyes was unfamiliar and all the more frustrating for it, driving her to turn her head away from Thancred.

But calloused fingers brushing against her jaw stopped her. “It's alright,” Thancred murmured as he rested his forehead against hers. “I’ve got you.”

Viana swallowed around the lump in her throat and reached out to grasp at his shirt. Borrowed. Why did she suddenly feel like a child afraid of being left alone in the dark? Without thinking, she tilted her head and pressed her lips to his.

Thancred’s surprised huff was muffled, but he swiftly recovered with practiced ease. The comforting weight of his arm settled around her waist, pulling her closer into the warmth of his embrace. The familiarity of it, of his fingertips skimming up her neck, the tickle of his hair against her cheekbones, the way his thumb rubbed small circles into her back, it all made her chest feel just a little bit lighter.

Peace. Safety. Trust.

Urged on by a sudden jolt of desperation for more she deepened the kiss, nipping at his bottom lip in a hollow display of playfulness while letting her fingers trace the edge of his choker. The low groan it earned her was immediately lost in the space between them as he rose to her goading and chased after her lips. She knew him, just as he knew her. The way his hands grasped at her hips betrayed his own need for contact, urging her to curve herself against his hard frame as she buried her fingers in his soft hair. Perhaps it was the time they’d spent in military encampments where privacy was as rare to come by as natural ice in the middle of a desert that led Thancred to so readily indulge her despite their tense conversation. She was barely aware of the press of the kitchen bench against her back when they stumbled against it, her thoughts too muddled and scattered.

“Viana…” With the rough utterance of her name, Thancred froze but didn’t pull away. His body radiated restrained energy even as his fingers flexed into the soft flesh of her thighs, his breath a warm tickle against her lips.

Like glass shattering under water pressure, Viana felt reality slam back into her as she gulped down a lungful of air. “I’m sorry. I just…” Borrowed. A cold sneer plastered onto a dead man’s stolen face flickered in her memory. Pressing her forehead against Thancred’s, she cupped his face as she tried to find the right words. “I’m not injured, love,” she finally choked out, trying to not think of the memory of congealed blood in her mouth. “But I don’t… it’s… I don’t want to think right now. I just want to…”

Feel.

Thancred pulled back enough to meet her gaze, the concern all too evident in his hazel eyes. Concern and something… else. Guilt churned in her stomach, but before she could say anything, his eyes softened with understanding and a lopsided smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s alright my dear,” he spoke softly. “I’m more than familiar with that desire.” Despite his reassuring rumble, there was an undercurrent of something rueful and bitter in his voice that made her heart ache with memories of long past horrors.

“Thancred…-”, Viana began to respond, instinctively wishing to soothe those scars he carried, but without warning he hoisted her up. Gripping at his shoulders for balance, her legs settled around his waist out of reflex.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured once more and brushed a kiss to her jaw, before giving her pulse a teasing nip with his teeth. “Always do.”

Even as a pleasant shiver raced down her spine, a little bit of the turmoil raging in her head settled then, anchored by his earnest words, and she managed a small, crooked smile. “I know you do,” she breathed.

Thancred looked up at her, his expression soft and loving. “Tell me to stop if you want me to.”

Hells, how she loved him. Viana caressed his cheek and gave a small nod. “Of course, love.”

They met in a slow brush of lips, something tender and reaffirming, but in the short distance to the bed the kiss had grown hungry and desperate, with no room to spare for their usual quips and teasing remarks as they tugged at each other’s clothes.

Not that Thancred remained quiet for long once his hands were free to sweep over her bare skin, his touch firm and grounding as he pressed his fingers into every dip and curve like he was remapping her body in his mind. He stole the dark thoughts from her head with clever touches and heated whispers, and in return branded her body with marks of his love that’d remain in the morning, emblazing her skin with his words of endearments as though they were part of a prayer.

She’d always found it easy to lose herself in him, but Twelve, it felt like he was a wildfire - fierce and scorching, determined to seep into every fiber of her being and set her aflame in turn and give the shadows that had taken root in her heart nowhere to hide.

The haze of pleasure was welcome - to only be aware of him and his touches, too far gone to do anything else but surrender to instinct and tug and pull him to wherever she wanted - needed - him. And gods, he went willingly to wherever she bid, eager to be rewarded for his efforts by her voice breaking upon the syllables of his name over and over again.

She was adrift, lost to the concerns and worries of the world.

It was a fog that lingered even once he eased her down from the high with soft touches and quiet words that she struggled to really register the meaning of. But it was his voice, and she felt safe and looked after, even as the exhaustion started to creep into its place.

—

Viana woke with a sharp inhale, her entire body tensing in preparation for a phantom danger. Immediately, a warm hand stilled on her back.

“Didn’t wake you, did I?”

Thancred’s soft voice made her look up, only to have to blink against the low light of the bedside lamp. “No,” she exhaled as she relaxed and let her head slump back against his chest. Despite the restless end to her sleep, the sweet aches that lingered in her limbs coupled with the familiar warmth of his body against hers swiftly lulled her back to a drowsy state. “Merely a bad dream.”

There was a slight rustle as Thancred put down the book he’d been reading and his hand brushed through her hair and down her back. Sensing the question before he could utter it, she tilted her head enough to press a kiss to his skin. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t too bad.”

“‘I’ve had worse’, is it?”

The ever so disarming teaseful lilt to his voice that concealed the concern in his words made her huff out a tired laugh at being called out on her half-truth. “I suppose it is.” His fingers caressed the back of her neck, coaxing a satisfied hum from her. “How long was I asleep?”

“An hour, give or take.”

“And you are awake because your book was too captivating to put down?”

Thancred was silent for a short moment, before sighing. “Wanted to make sure you slept,” he admitted.

Blinking her eyes open, Viana craned her neck to look up at him. “You lovable foolish man,” she mused fondly and reached up to caress his cheek. “You need your sleep as well.” Thancred smiled softly and tilted his head into the touch, before discarding his book onto the nightstand.

“Then consider me sufficiently guilted by your disapproving look, my dear,” he rumbled and turned down the light.

Viana smiled to herself while waiting for him to shuffle fully beneath the covers. “Quite gracious of you.”

“I have my moments.”

Laughing under her breath, she managed to press a kiss to his cheek in the gloom. “More than a few, love.” There was a comforting familiarity to the teasing exchange, his little huffed laugh warm and precious - like she’d managed to reclaim a fragile piece of normalcy.

It was a feeling she held onto as Thancred pulled her back into his safe and solid embrace. With the warmth of his arms around her, sleep weighed on her mind, but she pushed it away for just a little while longer. Her hand found his jaw in the gloom and he immediately stilled, waiting. With no light, she couldn’t make out much of his expression, but he tilted his head into her touch as she caressed his cheek with her thumb. “I’m sorry for not speaking to you before,” she said quietly.

Thancred didn’t respond immediately, but his fingers flexed against her waist. “I know I’m the last person in our merry little group who should chide anyone for that,” he replied. “But you should, to someone.”

“I know. I will.” Leaning over, she brushed her lips to his. “Tomorrow. I promise.”

She felt him relax as he exhaled. “... just your poor luck that it’s Estinien and I who have the closest experience.”

The jest was spoken softly as he bumped his forehead against hers, their noses colliding, and in the dark, she found herself laughing quietly, feeling warm and safe for the first time in weeks.

[rawliverandgoronspice]

I just want to say, good riddance to your bad job. Your writing is incredible, from the stories that you tell to the posts that you craft. You have incredible attention to detail when it comes to character motive and exploration, as well as narrative design. Your fandom work perhaps doesn't translate to finances but it is still well appreciated, especially in the Ganondorf side of fandom where we are always dying for content. Thank you so much for your contributions 🙏

🥺🥺🥺🥺 this is such a kind ask bloo thank you so much, I'm really happy my edgy sillies are being appreciated!!!!!!! I am also very honored, as your takes are endlessly informative and entertaining and thought provoking and I owe a lot to your many ganonthots 🙏🙏 ;;;

[missykix]

Dead fish found on the guld of mexuo! 😯😯 O mh migoisj im so tire di have aheadache Enjoy. Dying bloo though

[eclipian]

Vaggie HH Headmate

pt: vaggie hh headmate

reminder beings will almost definitely not turn out exactly as described, and these can be edited and changed as needed.

divider credit

" All right, let's give it up for not dying! "

Name: Vaggie , Vivi , Valentina , Veronica , Victoria , Valerie , Vanessa , Violet , Vada , Vera , Valencia , Vivian , Vachya

Age: 20s

Pronouns: She/Her , Shy/Hyr , Shu/Hur , Sho/Shom , Mo/Moth , Ang/Angel , Fall/Fallen , Fallen/Angel , Bloo/Blood , Stab/Stabs

Gender: Girlflux , Futchy , Femfutch , Mothgender , Fallenangelmoth , Bloodmoth , Lovecoremoth , Mothstimmic , Crepumothic , Moththing , Mothaesic , Fallangelwillic , Fallenangelaesic , Fallenangelbitch , Rustigolrenaec , Lucinnfoul

Attraction: Lesbian , Acespec

Other IDs: Miscelepidoptera , Miscefallangel , Moth Emsoul , AMoAB , Aldermothlike

Species: Fallen Angel

Role: Protector , Gatekeeper

Aesthetics: Cherry Emoji Twitter , Devilcore , Angelcore , Diner , Trendercore

pt: name , age , pronouns , gender , attraction , other ids , species , role , aesthetics

artist credit & artist credit + tags: @bahtive & @drowntowns

[atm-sctey]

WHY IS THER BLOO D ONTHE FLOOR THEN?????.. WHY IZ HE MISSING ????? OH MY FUCKING GOODDDD NOOOORUNT NOOOOO RICHARRRDDE WHYY DID U HAVE 2 REBIRTH HIM GODDDDD

I-

i...

[Before Richard could finish his sentence, his body fills with jitters, a heightened sense of panic flashing through him. His eyes fill with tears before a blinding light fills the room. It lasts for a minute or two before finally dying down.]

[Richard has rebirthed.]

[bloos-bloo]

Zephyr getting a pin up before Emery 🙂‍↕️👆 Yeahhhh

[catslovefools]

Analysis of (some) of the cinematography in Alien Stage’s Wiege

HELLO HELLO! my first “official” alien stage post! This analysis will be from a storyboarding/composition/visual storytelling standpoint. I’ll be explaining why i think some of Wiege’s shots work and how they enhance the visual storytelling of the series. This will either be really bad, or we might actually learn something new together. one way to find out!

due to the fact that the day only has 24 hours i sadly wasn’t able to analyze everything, but if i have more free time i’ll try to do more shots. (don’t hold me to that though….)

Wiege spoilers under cut!

Luka staring at Hyuna in shock. left side of the screen.

Hyuna staring back at him, right side of the screen.

The flow of a sequence can be enhanced by having each shot support/set up for the next. so if shot A’s focal point moves to the upper right corner, then shot B’s focal point will be in that same spot. (the movement isn’t necessary, but imho i consider it to be more organic than to have object of interest simply stand still 24/7, although a healthy balance of both is probably the best way to do it.)

so with that being said, luka is now on the right side of the screen, staring at Hyuna happily (interestingly this breaks the 180 degree rule but i guess it still works?)

one of the best ways to guide the viewers’ eyes in a composition is through the eyes of the character. mix that in with the fact that movement catches the attention of the viewer and you’ll get this shot. Luka stares at Hyuna (while we stare at Luka), then his eyes suddenly look up and we follow that line of sight to see the gun at the upper left of the screen (imagine the rule of thirds grid).

okay this one’s interesting. i like this one. the screen is split in two even halves, one half is the gun, and the other is Hyuna. Due to the nature of this shot (it’s a POV shot) + the tension of the scene, the camera’s a little shaky, but you’ll see that Luka turns to the gun and then to Hyuna (it’s very subtle in the screenshots but you’ll see what i mean when you check the video), and his eyes eventually land on Hyuna. he has made his decision.

I’ve seen some people say that he didn’t care about dying in that moment, but i’d go ahead and say that he did. and it showed through his split second’s worth of hesitance. he just cares about Hyuna more.

Luka actively turns away from the gun and he GLOWS. literally. this to me felt like the image of an angel, the physical manifestation of pure innocence. he looks like a child here.

other than the clear allegory here, i think one of the main reasons the glow suddenly cranked up here is to give the viewer whiplash, it’s to set up the clear contrast between this shot and the next.

the red line of light in the otherwise dark bluish room signifies to me the following: fear. danger.

One of the first things we learn about Luka’s owner is that he monitors Luka’s emotions heavily. in order for a human pet to succeed in an industry such as alien stage, they need to be taught by their “owners” to overcome fear.

however, we don’t really know when most of these events took place, but i’m gonna assume that at that point in time Luka didn’t really overcome fear just yet.

Luka stands in the middle of what I assume is the laboratory where all the Luka clones were made. he is holding a knife. trend lines and a zigzag line made of blood and corpses leads directly to him. he stands in the center of it all.

the clones’ death is very interesting to me. i wonder if they started fighting each other, Luka coming out victorious, or if Luka himself killed them. is this just an extreme case of his over competitive side showing? the perfect champion? a human pet so ready to win that he’s willing to eliminate any competition? even if that required killing people that have the exact same face as him over and over again?

was it all in a fit of rage? or is it biologically programmed into his very DNA? did he black out and wake up to blood on his hands? or did he think that it was something he had to do? rather than his reasoning being “eliminate all competition to win”, it’s “eliminate all competition to survive”. maybe that’s why he won alien stage twice, it wasn’t his first rodeo.

edit: i saw this theory and i think it makes more sense, thought i should include it here.

i don’t know what pulling the alarm on himself says about this, but he definitely wanted the aliens to see what he did.

[capybaramurdock]

✦ BURNING IN THE SHAPE OF YOU ✦

chapter three: chains of moonlight

pairing: matt murdock x fem!afab reader

setting: dungeons & dragons fantasy au

rating: mature 18+

warnings: canon-typical fantasy violence (non-lethal duel involving magic and melee weapons), heavy angst and emotional tension, themes of spiritual doubt, redemption, and reluctant mercy, brief references to murder and infernal pacts

word count: 2.4k

Reader is called “Silver” by her order and others around her; no given name used

series masterlist | next chapter

❝ She gave him warmth. Trust. Mercy. And yet… he couldn’t bring himself to look away.❞

Summary: Silver follows a scorched trail of infernal energy into the heart of the woods—and finds him waiting. The blackguard doesn’t draw his sword at first. He doesn’t need to. The heat of his presence speaks for him, as does the bitterness in his voice. She was sent to end him. But when the battle comes, it’s not hellfire that cuts deepest. It’s mercy. In a clearing lit by moonlight and burning regret, Silver binds him in celestial chains… and Matthew Murdock does not resist. Not a word. Not a spell. Just a quiet surrender that leaves her shaken. But what do you do when the monster kneels? And what does it mean when he starts to watch her like she's the only light left?

The trail of singed branches, like charred fingers reaching out from the undergrowth, leads Silver deeper into the woods. She remains vigilant, her senses alert as she navigates the dense thicket.

As the world around her succumbs to darkness, Silver's staff becomes a cool, silver beacon, guiding her through the gloom. 

With every step, the pungent stench of infernal energy—a noxious blend of sulfur and burnt ozone—grows more intense, signaling her approach to wherever Matthew might be, his fate hanging in the balance. 

She pauses at the edge of the clearing, her doubts casting a shadow over her mission. The moon, still high and bright above her, as she questions the necessity of her task. 

Death, she muses, seems too cruel for someone who has sought to do right by the innocent all of his life. 

She lowers her gaze and realizes the opening in the tree line has led her to a clearing. Moonflowers are open, tilted upward towards the sky, their beauty a stark contrast to the impending confrontation. However, she isn't able to focus on what beauty is left when her eyes follow the trail of singed fauna to the other side of the clearing, where he stands, leaning against a tree. 

His arms are crossed; he's turned in her direction, as if he knew she was coming. 

And of course, he knew—he didn’t need to see her to sense her coming. Once his infernal heat subsided, the delicate warmth of her moon glow could have been felt from miles away. 

She tightens her grip on the staff.

He doesn’t move.

His silhouette is sharp against the backdrop of dying moonlight, armor blackened like burnt parchment—faint crimson runes flickering across the chest plate like embers trying not to die.

Her voice comes quieter than she intends.

“You didn’t run.”

A faint smirk touches the edge of his mouth, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Would it have mattered if I did?”

She steps forward, cautious. He watches her with those unblinking, infernal-red eyes—but doesn’t reach for his sword.

“You’re bound to an archdevil,” she says. “You’ve killed a man under divine protection. You’ve burned what you once protected.”

“Yes.”

She sighs at that, "Well," she thinks to herself, "At least he's honest."

She continues to move towards him with slow, thoughtful movements, as if she's trying not to disturb a wild, feral animal.

Her voice shows no anger or contempt for him as she explains softly, "He was meant to face punishment from powers above us, Ser Murdock."

His response—a short, hollow laugh—is unexpected and unsettling.

“Was.”

He pushes off the tree, slow and deliberate, but still doesn’t reach for his sword. His voice is calm, bitter with bite.

“Tell me, Saint—where were those powers when the blood ran down his altar like wine?”

His boots crunch against burnt leaves as he steps closer.

“When I begged them for a verdict, yet all I heard was silence?”

Silver doesn’t flinch. Her grip tightens on her staff, but she holds her ground.

“We answer to higher forces,” she says, her voice steady. “Even when they’re silent.”

“And what happens,” Matt asks, tilting his head slightly, “when those forces stop answering entirely?”

A pause stretches between them like drawn steel.

“You’re here to end this, aren’t you?” he says, his voice a taut string ready to snap. “They gave you a blade and told you to find the monster.”

He steps into the clearing’s edge now, infernal runes pulsing faintly. The moonlight glances off the edge of his scorched armor now that he's not cloaked in as much darkness.

“But they didn’t tell you what to do when the monster is already begging to die.”

Silver glances down at her staff in her hands, then back up at him.

“But I don’t have a blade,” she says quietly. "I've never even been given one."

Her tone is mild, almost confused, dry in that way only the truly sincere can manage.

It catches him off guard.

His expression flickers for a moment, a glimpse of something beneath the mask, before returning to its previous state.

“No,” he murmurs. “You don’t.”

Silver shivers when she feels a breeze come through the clearing for a moment. It almost sounds like an infernal whisper through the trees, from someone she has no desire to meet.

She looks around their surroundings for a moment, just to be sure.

And when she turns her gaze back to him, maybe it was precisely what she assumed, as she spots a crooked smirk playing on his lips, sharp enough to feel like a threat.

His voice has grown cold and dark as he tells her, "And now, that might just be your downfall, little Dove..."

Silver doesn’t back down.

She breathes in once—deep and steady—and when she speaks again, her voice is quiet but clear, not sharp, not shaking.

“Maybe. But Selûne didn’t send me to win. She sent me to try.”

The moonlight glints softly off the metal filigree of her armor as she lifts her staff between them.

“If there’s anything left of the man you were, I know he’d want me to.”

Matt’s smile falters. Just barely.

For a moment, he’s still.

Then—

He lunges.

Not with a roar. Not with a battle cry.

No warning. Just motion...Swift, silent, brutal.

Steel flashes.

Silver raises her staff just in time. The clash rings out like a bell in the hollow night.

“So be it,” Matt growls, voice low and sharp. “Let’s see if your moonlight can stand against hellfire.”

The clearing explodes into motion.

Matt moves like a shadow breaking free of its tether—silent, lethal, precise. His great sword, the Ashen Oath, carves through the air in a fiery arc, its edge glowing red with fresh, infernal power. 

Silver barely manages to deflect the first blow, her staff shuddering under the impact. Sparks fly as her moonlight does indeed clash with his hellfire. The force sends her stumbling back a step—but she holds firm, feet planted, breath steady.

He follows, pressing forward with relentless, calculated aggression. Not berserk. Not frenzied. Controlled. Efficient. As if every strike is a test.

She dodges the next swing cleanly, her form fluid and graceful, staff spinning to redirect his momentum rather than meet it head-on. The silver chain coiled around her wrist loosens slightly, humming with divine energy, ready.

Despite his earlier words, he’s not aiming to kill.

She feels it.

Each blow pulls at her with practiced skill, but none of them press into lethal territory.

“You don’t want to do this,” she says, breathless between dodges.

“And yet here you are,” Matt growls, voice low, armor burning faintly in the dark.

He swings low, and she flips backward to avoid it, landing lightly on her feet. The light from her staff pulses stronger, the moonflowers around them responding, casting soft halos of light into the darkened clearing.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she says. “And I don’t think you want to hurt me either.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

He lunges again, but this time, she doesn’t retreat.

Silver plants her feet and slams the base of her staff into the ground.

Light erupts.

Not violent. Not searing. But pure. A wave of soft, silver radiance pulses outward from her chest plate—Selûne’s mark blooming with moonlit energy. The glow flares across the clearing like ripples across still water, touching everything in its path.

Matt staggers.

Only for a breath. A heartbeat.

But it’s enough.

His grip tightens on the Ashen Oath. The blade screams in his hands, hungry for more blood, more fury—but he falters. Doesn’t strike.

He can’t see the light.

But he can feel it.

Like a memory buried deep beneath ash and armor. Like standing in the sun after forgetting what warmth feels like.

The light wraps around him, not binding, not burning, but reminding.

Silver observes him, her expression shifting from focus to confusion.

“…You felt that,” she breathes.

He doesn’t answer.

Because if he opens his mouth, he might admit it.

He charges again—this time faster, his movements sharper, more desperate. Their weapons meet in a flurry of sparks and burning light—blow after blow, dodge after dodge, neither of them truly aiming to kill.

She ducks a wild sweep, spins her staff upward, and drives the butt of it into his chest. It hits solid—he staggers back, breath knocked from him.

She doesn’t follow it up with another strike.

He notices.

“This won’t end the way you think it will,” he says, voice low.

“I know,” she replies. “That’s why I’m still here.”

They circle each other for a moment—predator and priestess, sinner and redeemer.

“Why won’t you just finish it?” he demands, eyes glowing red.

“Because I still see you,” she says. “Through all of this...I see you.”

The air between them is thin. Unspoken things crackle in the silence.

Silver doesn’t want to strike first. But Matt’s chest is rising and falling harder now—every breath like he’s bracing for something worse than pain.

He charges again.

This time, she doesn’t meet him with her staff.

She flicks her wrist and lifts her hand, silver chain unraveling from her wrist like a ribbon spun from moonlight.

“Selûne,” she whispers, “guide my hand.”

The chain snaps forward with a crack of light, wrapping around his arms with precision. But it doesn’t stop there.

The divine energy pulses—the light responding to her intent.

From his wrists, the chain climbs, coiling around his forearms, shoulders, and chest. Each loop locks in place with glowing sigils of Selûne, radiant and unwavering. The binding is firm but not cruel. Holy, not punitive. It holds not just his body but the fire inside him.

Matt doesn’t fight it.

He sinks to his knees, head bowed beneath the weight of moonlight.

And still, the chains gleam. Not heavy, but steady. A quiet mercy in the dark.

The clearing stills.

Ashen Oath clatters to the ground.

Matt doesn’t curse. Doesn’t growl. Doesn’t lash out.

He just…sinks to his knees, lets out an almost inaudible sigh.

The chains shimmer around his arms, his wrists, glowing with celestial light. They don’t burn—but they hold. His head bows forward, shadows falling across his face.

Silver stares at him, panting, heart pounding.

He should be struggling.

He should be furious.

He should be trying to kill her.

But he isn’t.

He’s quiet.

And when he speaks…

“Do what you came to do.”

Her breath catches in her throat.

What is this?

Her staff lowers slightly.

He didn’t even try to break free.

He didn’t summon hellfire. He didn’t call on Zariel. He…let me.

Her thoughts spiral—Selûne forgive her, but she feels cold.

She thinks back to his earlier words, "But they didn’t tell you what to do when the monster is already begging to die.”

Does he truly want to die? Is that really why he stopped?

She kneels before him, not close, but close enough to look into his face. He’s not crying, not pleading. Just waiting. Like he expects the killing blow. As if he welcomes it.

The moon's light spills across the clearing. The flowers don’t close.

And in Silver’s chest, something hurts.

She slowly and gently reaches out and grips where the chains intersect at his chest, and helps pull him to his feet from his kneeling position. 

Silver glances over at Ashen Oath, still lying in a bed of moonflowers, it appears almost to be vibrating in place. She lifts it gently, surprised by its warmth. It hums but doesn’t lash out, though it almost seems to vibrate angrily the longer she holds it.

It trembles in her hand, as if resentful of her mercy. She steps behind him and carefully slides it into the holster still strapped to his back. The sword stills...subdued, once it has been returned to its rightful owner. She murmurs softly, “It isn’t the weapon that decides who you are.”

She moves in front of him again and finds her previous grip on the chains, using them to guide him to follow her. The only explanation she can offer him at the moment is, "C'mon, we both need some rest, let me set up camp."

⋆｡°✩☽❀☾✩°｡⋆

A little while later, while setting up camp...

She sets up just a short walk from the clearing... can’t bring herself to go too far. The chains remain, but looser now, just enough for Matt to sit with his back against a tree.

He doesn’t speak.

He hasn’t spoken since.

Despite that, she pulled out a blanket from her explorer's pack, not realizing he had his own, and draped hers over him so he could sit a little more comfortably.

She gives him one last glance before she moves on to her other camp tasks. 

Silver finishes rolling out her bedroll, her movements quiet and deliberate.

She doesn’t look at him. Just…kneels at the edge of their camp, facing away. She places her staff beside her and bows her head.

She assumes he can’t hear her.

She hopes he can’t.

But little does she know that, of course, he can.

“I don’t understand,” she whispers. “He didn’t fight. He didn’t burn me. He didn’t even try.”

Her voice trembles, just slightly.

“I thought I was strong enough for this. I thought I was prepared to do what you asked, if it came to it. But when he dropped that sword, I—”

A pause.

“I don’t think I was meant to kill him.”

She looks up at the sky.

The moon is full, round, and high, watching with soft indifference.

“If I’ve failed you, I’ll carry that. But if there’s still light in him—Selûne, please—guide me to it...because I do see something...”

She exhales, hands clasped tightly.

She takes one more big breath before she adds, "And I believe that something in him to be light...but please show me a sign if I'm wrong..."

She's not sure what she'll do if Selûne shows that this is the incorrect path, but she chooses not to dwell on it for now. 

Behind her, Matt doesn’t move.

But the blanket still rests around his shoulders.

And when she finally curls onto her bedroll—arms folded, shoulders bare against the cold—he turns his head.

Just slightly. Just enough.

And watches her, long after her eyes have closed.

He tells himself it’s strategy, that it’s suspicion.

But the ache in his chest says otherwise.

She gave him warmth. Trust. Mercy.

After all he’s done. After all, he is.

He doesn’t understand it.

He doesn’t deserve it.

And yet…he can’t bring himself to look away.

For the first time today...

He doesn’t feel like a monster.

And that might be the most terrifying part of all.

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