#but this someone believed in a world with vivid color

[pukefactory]

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ BRUISED MOON ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

⏾⋆ Summary: Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader headcanons

⏾⋆ Character(s): Shadow Milk Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom)

⏾⋆ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

⏾⋆ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

⏾⋆ Image Credits: Devsisters

✶ Shadow Milk Cookie adores an audience, but you? You are his audience. He performs for you, tailors his illusions to dazzle, to enthrall, to catch the glint in your eyes when reality blurs into something surreal. He studies your every reaction more intently than his own performances, dissecting what makes you flinch, what draws a smile, what sends that delightful shiver down your spine.

✶ With him, affection is never simple. It is grandiose, exaggerated—a dramatic tilt of his head as he presses a teasing kiss to your knuckles, a flourish of his staff as he conjures a bouquet that wasn’t there moments before. He does not merely say he adores you—he proclaims it, spinning saccharine, extravagant words that momentarily make you forget the underlying tension laced within his presence.

✶ He is always testing you, just as he does everyone else. But unlike the others, whom he toys with only to break; you are tested to see if you will stay. Will you see through his illusions? Will you recoil when his shadows creep too close? Will you falter when his temper slips, when the jester’s smile cracks? He watches you with the countless eyes hidden in his hair, all of them waiting for the moment you decide he is too much. And when that moment comes, what will you do?

✶ For someone who thrives on deceit, you are the closest thing he has to the truth. Twisted, of course, it always is, but truth nonetheless. There is an honesty in the way he leans just a little closer to you, in the way his illusions soften when you are near. He will never admit it outright, he would never grant you that satisfaction, but when the show is over, when the audience has gone and only the two of you remain, his mask slips. Just a little.

✶ If he wished, he could weave an entire world just for you. In fact, he has. A reality sculpted at his whim, where you are the centerpiece, the muse, the star of his grandest performance. But would you even notice? Would you care? Does it matter? As long as you remain, as long as your eyes are on him, what difference does it make if the world outside his illusions crumbles away? Whether you play along willingly or struggle to escape, your presence alone satisfies him.

✶ His presence is suffocating—in the most intoxicating way. A whisper curling around your ear like a phantom’s breath, a shadow at your back even when you believe yourself alone. His fingers ghost over your skin, barely there, teasing, taunting. He is everywhere and nowhere, watching, waiting. And when he finally does touch you in earnest, it is possessive, consuming—an unspoken claim that you are his, whether you realize it or not.

✶ He never says he is jealous. No, no—where would be the fun in that? Instead, his illusions grow more insidious, whispers twist into rumors, little tricks designed to pull your attention back to him. He turns conversations into riddles, spins falsehoods into reality—anything to remind you that he is the most fascinating thing in your world. And should someone else attempt to steal your focus? Well. Accidents happen.

✶ Those eerie, floating eyes, watching, blinking, shifting colors with his every emotion, fixate on you more often than not. They follow even when he is nowhere to be seen. A silent reminder: he sees you. He always sees you. Whether you find it endearing or terrifying is inconsequential. He is there, whether you acknowledge him or not.

✶ With him, everything is a game, and the game is control. He spins words like silk, illusions like honey, so sweet, so enticing. He makes you question what is real, makes you wonder if you were the one who misunderstood all along. He does not need to force you into his arms, he makes you want to be there. Need to be there. After all, who else could offer a world so vivid, so thrilling? Only he can.

✶ There is no end to this performance, no final bow where he lets you go. He will play the fool, the villain, the lover—whatever it takes to keep you within his act. Because, in truth, the only thing more terrifying than being caught in his web, is the thought of the stage going dark without you on it.

[novaursa]

The Veil of Fire (2/3)

- Summary: Your twin sister, Helaena, had her dreams, but you were gifted with something else. Something akin to a terrible purpose.

- Pairing: aunt!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Note: Keep in mind there is an unspoken time jump at the beginning. For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. This was requested by @witch-of-letters. Enjoy! ❤️☺️

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: 3

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The dream begins as it always does: a rush of cold air against your skin, the sensation of soaring high above the world. But this time, it's different. You are not merely flying. You are the one flying. The sensation is more intense, more visceral. The air is no longer just cold—it’s frigid, biting at your scales. Your scales. You feel them shift and ripple across your massive form as your wings beat powerfully against the wind.

You are not in your own body anymore. You are Morgoth, the great black beast, the Cannibal. Every breath you take is a storm, every movement a tremor through the sky. The power surging through your veins is intoxicating, more so than any wine. It is raw, untamed strength, and you revel in it as your sharp eyes scan the land below.

The world is a patchwork of greens and browns, interspersed with the blue of rivers snaking through the land. The familiar coastlines and rocky shores of Dragonstone fade behind you as you soar southward, your massive wings cutting through the clouds like a knife through flesh.

You feel hungry—an overwhelming, primal hunger that gnaws at your insides. It is a need that cannot be ignored, a relentless force driving you to find something, someone, to satiate it. You spot movement below—a flash of color among the drab hues of the earth. Your vision narrows, focusing with deadly precision.

It’s a child.

The thought, the recognition, flickers at the edge of your consciousness, but Morgoth doesn’t care. Morgoth doesn’t know guilt or mercy. The boy is small, alone, wandering too far from the safety of his village, and that makes him prey.

You swoop down with a terrifying speed, your wings folding in, the wind howling around you as the ground rushes up to meet you. The child looks up, and for a brief, agonizing moment, you see his face clearly—wide eyes filled with fear, mouth open in a scream that will never be heard.

And then your jaws close around him.

The crunch of bones breaking, the hot rush of blood flooding your mouth—it is all so vivid, so real. You can taste the metallic tang on your tongue, feel the flesh tearing as your teeth rip through it. The child’s body is small, fragile, and it is gone within moments, reduced to nothing more than a memory of a meal.

But the hunger remains. It is insatiable, a constant demand that drives you to keep hunting, to keep killing. You feel the blood dripping from your jaws, the pieces of torn flesh stuck between your teeth. There is a satisfaction in it, a primal contentment that you know is not your own. It is Morgoth’s. But it is also yours.

The realization hits you like a blow to the chest. You are Morgoth. No, not just Morgoth. You are something more, something different. A warg. The word comes to you from the depths of your memory, a whisper of knowledge shared by your brother Aemond. He would know, of course. He is rarely wrong in matters of scholarship.

You are a warg—the first in Valyrian history, if Aemond’s ancient texts are to be believed. The thought should terrify you, and yet, it does not. There is a certain exhilaration in it, a sense of destiny fulfilled. The Old Gods of the North are said to gift such powers, but never had you imagined that it would be you—a daughter of Viserys Targaryen, twin sister to Helaena, bonded to the Cannibal—who would carry this curse, or gift.

Morgoth's form begins to fade, the sensations dimming as you feel yourself being pulled back, back into your own body. The taste of blood lingers on your tongue, even as the sight of the mutilated child haunts the edges of your vision. It is a part of you now, forever etched into your soul.

You wake with a start, gasping for air as if you had been submerged in water. Your heart pounds in your chest, a wild, frantic beat that echoes the flight of the dragon. The darkness of your chamber feels suffocating, the air thick with the remnants of the dream. You can still feel the echo of Morgoth’s power coursing through you, the raw, untamed energy that had once been his.

But it was not just his. It was yours.

The room is silent, save for the sound of your ragged breathing. Your hands shake as you clutch the sheets, trying to ground yourself in the reality of your chamber. Yet, the memory of the dream, of Morgoth’s hunt, is too fresh, too real to dismiss.

The door creaks open, and you turn sharply, still on edge. Aegon stands in the doorway, his usually languid expression tight with concern. “I heard you,” he murmurs, stepping into the room without hesitation. He is the only one you have ever allowed to see you like this—vulnerable, afraid.

“I had another dream,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. “But it was more than a dream. I think I—” You falter, the words sticking in your throat. How do you even begin to explain what you have become?

Aegon approaches, his brow furrowing as he listens. “What did you see?” he asks, his tone softer, more careful.

You swallow hard, trying to push back the rising nausea. “I was Morgoth again,” you say slowly. “I was him, Aegon. I felt everything he felt—saw through his eyes, tasted…tasted blood.”

He goes still, his eyes searching your face for any sign of jest. But there is none. “You’re serious,” he breathes, his voice tinged with disbelief.

You nod, unable to speak. The memory of the child’s body, the way it was torn apart, flashes before your eyes again. You shudder, wrapping your arms around yourself as if that could somehow protect you from the horrors you’ve witnessed.

Aegon’s hand is warm as he reaches out, pulling you close. He holds you tightly, offering what comfort he can. “You’re the strongest person I know,” he whispers into your hair. “Whatever this is…you’ll face it. We’ll face it.”

You cling to him, your heart still racing, as you try to find solace in his words. But deep down, you know that this is only the beginning. The bond you share with Morgoth is growing stronger, and with it, the darkness that comes with being a warg. You are not just a Targaryen anymore. You are something more, something ancient and terrifying.

And as you close your eyes, you can still feel the echo of wings beating against the wind, the hunger that will never be sated.

The halls of the royal quarters are eerily silent, save for the soft padding of your footsteps on the cold stone floor. Hours have passed since Aegon left your chambers, his presence a fleeting comfort in the wake of the nightmare that still clings to your consciousness like a shroud. You cannot find peace, no matter how hard you try. The burden of this terrible purpose—this dark gift that has revealed itself to you—weighs heavily on your mind.

You feel Morgoth's presence within you, a shadow that has taken root in your very soul. The power, the hunger—it lingers, a constant reminder of what you have become. Every breath you take is filled with the taste of blood, every shadow in the corridor seems to whisper your name. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to ward off the cold that seeps into your bones, but it is no use. There is no warmth to be found in these halls tonight.

As you turn a corner, the distant sound of muffled voices reaches your ears. You stop, your heart quickening as you recognize the direction—toward the nursery. A sense of dread washes over you, and without a second thought, you quicken your pace, your feet moving faster and faster until you are nearly running. The voices grow louder, more frantic, and you can feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

When you reach the door to the nursery, it is ajar, just enough for you to see inside. Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the scene before you.

Two men are standing over the cradle where your sister Helaena's twins—Jaehaerys and Jaehaera—lie sleeping. One is a large, brutish figure with a butcher’s cleaver in his hand, the other smaller, wiry, with the sharp, feral look of a rat catcher. They move with purpose, their intent clear. The larger man lifts the cleaver, poised to strike.

Rage explodes within you, hot and blinding. Without thinking, without hesitation, you burst into the room, a fierce cry tearing from your throat.

“No!” you scream, launching yourself at the butcher with a force that surprises even you. Your body slams into his, and the two of you crash to the floor in a tangled heap. The cleaver skitters across the stone, out of his reach, and you feel a momentary surge of triumph.

But the butcher is strong, far stronger than you anticipated. He grapples with you, trying to throw you off, his thick hands closing around your throat. You struggle beneath him, your vision darkening as he squeezes tighter, but the fear, the desperation, only fuels your anger.

And then, something primal takes over.

Morgoth’s presence surges within you, filling you with a savage strength. You snap your head forward, your teeth sinking into the flesh of the butcher’s neck. The taste of blood floods your mouth, but you do not stop. You bite down harder, feeling the skin tear, the muscle give way. His grip on your throat loosens as he lets out a gurgling scream, but you do not relent. You rip at his throat, tearing through flesh and artery until the blood sprays across your face, hot and metallic.

The butcher's body goes limp, collapsing onto the floor beside you. You release him, panting, your mouth and chin drenched in his blood. The rage, the bloodlust—it thrums through you, and you feel more alive than you ever have before.

The rat catcher, the smaller of the two men, watches you with wide, terrified eyes. His hand shakes as he raises a knife, but he is no match for you. You stand, the taste of blood still on your tongue, and he hesitates, his fear palpable. He slashes at you wildly, the blade catching your cheek and lips, splitting the skin open and sending a fresh wave of pain coursing through you. Blood drips down your face, mingling with the butcher’s, but you barely feel it.

He turns and runs, fleeing in terror, leaving you standing over the lifeless body of his accomplice. You can hear the soft whimpering of the twins behind you, but you do not turn to look at them. Not yet. The taste of blood is still in your mouth, the memory of your teeth ripping through flesh still fresh in your mind. You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing, to calm the storm that rages inside you.

“Where were the guards?” you ask aloud, your voice hoarse and trembling with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

At that moment, the door to the nursery opens wider, and Helaena steps inside. Her face is pale, her eyes wide with horror as she takes in the sight before her—the blood, the body, the terror written across your face. “What…what happened?” she whispers, her voice shaking as she rushes to the cradle, checking on her children. They are safe, unharmed, but their frightened cries tug at your heart, pulling you back from the brink.

You swallow hard, trying to push the words past the lump in your throat. “I—someone sent them. Assassins. They tried to kill the children.” Your voice breaks, and you can see the tears welling in Helaena’s eyes as she clutches her twins to her chest.

“Where were the guards?” you ask again, more insistent this time. Your voice is a raw, angry rasp, filled with the same fury that drove you to kill the butcher.

Helaena shakes her head, her expression one of dazed confusion. “I don’t know,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I don’t know…”

You feel a surge of frustration, of helplessness. How could this have happened? How could they have gotten so close to the royal children without anyone stopping them? The questions burn in your mind, but there is no time to dwell on them now. You need to find your mother.

You rush from the nursery, your blood-stained hands clenched into fists, your mouth still aching from where the rat catcher’s blade cut you. You make your way through the winding corridors, ignoring the startled looks from the few servants you pass. They shrink back, their eyes widening as they take in the blood on your face, but you do not stop. Your heart pounds in your chest, a drumbeat of urgency, driving you forward.

When you reach your mother’s chambers, you do not bother to knock. You shove the door open, your breath coming in harsh gasps as you take in the scene before you.

Alicent is in bed, her hair loose around her shoulders, her face flushed with the afterglow of pleasure. And beside her, just beginning to rise from the sheets, is Ser Criston Cole. The sight stops you in your tracks, a cold fury settling in the pit of your stomach.

They both freeze, their eyes locking onto you. Alicent’s expression shifts from surprise to horror as she takes in your appearance—the blood, the cut on your cheek and lips, the wild look in your eyes. “What happened?” she demands, her voice rising in panic as she scrambles out of bed, clutching a sheet to her chest.

“I killed one of the men who tried to murder Helaena’s children,” you say, your voice cold and detached. “I tore his flesh with my teeth like a morsel.”

Ser Criston recoils, his face paling at your words. His disgust is clear, but you do not care. He is nothing to you, less than nothing.

Alicent gasps, her hands flying to her mouth as she takes a step toward you. “Gods, what has happened to you? What have you done?” she whispers, her voice filled with a mixture of fear and concern.

You take a step closer, your eyes locking onto Ser Criston’s. “He could be next if he touches you again,” you say, your voice low and dangerous. “Do you understand me, Mother? I will not allow him to sully our family any further.”

Ser Criston’s hand instinctively moves to his sword, but you do not flinch. If anything, your gaze hardens, a silent challenge that makes him pause.

“Go,” you command, your voice filled with the authority of a queen. “Leave us. Now.”

He hesitates, his eyes flicking to Alicent for guidance, but she says nothing, her face ashen. Finally, with a reluctant nod, he turns and leaves the room, casting one last wary glance over his shoulder as he goes.

As the door closes behind him, Alicent sinks onto the edge of the bed, her hands trembling as she looks at you. “What are you becoming?” she asks, her voice breaking with the weight of her sorrow.

You do not answer her. You do not know the answer yourself. All you know is that something inside you has changed, something dark and fierce, and it will not be easily tamed.

The usual murmur of voices is absent today in the small council chamber, replaced by a grim silence as they await the arrival of King Aegon. Every face is drawn with worry, every pair of eyes darkened by the implications of the previous night’s events. The attempted murder of the royal children has shaken the Red Keep to its core.

The door swings open with a force that startles everyone in the room. Aegon strides in, his expression thunderous, the weight of his fury visible in every step. His usually languid demeanor is gone, replaced by something fierce, something primal. He looks every inch the dragon he was born to be, and it is clear that the rage burning in his chest will not be easily quelled.

Following close behind him is Ser Criston Cole, his face a mask of stone, and Dowager Queen Alicent, her expression one of anxious concern. But it is the sight of you, being carefully led by the Grand Maester Orwyle, that makes the entire room go still. Your face is pale, and the fresh bandage covering your cheek cannot hide the dark bloodstain that has soaked through. The scar will be a permanent reminder of the violence you endured, a testament to the ferocity with which you defended your sister’s children.

Aegon’s gaze hardens as he looks at you, and a muscle in his jaw tics with the effort to control his emotions. He cannot allow himself to lose control, not here, not now. The council must see him as strong, unyielding in the face of this treachery.

“My children,” Aegon begins, his voice low and trembling with restrained anger, “were almost butchered in their beds last night. My sister”—his eyes flick to you, softening for just a moment—“bears the proof of her courage on her face, yet the threat lingers. Who dares to strike at the heart of the royal family?”

He slams his hand down on the table, the sound reverberating through the chamber. The council members flinch, but none dare to speak first. They have never seen Aegon like this—so utterly consumed by wrath.

It is Larys Strong who breaks the silence, his voice measured and calm, as if speaking of the weather. “Your Grace,” he says, leaning forward slightly, “all traces of this foul deed lead to one conclusion. It was your uncle, Daemon, and his wife, Rhaenyra. They are the only ones who would dare such a brazen act against you.”

There is a murmur of agreement around the table, but Aegon’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Daemon,” he repeats, the name dripping with venom. “Is this about Luke?”

“There can be no other explanation, Your Grace,” Larys continues, his gaze flicking to you momentarily. “The men who were sent to do this terrible thing—they were no common cutthroats. They were professionals, well-trained and well-paid. Such men would only be employed by someone with the means and the motive to strike at the heart of the Targaryen line.”

Aegon clenches his fists, his knuckles turning white. “And yet, despite all of their planning, they were thwarted by my sister.” His voice rises, filled with pride and fury in equal measure. “She fought them off, saved my children from certain death. And she has been rewarded with a scar that she will bear for the rest of her life!”

He turns his gaze to the Grand Maester, who is busy tending to you, his wrinkled hands gentle as they adjust the bandage on your cheek. “Tell them, Orwyle,” Aegon demands. “Tell them what they’ve done to her.”

Orwyle looks up, his eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and regret. “The wound is deep, Your Grace. It will heal, but the scar… The scar will remain. It is a mark of great courage, but also of great pain.”

Aegon’s expression darkens further, and he seems on the verge of losing control. “They have maimed my sister,” he growls. “They have tried to take my children from me. And you all stand here, debating who might be responsible, as if there is any doubt!”

Lord Larys remains calm, though there is a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Your Grace, if we are to respond to this attack, we must be certain of our enemy. Daemon and Rhaenyra have been gathering forces, preparing for war. They believe the Iron Throne rightfully belongs to Rhaenyra. This is a move to weaken you, to destabilize your reign.”

Aegon’s eyes flash with something dark and dangerous. “Then we will give them war,” he says, his voice cold and resolute. “We will hunt them down like the traitors they are. But know this—my sister, the Princess, is under my protection. Any harm that befalls her will be met with a wrath that will make the Seven Kingdoms tremble.”

He looks at you again, his expression softening just a fraction. “I will not let them touch you again,” he vows. “Not while I still draw breath.”

The council members exchange uneasy glances, but none dare to oppose the king’s decree. They know that Aegon’s rage is like a wildfire, and any who stand in its path will be consumed.

Ser Criston Cole steps forward, his voice steady and reassuring. “Your Grace, I will see to it that the palace is secured. We will not allow another breach like this. The guards will be doubled, and I will personally oversee their training.”

Aegon nods, his anger still simmering just beneath the surface. “See that you do, Ser Criston. If there is another attempt on my family, I will hold you personally responsible.”

Ser Criston bows his head, accepting the king’s command without protest. He knows that Aegon’s fury is justified, and he will do whatever it takes to protect the royal family.

Aegon turns to you once more, his expression softening even further as he reaches out to take your hand. “You saved them,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a rare tenderness. “You saved my children, and I owe you more than I can ever repay.”

You look up at him, your eyes still filled with the pain and fear of the previous night. “I would do it again, Aegon,” you say softly. “They are my blood as much as yours.”

He squeezes your hand, his gaze filled with a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. “And I will make sure that no one ever harms you again, sister,” he promises. “This, I swear.”

The small council remains silent, the weight of the king’s words hanging heavily in the air. The room is filled with the promise of retribution, and as Aegon looks around the table, each member knows that the events of the previous night have changed everything.

War is coming, and the blood that has been spilled will be avenged.

The flickering light of the hearth casts warm, dancing shadows across the stone walls of your chamber. The air is drenched with the scent of burning wood and the faint aroma of lavender from the candles you’ve lit. It is a rare moment of solitude in the Red Keep, a brief respite from the constant watchful eyes and the burden of your newfound abilities. You cherish these moments, where the weight of your responsibilities can be set aside, if only for a short while.

You sit by the fire, your fingers tracing the thin, silvery scar that now mars your cheek and lips—a permanent reminder of the night you fought to save your sister’s children. It is a small price to pay, you tell yourself, though the sting of that night lingers, not just in your flesh but in your heart.

Before you, on the small table beside your chair, lie two letters, each carefully unfolded and read multiple times. The first is from Daeron, your youngest brother, currently stationed in Oldtown. His words are full of affection and concern, the kind of letter that reminds you of simpler days when you were just his beloved sister, not the fierce protector or the silent warg you’ve become. You smile faintly as you reread his words, feeling a swell of love for him.

My dear sister, the letter begins, I think of you often, and I miss our days together in the gardens, where we spoke of nothing and everything. I long for the day when we are all reunited, and the shadow that looms over our family is lifted. Please take care, and know that my thoughts are with you always.

The innocence and sincerity in his words warm your heart, but they also remind you of the distance between you now—not just in miles, but in the paths your lives have taken. He still sees you as the sister who read to him and played with him in the courtyard, not as the woman you’ve become—marked by blood and fire, burdened with secrets you cannot share.

You set Daeron’s letter aside and reach for the second one, your heart beating a little faster as your fingers brush the familiar seal. Jace’s letter is more worn, the edges slightly crumpled from being unfolded and read countless times. His words, penned in his bold, confident hand, ignite a different fire within you—a longing that has been your constant companion ever since your secret affair began.

My dearest heart, the letter reads, it feels like an eternity since I last held you, since I last saw your face and felt the warmth of your smile. The days are cold and empty without you. I can think of nothing else but our next meeting. There is an island, a place we both know well. Come to me, my love. Let us forget the world, if only for a night.

The passion in his words makes your heart swell, your thoughts immediately drifting to the secluded island where you and Jace have met so many times before. It is a place of solace, of stolen moments that belong only to the two of you. The thought of seeing him again, of feeling his arms around you, is enough to make your breath catch.

But as you sit there, with the two letters before you, you are reminded of the dangerous path you walk. The love you share with Jace is forbidden, a fire that could consume you both if discovered. And yet, you cannot deny the pull, the need to be with him, to feel alive in a way that only he can make you feel.

Your eyes drift to the flames in the hearth, their warm glow reflecting in your eyes as you contemplate what must be done. With a heavy heart, you reach for the letters and hold them over the fire. The parchment catches quickly, curling and blackening as the flames consume the words written with such care and affection.

As the letters turn to ash, you feel a pang of regret, but also a sense of resolve. These letters were too dangerous to keep, too risky to let fall into the wrong hands. Your love for Jace and your affection for Daeron are now secrets you must carry in your heart alone.

You stand, brushing the ash from your fingers as you move to the window. The cool night air brushes against your scarred cheek, a contrast to the warmth of the fire. You close your eyes, letting your thoughts drift to Jace, to the feel of his hands on yours, the sound of his voice whispering your name. The thought of seeing him again fills you with a mix of excitement and fear. The danger, the secrecy, it only makes your love burn brighter, more fiercely.

But there is something else as well, something darker. The abilities that have manifested within you, the connection with Morgoth, the warg abilities you have struggled to control—they are always there, lurking in the background of your mind. You’ve been practicing, trying to understand and master them, but they are wild, untamed, much like the dragon within. The more you use them, the more you feel them growing stronger, more insistent.

The thought of what you could become, of what you might be capable of, both terrifies and excites you. You wonder if Jace would still love you if he knew the full extent of your abilities, if he knew the darkness that now shadows your every step.

But these thoughts, too, are set aside as you prepare for what comes next. There is no turning back now. You will go to the island, you will see him again. And you will face whatever comes, with the same fire that has carried you through every trial.

For now, you are content to let the night air soothe your worries, even if only for a moment. Tomorrow, you will return to the role you must play—daughter, sister, protector, and secret lover. But tonight, you allow yourself to imagine what it will feel like to be in Jace’s arms again, if only for a few stolen hours.

And as the flames in the hearth die down, leaving nothing but embers, you find yourself whispering into the darkness, a promise meant for no one but yourself: “I will see you soon, my love. And may the gods help anyone who tries to stop me.”

The island looms on the horizon, a solitary speck of land amidst the endless expanse of sea. The wind rushes past you as Morgoth’s powerful wings beat rhythmically against the air, the dragon’s massive form casting a long shadow over the water below. The island is a place of memories, of secrets shared in the moonlight and promises whispered in the dark. It is the only place where you and Jace can truly be yourselves, away from the prying eyes and the heavy weight of duty.

Morgoth lands with a graceful thud, the ground trembling beneath the weight of his massive claws. The familiar scent of salt and sand fills your senses as you slide from his back, your boots sinking into the soft, sun-warmed sand. You take a deep breath, the tension that has coiled in your chest since you last saw Jace beginning to unwind. Here, on this island, you can forget the world and simply be.

As you look around, your eyes find him almost immediately. Jace is just ahead, dismounting Vermax with practiced ease. His dark hair is tousled by the wind, and even from a distance, you can see the familiar warmth in his eyes, tempered by a hint of something darker—anger, perhaps, or worry. It doesn’t matter. The moment you see him, your heart leaps, and before you know it, you’re running toward him.

“Jace!” you call out, your voice filled with the joy and relief of finally being near him again. He turns at the sound of your voice, his expression softening as he sees you rushing toward him.

You reach him in moments, throwing yourself into his arms with a force that nearly knocks the breath out of you both. He catches you easily, holding you tight against him as if he never wants to let you go. The warmth of his body, the familiar scent of him—it’s like coming home.

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper against his neck, your arms wrapping around him as you press yourself closer, as if trying to make up for all the time you’ve spent apart.

“And I you,” he murmurs back, his voice rough with emotion. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes scanning your face as if committing every detail to memory. But then his gaze catches on the scar that mars your cheek and lips, a reminder of the night that nearly tore your family apart.

His hand comes up to gently trace the line of the scar, his touch featherlight. “They did this to you,” he says, his voice hardening with barely restrained anger. “Daemon and my mother—they’re responsible for this.”

“Jace,” you begin, trying to soothe him, but the fire in his eyes only burns brighter.

“They sent those men,” he continues, his jaw clenching as he speaks. “They tried to kill your family, and you—” His voice breaks, and he closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “They tried to take you from me. Like Aemond took Luke.”

You can see the storm of emotions raging within him—anger, guilt, fear—but you cannot let him carry this burden alone. You reach up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones in a tender caress. “I’m here, Jace,” you whisper, your voice filled with the love and reassurance you know he needs. “I’m alive. They didn’t take me. I’m right here with you.”

His eyes open, meeting yours, and you can see the flicker of uncertainty in them. But before he can say anything more, you close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that is both fierce and gentle, a silent promise that nothing and no one will come between you.

The kiss deepens quickly, the passion that has been building since your last meeting igniting like fire. The world falls away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped up in each other, in the heat of your desire. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you even closer, and you gasp against his lips as the intensity of your connection overwhelms you.

The sand beneath your feet is soft and warm as Jace lowers you both to the ground, his body pressing down against yours. The feel of him, the weight and the warmth of him, is both comforting and exhilarating. His hands are sure and familiar as they begin to undo the laces of your clothing, and you help him, your fingers trembling slightly with the urgency of your need.

There is no hesitation, no shyness between you. You’ve done this before, so many times, yet every time feels like the first—new and exhilarating, filled with the thrill of discovery and the comfort of familiarity. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore is a distant hum, drowned out by the beating of your heart and the ragged breaths you share as you finally, finally, come together.

When he enters you, it’s with a practiced ease that sends a shiver of pleasure through your entire body. You both gasp, the sensation overwhelming in its intensity, as if every nerve ending has been set alight. You move together, a rhythm as old as time itself, each movement a silent declaration of your love, your longing, your need.

“Jace,” you breathe, his name a prayer on your lips as he buries his face in the curve of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“I’m here,” he murmurs in response, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m here, my love.”

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding him close as the passion between you builds, becoming wilder, more desperate. There is nothing gentle about it now, only the raw need to be as close as possible, to feel every inch of each other, to lose yourselves in the heat of the moment.

The world narrows down to the two of you—two souls entwined, lost in each other, as the fire between you blazes hotter, brighter. And when you finally reach that peak together, it is with a shared cry of pleasure, your bodies tensing and trembling as the waves of ecstasy wash over you.

Afterward, you lie there together on the sand, your bodies still entwined, your breathing slowly returning to normal. The warmth of the sun, the gentle breeze, the sound of the sea—it all feels distant, secondary, to the presence of Jace beside you.

He presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice filled with the kind of tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best way possible.

“And I love you,” you reply, your voice soft but filled with conviction. You reach up to cup his face again, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw.

The warmth of the aftermath lingers in the air, the sound of the waves gently lapping against the shore as you lie entwined with Jace on the soft sand. His arm is draped around you, holding you close, as your head rests against his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart, a comforting rhythm that contrasts with the turmoil in your own. For a while, you both simply breathe, savoring the peace of this stolen moment. But the silence between you is heavy with unspoken words, and you can feel the weight of your fears pressing down on you, threatening to shatter the fragile tranquility you've found.

It’s Jace who finally breaks the silence, his voice soft and filled with concern. “You’re quiet,” he murmurs, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back. “I can feel something is troubling you.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you know you must say. You’ve carried this burden alone for too long, and if there’s anyone you can trust, it’s Jace. He deserves to know the truth, no matter how dark it may be.

“There’s something I haven’t told you,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. You feel his body tense slightly beneath you, but he doesn’t interrupt, waiting patiently for you to continue. “Something…something I’ve been struggling with for years now. And I’m afraid of what it means.”

Jace’s hand stills on your back, his attention fully focused on you. “You can tell me anything,” he says softly, his voice filled with a quiet reassurance that makes your heart ache. “Whatever it is, I’ll understand.”

You sit up slightly, turning to face him as you gather the courage to speak. The look in his eyes—so full of love and concern—gives you the strength to continue. “I can…warg,” you say, the word feeling foreign and heavy on your tongue. “I can warg into Morgoth.”

Jace’s eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he reaches up to cup your face, his thumb gently brushing against the scar on your cheek. “Into your dragon?” he asks, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and disbelief. “How is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “It started a few years ago, in my dreams. I thought it was just that—dreams. But then it became more in recent months. I can feel him, see through his eyes, control him. I feel his hunger, his anger, and it terrifies me, Jace. I’m afraid I’m losing myself to him.”

Jace listens intently, his expression one of deep concern, but there is no judgment in his eyes—only understanding. “When…when the assassins came for Helaena’s children,” you continue, your voice breaking as the memories flood back, “I used that power. I was fighting one of the men, and I… I bit him. I tore out his throat with my teeth, just like Morgoth would. It wasn’t just instinct—it was something darker, something…unnatural.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you confess this, the horror of what you’ve done finally spilling out. “I’m afraid, Jace,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “I’m afraid I’m becoming a monster.”

For a moment, Jace says nothing, and you fear that he’ll pull away, that he’ll see you for the monster you believe yourself to be. But then, to your surprise, he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a protective embrace. His hand cradles the back of your head, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“You’re not a monster,” he whispers fiercely, his voice filled with conviction. “You’re the bravest, most selfless person I know. You saved your sister’s children and you’ve done nothing but protect those you love. Whatever this power is, whatever it means, it doesn’t change who you are.”

You bury your face in his chest, letting his words wash over you, trying to believe them. But the fear still lingers, the doubt that you can’t quite shake. “But what if I can’t control it?” you ask, your voice muffled against him. “What if I hurt someone I love?”

Jace pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression serious but gentle. “Then we’ll figure it out,” he says firmly. “You’re not alone in this. We’ll learn to control it, to understand it. You’re stronger than you think, and I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

His words bring a sense of relief you didn’t know you needed. For so long, you’ve carried this burden alone, but now, with Jace by your side, it doesn’t feel so overwhelming. You nod, trying to smile through your tears, but Jace catches the flicker of doubt still lingering in your eyes.

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips—a kiss filled with all the love and reassurance he can give. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re not alone,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I will love you, no matter what.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself believe in his words, letting his love and warmth seep into the cold, dark places within you. For the first time in months, you feel a glimmer of hope—hope that you are more than the darkness, more than the power that threatens to consume you.

“I love you, Jace,” you whisper, your voice steady for the first time since you began speaking. “And I trust you.”

In that moment, as you lie in his arms with the sea gently lapping at the shore, you feel a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. 

And together, you will find a way forward.

[milksnake-tea]

━━ die with a smile .

In every zombie apocalypse, there's always one who is immune to the infection. And Blade, it seems, is the unlucky one who has to carry that burden.

blade x gn!reader (kinda. relationship is ambiguous)

contains: gorey language (rotting flesh, wounds), zombie apocalypse au, horror(???? I GUESS????? I DONT EVEN KNOW BRO), reader dies lol, blade got major issues

wc: 2.4k

a/n: lord i am NOT good with horror BUT !!! might as well give this a try. if you can call this horror. I DONT EVEN KNOW I DONT WRITE OR READ HORROR IM JUST A GIRL anyways. this is for @stellaronhvnters's event that's happening rn! the prompt i ended up choosing was zombie, and i hope i brought it to life! i am actually so sad i wasn't allowed to write for sunday. can you believe this. SIGHS

taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina , @tragedy-of-commons , @cakechase , @kiiyoooo

Immune.

It is a word that Blade has heard time and time over again, and a word he has grown to hate.

Immune. Immortal.

A blessing, it is, to any other soul, especially in an apocalypse such as this. In a world where survival itself is a luxury, and comfort even moreso, what sane person wouldn’t wish for eternal life - or better yet, a life without fear of death?

They say he is lucky, the others. They say that he is blessed, and that whatever cruel deity overlooked this world must’ve found a sliver of fondness towards him.

They say that he is not human, the others. They say that he is something entirely else - not someone, no, something that cannot possibly fathom the pains of humanity, of a mortal life.

And so they say, why not let him bear the weight of a savior? After all, blessings must be used, and they cannot allow Blade to be selfish.

A pity, truly. They seemed to have forgotten, the others, that no matter how blessed he may seem, the deity is still cruel, and will not stand for shortcuts.

And so, Blade has long forgotten the meaning of the word “companion”.

Days pass like seconds in his constant weariness, and his body has become something akin to that of a clock; going through the motions, surviving but not living. His eyes bear witness to the downfall of his home, and yet he cannot see it - he cannot see anything; not the once-vivid colors of nature nor the once-bright streams of light that dare to warm his barely living skin.

He knows not where he is right now. All he knows is that he is injured, a gash on his arm that streams with useless blood. It will heal in due time, which is why…

“This is unnecessary,” he rasps.

If you had a name, he doesn’t remember it. Your face is blurred as everything else in this world is. You’re one of many, hundreds, that he has traveled with - why, he doesn’t know. Perhaps he feels some sort of obligation, like the ones the others have said long ago, to protect those who aren’t favored like he is.

But that isn’t Blade’s main concern. What is, is the bandages binding his wound, bleeding bandages that are wasted on someone of his constitution.

“I will heal,” he continues, his voice a repetitive drawl. “Save it for your own skin.”

And yet the bandages do not fall - in fact, they may have tightened.

“Your blessing allows you to recover from injuries and pain,” you reply, weariness wearing down your own voice, and yet there is a spark of indignation beneath the exhaustion. “It does not excuse you of pain.”

Blade scoffs. “I am not so weak as to kneel from such an insignificant wound.”

“But it hurts, doesn’t it?”

He blinks. Seizing his stunned silence, you continue.

“While your body takes the time to heal, it becomes prey to infections, parasites, all of which are painful and annoying to deal with, as I’m sure you know. It isn’t wise to rely on your blessings all the time.”

But it’ll only take a second. Gods work quick, after all, and their blessings quicker. He has no need for your bandages nor for your ointment.

He sighs.

“Do what you want.”

He doesn’t have the energy to argue much further. If this futile attempt at aiding him is what will calm you, then he will bear with it.

Blade rears his head slightly so that he can catch a glimpse of the wasteland that lies outside the broken-down shack you’ve temporarily taken refuge in. The streets are quiet - for now. But evidence of past destruction stains the road in warning: do not stay, do not yield. Do not think you are safe, for even a moment, because that is when they will strike.

And they will come, the victims and the assailants, with their rotting flesh and grey skin, and you will have but two options: survive and remember, or join them in their pack.

Both you and Blade are well aware of this fact, evident by the fact that you are still human. No one survives long in a world like this without some sort of wits on them, which makes your insistence on treating him all the more befuddling.

He inhales, and the stench of decay fills his nostrils.

They will be here soon.

He stands up abruptly, interrupting your work and leaving the bandage untied. With a grunt, he finishes the binding himself, cutting off the excess with his namesake.

“We can’t afford to dally,” he says gruffly as he pulls on his black coat once more, hiding the bandages and shielding his scars from past battles. “Come.”

He doesn’t wait for your answer. If you have any brains in there, you’ll follow.

It’s eerie, the way fog curls and billows like smoke as he wretches open the door. He cannot feel the wind, but he sees it well enough in the way it drags the fallen clouds across the deserted earth and tickles what little life is left in the leaves of wilted trees.

He hears your footsteps behind him, along with a little sigh, and he resumes his march.

Dried leaves crack under his boots. The air is quiet, as if he were in a vacuum chamber, too quiet. He wonders how long ago it had been since these dirtied streets were clean and covered not by leaves and dried flesh, but by the pit-pats of dozens of people, all on their next chapter of life.

The silence is deafening. His brows furrow slightly.

With a glance back at you, he confirms his suspicions. Your hackles are raised, and the grip on your weapon has switched from idle to offensive. You peer into the fog’s depths, scanning the premises for anything, live or dead, that might be hiding.

Neither of you dare to speak. Talking only sets them off.

But then again, if they are really here, there is little you can do to deter them.

They come in packs - at least, most of them do. Like the humans they used to be, they can be quite fickle. Most prefer each other’s company - if they can call it company, but there are always one or two or five who go on their own, and those either die quickly or become stronger than what is manageable.

His breath mists from his slightly parted lips.

He breathes in through his nose.

The air is sour.

He stops.

He listens.

And then he hears it - the crack of a leaf, crushed under a foot that is neither his nor yours.

Instinct seizes him and he whirls and grabs you and throws you out of the way. Steel meets flesh, carving it with the precision of a butcher and the life he used to have. He faintly registers cold blood as it coats his face in a splatter, its iron taste on the tip of his tongue as he shouts at you,

“Go!”

They come in packs, the creatures. As they swarm him like an infestation of houseflies, Blade begins to miss the eerie silence.

He plunges into a familiar, red-tinted haze. He slashes and slices and cuts through corpses of those who should’ve been put to rest. Rotted teeth bite into his arms (he briefly remembers your insistence on infection) and he kicks them off and his namesake soon follows.

Undying, the two of them are. They are more similar than the others like to admit, but truth is, they are both cursed by the deity. Never will they live, never will they die. Forever, they must exist in this world, until all that’s left of them is a memory.

For how much longer must he endure this? For how much longer must he fight?

He’s tired.

He wants to sleep.

But rest doesn’t come easy.

In the corner of his eye, another one of them lunges at him, falling teeth bared and eyes lolling from their sockets. He tugs his sword, but it is hindered - only slightly, embedded in the flesh of another. It’s a second he’ll lose, and a second that decides it all.

For a moment, he’s half tempted to let it bite.

But then comes a BANG! and then the distinctive smell of gunpowder and then his face is coated in body bits once more.

“What’re you doing?!” Now it’s your turn to grab his arm and pull him away. “There’s too many of them. Let’s get out of here!”

He clicks his tongue in annoyance. You’re loud, but you’ve got a point.

You shove him behind you and unclip one of the many grenades that hang from your belt. He knows this move well enough now, and therefore knows to avert his gaze once he hears the pin pulled and the bomb sails into the crowd of them.

BOOM!

The explosion is only just enough to startle their attackers and create enough of a divy in their ranks that you can push through. Blade leads the retreat, catching any stranglers with his sword while you keep your gun aimed behind you to ward away any pursuers.

He runs, as he always does. He scales hills with a speed that should’ve left his legs stiff and burning, leaps over canals that are flooded with pollution, and turns corners so fast that his neck might’ve broken. Only once or twice does he glance back to see if you are following. 

You are, although, you are slower. Something is weighing you down.

He runs, until he can no longer hear the groans of the deceased and the sourness fades away into crisp nothingness. The smoke-fog lolls back, and he thinks he finds peace, but then-

A weight crashes into his back, making him stumble. With a growl he doesn’t feel, he leers at you.

“What now-?”

He stills as he sees your state.

“Sorry, I just-” Your breath is ragged as you pant. You try to push yourself off, but your legs give out and you crash back into him. But that’s not what catches Blade off-guard.

You are like a second sun, with the heat searing through your skin and burning him through his clothes. His eyes widen as he fully takes you in.

Sweat drips off of you in raindrops. Your skin shivers in small, terrifying tremors. Your breath is short and rasp and choked and hollow, as if every inhale takes all of your energy. Your eyes are barely peeking open as you try to stay conscious.

Words die on the tip of his tongue.

You inhale again, gasping as you try to speak. You want to move, but your body fails you.

“S-”

“Quiet.” He turns you against his chest to assess the danger. Your chest heaves, and- there.

He’s seen it far too many times.

No. Not again.

How- When? When had it- no.

His brows furrow and his teeth grit.

There, tearing through your jacket and into your shoulder, ripped clothes and frayed threads, a bite, black, purple, bruised and bloody and slobbery. And in between, the beginnings of greying skin.

An infection.

His mind begins to race for the first time in years. Fear erupts in him like a sealed volcano as he fights himself on what to do with you.

He should kill you. Get it over with, make it quick before you suffer. There’s no coming back from a bite - you’re as good as dead now, so it wouldn’t be wrong, right? It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to kill a fallen companion (if you could even call them that).

Yes, he should - he needs to do it. Now, while you’re still weak and vulnerable, while you still hold your humanity within your grasp.

In one hand, is you, a person whom he has only known for a month or so. In the other hand is the sword that has never left his side.

The choice is obvious.

Yet why can’t he make it?

“Bl…Blade,” you rasp. His glare pierces you. “I…”

“Don’t waste your energy,” he says quietly, almost gently. He doesn’t recognize his own voice.

“...this-” you cough suddenly, hacking phlegm for a few horrid seconds before you’re able to speak again. “This is- like a really bad time to say this, but… you smell really, really good. Like… like… like meat.”

He freezes.

Now. Do it, as you always have. Don’t think of it any longer.

Yet his feet are rooted and his hands are stone. Like a moth to a flame, his eyes can’t tear away from your face as you stagger, dirtied hands clutching at his dirtied coat. Your lidded eyes are hazy.

His namesake is heavy like a weight in his hand. Bandaged, calloused fingers grip and shift and relax and then tighten again around the handle as he struggles with a decision.

He takes too long.

You lunge at him with abrupt strength and tackle him to the ground. Blade chokes as gravel digs into his shoulders. Still-warm hands seize onto his broad shoulders with a grip so tight they might shatter. And above him, the sun halos your silhouette, basking you in shadow.

The grip on his shoulders trembles.

“Sor….” your language begins to slur, deteriorating into the common groan of them. “Hung….”

Blade doesn’t reply, too caught up in his mind and in witnessing your last moments as a human. Your mouth hangs open, breath and saliva dripping from it as the grey climbs up your skin in patches of mold.

“Hurs…” you mutter. “Hurs… so…”

Your hands leave his shoulders in favor of pulling down his collar in a manner that is hauntingly gentle. You pull, layers and layers of cloth down and away until his throat is fully exposed, Adam’s apple bobbing.

Fingers trace his throat, thumbs rubbing against it. Animalistic hunger overtakes your pupils, which have always smiled so kindly and tiredly at him, blurring all sentient thoughts away.

Blade squeezes his eyes shut. He breathes, feeling the air pool in his lungs.

And then, at last, he decides.

You scarcely resist as he switches your positions. He slams you to the concrete and raises his namesake, pointed tip situated just above your heart.

And then he sees you, as he always has.

And despite your clouded eyes, your dog-like breaths, and the mold growing on your skin, you smile softly.

But why?

Out of relief?

Out of gratitude?

Or… out of forgiveness?

Blade doesn’t know, nor does he ever find out, as he takes one last look at your life, soaking in all that remains of you and burning it into his memory.

And then he plunges, and the deity laughs once more.

And again, he loses the meaning of companion.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[gladiatorcunt]

- BELLY OF THE BEAST | II.

the ocean washed open your grave

cw: kinktober prompt (teratophilia), made up mer anatomy, double penetration (in reader’s ass and pussy) w/ two dicks on one guy, implied painal, merman!john b with siren tendencies, mer people eat humans, implied somnophilia and kidnapping and oviposition, mating rituals but only one party knew about them, background jjpope, blood, extremely dubious consent bordering on non con, implied plus size reader, reader’s intentionally silent, yandere

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

It’s the heart of july. You can see Venus this evening. Picked clean fish bones scuttle along the pebbled gray beach like a rake sifting through bramble. Broken shells litter the sand, shards of vivid color and shades of dull nude turned this way and that. Someone’s inspecting them on the edge of the water, angling their hands in strange ways to investigate how the sunlight shimmers off the shell. They’re agitated, their search going unsatisfied, loose strings of thread frayed at the ends without objects to connect.

Summer is stressing you out, too much time spent feeling pressure to have experiences when you should really be lounging the dog days away in an old timey rocking chair. You’d cringe at the condensation sliding down your glass of sweet tea. You’re on an aimless walk on the beach instead, keeping a wide berth from the shore.

That’s when you see him.

A sunken sunbeam on earth. His tail is a myriad of red-yellow-orange scales, when he moves he becomes a human man on fire. The flick of his ruby tail fin looks like flame taking shape in the open sea, something that you know is basically impossible, maybe your brain is swelling. But it gives you a moth’s wings all the same. You rub your eyes but he’s still there when you open them again.

A merman.

He’s hissing at the blonde guy fooling around with the shells, “JJ, get your tail back home or so help me.”

Which to you is just a series of clicks and trills.

“JJ” snorts, sticking his tongue out and going back to rifling through the shells.

You stand around awkwardly, transfixed and somehow unable to move away. The merman with brown hair finally spots you and his eyes widen for a split second before he makes a distressed bunch of clicks, to which the blonde one seems to get the message and dart under the surface of his water. His pile of shells are left unattended on the shore.

The brunette merman clears his throat, “Hi, there. What’s your name?” His voice is groggy around the unnatural syllables, but his tone is smooth and enticing.

You freeze, and all thoughts of sneaking away are out the window. You’ve seen him, you can’t ask him to trust that you wouldn’t tell anybody about him, not that they’d even believe you. Still, having insurance never hurt nobody.

You find yourself making footprints in the sand, stepping forward until you’re right in front of the merman, looking down at him like a child peers down a well. A cold sensation splashes at your spine through your clothes, but he doesn’t sing so he must not be a siren, that or he doesn’t need to sing to ensure you in his talons.

His teeth would give a great white shark the shivers as he smiles, mouthing your name back to you in the sea air.

The sloshing of the waves under the setting sun is all you can hear, and his warm brown eyes are all you can see. The world swirls around you, becoming mist that falls to the ground and is swiftly swept out to sea. One minute you’re plopping yourself down on the sand in front of the merman’s grinning face, and the next he’s scraping the edge of his talon along your thigh.

Men will be men, no matter the species.

“My name’s John B.” He says, his pupils dilating at the scent of your blossoming arousal, a shark with a single drop of the blood in the ocean. “So nice to meet you, babe.”

Later you’ll remember stuttering, trying to make excuses to peel away and run for the hills. But John B clicks disappointingly and sucks his teeth, fishing a stuck piece of flesh out from in between them. It’s the skin and hair still on that bit of meat that makes you stay, another stupid decision you’ll kick yourself for later if you even survive. You try to open your mouth to speak, but the movement is sluggish and your words feel trapped in your vocal chords by some kind of force field.

How much can you explain away putting yourself in danger because the man with a fish’s tail and gills was hot? John B smiles from ear to ear when you give into the pull between you two, swishing his crimson tail fin back and forth as your eyes fixate on the flecks of melted gold in his.

Hours seem to pass by in a blur and when you’re aware of reality again, you’re on your back with John B hovering above you. His talons are buried in the sand on either side of your head, and the full moon behind him sparks a feeling of trepidation in your belly.

He smiles, razor sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. “Do you trust me?”

You try to answer and he laughs, his sharp claws scraping against your nose as he boops it. John B knows you can’t actually form the words, but lucky for you he has a knack for knowing exactly how you’re feeling. And pushing you to feel however they’d need you to, but he digresses, it’s the cusp of mating season after all. He’s not going to pump you full of his eggs, but those first glimpses of your thighs in your swimsuit has his cocks itching to come out.

JJ is probably back moping with the others anyway, they’ll have found some other poor unsuspecting humans for dinner and settled in for the night. He can be a little late to catch up with his pod, just this once.

Your mouth drops open as John B grinds his lower half against yours, having ripped off your swimsuit bottoms in the blink of an eye like it was nothing.

His scales give you little cuts here and there, but their smooth texture and the way their coolness soothes the heat licking at your body has you trying to gasp.

You feel an opening push against your pussy, semi-hard folds with the hint of a deeper recess. You’d have no serious problem if you spent your night bumping pussies with what some would say is a freak of nature, but then you feel a couple slight bumps in the middle of his folds.

John B grins, bloodthirsty.

“Gotta coax ‘em out of their sheath, give ‘em something to fuck into.” He grits, pressing your hand to the outer sheath and guiding your coaxing movements, little rubs and pats. “And lucky for me, I've found the perfect thing. I’m sorry, I normally don’t play with my food. That’s JJ’s thing.”

He tsks, and half out of fear and half out of crazed desire your rubbing becomes more focused and your pats turn into love taps. Sure enough, two long cocks begin to jut out from his opening. They’re the same fiery color as his tail, each as thick as your forearm, with more of a tapered tip than a human cock and sort of squishy even when they’re hard. You don’t want to even try to guess how big they are, definitely larger than any human’s dick could be.

You hear a woosh go through your ears and you find that you can little sounds into his salty lips now, whining as they brush against yours. John B hums what sounds like a lullaby and you feel your pussy release a gush of slick, loosening up to prepare itself to be torn apart.

You whimper into his mouth as he teases the tips of his cocks against both of your entrances, and he kisses you quiet as he starts to push in without warning. His teeth cut your lip open, and the taste and scent of your blood only spurs him on more.

“Oh, that’s it, human. Work that pretty ass back on me.” He trills hypnotically, his scales scratching against your flesh as he slams both of his cocks to the hilt inside of your holes. “Look at you, pounded all sloppy by monster cocks you can’t even see.”

You can’t really scream, when you try it just sounds like the last weak sound someone would make before they die. But… you don’t feel any pain, and you look to confirm that you’ve indeed taken every inch of the merman’s dicks. A plus to fucking a monster with powers, you guess, you know he could’ve made you feel, could’ve ripped your walls open and used your blood as lube to work up an appetite.

His teeth keep cutting you as he kisses you, graciously letting you adjust before flicking his tail fin in the air and fucking you into the sand back. His talons slide all over your body, playing pat-a-cake with the skin on your tummy and groping your tits when one of his thrusts has his cocks feeling particularly good. You moan when he pinches your nipples, his claws scratching your pert buds just right as his cocks split you in what seems like four different directions.

You reach up to shakily grab onto his wet shoulders, closing your eyes as the summer night breeze wafts over you. Till a sharp poke to your cheek makes you open them again. Ah, he wants you to see what kind of “man” you’re really fucking. Once again, men will be men even when they live underwater.

The cock in your pussy hits a spot deep inside you that has you gasping for air, a useless effort since John B does it again and again and again. Your hands fall to brush along his gills, divots in his torso with smaller fins extending outwards, wanting to firmly grab that part of his torso but also not wanting to incite a frenzy in the merman.

If only you’d known that a mer’s gills are even more sensitive than their genitalia. The second your finger tips touch the small flaps, John B hisses and digs his talons into your love handles, drawing blood as he picks up his thrusts. His tail thumps against the sand, how he has the strength to life all 200+ pounds of his body and tail to fuck you in a missionary sort of position is beyond you.

Your voice is gone at this point, carried away by the wind into the night. You wrap your arms around John B’s neck and hold on, smelling the salt water and something sweet like coconut, letting the motions of his cocks molding your insides around them move through you. The one in your ass rebels against the tightness of your asshole, bullying it with every stroke with what little slick trickled down into the rim from your pussy.

He wraps his strong arms around your waist and lifts your hips up, forcing you to take him at a deeper angle. John B grounds him by gripping your ass cheeks, his talons pushing into the thick globes, drawing blood there too. He doesn’t have the leverage or means to properly smack them, but that’s something for next time, seeing how the water would ripple around them with every slap.

You’re dazed, lying there and taking it. You hear music, drums and rumbling vocals, but there’s no one around and no one’s singing. You’re bleeding from a few different places, so maybe it’s dizziness brought on by blood loss that emboldens you to pull the merman into another kiss. Even as his cock in your pussy pummels your g spot and the one in your ass abuses the puckered hole, John B is strangely mindful of his teeth this time.

Your tongues shyly flick against each other, he clicks and slaps his tail fin on the sand bank in quick succession. Instead of quickening his thrusts as he swims towards release, the merman slows down, shimmying his hips and jostling his cocks inside you. The moonlight combined with your blood and the joining of your bodies means you’ve signed up for something you can’t even comprehend.

John B tentatively skirts a talon down your stomach, deep in thought as well as deep in your guts.

“You know what? I think this needs to be round anyway, be a shame for you to be another skeleton decorating our cave.” Are the last words you hear before a wet hand closes around your throat and a louder lullaby reaches your ears. “We’ll figure out the whole “human” thing later, I could kiss JJ for wanting to waste his time on finding shells for Pope.”

Distant whoops and cheers follow you into unconsciousness.

[blee0225851110]

I've been mulling this over for the last few days and I figured I'd just put what I'm thinking out there in hopes that someone will understand what I'm coming from. I'm reading a wonderful fanfic where Buck leaves the 118 and goes to work at Air Operations. He is paired with Tommy and the two of them strike up a friendship and an eventual romance. I'm only a few chapters into the story and there's a conversation where Buck and Tommy are relaying their backstories to each other. Buck talks about getting crushed by the fire engine, the subsequent surgery and setback, and him suing the LAFD. Tommy talks about his time in the Army and ultimately joining the 118. He goes into vivid detail about every single awful thing he did to Chimney and Hen. He ends the story by telling Buck that even though the Chimney and Hen chose to forgave him, he can't quite move past his guilt and works hard daily to become a better person. The thing I've been mulling over is the concept of white guilt and how it often triumphs over forgiveness extended by people of color. I find this so funny because even when people of color, esepcially Black people, are at their most vulnerable and open, whiteness still finds a way to be greater than.

Now I'm not here to excuse any of what Tommy did during his time at the 118, but I have to admit that the majority of the people I have seen taking umbrage with Tommy and his behavior, even after he has been forgiven by those whom he offended, and even after he has taken strides to change, are white, non-queer individuals. And before we making this a B*ddie versus BuckTommy situation, I have seen individuals from both sides of the fence taking Tommy to task.

Before I jump into my thoughts on this, let me just say that I'm a Black man. I'm also a queer man. Most importantly I'm a Black queer man and let me tell you a little something about poor behavior from white people. It happens so much and so frequent that oftentimes I don't even see it happening until I am allowed to have a moment to process and reflect. With that said, quite a few of my close friends and acquaintances are white and all of them at some point have said or done something deliberately or accidentally offensive to me. Now not all Black and/or queer people are a monolift so let me make this very clear right now. I am speaking on behalf of myself and myself only.

Now that I've gotten out of the way, I will say that in any and all cases where I have been offended, my forgiveness is more for myself than the other person. Forgiveness is something I do to protect my peace. I fundamentally understand how whiteness works here in America and I understand how it operates. You don't get to half 39 years as a Black queer person without learning this. Especialy living in the the south. I also realize that at the apex of whiteness is the white, straight male and whether we realize it or not, we all, for the most part, at some point, seek proximity to him. You see this happen with white women, with Black men, and evenwith gay white men. In fact, the only group you don't tend to see this with is Black queer women and I believe this is because they are truly the antithesis of the white apex.

With that said, any time my friends or acquaintances have behaved badly, especially towards me, especially regarding my race and/or sexuality, I understand where that energy comes from. I really do. And, if we are being truly transparent here, there have been moments in my younger existence where I actively participated in the oppression of Black women and queer people. I, too, was a Tommy who hid myself by participating in the toxicity directed towards queer people. And yes, I felt tremendous guilt for my actions when I had time to reflect.

Here is the thing people forget about guilt. Much like grief, guilt ebbs and flows, and it doesn't really go away. What happens, or what should happen, is that your world gets bigger and bigger to the point where that grief or that guilt doesn't occupy as much space. That's exactly what I believe has happened to Tommy Kinard. Yes, he still feels bad about what he did to his friends back then (and he should) but his world has gotten so much bigger since then. That guilt that was once a loud roar is hopefully only a whisper now because he has done the work to understand why he behaved the way he did and has taken strides to be a better version of himself.

So, to all the white, non-queer individuals out there who have been taking Tommy to task for things he did a long time ago, things he's been forgiven of a long time ago, parts of himself that he has made better, ask yourself this one simple question. Why should my guilt (white guilt) be bigger than the forgiveness provided to him by those he offended? Second question I would ask you to ask yourself. Why am I demanding that Tommy actively punish himself and be punished for something he has already been forgiven of? When you answer that question, there is one last question I want you to ask yourself. Why am I feeling guilty and projecting that guilt onto someone else?

Again, I am not excusing any of what Tommy Kinard said or did during that time of his life. I just find it strange that so many of you are condemining him of something he once did when you should be asking yourself, am I actively participating in the oppression of those around me. There's a 99.9% chance you are so maybe focus on your own garden before you start asking others to clean up theirs. Also, for those of you coming at this from the angle of, well we didn't see Hen and Chimney forgive him. So what! Unless you have a camera following you around 24/7, no one will ever get to see you be forgiven of the fucked up stuff you've been doing. Most of all, stop projecting onto fictional characters. It's weird. Okay, those are my thoughts. Do what with them what you wish. As always, these are my opinions.

[22ayla21]

can i request a doomed anaxa x fem reader like reader dosent want him to constantly use his own body for his alchemy research stuff , he understands her but does it anyway

uhh angst with comfort or angst with no comfort u can decidee

and also thank you for the amazing fics u writee ❤❤❤

Shards of Gold

He understood that he was hurting not only himself but her too, yet he could no longer stop himself.

Anaxa burned with alchemy. Not just interested – he lived it, ready to give everything down to the last drop for an answer. A mind as sharp as a razor, focused on knowledge. His body was merely a vessel, which he unhesitatingly laid on the altar of science.

You always knew what you were getting into. From the very beginning, from that dreadful moment when you saw him inject a murky reagent into his vein, testing how quickly the wounds would heal. You understood: it wouldn't be easy. But you naively believed you could handle it.

Anaxa was neither evil nor cruel. He always listened to you, took your trembling hands in his, kissed your temple when you cried from helplessness. He smiled guiltily when you found him in the laboratory, drowning in shards of test tubes and bloodied bandages.

"You understand why I need this, don't you?" he once whispered, lying in bed with a bandage on his chest, where just recently he had been tinkering, implanting some glowing crystal. "If not me, then who?"

You understood. But that didn't make it any easier.

You saw his skin lose its vibrant color, how a strange golden sheen showed through beneath it, pulsing under his veins. His eyes became deeper, heavier, as if someone were slowly dripping light into them from another world.

You whispered: "Stop. Please."

He hugged you tightly. He was silent, stubbornly pressing his lips together. And he continued his mad experiments.

Sometimes you were overwhelmed by the desire to smash all those cursed flasks to smithereens, lock his laboratory with a rusty padlock, tear the blueprints to shreds. You wanted to scream, to sob. But you knew: he would simply start all over again. On the cold floor, on his knees, writing formulas in his own blood.

You sat beside him when he lost consciousness after another experiment. You held his lifeless hand, listened to the erratic beat of his heart. Silently swallowed tears until he opened his eyes and looked at you with that same guilty smile.

"Forgive me... I shouldn't have... But I was so close..."

Sometimes you dreamed that one day he would wake up and say: "That's it. Enough. I choose you."

But he chose his formulas, theorems, mad experiments again. And his sacrifice – himself.

You didn't leave. Ever.

But every new scar on his strange, changing body left a painful crack in your heart.

And with each passing day, the light within you faded. Not because the love was gone, but because love is not always capable of conquering obsession.

One day you sat in the dim light, watching as the light passed through his almost transparent figure, as if through a cloudy glass covered with a network of fine cracks. He was no longer the young man you had once loved. He had become something else. He had become alchemy itself.

You loved him. And that love caused unbearable pain.

Because he would never stop.

And because you would still stay by his side. Even when he crumbled into golden dust and ashes.

And you would remain the last one to remember what he was like before he became obsessed with his mad dream.

How does this version sound to you? I think it has become a bit more vivid, with more emphasis on the heroine's feelings and inner experiences. We tried to avoid repetitions and make the descriptions more figurative.

[ms-snape]

Hi, i see that request are open.

What if Severus survived the war but didn't tell anyone. He moved far away, to another country (maybe Italy). But at home, his wife was waiting for him and she was his biggest support during the war. She refused to believe he is dead. And a few years later she would find out by accident when she bumped into him on the street hand in hand with someone else. Lots of angst. I mean….. lots of angst. 🙂

Title: Moving On

Request: Finally a request I've been waiting for one for like days.... REQUESTS ARE OPENED

Summary: I don't think I can give a better summary than the request so...

Warning: angst.... sad ending...

Word Count: 2305

Masterlist

---

In the heart of Italy, where the sun-drenched landscapes mingled with the whisper of ancient cobblestone streets, YN felt a certain heaviness. It was a weight she carried not just in her suitcase, filled with clothes and hopes for a brighter future, but in her heart, where the memory of Severus Snape lingered like a ghost. The world believed him dead, a casualty of a war that had torn apart the very fabric of their lives, but YN had never accepted that finality. She could not bring herself to mourn him as everyone else had; instead, she clung to the thread of hope that wove through her despair.

YN had been broken when the news of his death reached her—a jagged dagger that pierced her soul and left her hollow. The days that followed were a blur of grief and longing. She had wandered through her life like a specter, lost in the memories of their time together, each moment spent with Severus replaying in her mind like a shattered record. She remembered his quiet intensity, the way his dark eyes would soften when he looked at her, the sound of his voice as he spoke of potions and spells, of love and loss. It was as if he had taken a part of her with him when he vanished from the world.

Ella, her best friend, had insisted on this trip—an attempt to pull YN from the depths of her sorrow. They ventured to the quaint coastal town of Positano, with its colorful cliffside houses and azure waters, where laughter echoed around them like a distant memory. But even in the midst of beauty, YN felt numb. The sun could not warm the chill that resided in her heart. Every breathtaking view of the Italian coast felt tainted by the absence of the one person she could not forget.

As Ella tried to engage YN in conversation, pointing out the charm of the local markets and the deliciousness of the gelato, YN’s mind drifted elsewhere. She found herself staring out at the sea, imagining it was Severus standing there, his silhouette framed against the horizon, waiting for her to join him. The thought was both comforting and torturous, a bittersweet reminder of love that once was.

“YN, you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Ella said one evening as they sat on a balcony overlooking the sunset. “You need to let him go. It’s been years.He's gone and you need to accept it”

But how could she? How could she dismiss the love they had shared, the promises whispered in the dark? Each time YN closed her eyes, she could see Severus—his furrowed brow, the way his lips curled into a half-smile when she teased him. The memories were too vivid, too real. They were the only thing that anchored her to the world, the only thing that kept the shadows at bay.

The days passed, and YN felt the ache in her heart deepen. She wandered through the streets of Positano, searching for something she could not name. Perhaps it was closure, or maybe just a sign that Severus was still alive. She explored the narrow alleys, the vibrant shops, and the azure beaches, all while carrying the weight of her unyielding hope.

Then, on a seemingly ordinary afternoon, everything changed. YN had taken to wandering alone, her heart heavy with the memories that haunted her. She meandered through the bustling market square, the colors and sounds swirling around her like a kaleidoscope of life. She paused by a stall selling handmade jewelry, absentmindedly running her fingers over the delicate pieces. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden hue over everything, and for a moment, she allowed herself to breathe.

But then, as she turned to leave the stall, she collided with someone. The force of the impact sent her stumbling back, and she looked up, ready to apologize to the stranger. But then time seemed to freeze. There, standing before her, was Severus Snape—alive, breathing, and somehow more real than the memories she had clung to for so long.

Her heart raced, a wild tempest of disbelief and hope. But as her eyes traveled down to his hand, the world shattered around her. He was holding the hand of another woman—a stunning brunette with an easy smile and laughter that danced in the air between them. YN felt her heart plummet, the fragile thread of hope she had carried for years snapping in an instant.

Severus looked at her, confusion etched across his features. The moment stretched, the bustling market fading into silence. YN’s breath hitched in her throat, a mix of joy and agony tearing her apart. She wanted to rush into his arms, to feel his warmth envelop her again, but the sight of the other woman kept her rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the pain of betrayal.

“Severus?” The word slipped from her lips like a prayer, a desperate plea for him to explain, to make sense of the scene before her.

The smile faded from his face, replaced by a flicker of guilt. “YN… I—”

But she couldn’t hear him. The world felt as if it were collapsing around her. She had spent years believing he was dead, clinging to the hope that he would one day return to her, and now here he was, a living ghost of her past, with another woman at his side. The anger bubbled within her, mingling with the heartbreak that consumed her.

“Is this why you never came back?” YN’s voice trembled, laced with a hurt that cut deeper than any spell. “You were alive all this time and didn't even come back to me, you wife? Did you choose to leave me behind?”

Severus’s eyes darkened with regret, but YN couldn’t bear to see it. The anguish she felt was all-consuming, a tidal wave of emotions crashing against the fragile dam she had built around her heart. “I waited for you, Severus. I never stopped believing you were out there, that you would come back to me. And now… this?”

“YN, please, it’s not what you think,” he said, stepping toward her, but she recoiled, the distance between them stretching like an unbridgeable chasm.

“Not what I think?” The bitterness in her voice cut through the air, sharp and biting. “You were supposed to be dead! I mourned you! I grieved for the life we could have had, for the love we shared. And now you’re here, holding her hand like I never existed?”

The woman beside him looked between them, confusion evident in her eyes, but YN couldn’t spare her a glance. Her world had narrowed to just Severus, the man she had loved with every fiber of her being, the man who had shattered her heart without a word.

“YN, I had my reasons—”

“Reasons?” She interrupted, her anger boiling over. “Was it worth it? Was it worth leaving me in the dark while you built a new life without me? I thought you loved me.”

“I did love you!” Severus’s voice rose, desperation lacing his words. “And I never stopped loving you or thinking about you, but I had to survive. The war… it changed everything. I thought you were safe, that you could move on without me.”

“Move on?” YN’s laugh was hollow, devoid of humor. “You think I could just forget? You think I could just pretend that you didn’t mean the world to me? You left me with nothing but the ghosts of what we could have been, and now you stand here, alive, with someone else?”

The bitterness spilled from her lips, a torrent of pain that had been building for years. She felt raw and exposed, like a wound that had never healed, and now it was laid bare for him to see. The anguish in her heart felt like a physical weight, pressing down on her chest, suffocating her.

Severus’s expression twisted with regret, his dark eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought you’d be better off without me. I thought I was protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” YN’s voice cracked, the pain evident in every syllable. “You didn’t protect me; you abandoned me. I was left to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart while you… you moved on.You found someone else...”

The silence that followed was deafening. Around them, the world continued to buzz with life—laughter, music, the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore—but for YN, everything had come to a standstill. She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice, staring down into an abyss of despair.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the noise. “I thought I had lost you forever.”

“And I thought you moved on,” Severus replied, his voice heavy with regret. “I never meant for this to happen.”

“But it did happen, Severus.” The tears she had held back for so long began to spill over, a torrent of grief and rage. “You’re here, with.... her, while I was left to drown in my sorrow. You can’t just waltz back into my life and expect me to forget the pain you caused.”

Severus’s expression faltered, a mixture of guilt and longing etched across his features. The woman beside him shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the moment pressing down on them. YN felt the heat of anger mixing with the chill of betrayal, a volatile concoction that threatened to consume her.

“I can’t change the past,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading. “But please, YN, don’t push me away. I still care for you. I always have.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken promises and memories that felt like a lifetime ago. YN looked at him, at the man she had loved fiercely, and felt the ache in her heart deepen. She wanted to believe him, to reach out and bridge the gap that had grown between them. But the reality was too painful, too raw.

“And what about her?” YN’s voice trembled, the bitterness creeping back in. “What am I supposed to do with that? You’ve built a life without me, Severus. It feels impossible to reconcile that with the love we once shared.”

“I never meant for any of this to happen,” he said, anguish etched in every line of his face. “I was lost, and I thought I was doing what was best for you and me.”

YN shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You think abandoning me was what was best? You think I wanted to live in a world where you weren’t there? I was lost too, Severus. I was lost without you.We made a vow, we promised to laways be there for each other, but apparently it meant nothing to you”

The hurt between them was palpable, a chasm that felt insurmountable. YN’s heart ached with the weight of memories that threatened to drown her. She wanted to scream, to rage against the universe that had torn them apart, but all she could do was stand there, feeling the walls close in around her.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the cobblestones, YN felt the flicker of hope extinguish. The world around her was beautiful, but in that moment, it felt like a cruel joke. She had come to Italy seeking solace, but instead, she found herself face-to-face with the man who had become both her salvation and her tormentor.

“I can’t do this,” YN whispered, her voice breaking. “I can’t pretend that everything’s okay when it’s not. I loved you more than anything, but I have to let you go. I have to move on, even if it breaks me... I wish you a really happy life... perhaps better than the one you once had with me....”

With that, she turned away, an instinctive reaction to shield herself from the pain. She couldn’t bear to see him with her, the woman who had become the embodiment of all her fears. It felt like a betrayal—a cruel twist of fate that had stolen her love and replaced it with a bitter reminder of what she had lost.

As she walked away, the tears streamed down her face, each step feeling heavier than the last. The streets of Positano, once vibrant and full of life, felt suffocating, closing in around her as she retreated from the scene that had shattered her world anew.

Behind her, Severus called her name, desperation lacing his voice, but YN didn’t look back. She couldn’t. She had given him everything, only to be left with nothing but the echoes of what once was. The colors of Italy faded into a blur, and as she walked away from the man she had loved, she felt the weight of her heart breaking all over again.

As she reached the edge of the market, the sounds of laughter and joy faded away, replaced by the haunting silence that had become her constant companion. YN had come to Italy to escape her pain, to find a semblance of peace, but instead, she was reminded of the love she had lost and the life that would never be.

In that moment, as she stood alone in a foreign land, she realized that some shadows lingered long after the light had faded. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world into darkness, YN felt the weight of her despair settle heavily upon her shoulders, an unshakeable burden that would follow her wherever she went. She was lost, and the echoes of Severus Snape would forever haunt her heart, a bittersweet reminder of a love that had been both her greatest joy and her deepest sorrow.

[grapejuicestyless]

I’ll Crawl Home To Her

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: There was no distance that could keep Harry from you. Not even the vastest oceans would slow him down. As the holidays near closer and closer, all he really wants is you.

PURE FLUFF

He thinks of her always. A plaguing memory of the last time they spoke, a vivid painting of the way her eyes would crinkle when she smiled. He carried her honey-sweet laughter within him. Her voice the ground beneath his very feet.

He thinks of how lucky he is. To be blessed with someone so soft, so sweet. When he was with her, Harry didn’t seem to ever worry about heaven or hell. All he wished for was to be gently placed beneath the soil. He wished for him to be able to stay there, somewhere he could pull himself from, even in death to find her. Trace the dimples in her back just one last time, feel her lips pressed to his temple just one last time.

He could write all the songs for her, tell everyone just how much his heart yearned for the girl, but no words could describe her fully. Her honest smile and wild hair. If he were to sing it, he was sure nobody would ever be able to picture her right.

She had an aura that could never be captured. A rare beauty no person could ever really swallow fully. The more Harry thinks about it, the more starved he becomes.

He tortures himself with the image of her eyes twinkling in the fairy lights. The tree behind her littered with ornaments they collected from all their adventures together. At first he had wanted a theme for their tree. A color scheme. She insisted it would feel more like home to have it that way. She was always right. No gold and white color coordination could fill him with as much pride as the small plastic figures on the branches would.

He sees her wrapping presents. The thought of her doing it all alone, without the specially curated playlists he made drives him mad. How the kitchen floors are untouched because she’d sworn dancing just wasn’t dancing if it wasn’t with him.

He knows the oven is cold. There are no treats on the counter or glasses of milk on the counter like when he was there. He wishes he could live a life with a job that wasn’t so demanding.

He thinks about the thousands of people begging for his attention. And even in all of their praise and love for him, it’s nothing but a fraction compared to what she provides. Harry decides he can’t take it. He has all the heart to speak of her like she’s all he could ever need, but here he is half the world away, sitting alone in a hotel room with a bottle of wine and Tylenol. She would laugh at him for sure. The thought only motivates him further.

So when he calls her that night, it’s from the airport. He claims it’s the stadium buzz, the usual sound of his team and their own team too. She buys it because he would never lie to her.

When he walks through the door that same night, she doesn’t believe it. How someone so distant could be so close now. And she can’t trust herself until her hands are gripping at his shirt snd her nose is in his neck. Her tears wet his collar and she swears she can feel his running down her shoulder. When she asks him how he’s done it, he answers by telling her how much he loves her. And when she laughs he takes her face in his hands, cradling it delicately and rubbing his thumb to dry her tears.

“Not even death could part me from you. No grave can hold my body down. I’ll crawl home to you.” It’s honest and raw. It’s something that Harry could never have said before. Words he never knew how to say before. He thinks she’ll take his words as crazy, back off and laugh. But she places her hands on his and massages his fingers between hers.

And when she presses a kiss to his palm, he swears he feels more alive than ever.

[nightangle9]

~Foreordain~ (Part-2)

Johan Liebert x Inexperienced!reader

Genre: Oneshot series & Smut Warning: Heavy violence, trauma, NSFW, cunnilingus, OG characters, F/F sex, fingering.

Word Count: 3k

The dipping hot taste of coffee touched my lips as I leaned back against the chair. It had become a routine.

"So, did you have any nightmares since I changed your prescriptions?" said my therapist, her voice monotone as always. I closed my eyes, a soft sigh filling the calm silence of the room. I tried to remember last night's dream but it wasn't that difficult. I don't recall a load from my childhood but the memories I do are too vivid of an ephialte. "It's the same, a deep voice filled with underlying hatred masked by the love for his child. You should've been careful, he says trying to sound calm but his furrowed brows easily gave away his anger. I wish you were never born, he whispered. Again and again, this sentence keeps repeating." I spoke, not being able to meet her eyes as I faced the window of her office.

"I believe you have a profound issue of abandonment trauma from your childhood. If not healed completely it will cause hindrances in your present relationships. It would be best for you to attend therapy sessions regularly every weekend. It would take at least a year for me to completely cure your trauma but I also expect cooperation from your side. Are you ready to begin this journey of letting go, Miss Y/N?" I looked back into her light blue eyes finally, the color still causing me impediment. "Yes, I am."

It had been a year since I last saw Johan that day, my life has changed a lot from then but the mystery behind him still lingers a tingling sensation in my body. Today was my graduation and the day I will finally get to experience the adult world. Of course, I had been of age for a few years now but I never earned money for myself, my aunt was the one looking after me financially. But now as I leave university I would have to earn for myself, take care of myself, and experience true independence. I'm excited yet sad to leave this old version of me behind as I enter upon a new journey. But every soul knows time doesn't stop for anyone and I was never born as an exception.

My feet slow down as I look at the crowd of students gathered inside the hall after the graduation ceremony. My academic tam was seated upon my head and the convocation gown graced the clothes I wore inside, I fit in for the first time. In this place, within these people. I made friends during my time at university but often I never felt resided among them. Maybe it was the way I stood out during parties when people used the opportunity to befriend others while I stuck close to the people I already knew like a child under the shadow of their parents as I sipped my drink awkwardly, always looking down; never being able to meet eyes. Or was it during the times, when we hung out, having a boy approach my three beautiful friends; never once I felt that someone was looking for me. They tried to console me at first but after a while, I noticed they were irritated and annoyed at my insecure behaviour. I never asked them to comfort me in the first place. But it's better than being alone, after all, they were friends before me and they would still be friends after me. I make no difference.

"Y/N!" Romy embraced me in a hug, her dirty blonde hair tickling my face as I wrapped my hands around her. A small smile on my face after a long while, maybe I can try to enjoy this. Her body immediately left my embrace as she heard the voice of 'her' best friend, Zelda. My smile dimmed as they began talking, walking at a pace I was never able to catch up. My eyes looked down as my fingers fidgeted with the strings of my graduation chord. "Hey." The hand reached over my shoulder before the voice could and I knew exactly who it was, Liesel. Liesel Nachtnebel. One of the most beautiful girls at our University, with amber-brown hair and eyes caressing a smile that could seemingly melt away your problems. She was extremely popular on our campus and with that, I still didn't understand why the girl who could get any guy she wanted was in a friends-with-benefits relationship with me.

Her fingertips grazed over my neck, the subtle touch causing my body to tense. "Shh, now this looks exactly indifferent, a friend congratulating another friend as they both graduate. How very innocent and sweet." Her breath tickled on my ear as she spoke. "Come on, hug me just like you did with Romy," she whispered before embracing my body, her lips tracing the side of my neck with her hand trailing inside my robe to squeeze my rear. But she quickly pulled away before purring in my ear with a smile one last time, leaving me with a faint flush. "See you in my bed."

Liesel was the one I was closest to in my little friend group. She was the first to befriend Romy & Zelda who had already become friends at that point. And I was the last to join. It was thankfully to her that I didn't spend my entire Uni-life alone. I remember her approaching me, while I sat under the tree of our campus garden reading some stupid romance novel that she had no idea of but still, she pretended to like romance for my sake. Majority of the period, it was Romy and Zelda who left me out but Liesel, Liesel always took care of me. Just sometimes in unexpected ways.

During the last year of Uni, I begged my aunt to allow me to live in one of the dorm rooms. Feeling left out since I lived away from all of them. To my surprise, the room I was designated to was Liesel's. From then onwards, we developed a sort of closeness that I had with none. But oftentimes, she was not at home. Frequently attending parties, dates, and gatherings. She was popular, of course, so that was expected. Still, after a long day, as I knocked my shoes off at the entrance; the silence of the dorm poked my ears. I had become attached and that attachment led to attraction.

She was beautiful for sure, with her looks, I would consider her one of the most breathtaking humans I've seen...after him. Solemn times I would look at her as she cooked me dinner, my eyes automatically lingering towards her lips. I had never been particularly attracted to women before I saw her, but she cherished me so deeply, I couldn't have helped myself.

The way her soft hands combed my hair so gently after a bath, or when I had accidentally knocked over her favourite vase and hurt my hand trying to clean it. "It's okay. I could never be angry at you." she had assured me, ruffling my hair as she kissed the top of my head. "I love you." she often said that to me in her playful voice and I never understood if she meant it. Although I never said it back.

The day we became intimate for the first time was like any other weekend. She was busy munching on chips, watching her favorite anime that recently got a new season while I was trying to bathe. It was on that day when I had fallen off a chair trying to pick out cereals from the highest cabinet and fractured the bone of my hand. The night was cold and I had filled the tub with warm water to soothe the tension of my ache but washing myself with soap was giving me a hard time as my dominant hand was taped in bandages. Liesel who I believe remembered the incident from the morning, rushed to the bathroom which I had purposely kept unlocked in case of an accident, to my aid.

"Are you crazy?! Why are you trying to bathe by yourself?" she spoke in an almost panicked tone. "Here let me-" she tried to lift my arm towards herself but even the slightest touch resulted in a painful hiss from my lips. "Oh..Y/N I'm so so sorry! Does that hurt? I'm sure it does. Please can I..can I help you? Please. I don't want you to hurt yourself." She said with hesitance in her voice. The girl who typically was stubborn and steadfast suddenly turned so cute when I felt a little pain, I felt so special in that moment. I wanted to have that sight all to myself.

She curled behind me in the bathtub, her soft hands washing my back. Her touch was gentle yet my skin remembered every detail. The way she had taken off her clothes to soak inside the water. The feel of her breasts as they occasionally pressed on my back. It felt too vulnerable, too intimate. Almost like back then...with him. "Liesel." I sighed as her hands rubbed off the soap on my stomach, the touch trailing upwards. "Yes?" she whispered, her lips pressed against my shoulder, almost leaving a subtle kiss that I took notice of. "It feels ticklish." I close my eyes as I lean back against her. "Yeah? Don't worry I'll take care of you. For sure." Her hands had found their way to my chest, her hands groping my breasts and nipping my nipples with her fingers. A soft whimper had left my body at that moment as I looked towards her, her amber eyes dimmed with what seemed to me a reminiscence emotion, Lust. "Get a room." I had whispered.

My hand gripped her brown hair as she dipped her face between my thighs, spreading apart my legs. My broken hand laid on my side as she had helped me out of the tub, doing so all while kissing me. I covered my flushed face with my arm, "Shy?" her finger gazed upon my clit with a feather-like touch. My brows furrow as I plead, "Please." All while maintaining eye contact, her thumb started drawing circles on my clit with a pressure that was a little too hard for my taste, my legs quickly threatened to close. She grabbed the back of my knees and bent down my legs towards me so my knees were almost touching my ears. Her mouth sank down to suck my pussy, her fiery gaze looking at my disheveled surprised one. I whimpered her name in a voice almost too loud. "Pretty girl, is your arm okay?" she looked upon the limb lying on the side. "Y-yeah," I said breathlessly, as she returned to her work. "W-wait! oh my god.." I moaned, biting my lip to control the noise that might alert the neighborhood students. Her tongue entered inside me, and I felt like I was floating in a whole new dimension. My hand quickly came for deference as I covered my mouth, tears urging to run down my cheeks. She guided my legs to wrap around her head as she freed her hand to rub my clit, with my eyes rolling so far back in my head that I thought I would never see daylight again, and my legs shaking and gripping her with such strength that I thought I would choke her. I came down my high. Her beautiful face was covered in my cum and wetness, as she helped me ride down my euphoria. Before sitting straight up and looking at me with the sweetest smile. "Was it good?"

Yeah, it was good for sure...and so was Liesel. She looked at me like an angel with such purity and innocence while her actions told a different story. From the past year, with every chance she had gotten Liesel had never once missed the opportunity to make a mess of me and I am not scared to admit that I enjoy it just as much as her. It made us even closer, like a little secret of just us. With this, I had become even more attached to her. It was not just the fact that she was this good, I had someone at her level. But it was how tenderly she treated me, even though I never felt deserving of her but I couldn't help myself and be selfish, never telling her to stop.

The first time she told me I love you. I was over the moon, my heart beating so fast in my chest like it was about to burst, goosebumps forming over my skin not from the cold but from her sheer words. It was a cold eventful evening as we both stood over a small bridge in some garden of the city. That day she had forcefully made me explore our city with her, and although I was annoyed at first from being woken up early, spending time with her made warmth seed into my heart. She had looked at me playfully after she spoke the words, and I had remembered not understanding the meaning of such simplicity. She had embraced me into a hug, arms wrapped around my neck as she nuzzled her head to my side, a habit of hers she often did. "You mean so much to me, Y/N. My best friend, my partner."

She had called me her best friend, but I only remembered my partner. Hoping that one day I will truly be hers.

In my entire life, I had always pushed people away even when they forcefully tried to enter inside but with her, I felt safe. She felt like the comfort of the home I never had. The one to make me calm, enveloping the butterflies had become his job but he was never found, never seen. Yet, she stayed with me. During the waves of laughter where my stomach hurt, during the tears when my chest hurt, and during the awkwardness of feeling unwanted. I was scared of being left behind, so I never loved anyone but for once can I truly let go of that fear?

I was tired, my feet hurt from the ache of my heels but I couldn't wait to reach home. Liesel, she had planned something for me. My heart thumped in my chest at the thought, could it be? No, I should never get my hopes up. Too much happiness always leads to misery.

I took a deep breath as I reached the front door of the apartment I had recently moved in. And of course, I had given her my password she was welcome at any moment.

I pushed open the front door and saw her dressed in a long beige skirt and a loose black full-sleeved top. She looked beautiful, as always. Standing beside the countertop of the kitchen, making something in a bowl. Her in my house, with my stuff.

"Oh! Y/N oh my god you're finally here. I can't wait to reveal to you what I was planning." She spoke, her voice laced with sweet excitement that made my body tremble from the same. "Look! I was even making cookie dough, chocolate cookies? Your favourite right? I remember." She giggled, her voice filling my body with adoration. "What..is it?" I spoke, my voice was soft and quiet.

"Michael! Come on she is here!" she called out. As my head turned towards the entrance of my room. Michael? Who is Michael?

My mouth was dry, my lips pressed together firmly, my hands clutching my side tightly as I looked upon Michael. Or should I say, Johan?

Light blonde hair, porcelain skin, and light blue eyes that captures your soul like a void. Johan walked out of my room clutching a photoframe in his hand. The same hands that once played with my body.

"You both are quite close, I see." He spoke in that serene voice and I didn't know if to be astounded or longing to hear it after so long. "We both are right, Y/N even he approves of us." she smiled as she walked towards him, one of her hands caressing his face as she pulled him for a kiss.

I-I. I had no idea. Not a single thought at that moment about what was happening in front of me. Why was Johan, the man I had once slept with kissing the girl, I liked? And why was he looking at me as he did so?

She pulled away from the kiss, with a flush on her face that I only saw occasionally and he was able to have such an effect on her from a simple kiss. She took the portrait from his hands, clutching it to her chest, her heart. It was of us. "Yes, Y/N, I'm dating someone. I have..boyfriend. Michael is my boyfriend. I'm sorry about everything that happened between us but I'm in love with Michael and he is in love with me. I wanted to gather here to introduce him to you, in your home, since you have..you know, difficulty in public places. I just want to say goodbye to you and for you to leave me and us alone. I know you have feelings for me but that's your problem and I'm sure you would be able to take of it-"

I was on the verge of having the tears seep out of my eyes before my face was splashed with red. Liesel?

Her body lay numb on the floor, parts of her flesh sprawled on the wooden floor. The photo frame was broken into pieces, and pieces of glass shattered everywhere. My vision was blurry from the previous tears as I looked at my hands, small dots of red tinting them and my face feeling the wetness and smell of what it was. Blood. Liesel's blood.

Johan stood beside her body with a gun in his hand, as he looked at me with a small smile.

"Miss me?"

TAGs: @cloudyspace666 @jkdaddy01 @bucciaratizippers @7urriya @louisamayallcot @ananya21i4 @estrangedlovergonemad

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

Dragon Slaying

Character: Kim Seo-Wan X Fem!reader

summary: You go dragon fighting with Seo-Wan!

Warnings: none

Kim Seo-Wan stood in the center of an enchanted forest, the thick trees towering above him like ancient guardians. His gaze, intense and unwavering, fixed on the clearing ahead. In this world—his world—he was not the quiet, reserved psychiatric patient in the hospital; he was a fearless dragon slayer. His armor, crafted from the scales of past victories, glinted in the soft light filtering through the canopy.

His heart raced with excitement, the thrill of battle coursing through his veins. He’d been fighting dragons for what felt like hours, the satisfaction of each victory never quite enough to quell the desire for more.

He turned, his eyes softening as they fell on you, standing behind him. You wore no armor, but your presence was no less powerful. In this world, you were by his side, though you didn’t know what to make of his fervent belief that dragons roamed the world. Still, you stood beside him, your own heart conflicted. You, too, were lost in your own way—fighting a battle of your own, one that felt like an endless struggle with depression, much like his battle with his delusions.

But here, in the wilds of his delusional world, you were not just a patient. You were his companion, a fellow warrior, ready to face whatever threats this realm had to offer.

"Are you ready?" Seo-Wan asked, his voice full of conviction.

"Ready for what?" you asked, half-amused, half-nervous.

"To fight dragons," he said, grinning as he strapped a leather gauntlet onto his arm, the metal plates clinking together. "I can’t do it alone. I need you."

Your chest tightened. There was something so innocent in his plea, so sincere. In his mind, you weren’t a woman struggling with depression. You weren’t a psychiatric patient who felt like she was floating in a fog. In this world, you were his equal. A warrior by his side.

"You… want me to fight dragons?" you asked, a faint smile pulling at your lips despite the gravity of the situation. "You really think I can handle that?"

Seo-Wan’s eyes softened, the excitement still present but tinged with something gentler. "I know you can. Together, we’ll defeat them all. Just like we’re supposed to."

Your heart squeezed, a strange sense of warmth filling you. For a moment, the hospital walls, the therapy sessions, the endless routines—all of it faded away. There was only this fantasy world, with its wild battles and ancient creatures. There was only Seo-Wan, your unlikely companion, believing in you when you couldn’t believe in yourself.

You took a deep breath and nodded. "Alright. I’ll go dragon fighting with you."

Seo-Wan’s grin was immediate and dazzling, his face lighting up with joy. He raised his sword high, the blade catching the sunlight like a beacon of hope. "Yes! Let’s go, then. We have dragons to slay!"

You followed him through the dense forest, the sound of your footsteps mingling with the distant roars of dragons echoing through the trees. The world seemed surreal, the colors more vivid, the air richer with possibility. For once, you didn’t feel like a mere bystander in your own life. Here, in this delusional realm, you had purpose.A roar shattered the air ahead of you, and Seo-Wan’s face lit up with a mix of thrill and determination. "There! We’ve found one!"

He charged forward, his sword raised in anticipation. You hesitated only for a moment before following suit, your heart pounding with both fear and excitement. You were in this together now, after all.

The dragon appeared in a burst of flames, its scales shimmering in the sun. It was massive, a creature of legend, with eyes like molten lava and wings that cast shadows over the forest floor. Seo-Wan moved with the grace of someone who had fought this battle a thousand times, but you… you were new to this world, new to this fight.

But Seo-Wan didn’t hesitate. He swung his sword, narrowly missing the dragon’s flank as it whipped around. The fire from its nostrils lit the air, but Seo-Wan’s focus was unwavering. He turned to you, his eyes glinting. "We do this together."

Something inside you shifted. Maybe it was his belief in you. Maybe it was the pull of this strange world. Whatever it was, you found yourself moving beside him, sword raised high, ready to face the dragon at his side.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel alone.

---Hours later, when the dragon was finally defeated, Seo-Wan stood tall, his face flushed with excitement. He turned to you, his smile wide and proud.

"You did it," he said, breathless but overjoyed. "We did it."

You could feel the rush of victory, the thrill of the battle, but beneath it all was a quiet, overwhelming feeling of connection. For all the chaos and confusion of this world, you had shared something with him—a moment of strength that was all your own.

And in that strange, delusional world, maybe that was enough.

---Back in the hospital, the sterile walls, the soft ticking of the clock, and the flicker of fluorescent lights would return. But in that moment, as Seo-Wan sat by your side, quietly content, you realized something you hadn’t before.

Even in his delusions, Seo-Wan had given you something precious. He had reminded you that you weren’t defined by your depression. You weren’t just a patient, and you weren’t just a survivor of your own struggles. You were, in that fleeting moment, a warrior.

And maybe that was enough.

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Vil Schoenheit - Playful Dress Vignette

"I was able to witness such a rare sight"

[Playful Land – Bazaar]

Puppet: Come By, Come And See! Would You Like A Playful Land Souvenir!?

Vil: …...

Vil: Well, I thought I would get some souvenirs for those back at school, but…

Vil: These accessories, medals, and mugs… aren't really gifts I would give others.

Vil: Oh, is this… a badge? It's small, I do like how prettily the gold shines.

Vil: This may be a perfect find. Could you wrap this up for me?

Puppet: Of Course!

Jade: Oh my, Vil-san. I thought you would be exploring the park, but have you turned to souvenir shopping already?

Vil: That's right. I spotted some lockers earlier, so I thought I would use those until we leave.

Jade: I hadn't noticed there were lockers available.

Jade: I planned on leaving souvenir shopping for later, but if that is the case, then I suppose it won't be a bother to shop for some now.

Vil: Well, if you weren't over here for souvenirs in the first place, why did you come this way?

Jade: Me? Something rather fascinating happened to have caught my eye…

Vil: Something fascinating?

Jade: Indeed, take a look at these.

Vil: These are… fashion accessories?

Jade: Yes. These are character hats, character headbands, and other various accessories that can be worn around the park.

Vil: A hat with fox ears, a scrunchie with a small cat figure attached to it…

Vil: There are even sunglasses with frames that look like a silhouette of a fox.

Vil: So, you like these kinds of character merchandise? That's actually rather surprising.

Jade: WELL, YES, ABSOLUTELY! Although, I haven't had much luck purchasing any since I left the Coral Sea.

Jade: Unfortunately, it's quite difficult to coordinate outfits with these kinds of poppy and cutesy merch…

Jade: I wonder if there is anyone out there who could suit such specialized character accessories.

Jade: If they did exist, I would love for them to show me how they'd wear it, but I'm sure that's easier said than done.

Jade: …That would be much too convenient, right?

Vil: You... I'm more than certain you are lying through your teeth when you say you like such cute merch.

Vil: Does this mean you've come all the way to this shop to try to get a rise out of me? What a charming personality you have.

Jade: Oh, my. A lie…? Nonsense. Please believe me, Vil-san.

Vil: I assume you're only here to try to see me struggle matching those accessories to my outfit.

Vil: Allow me to show you just how fundamentally flawed your scheme is.

Vil: After all, our knowledge and experience are nowhere near the same.

Vil: Well then, first… Ah, I'll start with the sunglasses.

Vil: My current outfit has a base black color, with a purple focus and red accents.

Vil: I do not want to upset the balance of these colors. With that in mind, I would choose this one.

Jade: Those sunglasses have such a vivid red frame… So you chose it based off your accent color instead of the base color.

Vil: Yes, of course. The face is the most prominent part of your body, so it would be a waste to frame it with a color as muted as my base color.

Vil: Next are the earrings. Since we don’t want it to clash with the sunglasses, here we would choose a subtle gold or white gold shimmer.

Vil: The scrunchie should be an eye-catching pink that doesn't take too much attention away from the sleeves.

Vil: I'd match the backpack to purple, and attach plenty of charms to it, within reason.

Jade: …Wonderful. Although you are decorated in character goods from head to toe, your refined presence still shines strong.

Vil: Naturally. Character goods like this are just another facet of fashion, so as long as you keep to the fundamentals, you can't go wrong.

Vil: Specifically, one must always be aware of the color balance. You cannot simply throw everything on without any thought.

Jade: I see, this has been a wonderful learning experience. I shouldn't expect anything less from someone like you.

Vil: Obviously. There isn't a fashion item in the world that I would not be able to put to good use.

Vil: …Or is that too much of a boast? Fufu.

Jade: This was astounding. By the way, may I…

Vil: No photos.

Jade: Ah, I see. That is a shame.

Vil: Well, I've finished choosing my souvenirs, so I'll be off. Goodbye, then.

Jade: …Yes, I'll see you later.

[Playful Land – Gentle Square]

Vil: Playful Land truly is large.

Vil: There's the Catch the Star wheel, an Undersea Walk… As well as a Brawl Bungalow.

Vil: I would love to visit every attraction I haven't been able to check out yet, but there may not be enough time.

Jade: Indeed. Taking into account what free time we have remaining, I would think we could perhaps look into 2 or 3 attractions.

Vil: I concur. That may be the case, especially considering the crowds.

Vil: …Also, Jade, I thought we sent our separate ways back at the bazaar. Why are you still following me?

Jade: I simply thought it would be more exciting to stick with you, Vil-san, than look around on my own. I have no ulterior motives.

Vil: …Honestly, I absolutely cannot believe that. Especially with how much of an innocent front you're displaying.

Vil: Well, no matter. I was just thinking about actually finding some activities to enjoy here at Playful Land.

Vil: And, well, you've an abundance in forethought, so you may not be a terrible companion.

Vil: If you absolutely must, you may join me.

Jade: Thank you very much.

Vil: There is a certain place I would like to go. Let's head there.

[Playful Land – Expedition Whale]

Vil: We've arrived.

Jade: This is…

Vil: Expedition Whale, the largest roller coaster in this amusement park.

Vil: Obviously, we cannot pass up the main attraction. Come, the line is over here.

Jade: Wait a moment, Vil-san. Why don't we visit the Brawl Bungalow first?

Vil: …Huh? Why? The roller coaster is right in front of us.

Vil: You want us to head towards the Brawl Bungalow from here, and then turn all the way around to come back here? I think that is a complete waste of time.

Jade: No, I… The line for the roller coaster is rather long, so I thought perhaps waiting for our turn may be a waste of our time.

Jade: If we use that potential waiting time to visit another attraction, perhaps we could be able to enjoy an additional one…

Vil: …Sigh.

Vil: You know, Jade. I'll only say this once. I gave you permission to "follow me if you must."

Vil: I never said you could direct me anywhere. I don't want there to be any misunderstandings.

Jade: Right, my apologies. Only, if we consider our limited time remaining…

Vil: Oh… And here I thought you would back off because I was a little sterner there. How odd.

Vil: I don't think you rather look to be that interested in the Brawl Bungalow, either. It's as if you are trying to avoid the roller coaster entirely.

Vil: I'm sure it absolutely isn't the case, but… Could it be that you're attempting to avoid the roller coaster because you're scared…?

Vil: That couldn't possibly be the case, right, Jade?

Jade: Of course not. To tell you the truth, I am simply worried for you, Vil-san.

Jade: It seems as though the roller coaster will splash us with water in the end…

Jade: I couldn't help but be concerned for your beautiful makeup. We wouldn't want it to run.

Vil: Mmhmm. If you say so. Uh-huh…

Vil: If my makeup runs, I just have to fix it.

Vil: Is that all you have? Come on, let's go.

Vil: Well, now… The coaster is about to move. Are you ready, Jade?

Jade: Ready? I'm not entirely sure what you mean… I am still fraught with worry for you, Vil-san.

Jade: I must at least be prepared to shield you, after all, in case your makeup runs.

Vil: You truly don't ever stop speaking. …But I wonder, how long will you be able to keep it up?

[clank, clank, clank…]

Vil: Look Jade, the view is breathtaking. We can see the whole of Playful Land.

Jade: Yes, truly… It is very high… And from this height, I assume we're about to…

[clank!!]

Jade: URK…!?

Vil: …Heh.

[RRRRRGGGGGGOOOOORRR!!]

[SPLASSSH!!]

Vil: Ahh, that was a superb thrill…!

Vil: Rollercoasters this long and thrilling are completely out of the ordinary.

Vil: But, I'm quite elated to have been able to experience such a one-of-a-kind attraction. On top of that…

Vil: I was able to witness such a rare sight: Jade, speechless.

Vil: I'm sure you tagged along, hoping to find some reason to rib me… I'm sorry it didn't work out for you.

Jade: …...

Jade: …Oh no, I am just the same as ever. That was a enjoyable coaster.

Jade: However, perhaps I would like to refrain from riding it for a little while…

Vil: Oh, have you recovered already? I guess I should at least commend your moxie.

Vil: We're moving on to the next attraction, Jade. I'm nowhere near satisfied yet.

Requested by @farfalla049.

[transgenderer]

i really like the "mimesis as make-believe" take on myth, that thinking of them as like "true" or "false" is missing the point. like, yes, they're not true, but they arent really intended as truth claims, they're intended as imagination devices, for imagining a story with particular vividness. but they predate the notion of fiction as like, a discrete section in the bookstore. their use and function is perpendicular to the "true story based on evidence"/"false story somebody made up" divide. their truth value is, for their purpose, simply not important! its like asking about the color of a hammer! sure, theres reasons to care about what color your hammer is. but if you ask someone what color their hammer's handle is, theres a good chance they dont remember, because it doesn't

and imagining is valuable not just because it's fun, but because it can allow you to understand something better! the mechanism here is somewhat unclear but also kind of undeniable. reading a story about some concept often makes you feel you understand it better afterwards, without the story making any truth claims on that topic. because imagining requires you to...draw in, marshal up, organize and direct your knowledge of the world, to construct the imagining, and that process lets you form new connections between things

[jarofstyles]

FICTOBER DAY 12- In My Dreams

FICTOBER Prompt list/masterlist

Patreon

-----

Y/N felt like she had seen a ghost as she looked up in the coffee shop. 

Her job was nice. Making coffee for passive aggressive soccer mom’s wasn’t the highlight of her day, but getting to be out in town and greet her regulars was always a fun time for her. Y/N was a dreamer, but dreaming didn’t make life free- so she had ended up getting a job at the most tolerable place she could find until she could lift her feet off the ground and meet her head in the clouds where all her dreams reside. 

Dreams were a big thing for her. So vivid, so real, especially since moving to the next state over where rent was cheaper and cost of living just slightly less terrifying. The city hadn’t cut it and she needed a place to start over, so returning to suburban life had been a no brainer. Her entire life she had dreams, odd ones, some that plain old scared her, but lately they’d been some of the best she’d ever had. 

Her dreams consisted of going out and living her dream life as an author, only this time it felt real. It felt like she escaped from her daily life by going to sleep. It was odd, and she knew she should probably see a professional from how attached she was to her dream life, but she couldn’t see the harm. She spent days at this cafe as a customer instead, sipping her iced hazelnut coffees and getting a cinnamon bun while she worked on the manuscript, editing, plotting for new books in her head. 

She had a cat in her dreams, one she had always wanted- a flame point ragdoll that let her put tiny pink bows on the top of her head that she named Miffy after her favorite cartoon rabbit. Her new apartment had a large multicolored rug and a view of the downtown, high ceilings and a fireplace. She still didn’t know how it was always turned on when she returned home in dreamland- but she figured it was because of her dream boyfriend. 

Oddly enough, she didn’t know his name. She knew his face, his green eyes and longer nose. She knew his pink mouth and how it tasted, how gentle it could press kisses to her eyelids before she woke up into her real life. She knew his touch, how it was slightly cool and his hands were soft, stroking over her cheek as she told him about her ideas and plans and when she sometimes cried about not wanting to wake up. 

Her dream life was her escape, her wishes come true, and it somehow made the real thing both more tolerable and more hated. Her brain must be giving her a break, but she had no idea how she had made up this man in such detail. To the way he liked his coffee, to his preference in cinnamon to peppermint gum. How he disliked the color coral but loved a soft orange, even choosing it for their shared bedspread. He had become such a fixture in her thoughts that it had begun to ache when she woke up, not seeing him next to her in her bed that wasn’t the one she had fallen asleep in. Y/N’s world just felt somnolent without his arm wrapped around her waist and his gentle humming as she drifted off to ‘sleep’, as much as she tried to fight it. Her eyes always opened anyways. 

H. That’s his name, or at least what he had told her. The dynamic would drive anyone else insane- it even did for her- but she knew that one day she could have something like that. 

He was the sweetest thing, sweeter than cherry pie. A man of few words, simply asking about her day in a hushed voice, questioning her about her likes and dislikes, telling her some trivial facts about him and kissing right between her brows when she came to him with a history question for her historical romance pieces. He said he was a historian, but he was brilliant. Almost as if he had lived through some of the events, retelling portions with passion and giving her real insight into what he believed it would be like for someone at that time. 

An odd man, but someone who she wished desperately was real. 

“Y/N, that guy outside is staring at you.” 

Her coworker interrupted her daydream as she waited for the milk to finish frothing. The trickle of chills slivered down her back as she turned her head to the side in time to see a man walking inside, the chime of the shop bells ringing as the door opened up. 

It felt like her breath was stolen as he stepped past the welcome mat, a hand clad with rings that looked like a picture she knew of brushed through pushed back curls. Her hand shook slightly as she struggled to turn off the milk frother, blinking repeatedly as he approached the counter. Despite the sunglasses, she felt his eyes. They were intense, boring into hers behind the filmed lenses, her stomach twisting and body cold as he finally stood at the counter, plushy lips opening to place an order- but when the glasses came down and those all too familiar green eyes met her own, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. 

What the actual fuck was happening? 

“Vanilla latte, please. With a shot of caramel creamer.”

 His voice was the same, soft and deep as he recited the order she already knew by heart. One she prepared in her dreams a million times- but this was not a dream. Not even if she wished it was. There was a specific euphoric feeling in her dreams and this was not that. Her feet were firmly planted on the ground, even if her head perhaps floated too high.  She knew by the aching of her feet and her splitting headache from the squeaks of the coffee machines and blenders going all day, there was no way this was her dream world. It was just her dream man standing in front of her, eyeing her in a way to say he knew. His eyes were expressive, like they could see into her head. And he knew she was freaking out, but trying to stay calm. 

“I’ve seen you…. You’ve been in my dreams.” Her voice whispered across the counter, her trembling fingers typing the order into the pad as her eyes stayed on his own. “Or I’m crazy.” 

That seemed like the more plausible option, but somehow… she knew she wasn’t.

“You’re not crazy.” He replied, placing the money for his drink into her hand. “You get off in twelve minutes. I’ll wait for you.” 

[wannabepoeticischiya]

if I can stop one heart from breaking

[ 11 ] — the present

⟵ prev | master list |

He existed in the morning dew, in the afternoon haze, within the illusions of twilight. He was there. In the silence of midnight, in the wake of dawn... he was there.

Hoshina Soushiro was everywhere... except right here. He existed in every corner of the cosmos—just not in the space beside her.

If only you did not come to me that day… if only you had left me to this cruel fate.

Everything in Tokyo was too bright. The sun, the buildings, the people… like they were left in eternal autumn; shaded every color lighter, every color brighter than what they should be.

Echoes of sound rang from every corner, meandering from one street onto another. Chatters of everyday life drifted into the horizons of the sky—the same blue canvas she had been cradled under nearly seven years ago. When the space beside her wasn’t so… cold. A rift in time that felt surreal, nothing but a momentary reverie. So short lived one would wonder if it really did happen.

Everything in Tokyo was too loud. There existed no orchestra of trees, no singing waters, not even the rhythmic thuds of wood parrying one another. Only the frantic footfalls from the rush hours, beeping of the pedestrian crossing lanes, blares of the trains passing by.

It was a world riddled in chaos—a world in ruin, but there were no people laughing. The promise of a happy life at the price of nothing was nothing but a make-believe. An illusion of hope conjured by those who have yet to witness the cruelty of reality. Or those who shouldered the weight of it all only to realize that people who swore to share the weight will leave them to be crushed, barely held together by a thread that was ready to break.

Everything in Tokyo... felt out of reach. Here, in this place where humans were so close to touch. Galaxies were nearer. Black holes pulling it closer all together, all at once, but never enough to destroy. The scenery before her looked more like a dream. A distant fantasy blurring between the lines of sadness and anger.

Him—just like everything else in this godawful city… he was far too vivid.

Everywhere she goes, he was there.

A poster. A billboard. Someone with the same height. An image of him that would disappear when the light turned green, and vehicles would swarm the highways. The song that would play in the local convenience store. A knife lying on the kitchen island. He was there.

In every little thing… he was there.

The air was cold; summer nearing its end. She didn't know if the breeze was a gentle caress to soothe her aching heart or if it was a ruse—a reminder that his warmth will never return to her. That she'll spend autumn and winter and spring and all the seasons after that feeling like all the stars have disappeared.

Maybe, it has. Maybe, when he decided to walk away from her, he took all the lights that hung in the sky. Maybe, the moment he told her to stop loving him, he plunged the heavens into infinite darkness.

One would think that after all these years he would be nothing but an echo. A buzz in the thundering events of daily life—one wave in the finite vastness of the ocean. A lone cloud painted on the canvas of the sky.

But he remained.

A melody in an endless tune, dust motes that littered the air, the scent of violet that followed like daylight.

He existed in the morning dew, in the afternoon haze, within the illusions of twilight.

He was there.

In the silence of midnight, in the wake of dawn… he was there.

Hoshina Soushiro was everywhere… except right here.

He existed in every corner of the cosmos—just not in the space beside her.

Perhaps, it wouldn’t hurt as much—that maybe we’d be alright… even if we were not lovers.

Her fingers curled around cold metal, heaving the heavy object over her shoulder, walking over to the edge of the tall wall. Away from the sight of the city. The reminder of him and all his empty promises. Letting the curtain fall over the cabinet that housed his achievements; announced his priorities.

“This is Captain [Name], requesting permission for limiter removal.”

Because he surrendered.

“Copy that, releasing in three… two… one…”

He grew tired.

Unleashed Combat Power—93 Percent.

And he gave up.

Uehara [Name] gave all that she could. In every waking moment, she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders: his dreams, her family’s expectations, what society had wanted from her. Those moons that have passed them by, only once did she voice out that she had enough. Only once did she ask if she could still take it. Just once did she gather the courage to say what she really felt—that it was heavy and it hurt, that she was tired.

Just one time, out of the many times that she could have given it all up, but she didn’t.

Turns out, it only took him one time, too… to throw it all away. To leave and never come back.

[Name] needed him to fight for them that night—in that moment—because she was exhausted from fighting alone.

Just one time, she grew weary… and he left.

Is that what your love is like, Soushiro? How could you give up so easily? How could you not find a reason to stay?

“You’re clear for fire, Captain.”

Was it not enough that I loved you too?

The weapon in her arm grew heavy, even after years of training her body to reach past its limits… it never felt lighter—not her weapon nor the feeling withering in her chest. No matter how many times she pulled the trigger or how many people she met, she remained behind an invisible wall. Restless nights from the cramps of her muscles. The aches of her heart.

At some point, I wanted to believe we could always be together wherever I ended up. But I realize just how selfish that sounds. Maybe that’s what I am. A cruel, heartless liar. The person who deserves you the least. Who comes last in your list of priorities. The last thought. Last resort. The failsafe. And it’s okay… so long as I’ll have you. Turns out you didn’t have room for me in your heart, but I tried to be greedy for once.

It was all the same.

A wall of fire erupted from the distance, vaporizing the waters of the ocean. Skies of the summer season were always curtained by the unending parade of clouds, now they circled around the body of the obliterated kaiju.

Streams of fiery sunlight pierced through the haze, flowing down on the cold metal wrapped around her finger. Tarnished under the care of time.

If I could have stopped your heart from breaking… maybe, I could have saved mine too.

Thank you all so much for your support! It really means a lot <33 This story has been a rollercoaster of emotions, even for me! It took me all of summer break to write this because I was sitting around watching fruits basket (it was posted on ao3 first 🥰) the comments and hearing other people's thoughts really make me happy 😁 I cannot thank you enough for reading this one-shot expanded story, it really was meant to be a one-shot, honest🤚 I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I had fun TEARS, THE LITERAL TEARS, THE SCREAMS, THE PAINFUL HEARTACHE OF WRITING THE HAPPY SCENES KNOWING I WAS GONNA HURT THEM, THE JAWBREAKING GRIN I HAD WHEN I WAS KICKING AND GIGGLING, AND THE REALIZATION THAT IT WASN'T GONNA END HAPPILY writing it 😇🙏

If you're interested, see my other works🧺🤗

Preview: had I not seen the stars

The worst part of it all was that I still remember it. I still remember your love. I walk around this damned city remembering it all. I'm going to live in a universe you've left me in. And I'm going to die in a universe you've loved me in.

[icecreamandpizzawrites]

For The Love Of Kasumi

Dressed in her favorite pajamas, Rosie snuggled against her aunt's side. Bedtime stories were a nightly ritual for the young girl, especially when her Aunt Misty was babysitting her. Her eyes locked on the open book in her aunt's lap, she took in the vivid illustrations and colors depicted in an ancient block-print style, detailing the story of a young woman named Kasumi waiting for her love to return. It had started as an old Cerulean City legend told by sailors, but it had become one of her favorite storybooks.

Rosie had always believed Kasumi to be as beautiful as a princess with her sun-kissed skin, dark brown hair, and eyes as blue as the ocean she loved. Her love, Toshi, was tan from days spent in the sun with hair as black as night and eyes as brown as chocolate.

Her aunt's voice soothed her as she recalled the tale of Kasumi, who'd fallen in love with Toshi when they were young. The two dreamed of traveling the world together and training pokémon, but Kasumi's family obligations kept her home, so the Toshi journeyed on without her.

As the Toshi grew older, the distance he traveled grew further, and his time away grew longer. The villagers whispered behind Kasumi's back, scoffing when she turned down suitors of equal or higher status. Her family tried to marry her off to another young man in the village, but she refused. Her heart belonged to someone else, and she stuck up her nose, claiming that her love would one day return to her for good.

"When will you return?" Her aunt read, her voice warm and comforting to match that of Kasumi's. After months of being gone, Toshi finally returned home for a visit, but no sooner than he arrived did he have to leave again. Kasumi was always grateful when he visited, but she longed for the day when he came home for good.

"Soon, but never too long," Toshi replied, his smile as warm as the sun beating down on them. "I am a ship traveling the seas, and you are my harbor. Your love is the light always guiding me back home. I am so close to finding the legendary Zacian, and when I do, I promise to return home to you."

The two embraced one last time before Toshi set off, promising to return home soon.

Years passed and Kasumi's faith grew shaky as she waited for her love to return, her doubt coiling like an ekans around her heart.

The night was cool and the sky clear when she traveled to the cape overlooking the ocean. Light shining from the lighthouse illuminated the sea below, capturing a lone boat in the distance. Recognizing the boat, she rushed down the hill and to where the ocean met the land. As the boat crashed onto the shore, Toshi rushed to meet her. He scooped her up in his arms and spun her around, her feet gliding across the sand. When he put her down, he rested his forehead against hers, pressed a pokéball into her hand, and whispered the words she'd longed to hear.

"I'm home."

Rosie sighed as her aunt closed the book and set it aside. "That's my favorite story."

Misty giggled, pulling her closer. "That's what I've heard. It's a beautiful story. It was one of my favorites when I was your age."

Rosie's eyes lit up. "Really?" Misty nodded, and Rosie smiled back. She'd always known there was a reason Misty was her favorite aunt. Slumping down, Rosie nestled her head onto Misty's lap and closed her eyes, letting the feeling of her aunt gliding her fingers through her hair lull her to sleep. Her breathing slowly evened out, and she felt herself falling asleep before a sudden thought crossed her mind.

"I hope I meet a boy like that one day."

Misty held back a snort of laughter. "I think you're a little young for that, Rosie," she replied as she ruffled the girl's hair. "But one day, when you're older, maybe you will."

"Just like you, right?" Rosie bobbed her head, satisfied with Misty's answer. "Mommy said that you were like the lady in the story."

Misty furrowed her eyebrows. "What?"

Rosie leaned forward and grabbed the book from the nightstand. She placed it on Misty's lap and opened it to her favorite page, the one with the illustration of when Toshi and Kasumi reunite. Pointing at the picture, she explained, "Mommy said you're waiting for a boy you love to come back so you can be together. Just like Kastumi."

"Oh."

Rosie turned and looked at her expectantly. "Do you think he'll come back, Aunt Misty?"

"I don't know," she whispered.

Misty sat at the kitchen counter, burying her feelings in ice cream while trying not to think about what Daisy's seven-year-old daughter had said.

Was she really like the woman in the story? Had she really become those women she used to scoff at for wasting away their lives for a man? Sure, she was still a romantic, but she was also realistic. But what about guys like Georgio who had asked her out? Hadn't she rejected them, claiming she just wasn't ready to date yet? Had that just been an excuse to justify what she'd really been doing the whole time?

Misty shook her head. 

No.

She was not going to let herself believe that. And she certainly wasn't going to let Daisy's thoughts get to her. She'd gotten over her feelings for him, and not once had he given any indication that he felt the same way. This was just some fable her niece had come up with based on one misguided comment Daisy had made. There was absolutely no truth to it.

Misty sighed. She could try to fight it, but...

The front door opened, followed by the tapping of Daisy's heels and the low whisper of her and Tracey's voices as they talked. When they walked into the kitchen and saw Misty seated at the counter, their conversation came to a stop.

"Hey, Misty," Daisy greeted her as she walked toward the cabinets to grab a drink. "Thanks again for watching Rosie. It's been so long since we've been on a date, so Trace and I owe you big time."

Misty nodded. "Sure, no problem."

While Tracey went to check on Rosie, Daisy poured herself a glass of wine and sat across from Misty. "Is she asleep? She didn't cause you too much trouble, did she?"

"No, she was perfect," Misty replied. She'd babysat Rosie a few times before, and every time the little girl was a little angel. "But she did tell me something very interesting."

Daisy raised her eyebrows. "Oh yeah? Was it about pokémon? She's been really into Trace's old watcher books."

I wish, Misty sighed internally. "No. We were reading that story she loves, Kasumi's Love. The one about the woman who waits for that guy she loves to come back?" Daisy nodded, taking a sip of her drink. "Anyways, when we were done reading, she told me this crazy story about how you told her that I'm like the woman in the story."

"Well, yeah," Daisy stated matter-of-factly. "You kind of are."

Misty furrowed her eyebrows and gripped her bowl tighter. "What? You're kidding, right? It's a story, Daisy. It's not real. Where did you even come up with that crazy idea?"

Daisy frowned, looking slightly offended. "Uh, news flash, Baby Sis, it may be a story, but you're living it. Can you honestly sit there and tell me you haven't dropped everything to go to Pallet Town the second you hear your little boyfriend's coming home?"

"He's not my boyfriend!" Misty hissed. "He's my friend"-probably her best friend if she was honest- "who I happen to miss when he's gone, so sue me!"

Daisy waved her off, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You know I love you, right?" Daisy waited for Misty to reply, but she refused to say anything. Whenever Daisy started a sentence like that, it was usually followed by some unsolicited advice. "I remember when you left home, shouting about how you wouldn't come back until you were a water pokémon master. Well, it's been eleven years, and you're nowhere close."

Misty glared, her teeth clenched. "Are you trying to make me feel bad? I run a gym, Daisy, remember? One that you guys dumped on me! It's a full-time job. I don't exactly have time to chase my dreams, but if I could, trust me, I'd be out of here in a second."

Daisy was undeterred by her anger. She took another sip of her drink before placing it on the counter. "Okay, then go."

"But - "

Daisy cut her off. "No, no excuses. I've offered to take over for you hundreds of times. So why are you still here?"

"Because I single-handedly rebuilt this gym's reputation, and I refuse to let you, Lily, and Violet destroy it."

"Blah, blah, blah, move on already. That excuse is getting old. You should really try to come up with something new."

Misty went wide-eyed. "What?"

"You heard me. Blah, blah, blah. Old excuse...Just sitting here, waiting for your li-"

Misty clenched her fists, wanting nothing more than to throttle Daisy. If her sister had just kept her mouth shut, none of this would have happened. "I was really happy, and then you guys had to go and ruin everything with your stupid trip around the world. And now you're giving me crap for taking responsibility?"

"No," Daisy firmly replied. "I will never forget the sacrifice you made. I'm giving you crap for sitting around here waiting. My baby sister doesn't sit around and wait for people to tell her if it's okay to do something or when she can do it. She just does it. It's okay to be scared, Misty, but sitting around and waiting here? You're not going to find any answers."

Misty sighed. For a few minutes, she let herself really think about what Daisy said.

Why was she still here?

She wasn't lying when she said that she didn't trust her sisters to run the gym, but Daisy had grown-with her assistance-into a decent battler, and she had Tracey to help her. If allowed to go after the dreams she'd put aside, she could part ways with the gym. It would be scary to leave behind her life for the last seven years, but she really missed traveling. For once, she could be the one who did the leaving.

But she couldn't leave. If she left, he wouldn't know where to find her.

Daisy watched her as she opened her mouth to say something but quickly closed it when the words got stuck in her throat. She could admit the truth to herself, but could she really say it out loud? Once it was out there, she couldn't take it back; she'd be using the last excuse she had for staying at the gym so long.

Before she could protest, Daisy filled another glass with wine and pushed it over to Misty. Wordlessly, Misty took a swing of the glass before setting it to the side. With her head resting in the cradle of her arms, she groaned in annoyance.

Damn it.

Just call her Kasumi because Daisy was right.

[clioerato]

Spn Hogwarts AU [7]

Part [1] | [2] | [3] | [4] | [5] | [6] | [7] | ...

I have a Hogwarts AU in my head where Sam Winchester is the Ravenclaw prefect, and Gabriel is the ghost of a Slytherin student who leads a quiet existence while pulling pranks like Peeves. AO3

Sam is a deeply selfless boy. He knows that existing as a ghost is far from fun. It’s more akin to torment, really—ghosts don’t sleep, they can’t fully interact with the world, and they’re incapable of forming real attachments. And if they do form a bond with someone, they’re doomed to watch that person age and die while they remain unchanged, alone.

Many ghosts band together into spectral flocks just to keep from losing their sense of self—but Gabriel… Gabriel was never really one for that. So yes, as a ghost, Gabriel still plays his tricks and laughs at people’s expense, but Sam understands—it’s not living. At some point, Sam offers to set Gabriel free. There’s an ancient banishment ritual—complex, powerful, and draining—that could allow Gabriel to finally move on. Sam’s heart breaks at the thought, but it’s his seventh year. He’s leaving Hogwarts. Gabriel, bound to the castle, cannot follow. And Gabriel? He doesn’t want to lose himself. So together, they agree to perform the ritual.

It requires everything. Maybe Sam nearly dies in the process. Maybe he gives up ten years of his life to fuel it. By all accounts, it should work.

But it doesn’t.

... Every wizard born with a soulmark carries a kind of promise—an unbreakable agreement between magic and the self, that one day, their destined person will appear. Gabriel had one. (Yes, the age difference between him and Sam—had Gabriel survived—would have been significant, anywhere from fifteen to thirty years. But magical lifespans are different. Remember Dumbldore.) And Gabriel’s death… should never have happened. It’s a knot in the fabric of magic, a paradox, an explosion of impossibility. Sam, it turns out, has a soulmark too. Only his is so faint, so translucent, he’s always believed it to be nothing more than a birthmark. He’s seen real soulmarks before—bold, vivid, like ink pressed into skin. His never looked like that. Gabriel is a paradox—and that’s why he’s still here. Not quite a ghost. More like a fragment of a soul, suspended in the world. The problem is: soulmark recognition happens through touch. The moment your soulmate touches you, the mark changes color. But Gabriel doesn’t have a body. He can’t touch Sam. So when Sam attempts the ritual—to release Gabriel, to grant him peace—it fails. Because Gabriel’s soul refuses to let go.

(The only way Sam can set him free… is through that contact. And ghosts can’t be touched. Sam doesn’t know he’s Gabriel’s soulmate. But he learns that Gabriel had a soulmark—and that changes everything about how he approaches saving him. Still, Sam’s heart breaks all over again. Because suddenly, the person he loved more than life itself… has someone meant for him. And that hurts even more than the first time he decided to let Gabriel go.)

It takes months—three full months buried in the Hogwarts library, plus a few very dangerous trips to the shadowy corners of Knockturn Alley—before Sam begins to understand. The only way to fix this… …is to go back.

Back to the day Gabriel died.

The past is fragile, easily broken. Sam has to save him—without being seen, without shifting anything else. He has to bring Gabriel into the future, into the now. And when he does, when Gabriel’s spirit reunites with the lost piece of his soul, the memories return—all of them. Thirty years of being stuck between life and death. And here’s the part that matters most: When Gabriel finally touches Sam—really touches him— his soulmark flares to life. And he knows, without doubt, that Sam is his soulmate.