#coffin syrup

[denver-heavy-metal-society]

Coffin Syrup from South Carolina performing live in Colorado Springs, Colorado. Full set. Video courtesy of Denver Heavy Metal Society.

[theinfinitedivides]

wait. wait a fucking second i just realized this but Armand ripping the newspaper off the window and going 'it's morning!!!!!!!!' has the same energy as that one Vine with the pots and pans and auditory bludgeoning of fellow roommates. yk the one. Tanisha Thomas icon i didn't get no fucking sleep 'cause of y'all y'all not gon get no sleep 'cause of me type energy same to same

[morethansalad]

Vegan Brick Toast (Taiwanese Coffin Bread) Dessert

[toxisoda]

Hey your latest strawberry flavor made me throw up blood!

Can I at least get a refund!?

Oh, silly Mr. Graves! That wasn't blood!

It was our specially patented

Strawberry Syrup Second-Sensation™!!!

You are one of the Lucky Few™ who get to experience the flavorful strawberry sensation TWICE IN A ROW!!!

A refund? Oh no, no, no, you see, that was a sneak-preview product that slipped into our regular, delicious, Sickly Strawberry™ six pack!

You will be receiving an invoice for the difference in price in 1-5 business days. If you fail to pay the requested amount promptly, a team will be send to collect thorough compensation.

CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!

[hellas-himself]

While I might’ve made the icing too watery, this is really good. It’s not too sweet or bitter, everything balances each other out. I didn’t find apricot liqueur so I used apricot syrup. Maker bless all the tumblrs on here for sharing the recipes and pictures and the codex. I haven’t played the game yet but I’ve been dying to make this since finding out about it.

Shout out to @kakibot for the visuals- this was so vital lol shout out to @spare-coffin for the converted recipe which I kept on hand the whole time as I can’t remember anything ever. And one more to @eveninglakehomeworld for sharing the additions/changes they made which gave me confidence to do the same.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

SCREECHiNG

WAKE UP HON WE GOT NEW OFFICIAL ROLLO CONTENT (thanks to curekibouka for the translation!) 😭 (Bless him, he came home so quickly at only 40 rolls…)

***Rollo profile, Groovy, vignettes, and chibi spoilers below the cut!!***

As you can see in the card art shown above, it looks like his official English name will be "Rollo Flamme", not some other variation.

His coffin icon has a bell on it! Very fitting.

Yes, he’s triple fire magic and has a Duo with Grim.

… LMAO his Buddies are Malleus, Idia, and Azul 🤡

He's a third-year student at Noble Bell College, Student Council President, (but we already knew this) and 18 years old

His birthday is Feb 2nd! (There was a mistake in the initial launch of the Rollo card and profile in which his birthday was incorrectly stated as Feb 4th, which is Cater's birthday. Man was so mad when he realized he shared a birthday with a NRC boy so he redid his birth certificate/j)

(Here are screenshots of before and after the change; I happened to take a picture before the update:)

178 cm tall (LMAO I guess he doesn't meet a certain Ghost Bride’s standards)

Right-handed

Comes from the Shaftlands (again, we already knew this)

HE'S IN THE HAND BELL CLUB????? TF... HE JUST STANDS THERE AND RINGS HIS LITTLE HAND BELL????? ? ???? ?? ???

Best subject is Potionology

His hobby is cleaning malewife trait

He obviously hates magic 😂

Favorite food is not, in fact, croissants; it's actually grapes

Least favorite food is savarin, which is a ring-shaped cake soaked in flavored syrup and then garnished with cream and fruit

HIS SPECIAL SKILL IS GARDENING WHICH MADE ME LAUGH OUT LOUD... considering what he used that skill for... 🤡

His official description in the profile states that Rollo is admired by his classmates for his seriousness and no-nonsense attitude, but he also has a tendency to be… neurotic 💀 gee, ya think

His vignettes are set at NBC, not Night Raven College. They seem to be set prior to the events of Glorious Masquerade.

It's said that the reason he is at NRC now is because he is there temporarily to study.

We see Rollo going about his daily routine. He tends to the Bell of Salvation and the gargoyles early in the morning when the sky is still dark which probably explains the dark eyebags. He’s able to witness the sun rising as he does his cleaning. Rollo finds the dawn peaceful! and loves listening to the bell ring.

OMG the gargoyles are so excited when he pays attention to them 😭 They hop around like excited little puppies… NOT ROLLO WANTING TO GET RID OF THEM

Rollo also has his duties as a regular student. I believe he discusses grades with his vice president. He thinks his classmates are stupid 😂 and finds it ironic that these people look up to him and see him as a top student and a great magician…

Rollo eats his lunches alone because he finds people noisy. Bruh, he has 2 croissants, 16 grapes and 1 cup of cafe au lait (coffee with milk) for lunch every day of the year…

He shops in the City of Flowers and has a routine of buying a plain letter set, only all white paper and envelopes—even if there is a better deal on other sets. If Rollo is one thing (besides angry), he’s consistent and likes to stick to a routine and to things that are certain!

LMAO Rollo hates the City of Flowers because it’s flowers blossom because of magic ✨

Rollo runs into some trouble when a community goat wants to chomp on rhe letter set he bought in town 😂 He’s calm at first but then gets mad because he considers the goat unsanitary and it’s trying to eat his robes…

I want to stress that this boy is suppressing his rage and disgust the entire time 🤡 He’s trying so hard to pass as well-adjusted… Man’s literally going to send this goat flying but stops because he realizes there are too many witnesses…

At the end, Rollo writes a letter to his parents to let them know he is doing fine. Apparently, they’ve been worrying about him ever since “that” incident 😔 The letter reads as very formal and stiff, as though he’s writing to strangers. Maybe he has emotionally distanced himself from his parents (perhaps as a result of “that” incident), although he isn’t outright rude about it.

HIS LITTLE EVIL SMIRK... IT'S EVEN MORE FUNNY WHEN PAIRED WITH HIS VOICE BECAUSE IT'S SO SOFT AND CALM, THE KIND OF VOICE YOU'D NORMALLY HEAR IN LIKE AN ASMR VIDEO 😭

The fact that he writes with a feather quill instead of a magical pen………… ….. ….. … … . .. . … … . . . . .. . … .. . . .

Also the fact that he's by default in his big, bulky uniform with tons of extra material that would make it TERRIBLE for P.E. 💀 and has nothing else to change into... The last screenshot of the group above also looks like Sebek has leaned over to Rollo's ear to spread the GOOD WORD of WAKASAMA and Rollo is trying to do his very best to ignore him...

P.S. I want everyone to know that he does THIS whenever he has a Perfect in Magic History... ROLLO'S LITERALLY A CARTOON VILLAIN PLOTTING REVENGE AGAINST HIS CLASSMATES.... .. . .......... . .. . . . . . . . . . yes, I stuck him in a class with Malleus, Idia, and Azul :))

AND NOW, WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, HIS GROOVY...

WHY DOES iT MAKE ME WANT TO BULLY HIM INTO THE DIRT 😭 jUST Lo0OKK AT HIM, HE'S tryING sO HaRD THAT I T HAS THE OPPOSITE INTEndeD EFFECT AND HE COMES oFF AS A MOREN SKRUNGLY L0SEr INSTEAqd 2reqrbhyygo13ogyt68p9egflbagj;jlg.DIHOBbyOFSYSvtdDOVFEILBcsnkmg2myoeqofadnm,vd..go0i424ph13nifIUSFVsofsgotfFIUOFOVUEWVOQEGYVbiypfpb OTL

I'M SO NOT GOING TO BE NORMAL ABOUT THIS, I'M SO NOT GOING TO BE NORMAL

I aM SO ASPoRRY fOR THE PERsON I Am AbOUT To BecOME 🤡

[delta-piscium]

Wayne doesn’t believe Eddie at first when he says he’s a Vampire. It’s just because when he was twelve he spent several months insisting he was a Vampire. He’d literally make edible fake blood and have it together with Wayne and his morning coffee. Whenever it was sunny outside he’d use an umbrella to shield himself etc.

So, when Eddie sits him down and is like “I gotta tell you something.” Wayne is just like “okay, whatever you say. Whatever you need to do to deal.”

He does eventually manage to convince Wayne, who, when he’s finally onboard, never stops making small comments like, “I liked that syrup mixture you had more, you make your own choices but the vegetarian stuff was a whole lot simpler than this whole song and dance biting people.”

Whenever it’s sunny outside Wayne will wordlessly hand Eddie an umbrella, ignoring the glares he gets for it.

Steve notices and asks him about it since he’s actually fine in the sun and Eddie just grumbles out some excuse about Wayne just worrying

That is until one morning when Wayne asks how they slept and when Eddie yawns out a “good” He gets this glint in his eyes immediately responding “I thought a coffin was crucial for a good nights sleep?”

Steve looks so confused and also a little concerned because that’s a little insensitive and Eddie finally has to explain. Blushing furiously he as quickly as he can tells Steve that no Wayne wasn’t being insensitive, Eddie just told him when he was twelve that he was a vampire and for a month he tried to convince Wayne to get him a coffin to sleep in, claiming it was the only way he’d be able to get actual rest. Meanwhile Wayne is chuckling to himself in the background occasionally cutting in to add details, and like always, ignoring the murderous looks sent his way by his nephew.

After that Steve starts too. He hands Eddie umbrellas, when Eddie bites him he waits until he can feel him drinking before he’s like “be honest, is my blood better than the fabricated stuff you had? I won’t be mad if you don’t say yes.” Eddie bites down a little harder in retaliation.

He once asks him if he’ll be fine sleeping in a bed, but only that one time because he catches Eddie in a particularly petty mood where he just starts walking away saying “yeah, wow, ur right. Guess I’ll find a fucking coffin. Too bad they only fit one.” He only comes back because Steve half tackles him and drags him into bed refusing to let go.

For their anniversary he gets Eddie a full on cape (Eddie is only a little bit annoyed because the cape is actually cool as fuck and he had wanted one since he was a kid.)

[bowieandqueen11]

Distraction / Dracule Mihawk Imagine

Request: Hello! I was wondering if I could request a Mihawk x Reader that’s kinda enemies to lovers. I’m super in love with the whole ‘they hate each other but their constant bickering is bordering on blatant flirting’. Thank you so much ^~^

Babes you are so right!! This is so sweet oh my goodness!! :) Sorry if this is really OOC, its my first time writing for Mihawk!

This was fun to write, but it took me a while - so if you liked it, or if you want a follow on, please leave a comment!

Warning: a little strong language, mentions of knives!

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @bangnyfes.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

The exhale that left your nose at the sound of his voice would have been squally enough to shatter stone.

It had only been a meagre three days of uninterrupted peace before the cursed Dracule Mihawk arrived. Three. Days. True, your Captain and your fellow Red Haired Pirates had spent most of the hours here celebrating: emptying your dwindling crate supplies of poor Lucky Roux's lamb legs, unloading all the bottles of sweet liquor graciously donated to Shanks (or wily guerdoned by a female admirer off the coast of Syrup Village), and dripping every bottle dry until half the crew was splayed out on hammocks, and the other half was link-armed dancing underneath the endless ocean of drifting stars.

'For someone who's supposed to be a lookout, your observational skills are... well, decidedly more lacking than a sea cow's.'

As much as you loved Shanks, sometimes you wanted to grab his shoulders and give him a hard shake, trying to wipe that shrewd smile off his face. You hadn't even been granted any time to properly wake up; you had flung your arm over your squinting eyes, desperately trying to figure out why there was a looming shadow growing on the edge of your vision. Turned out, that as soon as that blasted coffin-shaped cruiser had come cruising past the white shores of Shank's base island, the man had nearly tripped over his feet to come leer over you like a grinning meerkat.

Look out duty? He had put you on look out duty!? With the brutish, blazing sun scorching across your bedraggled head? With the salty spray of the spring sea stretching its foamy fingers up across the shore and chilling your feet on this dusty, forgotten pocket of the East Blue? With the infuriating, pestering, testing, teasing Dracule Mihawk? Part of you was exasperated: you had been hoping for at least a week of recuperation before Shanks sailed off again for Yukiryu Island. Another part of you was dissatisfied that it had taken the swordsman so long to show up.

You hum in response as Mihawk's lengthening shadow shudders across your eyelids; feeling the cool chill that followed the flick of his coat around his boots, you don't even bother to open your eye and glare at the man. Instead, you dig your heels further down into the wet grains: legs stretched out and arms crossed tightly around your chest, lounging against the cragged edge of mossy crevice behind your back.

'I noticed you', you reply after a moment of pregnant silence. You fidget, trying your best not to give away the fact that your back was starting to ache from staying so *nonchalantly* perched in this position; to not give the man any ammunition. It really, really did not help your pride that his piercing eyes seemed to be mocking you with the way they glance obviously down the curved outline of your spine. Casting it away as vicarious embarrassment, Mihawk is almost ashamed with the burning realisation that his eyes had been trained over the years to be almost painfully conscious of your every miniscule mannerism.

'I just didn't think it was the effort to open my eyes', you sigh, tilting your head back towards the sun-strengthened field of bright blue swaying across the far yonder. 'There's no threat nearby. Unless-', you beckon your hand out towards the tapering shoreline, 'you count some of the cockles Beckman might stand on with his bare feet.'

'That's why the Captain's always wearing sandals!', you hear echo out from the mouth of the cave looming to your right, followed by the teetering sound of uproarious laughter. Despite the noise of your rancorous crewmates, Mihaw's golden eyes never waver: their piercing intensity focused solely on the edge of your irises as you finally, with a displeased twist of your lips, blink your gaze over to settle firmly on his own.

'I passed at least three Marine vessels during my jaunt over to your little...shack.' The swordsman's head cocks in your direction: his voice is low. Guarded. Unwavering. But you're getting to him. You know you're getting to him. Trying to wash down the waves of heat that begin to flood your vexed cheeks, you curse yourself for being able to read even his most minute idiosyncracies: the way his left eyebrow raises almost a tenth of an inch when he's struck by mild amusement.

'Shack? Shack!' You kick your bare foot off the slippery edge of the lapped rock and take a step out onto the gorge of beach stretching between you and Mihawk, swinging your arms out by your sides. 'Why Dracule, can't you see this is the last refuge of the East Blue - you dare scorn an abode teeming with luxury, good-will, and free booze!'

Another exuberant cheer rings out from Lucky Roux, as the unmistakable sound of two tankards slamming together, followed by a faint slosh and cry of outrage from Yasopp follow in quick procession.

The only hint that Mihawk has heard them is the slight narrowing of his eyes.

'It's not your fault, Hawk-Eyes.' You try to stifle your facetious smirk, instead placing your back against the rock again and fidgeting as if settling back for another snooze. Tipping the edge of your straw hat down to cover your eyes, you duck your chin into your neck and close your eyes, knowing the blatant disregard for Dracule would drive him mad.

'Suppose your eye sight isn't quite what it used to be, considering your advanced age and all.'

The clamour of your crew drowns in your ears by the pause that follows; too obdurate to flick an eye open and observe Mihawk's indignant reaction, you instead allow the sound of out-of-tune shanty singing to be replaced with the almost still whisper of the waves. Of the slight hiss of the balled sun, as it throws down its rays and coats you in nothing but the icy tendrils of Mihawk's obstinate silhouette. Of his sharp suspire twanging in your ear, as his pointed footsteps shift the earthen grains guarding you from his propinquity.

Of his gravelly voice, nearly making you knock the hat off your head as it suddenly flows past your ear.

The sunlight floods your eyes when they finally open, until you can barely see Mihawk: just the flaxen outline of his being as he comes floating up towards you: phantom like, and yet more imposing and colossal than the threat of a thousand Marine ships protruding their helms your way.

'Enough with the pleasantries. I believe I have something that may be of interest to you.'

He reaches into the inner lining of his coat, withdrawing a rolled up piece of parchment. Although you're intrigued, all you dare to do is look inquisitively between Mihawk's outreaching hand, and distrustfully back to his unwavering stare.

Wow, he really was close. You could almost see your reflection in the immaculately polished glaze of Yoru, still strapped on his back; as it turned out, that back just happened to be jutting your way. Mihawk's spine is almost completely arching over your reclining torso, almost blotting out the fringes of the sun, his head bowing as if observing rather flighty prey. Realising you're still stubborn as always: far too headstrong to trust him, or to place your fingers anywhere that could cause you to come into contact with his skin, he sighs and unrolls the treasure map with a flick of his wrist.

You did your best to hold back your snort. Really, you did.

'What, exactly, do you think the Captain will want with a scrappy looking, filth covered, mud covered, blood covered-'

'I didn't say Shanks. I said you. Although your Captain may have been a valiant opponent many years ago, he's now half the man he used to be. '

You chew the inside of your lip, finally rolling on the balls of your feet and coming to a full stand in front of the swordsman; Mihawk, almost unconsciously, straightens his own spine in return.

'You find me valiant, ey?'

He pierces you with the most grating stare he can muster.

'I find you wanting.'

The tang of salt seething off the bubbling sea could do nothing to burn away the fizzling want and joint annoyance banging against your ribcage, nor could the cool pinch of the jagged stone distract you from how restless you were feeling with Mihawk leaning so close.

'I bet I could find this treasure before you with my eyes blindfolded and my hands tied behind my back.'

The tangy breeze curls the strands of hair loosened behind his right ear, and by all the wishes in the world did you want so badly to tuck it back into place.

'Careful now, turtle.' He takes another step forward, effectively pinning you between the cove wall and his rigid chest. For the first time since your injudicious acquaintance with the warlord, you could feel it beat... no, feel it slam almost erratically. It seemed to jolt so ferociously against his pec, if he weren't restraining himself from taking another step forward and diminishing you completely, you would have been able to feel it against the unbuttoned cotton of your shirt. 'You've been spending far too much time around Shanks. We wouldn't want to step on that shell and have it crack.'

'You want to go out searching for treasure... you? With a map that looks like it's been pulled out of a goldfish's behind.'

He takes that final step forward, and as the buckle of his belt hits against the top of your groin, you find your obstinate bearing falter far faster than you were proud to admit.

'I find myself bored, and you may provide a fleeting distraction.'

The trimmed hair coating his jaw feels warm as it glides across the side of your cheek, but you still can't help but tremble. His voice: gruff and warm as it rumbles a devastating gale across the side of your nose nearly makes your breath hitch. Nearly. But just the mere thought: the mere tremble of your pulse point as you tried to swallow back down your pride as its slippery tendrils latched and slithered its way up the back of your throat was enough to give the game away.

Your thighs tremble as his leg slid up against between your calves, and you gave yourself away completely.

Mihawk's lips turn up at the edges, and the bastard had the audacity to pin your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. Imperturbed, as if unsnarling a feeble swallow's wings clipped by a wild springe, the man looming over your torso raises your face. Closer and closer and closer: his unbreaking gaze almost unnerving. Almost. If it hadn't been for that glint of delight festering in the corner of his swirls.

'Why bother, then?', you swallow thickly. 'If it's not a challenge.'

'I may find it fun.' His hand drops down to your collar bone: his grip firm, resolute, surprisingly warm as his fingertips constrict at the feel of your bare skin.

'No, really', you manage to pant out between laboured breaths, shaking your head out to try and stop yourself from becoming distracted by the racy feeling beginning to ball in the pit of your stomach.

He was playing you, you thought, biting down on your tongue and pretending the pressure of his thumb pad faintly pressing down on the strip of skin just above your left breast wasn't making you go lightheaded. He was toying with you. Snap out of it!

'Tell me the truth, and I'll do it. Why are you really here?'

'Perhaps I just like to see you squirm, like a little rabbit...', his hand rises from his side to slide up the inside of your wrist almost painstakingly slowly, his words dying out once he's encircled the bone with his vice-like grip. The next utterance is caught only by your ear as a whisper in the wind. 'Caught in my snare.'

Although he doesn't cut off your airway - he would never do anything to outright cause you physical harm - the finger still resting on collar bone crawls across your throat. His finger nails scratch like pinpricks from sharpened knives as he claws over your pulse point, before running the side of his finger back underneath your chin.

He looks almost... contemplative, as his eyes dart furtively down to linger over the top seam of your lip.

It's the first time, during all your years of solicitous enmity, that you had ever seen him distracted.

Using the opportunity, you manage to break free of his trance - of his hold on you. Grabbing onto his sleeve, you tug him towards you with all the force shaking through your burning body, appreciating the slight widening of his eyes in surprise as you slam his back against the wall of rock. You press yourself against the taut, constricting muscles of his abdomen, holding one hand firmly against his waist. The other snakes around to pin his wrist against the scrap of trouser by his hip, every cell in your bodies ablaze as he flexes his fingers. They curl into a ball over his fist, dangerously close to brushing across the back of your hand.

He could move you, of course. If he wanted to, he could flick you off him like a stray piece of sand, dusting you off as if you weighed as much as a handful of pebbles.

But he gave it away. God, how hard he had been trying not to: how hard he was trying to stop his body from flushing an increasingly paler shade of white at how mortified he was. How infuriated he was. How ensnared he was.

He didn't move. He gave himself away completely.

All he did was tilt his head back, and half-smiled expectantly at the sound of your dagger being sheathed from its thigh-scabbard; he was intrigued by the way you jutted its tip just below his Adam's apple, tilting his face to meet the steel.

'Don't forget, I still owe you for that time on the Nammu Isles.'

He tuts, eyes shining dangerously in the glare. 'Are you talking about the time I saved your pathetic life?'

You jut your chin forward, imposing your face against his own. 'I mean the time you took my bounty. You better stop talking, oh mighty warlord of the sea, before I shave that pretty little moustache off hair by hair.'

For a moment, there's nothing but the rhythmic brush of his breath against the pursed lines of your full lips: the odd jolt of the tip of his nose hitting against your own as he observes like with the intensity and rigidness of a man possessed.

Without breaking eye contact, he makes as if to lean forward and kiss you, but instead butts his elbow into your stomach and uses your doubled-over state to swipe the knife out of your fingers.

'You may have that back, if you win.' He toys with it, almost looking teasing as he tucks the small blade into his breast pocket.

'I'll take your sword, too.' You wipe your hand across your mouth before placing your palms on your knees, smiling up at the swordsman. You would be damned, if after all this time, you would give him the satisfaction of seeing how flustered he made you.

He bows his head, trying in vain to hide his amusement. He does, however, slap at the hand that's tentatively reaching behind his back, subtly trying to latch on to the hilt of jaded Yoru.

'Of course, if you win. Such a shame that you never stood a chance.'

'I look forward to wielding that sword', you hum in a sing-song tone as you creak your back up again, placing one hand on your hip and your other pointer finger ostentatiously on your chin. Raising your eyes to the sky, you pretend to think deeply as watch two seagulls squawk, stream and tumble past each other, darting through the streaming white clouds. 'I bet I could make some delicious Aburaage with it.'

'And if I win, I look forward to taking that awful hat from you.'

Looking on in disbelief, Shanks shakes his head and tilts back to face the rest of his slack-jaw, gobsmacked crew.

'Right, bets on boys. Which of our beloved numbskulls will be the first to make a move?'

'I mean, he couldn't be more obvious!', Yasopp chimes in, fiddling some loose berries out of his trouser pockets and slamming down into his Captain's awaiting hands. 'I bet he drew that map himself!'

Benn Beckman rolls his eyes, but joins in with the circling chorus of laughter as Shanks slaps his arm against his back. 'It is the fourth time this month he's shown up with a map for Y/n.'

'Well, no matter what happens-', Shanks replies, squatting down onto his hammock again and distractedly counting through the coins he's collected, 'we have to be thankful to Y/n! After all, all proceeds and winnings will be going towards restocking our drink supplies!'

[magpiepills]

Under The Weather

I’m sick and feeling sorry for myself so I decided to repost my HCs for when a few Pedro characters are sick. If you want a sick HC for another character, tell me who in the comments and I will tell you what he’s like. I’m sure he is unbearable, whoever he is.

Javi

Uses whiskey like it’s cough syrup. Insists on home remedies involving whiskey, peppermint, garlic, and an orange. Pouts, misses his mother, tries to get you to make the recipe she used to make for him, is a baby about his covid test.

Frankie

So obnoxious. Lays on the couch so you’ll be sure to hear him moaning and coughing. Needs all of the mucinex, the vapor rub, the humidifier, an extra blanket, asks you to take his temperature, feels certain this must be pneumonia. Eats the soup you make him like it might be his last meal.

Joel

Deny, deny, deny. If he doesn’t acknowledge the flu, it’s not happening, right? “Don’t need to see a doctor. ‘m fine.” Will try to carry on with a handkerchief and a couple cough drops in his coat pocket. Actually has pneumonia.

Dave

Takes some DayQuil and moves to the spare bedroom. Texts you to say he won’t be by this week, and works from home. Feels sorry for himself but won’t say so.

Ezra

Somehow looks more pallid than usual. Knows where to buy antibiotics over the counter. Holds his chest like he’s dying when he coughs, and you wonder if he is actually dying. Is diagnosed with a rare illness that everyone thought was eradicated in the 1800s. Flirts with the nurses.

Max

Coughin’ in his coffin. Nonplussed when you offer him the whiskey/peppermint/garlic/orange remedy you heard about. You google local blood banks, and assure him that if he lived through the actual plague, a common cold won’t be the thing that takes him out. You consider suggesting that he turn into a bat so you can take him to a vet. Can he do that?

Dieter

Panics at the first sniffle, begs you not to make him quarantine. “Babe, I can’t.” He wants you to stay in bed with him while he convalesces. Likes how his voice sounds deep and gravelly after he coughs. Records some lines to send to his agent, then takes a handful of pills and sleeps it off. He wakes up looking refreshed.

[melkyt]

CW: Major Character Death (of old age)

Luffy dies first Zoro dies last in their old age, history repeats itself, Zoro trains the next generation much like Rayleigh is a *chef kiss of a trope*

But the reverse I don't see much off and I would think would be delicious for the vibes and angst alone xd

Luffy never held back, never worried about dying young as long as the life he did live was full of joy and adventure. As long as he was with Zoro until the very end, and maybe they would go together to the next adventure.

Yet he died in Wano, then came back as a God, came back as something different yet the same with the power of his fruit. In his fights, everyone always said that by using that power he shortens his life span but they were wrong. He already lost his life, and that should be it, but his fruit gave him a new life.

Luffy reaches his forties, everyone is worried that is it. Nami and Zoro did the math a long time ago, they considered he would follow Roger's timeline and have maybe a decade left. They throw a huge party to celebrate life.

Luffy lives another decade, another party.

Sanji is the first to pass away, his genetics never counted for a long life, He is surrounded by everyone he loves, a peaceful calm death in his sleep.

Then it is Usopp around his 70s, it's sudden but he was with Kaya, nowhere else he wanted to be. They, the entire fleet comes to Syrup Village to throw a bigger banquet than this small island has ever seen.

Luffy does not stop using Nika, even if it is for fun over any actual fight.

Time goes on, Nami holds out, but she feels the end, so she goes home to be buried by her precious tangerine trees. It's a smaller event, the three of them started this journey together with nothing to their name, and it is only right they remember that time in the peaceful grove, talking well into the night until it is only Zoro and Luffy talking. They lay her to rest in the morning.

They depart a week later, after a wake where the entire village celebrated the girl that did so much for them since she was nothing but a child.

Zoro falters a month later. He tries to pretend it's nothing, they are almost eighty, and despite everything he is tired. Luffy notices. They visit Kuina's grave, Zoro's home.

They spend the time playing as children among the waves, eating all the food Zoro remembers from when he was an urchin running on the streets.

Paying respects to all the people who supported him and paved the way for him to become the greatest swordsmen.

Once he would have wanted to be buried with Kuina, in the small cemetery where she rests behind the old dojo.

Yet now, he does not want to leave his captain, leave the man he loves. There is a spot on the Sunny, a coffin to be sealed where his bones can be kept.

Luffy has seen people come and go, everyone from his generation, from the worst generation is gone. Yet they made new friends, took on students that hold their memories, that keep their legend alive. Still even as they celebrate the life Zoro lived, Luffy feels alone for the first time in a long time as he stands on the lionhead of the Sunny. With Franky gone, it will not be sail worthy for much longer. It was his ship and it should rest with him. So Luffy takes it back to Water 7 where it belongs, it can rest with the Mary. He takes a smaller ship that is a mix of both, a small thing that Franky built just for one last journey. He takes Zoro's bones with him. They will always be together even of only one of them is still alive.

Still, he lives, finding new adventures, but there is an emptiness. Luffy lasts a decade more. His joy sustains him, and it always will, but it is dampened. Luffy chooses a successor to his fruit on a whim. Maybe the fruit chose its next wielder by itself as it always does. This child with a bright smile will carry the future. Luffy has to smile as it is not an island that is different from his home, almost in the same place. Though his home is under the waves. This will be a good place as any for the adventure to end.

Perhaps in the next world, they can see each other again, and he will not be alone anymore. His ship will float through the oceans, a shrine to the greatest men that ever lived, protected by the power of something that lives within its walls.

-end-

[denver-heavy-metal-society]

South Carolina death metal band Coffin Syrup live at Gut Fest in Colorado Springs, CO 2015. Video courtesy of Denver Heavy Metal Society.

[tirsynni]

Nivannedy Week: Day One

I am queuing this on November 30th, because I'm driving home from visiting the family and will be grateful to be conscious when I arrive home on December 1st. lol I have a couple prompts done but not all, so here's hoping I can post the rest of them this week!

DAY 1: sacrifice | underwater facility

In the After

Leon Kennedy knew Piers Nivans before everything went to hell, but he didn’t really know him despite Claire’s repeated urgings to just meet the man for a cup of coffee. Leon knew Piers as a good soldier, Chris’s second, and as the man who once spit out his coffee the first time he heard Leon make a bad pun.

Afterwards… Afterwards was a different world, broken into shining, fragile, bloody fragments of glass. 

It was Chris, afterwards, who shared the details Piers would -- could -- not. How Piers had been the one to save Chris from himself and drag him out of the mire. How Piers had been the one who refused to give up on the mission. Chris admitted that he lost sight of their objective, but not Piers. “Kinda like you,” Chris said wryly. 

Leon didn’t bother telling him that Claire had said that to him in the great, vast before. “He’s stubborn,” Claire had said. “Goal-oriented. He looks at the future and sees something bright, sees a world worth saving.” She raised an eyebrow at Leon. “Kinda like someone else I know.”

Claire didn’t get a chance to tell Leon all this after. She was too busy helping clean up the mess left behind in Tatchi.

Chris brought up Tatchi once. Only once. “We thought you were dead.”

Afterwards, Leon discovered multiple things which Piers had never shared before. Piers claimed he liked his coffee black, but that didn’t stop him from putting sweet syrups in it when given half a chance. He liked cats but loved dogs. Even in war zones when there was a good chance of a dog transforming and tearing someone to pieces, Piers would stop and pet the dogs. He had a family waiting for him in the States: a rarity in their field. Apparently him spitting out his coffee was an unusual event and hard to mimic. Chris caught him singing in the shower at BSAA once, but Piers denied it to hell and back. 

All of these things went through Leon’s head as he stared at the empty casket being lowered into the ground. Most caskets in their field were either empty or filled with the person’s ashes. Piers Nivans was no different despite the screaming in Leon’s heart.

He sacrificed himself, Chris had said. In the Underwater Facility.

The place Leon had sent him to.

Claire had told him before that she thought they would be a good couple, and after Chris had agreed. Leon knew better. Leon’s touch meant death, as this funeral and the president’s funeral showed so clearly.

He threw a white lily into the empty coffin -- a private favorite of Piers’s, Chris had said -- and watched with dry eyes as dirt covered that, too.

[delilahcalicocat]

♡~Always Here~♡

{Rating: Is there a circus in town? Cause Holy f*cking sh!t that's alot of fluff!}

{Warnings: Fem!Reader, Falling Asleep on FaceTime, Reader wearing Cody's nightmare factory Hoodie, Crying, Panic}

{Trigger warning: Animal Death}

{Pairing: Cody Rhodes x Fem!reader}

~Summary: Cody was busy on the road, and Y/N was on leave to take care of her sick cat, and she finds herself wanting Cody to be there with her..~

——————————🥑——————————–

[Y/N's POV:]

Cody was out on the road, I was back home because C/N (Cat Name) had fallen ill a few weeks ago, and he wasn't doing so good...

C/N was in his pet bed, napping as he would usually be doing at 11:00pm. I went to wake him up for his medicine, I tapped C/N gently to find him not awakening...

No.. this couldn't be happening- C/N....didn't... die... did he?

I kept tapping the cat, he didn't wake up at all. I panicked heavily..

I FaceTimed Cody, a sobby mess..

"What's Wrong Starlight? What happened back home?" He asked me

"C-C/N is... D-Dead... Cody!" I sobbed out

"Oh... Starlight, I'm sorry.." He spoke

"Can.. I borrow your hoodie for the night?" I asked Cody

"Of course starlight" He Said

I had already put the poor kitten in a temporary coffin until y'know we could have him... cremated ⚱.

So I grabbed his hoodie and put it on, I laid down and kept speaking with Cody.

"So what happened with Finn and JD?" I asked

"So, Finn was cracking jokes to everyone backstage. And JD was drinking a water because he just fought in a match, so Finn made the joke, and JD spat water all over himself" He said

"Haha, that's so funny Codes. So like anything else happen while you were backstage?" I spoke

"Roman Cracked a Smile after Jimmy made a funny picture in his head, and Seth was a cackly mess at the end of the night too" he said

Wow, Cody made me so happy.. I had a contagious smile as right after i smiled he smiled, we kept on talking, we talked for over 2 hours, I found myself on almost the third hour.. Falling asleep, I eventually fell asleep.. and Cody Noticed it.

"Haha, talk to you later Starlight.. hope you have a good night of sleep" He smiled and then hung up

I dropped my phone straight on my chest. I think that's how he realized I was out cold, that or it was my light light snoring

[Dream]

I ran around a sugary, Candy like world.. it was pastel colors and candy everywhere, I wandered into a Licorice forest. It was raspberry flavored licorice, I ran through the forest until I ran into a giant lollipop. The beaches were ice cream and caramel syrup, which seemed weird to me, but okay- I walked onto the Sprinkle Covered Ice Cream Sand. It was softer than I thought..

[Y/N's POV:]

I woke up at like 8:30am, a little later than usual, but it was a Friday so It couldn't hurt to get a little extra sleep, but I woke up to Cody coming in the house...

I'm so happy he's back home now...

——————————🧁——————————–

Tag list: {comment if you'd like to be added}

[edupunkn00b]

Taking Care of You

Written for @tsspromptmonth's Sleepy Bean Fanfic Cafe for @brainlicking. Prompt: Magic au with vampires, darkly romantic tone, Virgil/Patton ship, hiding a fatal injury, only one bed but the one bed is a coffin. - Rated M - WC: 3806

Since their beginning, Patton had spoiled Virgil rotten. Homemade cookies every birthday. Horror movie marathons on their anniversary. 'I won't be too scared as long as you stay close.' Tinctures and luck charms when he got anxious about a gallery opening.

Soft lips and firm, gentle hands anytime he needed extra affection.

None of it was one-sided, either. Virgil took care of Patton, too. Sitting up with him for two days straight after his parents died, drying his tears and holding him tight after he'd finally drifted off to sleep. Helping him move in to the big old house in the woods his parents had left him. Staying with him until after he'd finished all the cleansing rituals.

So there was little surprise when, the night of his attack, Virgil had found himself staggering up to Patton's doorstep, blood-sticky fingers clutching the wounds at his neck. He'd just managed to brush against the doorbell when he dropped to the hand-woven mat in a heap. He was out before Patton could even answer the door.

Patton later told him how he'd dressed his wounds and changed him out of his torn and blood-soaked clothes. "Your skin was so cold," he'd whispered, warm fingers curled through his hair. "But you were still breathing, so I bundled you up and stayed close."

Unmoving and barely breathing, Virgil had slept for three days and three nights. When the sun had set at the start of the fourth night, Virgil was woken by the sound of Patton's heart pounding in his ears. The hot, salty scent of blood heavy in the air. Wrapped in the glorious heat of Patton's arms and only barely conscious, Virgil had mouthed weakly at the bit of flesh peeking out from the collar of his fluffy sweater.

A sharp canine grazing against his own tongue broke the spell long enough for Virgil to flee. He pushed himself out of Patton's embrace and out of the room. As he leapt over the banister to the floor below, he tried to convince himself he couldn't hear Patton calling him over the sound of his own ragged breathing.

Barefoot and clad in borrowed pajamas and a hoodie too short for his frame, Virgil didn't stop running until the dawn cut its bright pink gash along the horizon. He spent his first full day as a vampire hiding from the sun on the edges of a junkyard downtown.

Two years passed before Virgil had gained enough control to risk seeing him again.

It was winter again, and the early dusk granted him a better chance of seeing Patton outside, gathering birch bark or syrup. Or maybe even filling the racoon feeders for the night. After only a few hours tucked into the crook of a large yew, carefully upwind of the house and the salted caramel scent of his old love, Virgil was soon rewarded for his patience. A puff of steam followed Patton as he bounced down the path, empty bucket in hand. He whistled to himself and, likely, in warning to any of the more skittish night creatures who might have begun to creep out of the daytime refuges.

Like him.

When Patton was a dozen paces or so away, Virgil stood and spoke from the shadows. "Pat?" he called into the night.

Patton jumped at the sudden sound, pounding heart deafening to Virgil's ears. It slowed quickly, though, as he turned, peering into the darkness. "Vee?" he asked, voice shaking. But not in fear. He sounded… hopeful. "Vee, is that you?"

Virgil stepped out from under the yew's boughs and into the thin moonlight above. "It's me, Pat."

"You came back," he said simply, setting down the pail and stepping closer.

The wind shifted, filling Virgil's lungs with sugar and sage, earth and blood. Shuddering, he nodded. "I… I hope that's alright. I can… I can go."

"Don't you dare, Mister!" Patton marched forward, arms outstretched. He stopped just shy of touching him. "Is it alright if I hug you?" he asked, softer.

"Y—you want to?" Hands shoved in his overcoat pockets, Virgil fought the instinct to grab him and pull him close and… But it wasn't blood lust pushing forward. Afraid of his own hunger, he'd fed as soon as the sky grew dark. He didn't need to feed. He needed his love in his arms again.

"Of course I do!" Closing the distance, Patton fell into his arms, squeezing him tight with that old unexpected strength. "I've missed you so much, Vee."

He held him stiffly at first, but as the heat of Patton's body soaked into his skin, Virgil curled over him, opening his coat and wrapping it around both of them. "I… I can't keep you warm," he murmured into his hair. Patton's breath, his touch burned, warming him to the core. Virgil didn't want to think about how uncomfortable his own ice-cold skin must feel to him.

But Patton smiled up at him, cheeks reddened with the cold and tears sparkling in his eyelashes. He took Virgil's hand and pressed it against his own chest. "You keep me warm right here." Drawing closer, Patton reached up with his other hand and cupped Virgil's cheek.

Unable to resist the heat of his palm, Virgil let his eyes fall closed and covered Patton's hot hand with his own. Frigid lips grazed the bared skin between Patton's gloves and sleeve. Pulse point throbbing beneath paper-thin skin. Head bowed and shaking, Virgil pressed a slow kiss against wrist. The barest tip of his tongue darted out, seared against Patton's flesh, but he kept his teeth safely behind his lips.

Patton never moved away. Virgil opened his eyes, bracing himself for the expected frozen terror in Patton's face. Instead he smiled up at him.

"You're not afraid of me?" Virgil whispered.

"Of course not," Patton said said as though no other answer was even possible. Letting go of only one hand, he stooped to pick up the still-empty pail and threaded their fingers together. He gave his hand a little tug. "Will you come ho—come inside with me?"

Nodding, Virgil let himself be led back to Patton's house.

~

Patton had left the heavy door on the latch, just as he always used to. As he pushed it open with one hand, cozy firelight, the scents of drying herbs and simmering soup spilled out into the dark night. Virgil paused on the doorstep, tracing the rust-colored stained bell in its frame. And the protections runes carved into its shape.

Following his gaze, Patton hummed and reached out his hand, "You needn't worry," he said. "It's safe for you to come in, it always has been."

Virgil accepted his hand and closed his eyes before stepping inside. Patton spoke the truth. "How long have you known?" he finally asked. A vampire did not simply saunter into a mage's home on the technicality of an open invitation, let alone a mage as skilled as Patton.

Stomping the snow from his boots, Patton shrugged, thoughtful. "Really, as… as soon as I saw you that night." He watched Virgil loosen his scarf, the immortal scars clearly visible just below his jaw. "There are scarce other ways to get puncture wounds like that. And…" He looked down then, straightening their boots over the fireplace grate. "You still had you sire's blood on your mouth," he added slowly. "There was no question you would turn."

"But if… if you knew…" Virgil's head swam and he fumbled with the collar of his overcoat. Patton surged forward, gently disentangling him from the damp wool. "Pat, when I woke, you were in my arms. If you knew I'd turn…" With his thumb and forefinger, he nudged up Patton's chin so he'd meet his eyes. "Why would you put yourself in danger like that?"

"Oh, Vee." Smiling, Patton lowered his head and kissed Virgil's fingers before meeting his eyes again. "I knew you couldn't hurt me, besides…" he said with a little shrug as he peeled off his coat. "You needed someone to take care of you. Oh—" Hugging the coat to his chest in one arm, Patton brushed his hand down Virgil's back. "You're wearing my hoodie."

Turning, Virgil held Patton's hand to his still heart and nodded. "I… I was wearing it when…" Patton's eyes shone, glossy with tears. Virgil didn't realize he was also crying until Patton reached up and brushed away a tear from his face.

"I'm glad you kept it."

"You kept me warm," Virgil whispered.

As though suddenly feeling the frigid damp from his coat, Patton stroked his cheek and quickly hung the sopping wool by the fire. Then he took Virgil's hand and pulled him to the foot of the stairs. "I have something to show you."

Patton brought him to his bedroom. "You've… made some changes."

Nodding, Patton looked proudly around the room. Where once the big poster bed had dominated the space, it was now pushed into one corner, just under the window. Patton had brought up the long wooden table from the dining room, as well as several bookcases from various parts of the house. Every surface was covered with potions and vials and the supplies of his craft. A heavy, ancient tome lay open in the center of the table, a basket of scrolls sat underneath. Fragrant herbs hung drying from the windows and only slightly overpowered by the heavy, wet smell of fungi media.

"I've made it my workshop," Patton pulled him closer to a large flask left bubbling over a heat source Virgil couldn't identify. "A few of these require… frequent monitoring. And I—" He shrugged and looked up at Virgil, blood blooming just under his skin as he blushed. "I slept better being able to keep watch."

"What are you…" One end of the table was consumed by a detailed map of the entire region, held flat with Patton's ritual candles and a heavy crystal wrapped in a braided cord. The map was covered in tiny, dated marks. "You've been scrying for me," he said more than asked.

Patton's hand hovered over the crystal, its energy buzzing through the air. He nodded.

Then Virgil's eyes fell on the open page of the grimoire. To sceald a vampyre, Þu þearfast mod and garleac. Virgil stepped back, dropping Patton's hand. "Are you… are you trying to cure me?"

Eyes wide and mouth falling open into a little 'oh,' Patton shook his head. He rushed forward and grasped Virgil's hand in both of his, gently tugging him closer to the table. "No! No, I don't want to change you," he said, pointing to the Old English. "I want to keep you safe. It's protection charm. For you," he added.

"For me?" Virgil repeated dumbly. "Not… against me?"

"Never," Patton whispered. "It'll help hide you from Hunters." He shook his head again and drew closer. "I don't want to change you, just… take care of you."

Virgil's arms wrapped around him almost automatically and Patton looked up at him, breath sweet and hot as it fanned over his face. Patton's heartbeat filled the silence, thrumming against Virgil's chest as he closed the final distance between them. Face turned up, Patton licked his lips, tiny pink tongue darting out. "Kiss me?" he whispered.

"I—" Every reason why he shouldn't, every sensible thought about keeping his distance from the soft, living warmth of his skin and flesh and blood was pushed away by those whispered words. A soft growl pushed up from his throat and Patton surged up to meet him. Patton's fingers—gloriously burning hot fingers—threaded behind Virgil's neck and pulled him down into a kiss.

~

Patton had never given up hope, but to be honest, when the bright colors of autumn had turned cold and wet with winter for the second year, his hope of ever seeing Virgil again had begun to grow terribly thin. Tracking his movements with the crystal, seeing him move from day to day helped to reassure him his love was still alive… well vapirically alive, at least. It hurt to see him never come closer than a few miles. But even in the dark that awful night, he'd seen the terror in Virgil's eyes as he'd pushed him away. He knew Virgil wasn't staying away because he wanted to. Merely because he thought he had to.

So Patton had held on to his hope, and poured his worry and his love into finding a way to try to keep him safe, to try to take care of him even from afar. Once he'd perfected the charm, he planned to take his map and seek Virgil out. But for all his hope, he'd never dared dream that Virgil would return to him first.

Skin cold as stone but as soft as ever, Virgil was finally here, in his arms. Tears salted their kiss, and Virgil trembled against him. Patton held him closer, relishing the familiar taste of his mouth, tracing the sharp edges of his new teeth. Far too quickly, Virgil gently broke away, his first shaky smile of the night curling up his lips.

"Will you stay?" For the night, for his life, for as long as Virgil wanted, that's what Patton wanted, too.

Long, cool fingers carded through his hair. "I… I need certain things," he muttered, bowing his head until their foreheads touched. "I… I would need…"

"You'll need to feed," Patton said plainly. "And you'll need a coffin at night," Patton nodded, grinning when Virgil looked back at him with surprise. "With soil from… well," he glanced outside. "From here."

"But how—" Together, their eyes fell on the old grimoire Patton had bartered for from the wizened couple on the other edge of the woods. "Oh."

"Will you stay?" Patton asked again, hope bubbling in his chest at the return of Virgil's smile.

He answered him with a kiss.

~

Patton's days soon fell into a pattern. All through that winter and for much of the spring, he would sleep when Virgil slept, then wake at the first owl's hoot of the evening. Most days, hungry days, Virgil insisted he slept alone, but some days… Those days after good nights when he'd found enough willing and generous to share a bit of their blood. Or hunting nights when Virgil found someone whose only goal was to hurt others, those days Virgil would open his arms and invite Patton to sleep with him.

As summer approached and the days grew longer, even those glorious times left Patton restless partway through Virgil's slumber and he would spend part of the day working on his potions. The protection charm worked flawlessly, rendering Virgil nearly undetectable to Hunters until he was safely out of their range. He had several new ideas to try, and the long, sunny days granted him plenty of time to both rest and work, researching, gathering herbs, crushing and mixing.

It had been a particularly productive day and Patton was startled by the owl outside his window. He'd never managed to make his way to bed. With a little laugh, he chewed some ginseng for a boost, then raced down to the cellar to greet Virgil when he woke.

"'Morning, Moonlight," he murmured, cool hands soothing over his sunburned cheeks. He'd spent a several hours hunting for green sunflower seeds and his face bore the proof.

"Good morning, love," Patton whispered back, leaning in for a kiss.

Sitting up, Virgil pressed his face into Patton's curls. "You've been outside today. You smell like the sun."

The longing in Virgil's voice was unmistakable and Patton held him tighter. "I've been working on something. A surprise for you, if it works."

"You always have the best surprises," he murmured, lips close to his ear. Virgil's head dipped lower, cool breath against his neck. A low growl rumbled in his chest and he pushed back, trembling. "I… I need—"

Giving Virgil a bit more space, Patton nodded but still offered his hand to help him up. "I'll be here when you return."

Virgil stared at his hand, moonlight glinting off the hint of teeth behind parted lips. He accepted the help, then dashed upstairs and outside.

Patton watched him go, then slowly followed him out of the cellar and to the kitchen. He made himself breakfast then returned to his work. The seeds were ready and so was he, gathering the remaining roots and the chanterelles he'd kept in quarantine under his bed. This potion took a careful hand and precise measurements, both in the preparation and to keep the draught safe and palatable for Virgil.

If the grimoire was right, the Sun's Dew would grant Virgil the time in the sun he so clearly craved.

Mind on his task and heart out in the woods, seeking a meal, Patton sprinkled the hulled seeds into his cauldron. He counted as they fell, then set down the mortar to press what remained.

He'd miscounted.

The potion bubbled, foam rising up to the lip of the cauldron and spilling out onto the table. Patton moved quickly to sop up the hot broth but the mixture was faster. It touched the flask of birchwood and exploded.

~

Sun kissed and still warm from the summer's day, Patton smelled of ginseng and fire and life. Blood thundered in his veins, a taste Virgil wished he could forget. A few desperate nights, when he'd returned weakened and starved from an unsuccessful hunt, he'd succumbed to sweet Patton's freely given flesh. Succumbed to his need and drank. He didn't feed much from him, more often than he should, less often than he longed to. Far less often Patton offered.

But this was a lucky—if short—night and Virgil escaped temptation. After several hours and with the scent of dawn in the air, he was finally sated by a common hunter he'd been tracking for three long weeks. Long enough to know with certainty the earth would not miss the tread of his boots on her soil.

Nor would his battered wife.

Virgil raced the sun home, crossing the threshold just as the first birdsong flitted out from the lake. He closed the door behind him with a sigh, greeting Patton's relieved smile with a laugh. "Yes, I know I cut that a little too close for comfort," he said, moving to his side once he'd finished drawing the long, heavy curtains over the front room's windows.

Patton blinked up at him with tired eyes, already dressed for bed. "You'll be more careful next time?"

Virgil nodded solemnly. "You have my word," he murmured, drawing his love close. He froze at Patton's tiny wince. "Have I hurt you?"

"No! No, of course not," Patton smiled, easing into the embrace. "I'm a little stiff from hunching over my workbench." They stood quietly together, listening to the whip-poor-wills outside.

With the warmth of the sun in his arms, his recent feed thrumming through his veins, Virgil hummed, a peace he'd been missing finally clicking into place. His head grew heavy and he rested his cheek against the top of Patton's head.

"You must be tired," Patton whispered, his own voice fatigued. "Would it be alright if I joined you tonight?"

"Please," Virgil murmured back, head bowed to meet his eyes. Sad clouds passed over Patton's eyes and Virgil leaned in for a soft kiss. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Nodding, Patton laid his head on his shoulder. "It will make tonight special."

~

That night's dreams were filled with blood.

Rich, salty, and hot. Under the blinding moonlight, Virgil waded through a steaming lake. He washed his face and hands in it, breathing in the life and strength of it.

The owl's cry woke him. In the complete blackness of his closed coffin, Patton was still curled close, head pillowed on his shoulder. He'd spent the whole slumber in his arms, a sweet gift on these long summer days. "Good morning, Moonlight," he whispered, pressing kisses into his hair. The scent of his blood was thick in the air, rising up from him with a fervor Virgil was not accustomed to in all but his deepest hunger. Patton drowsed, shifting weakly in his arms. "Moonlight?"

"Hm, love," he mumbled, head heavy against his chest.

Leaning as far back as the tiny space would allow, Virgil brushed the backs of his fingers over Patton's cheek.

His skin felt cool.

One arm cradling him close, Virgil pushed up, throwing open the lid to his coffin. He let it clatter to the floor, the ember's glow illuminating the sticky blood covering his hand. "No! No, I couldn't, I—" Virgil licked his lips, dry and tasteless. No, it hadn't been him. "Moonlight? Pat!" Holding him close, Virgil leapt out and settled Patton in front of the cellar furnace.

His shirt and sleep pants were soaked through with blood, as were Virgil's own clothes. But his neck and wrists were clean of wounds. "I'm sorry," Virgil muttered and, hands shaking, tore open his shirt.

Gashes littered the soft skin of his chest and belly, one angry and long, curling around just below his ribs. "Pat? Pat, what's happened?" Virgil looked up and saw Patton watching him past half-closed lids.

"I made a mistake," he whispered, voice horribly thin. "I… I couldn't heal it. I tried, I…" He shook his head once, eyes slipping shut.

"No!" Virgil roared, grabbing Patton's shoulders, "No, you can't just die, you—"

Jostled into half-consciousness, Patton's eyes half-opened again. "I'm sorry I couldn't take care of you."

"No, no no no no no!" Virgil shook his head, copper and salt making his head spin. "No, but I can take care of you. Pat? Pat, listen to me," he shook him again, willing him to stay alert long enough to say yes. "Please? Let me take care of you. All you need to do is drink."

"Drink?" he asked, so quiet Virgil had to lean down to hear.

Biting his own wrist, Virgil nodded, offering the wound. "Please," he whispered. Without a heart to pump it, his blood flowed slowly, a single drop welling at the edge of the wound.

Patton blinked up at him, each fall so slow Virgil feared it was the last. Finally, he parted his lips, soft pink tongue lapping at Virgil's skin.

"That's it, Moonlight, just like that," Virgil urged, a new warmth filling his chest as Patton's tentative movements turned purposeful and he drank in earnest. "Just like that."

Patton paused, head falling back against his arm, so Virgil stretched out next to him in front of the furnace. He pulled him close and raised his wrist to Patton's mouth again. "That's it, Moonlight. Now we can take care of each other."

Breaking away, lips and tongue rose red, Patton smiled weakly up at him. "Forever."

[gaybellethorn]

i started listening to the first shannon hale eah book on my walk earlier and it's so good. hale you mad bitch <3!!!!!!!

raven being a swiftie (taylor quick........obsessed) and apple being a directioner ("you don't know youre charming" in universe pointing to the real life charming family. CRAZY.)

apple keeping a basket of candy and coins at her bedroom balcony to throw down to her adoring masses PLEASEEEEE . all her kingdom management classes amassing to this she's so FUNNY.

relatedly, how frustrated she gets at the end of her first chapter that people are only gonna grade her on being a good snow white based on how pretty she is and not on how hard she's studying to be a good ruler. very very juicy very interesting characterisation very interesting take for a snow white character. but also. the chapter starts with her naming the dwarves by derogatory nicknames ("my name is frank," pouty said poutily) and the narrative itself superimposing her names onto them in the dialogue tags. SO FUCKING GOOD. APPLE YOU SILLY BITCH.

hale's distate for apple's dad bleeding into the description i looooove it. "keeping a hand on the hilt of his blade as if ready for battle at a moment's notice, but of course he had never been in battle. his only claim to fame was falling in love with a comatose woman in a glass coffin in the woods" damn hit him again for me!!!!!

BUT this coming from apple's pov???? EXQUISITE!!!!!! god that's so fucking INTERESTING and really doubles down on her looking up to her mam and wanting to be the best ruler she can be, because no one's gonna help her out later! i haven't gotten to apple interacting with daring yet, but that's gonna be such an interesting lens to read their relationship through as well if she considers his role in the story like. repulsive!

also just an interesting contrast to raven's relationship with her parents, where she loves her dad and wishes her mam wouldn't belittle him in their convo. oh sidebar there was a description like, raven's mam did love her, in her own way. hope was like a sticky syrup and raven wished she could drink it down just one more time. auggghhh ravennnn :( <33333

back to apple, i liked the little detail about snow having this squeaky high pitched voice, and apple musing that being stranded in the woods with the squirrels may have done a number on her. i think she gives a length of time there, either weeks or months? i hadn't considered that being part of the snow white legacy, that's interesting ! especially after thinkng of her dad as a useless bum ass nobody like 😭

looooove getting raven's introspection around her mam. the mirror scene at the start is so so good. ugh then when she's talking to apple and she notices how slouchy and unkempt she is next to her. and she tries standing properly but she knows she comes off as too tall, too gaunt comparatively. and then she reprimands herself like 'stop comparing yourself to her, that's probably how mom turned out the way she did' AUGH ? that being the first indicator that raven can understand how that path unfurls in front of her, how she could easily take those same steps. sooo juicy

also looove her relationship with baba yaga so far. it's really interesting that baba yaga is compared/contrasted to raven's mam, i wanna keep an eye on how that relationship develops

baba yaga using an actual spray bottle on raven when she starts voicing rebel thoughts PLEASE‼️ raven grumpily looking into the princess' advisor office (run by the white queen! cute detail) where theyre given tea and plush chairs and noticing that there isn't a spray bottle in sight. MWAH.

oh ! and the detail about it being maddie who asks raven point blank "if you weren't destined to be the evil queen, you would...?" as part of this wonderland word game that she doesn't think anything more of, but raven is left speechless because she's never been allowed to consider it before. really sweet moment between them! :)

im like an hour into this 6.5hr audiobook. the voice actor is doing a wonderful job, i really like her voices for raven and apple in particular so far. i definitely wanna keep going on it! i will listen to it on walks i think :^)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Unrivaled Beauty.

O’ Beautiful Queen, your loveliness is eternal and unchallenged.

Steal center stage, and the hearts of those who gaze upon you.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

War is as much of an art as it is a brazen display of brutality.

For Vil, every performance he gives is war. His weapons: skill, grace, beauty. All of it meant to charm the audience. No substitutions, it no stunt doubles.

Today is no different.

He kneels in the snow atop a corpse. Not a real dead man, but a dummy with an eerie amount of detail. It had been prepared by experts in the prop department, made to resemble his character's sworn enemy in the film.

Crimson blooms upon white robes marked with ancient runes. The collar and neckline are daring, plunging to reveal a generous amount of the bare skin of the chest to the elements. The hair, a tangled mess of glossy raven waves, sticking from the moisture to cold skin. The skin, pale blue with frost, the eyes cloudy orbs.

The mouth, stained red with the blood of countless innocents, no longer moves.

In this scene, the she-devil Snow White is dead, and he, heir to the Witch Queen, has slain her.

Without hesitation, he plunges his bare hand into the dummy’s chest, fishing out a model heart. It is covered in a mixture of corn syrup, food coloring, cocoa powder, and starch to simulate bodily fluids. The thickened liquid dribbles down his own pale hands, staining them.

Lifting his trophy into the air, a joyous, defiant sparkle in his eyes. A throaty cry erupts from him.

“With this, the Eternal Snow will be no more, and peace shall return to my realm!!”

Vil’s explosive laughter fills the mountain. The snow shakes, the land itself shudders in his presence.

He has won.

Finally, finally, finally.

A gruff man’s voice reaches him.

“CUT!!”

In an instant, the scene falls apart and reality sets in.

Cameramen tend to their equipment, prop managers and stylists exchange whispers. Special effects mages tamp down their snow spells. The illusion is stripped away, revealing a balmy day set against a backdrop of mountains.

Staff in scurry in, offering Vil towelettes and lotion to clean and moisturize his hands. He accepts them, then waves the staff off, one ferrying the fake heart.

“Bravo, Vil-kun, bravo!!” the director gushes. “I knew it was the right call to cast you as the hero for this film. There wasn’t a flaw in your acting, m’boy!!”

“Thank you, sir.” Vil bows to the older man, keeping his reply short and simple. “It is an honor to be a part of your masterfully written story."

It is the tale of a beautiful demon locked away in a glass coffin, freed from slumber and set upon the world to shroud it in never-ending winter… The tale of a selfless noble and her huntsmen that stands in opposition to her and her seven sniveling imp minions. A tale of two fates intertwining—the noble whose bloodline sealed the demon away, and the demon who vowed revenge on descendent of the Witch Queen.

Vil's eyes cannot stop themselves from sliding over to his co-star, who waits in the wings. His lifelong rival, Neige LeBlanche.

He is dressed similarly to the dummy that had been swapped in for his corpse. Red ruins his pristine white gown, and his hair is wild—but off-camera, Neige lacks the madness of the villain he plays. Neige smiles sweetly at the staff, giggles like an innocent schoolboy.

Vil fails to look away before Neige meets his eyes. He waves shyly, and, out of courtesy, Vil returns it.

“You've all been working very hard to bring my vision to life," the director happily booms. "Let's take a 30-minute break. Hydrate, grab some food, whatever. Actors, hair and makeup retouches before stepping back on set!"

There is a collective murmur of approval, feet shuffling for the refreshments table. A staff member offers Vil a spot in the donut line, but he politely declines.

"No thank you, I've prepared granola and a light fruit yogurt ahead of time. If you'll excuse me."

He peels away and heads for his trailer. Once Vil is shut away—a well-trained peacock stepping into his gilded cage—he produces his phone and reviews his jam-packed schedule: the film shoot, an interview with a popular variety show, modeling for a magazine cover, practicing for a stage play…

He, cast in the spotlight of hero in every single one.

You are the fairest of them all, Mira would robotically recite. All the social media websites and news outlets were talking nonstop about him, and he knows it.

It's the Age of Vil, his manager would joke. Isn't this great? You're demonstrating your range. This will definitely net you bigger and bigger opportunities in the future!

They’re finally recognizing you for your cuteness and goodness, his father would tell him. That’s my son! I knew everyone would come around eventually.

On any other day, he might have scoffed or dismissed their comments. Today, he simply smirks, silently pocketing his phone.

Vil passes a large vanity on his way to the mini-fridge. A glimpse of his reflection reveals the elaborate jewel-toned ensemble he is fitted for, the makeup that highlights the highest points of his face. Shining, commanding attention—just as any protagonist would.

He stands straighter, holds his chest higher. Proudly flaunting his feathers, his numerous accomplishments.

I've worked myself to the bone to reach this point. I've earned every little bit of this.

Retrieving his snacks, Vil makes to join the crew on their break. Even if Neige will be present as well, he grimaces.

A shadow invades his periphery.

Vil pauses at the doorway and looks back.

There, sitting on his vanity, was a bushel of roses the color of midnight. A black envelope embellished with gold accents is tucked among the petals.

His brows knit together. How odd--he is certain he hadn't seen that a second ago, nor had he heard anyone entering to drop it off while he was briefly at the fridge. How could he have missed such an obvious gift?

"Perhaps it's from the director or producer," he muses, plucking the envelope free and opening it.

Inside, there is, as suspected, a letter.

Same black paper, same gold embellishments.

To Schoenheit,

Please accept this humble offering from myself. It was a joy to watch you perform to your heart's content.

I was very moved by the experience. It is not often that I get to observe Man in all of its peaks and crests in such a short span of time.

I will continue to watch over you and support your dreams from the sidelines.

Sincerely,

M. D.

Initials in the place of a name? Vil turns the paper over, expecting more on the other side. It's unlike his fans to leave out their full identity. (Half of the time, they include a list of their social media handles and beg for a follow back.)

But alas, the back is blank and yields no answers.

He frowns, facing the words scrawled on the front of the square again. The cogs in his head turn, arriving at a single logical conclusion.

I only know of one possible M.D., but... Is he truly the type to send notes of this nature?

Vil toys with the idea in his head, just as he toys with the letter between his fingers. Ego rises and colors his lenses.

"Fufufu, it seems that even great mages such as he are not immune to my beauty and talent." Vil chuckles, exiting the trailer. His adoring fans await.

He's right about everything, and he doesn't realize how wrong he wants to be.