#do I know even half of what happens in this myth yet? no.

[zayne-li]

THEY CALL THIS MAN THE MASTER OF FATE AND THEN PROCEED TO MAKE HIM THE MOST BABYGIRL VERSION OF ZAYNE TO DATE

I know almost nothing about what happens in this myth yet. All I know is that he's my wife.

[honeyblackberries]

The world you left behind

Sylus died but what about the people left to miss him? What of the boy who’ll never know what lies beyond the shadow of his father’s wings?

sylus x reader (reader referred to as mother but no pronouns) 1.8k

cw: angst with a (maybe) happy ending, hurt with (maybe) comfort, mentions of blood and physical injuries, lore inaccurate, unnamed son pov.

basically a 'what if' au where mc/reader has sylus's kid after he dies in their dragon myth times. *sylus's son and the transformation scene was inspired by this art by @/napanewt (whole thread makes me sob) | also on ao3

The first time your son wished for his father happened when he was just a child.

He was born hearing tales of great dragons, of love in bloodshed, of kindred spirits and souls bound together for all eternity. Legends whispered throughout the cities were his bedtime stories, a requiem for the deceased was his lullaby.

Oh how exciting it all was to a young boy. What incredible adventures you’ve had! He wished to know more, desired to always hear of the man who's name stoked the flames of Tarus city.

“When can I meet him?” He’d asked you one night as you lay beside him in bed.

He was seven summers old, practically grown up. He would like to meet his father soon. Sylus was familiar yet completely unknown to him. A fiend that strikes fear into the hearts of the strongest warriors. Yet someone his mother speaks of so fondly, with a voice always gentle.

“I’m sorry love, your father has gone far away,” the words were ones he’d grow used to hearing. Ones he would come to resent.

But not yet.

Your son wondered if he looked the same as Sylus, as he stared at his own reflection in a chalice atop one of the many piles of treasure in your cave. You’d told him that regardless of how much he might look like you now, his silver hair and ruby red eyes come from his father.

“What about the horns?” he asked while pointing to his head. Where yours are and where his own should be. “And the tail, and… wings?”

“I hope you never grow them.” Those words confused him.

“Why?”

“Because they are a curse.”

Back then he didn’t understand what you meant. They would make him stronger, fiercer, more dragon-like. They would make him the same as the man he caught glimpses of in the shadows on the wall. The same as the man he saw in the twinkle of your eyes..

“Well, I hope I do.”

And hope he did, wished and prayed to every shining star. Desperate to be even half the man his father is. He had to be since Sylus was gone.

How else could he protect you from those who wanted to do you harm; fight off all the monsters that curse your existence and hunt you down. Men with wicked intentions and venom on their tongues. How else could he get rid of the sadness that would creep into your gaze when you think he isn’t looking. Stop the heartache that would overcome you sometimes, when you reminisce on the dragon who left you behind.

Your son was stuck with Sylus’s stories and nothing more.

The second time your son wished for his father was when the transformation started. It came suddenly and it tore him apart all at once.

The scream of pain he let out as something began to grow through the bone of his skull, tearing delicate skin. The way his own blood thickly trickled into his eyes from the open wounds. The sickening wet sounds of his body unwillingly shifting in ways it wasn't used to.

That’s how you found him. Curled up in a heap on the floor, body convulsing as if it didn’t know what to do with itself. Crimson staining everything around him.

“Mama—” he sobbed, something he hadn’t called you in years.

His voice sounded broken to his own ears, but he no longer cared about being weak. Not when it hurt so much that he wished death would save him. What a foolish child he had been to dream of this. And what a cruel father Sylus must be to let it happen. How could a father who didn’t even know him curse him so—give him what he so desperately wanted but at such a horrible cost.

He blacked out not long after, cradled in your shaking arms.

You told him later on that the same thing had happened to Sylus when he was still a young dragon and your son wondered if it would have been less scary with him around. If his father would have held him through it like you did, if he would have known what to say to make it hurt less.

He can almost imagine it.

‘Bite down on a cloth so you don’t bite your tongue.’

‘Slow your breathing, don’t panic. The adrenaline will only make it happen faster.’

‘It'll be over soon.’

‘I’m here for you.’

The next few years were hard on your son. Having to learn how to exist within his new body. He always moved wrong. Would trip over his own tail as he walked, cut his mouth with his fangs, tear flesh with his talons.

But all of that paled in comparison to the challenge that was his wings. To the humbling experience of learning to fly.

A part of him yearned for the skies yet he was wet behind the ears with the way his wings would allow him to rise for only a moment, before plummeting to the ground. Always two steps behind spring’s baby birds who could soar past him.

He learned a lot about himself during this time. That he was impatient, easy to anger, easier to lose common sense. It’s good he supposes, looking back on it. The way he was forced to prematurely clip the hubris that was growing within him. Lest he fall just as bad as Icarus.

It was during each failure—in the moment just before the crash—where he would find himself wondering if his father would hold his hands as he taught him how to take flight. Show him how to follow the wind above mountain peaks and along the edge of the horizon. Go with him to the edge of the sea beyond where the datura flowers bloom.

He remembers you asking him once, years later, if he regretted wishing to be like Sylus. If after what had to be done for it to happen, he could still want to be like him.

His answer then is the same as it would be today.

Even if the pain was once unbearable and the struggle seemingly never-ending, it chipped away at his rough edges. Honed him like a blade. He could now fight his own battles; win against those who started ones against you. He could hear the joy in your laugh as he picked you up and flew off towards the dawn. Could see the look of pride on your face.

You were proud of the man he grew to be.

It was worth it to get a step closer to his father.

The last time your son wished for his father was on the day you left him. Dragons live long but not forever and you only had half the soul of one.

It had been lifetimes since he was a boy but he felt more helpless than ever before. He could do nothing for the mother who kissed his bruises and loved him twice as much to make up for the absence of his father.

He could only lay you to rest in the field of flowers you cherished. Could only fix your hair and cover you in the softest fabric as he buried you. Lay by your grave as long as his body would let him. Through tears he cursed the heavens, cursed whatever deemed it fit to take you away. Cursed the father who was never there.

Where was he when you needed him?

…

He wondered for the last time what Sylus was like. Not as a myth or a father, but as a man.

A man beloved enough to have a son with. A man you hoped to see again in the next life.

A man you'd to turn yourself into a monster for.

Your son never came back to visit you. Never came back to the home that held nothing except bittersweet memories. He left for the farthest corners of the world and still sought to go further.

Without the father he never knew and the mother who was his everything, he was truly alone.

Centuries passed but your son never forgot you. Everywhere he went the wind and the wings of birds carried your presence. In the people he met he saw your kindness. But time was a gentle mistress to him. It healed wounds, altered him in ways never expected.

He was different. Changed to fit the new life he was living—one with towers that reached beyond the clouds, new monsters, and so many people. There was a maturity to him now. A quiet patience. Gone was the boy who would dream of dragons.

Actually, he hadn't been him for a long time.

Then it happened one day.

He was out in the city centre—waiting in line for a new cafe—when he saw you. It was only in passing but he knew it was really you. Knew it in that innate way one can recognise their mother.

Feet moved on their own and he was following behind you before he even realised. You were younger, closer to how he remembered you looking when he was a child. And where were you going? Home? Or to meet up with friends, maybe even a lover?

He just wants to watch you for a bit; won't approach you. You were different, you wouldn’t remember him and that’s okay.

You cross the street and stop, seeming to reach your destination.

He watches curiously as you sneak up behind a man with his back facing the two of you. Sees you throw yourself onto him, hugging his neck. The man turns suddenly and lets out a deep laugh, arms wrap around your waist and he leans down to smile at you.

His breath catches when he sees the stranger's face.

This man is someone he'd recognise from the very marrow of his bones. Hair silvery white like the flash of light that would hit his eyes when he used to fly too close to the sun. Eyes like the rubies that littered the floor of the cave he once called home, a perfect twin to his. And his gaze is fixed on you, much like his own. But there’s something there, a depth of love and longing he’s never seen.

“Hey!” a voice calls out to your son.

“Where are you running off too?” his lover chides out of breath, as they run up to him.  “You just suddenly disappeared, I thought you were waiting for me.”

“Sorry,” he smiles apologetically. “It’s nothing. I just… I thought I saw someone familiar.”

They talk his ear off and drag him back to the main street, but the warm feeling bubbling in his chest stops him from hearing any of it. What are the chances that his wish would finally come true. He got to see his father. On top of that, he can tell from the way he holds you that the man loves you with depths beyond time.

Across the street Sylus watches the retreating figure of a man. His gaze drawn to him with a pull he can’t quite explain.

“Sy, you know him?” you ask as you tilt your head to see who he’s looking at.

“No,” it’s true, and yet—

“He just seems familiar.”

a/n: this only exists because i was listening to epic and had sons never knowing their fathers on the brain. also tysm for 200 followers! kissing each of you on the forehead *muah*

[penguininahottub]

This is, by no means, original thought. However, after the release of Beatles ‘64, I just want someone to make a Beatles film that is for us. Forget the mainstream and do what Cynthia said had never happened - people getting the emotion right instead of just the facts. The Beatles story isn’t a success story, it isn’t a rags to riches story, it isn’t an even a story about genius, it’s a story that has the power to change the world and one that will be told for ever. We are living in an era where we get to witness a myth being made and so in tribute to the oral tradition, we need to be the myth-makers. Someone needs to tell the story. I hope it will be Paul. I fear it won’t. Perhaps he can’t or shouldn’t, perhaps he won’t be believed. He definitely won’t be if everyone, including him, keeps recycling the same tropes. We know there’s no new stuff to be created, but there is a new light to be shed on what we know is there. This is beginning to sound a bit like the discovery of the Book of Mormon. No one needs another religion, but we do need is for someone to actually attempt to approach this seismic cultural event with an honest and open perspective.

Yoko allowed John to believe he was the genius. John’s canonisation (his manufactured image does him no favours) means that we can forget that Paul was the revered one in the 60s. He was the chosen one - in every way. John clocked it at their very first meeting.

“I half thought to myself, He’s as good as me, I’d been kingpin up to then. Now, I thought, if I take him on, what will happen?”- John

He took a risk, he made his choice and then never again believed in his own ultimate superiority. The story he’d told himself growing up, was that nobody was capable of spotting his genius because they were all below him. Surely a trauma response to being abandoned by his parents. Never could stand to be ignored, forever desperate to be seen and yet incapable of taking off the armour of cruelty. Look at me! Paul was the same, not armour but a wall of charm. Underneath John was soft and Paul is that almost impenetrable wall. They let each other in, and each betrayed the other. Those instincts of self-preservation that John spoke about.

Anyway, he took the chance on Paul, because he wanted to be somebody and Paul and him together made that a real possibility. Also, Paul was fucking hot and clever and talented. He was also a non-conforming weirdo who made everything look effortless and wouldn’t join John’s gang and wouldn’t let him lead. I wonder if this was Paul knowing, from the first moment of seeing John as was then confirmed by subsequent sightings and (I suspect) recces, strategically carried out to observe John (oh that bus worship carries some significance beyond an appreciation for public transport), that he knew how to handle John. Handle and manage John, in order to make him his very own.

(Is it him? Does it matter, because Paul has told us he “noticed” John many times, even before the chocolate bar.)

But, all the Paul adulation, especially John’s own uncontrollable, unconditional veneration, got to be too much. He couldn’t keep his jealousy in check. No quantity of material objects, women, money, food, fame soothed the ache for long enough. He thought Yoko, and because I am sure this is what Yoko promised him, was the only person who would always be in awe of him. She wasn’t, and the really tragic part is that Paul was from the jump, he still is and his faith never waivered.

If only they’d been able to maintain the connection and never lose the ability to read each other’s minds.

They burned too brightly. They loved too hard.

[amethystheartsx]

SCATTERED ACROSS THE STARS

Sylus Angst

After years of yearning, eons of loyalty what does a man do when all he gets is pieces, uneven and unfair.

Warnings: angst, slight mentions of chaos murder, drug addiction, and suicide (all mild)

AN: I often think all LIs and MC deserve better. A happiness of their own, not the kind tainted with curses and what not. If you don't like it don't read (°∀°)

Contains reference of another fic I wrote of zayne. I'll add link in case you wanna read.

Sylus was pissed.

No, that's not the right word, it portrays nothing but mere annoyance and anger. Sylus was beyond that.

Sylus was hurt.

No, that's not the right word as well, he wished he was just hurt. He wished it was only pain he felt every time he saw her with them.

Sylus was broken.

Tsk, incorrect yet again. How can one be broken when they were never whole to begin with.

For someone known to have everything worldly in the palm of his hand, Sylus lacked the most essential of his being. His soul, torn and used to bring life into another, one supposed to be his one true companion. His beloved. But Alas! 

Universe played a dirty trick.

For a dragon who owned the treasures of many fallen kings, the one who Never shared any of his possessions, even the one he did not care for, was forced to share the most precious one.

How ironic.

He thought his love was the purest, a beautiful yet tragic legend woven into the ancient ruins only for it to soar once again when they reunited.

He thought none like him existed, one who dared to love so fervently. A valiant display of ardent affection despite the curse that eventually killed him.

Sylus prided himself in his ability to love after the cosmos banned together to refrain it from happening, he prided himself to make a place for himself just so he could, for once, live out his fairy tale with her.

He deserved it right? After everything they went through. He still stands tall after that ever-longing suffering; her warm embrace should be his reward, right?!?.

Wrong.

Ah yes, wrong. Sylus felt wronged.

For the one whom he loved the most, was not his, at least not entirely.

Not the way he belonged to her. No. He longed for her, kept all of his love, his softness, his laughter reserved for her, made it so sacred so that when he laid it bare in front of her it would be nothing the eldest star in the ever-growing galaxy had ever witnessed before.

That's until he learned of them, their desires, their history.

A messenger who betrayed his god.

A god who led down his people.

A royal who left his own planet in ruins.

A fallen soldier who didn't let even death restrain him.

Each of them bared down their lives, people, treasures, and sanity. Over and over again. From gardens of jasmines to bonds of eternal. From past to future and across multiple timelines in between, tangled web, whispered myths and many fostered anecdotes.

Each of their feats rivaled the other, a grandeur display of Romance, that seeps through the galaxies and into her heart.

Wherever it beats, it finds her. They all find her, Love her, and then inevitably lose her.

Yes. The eternal cosmic affairs that have rattled the divine always end in the same way.

Heartbreak.

Tragic.

Unfulfilled.

Tsk. What a waste.

—--

Knowledge is power only some can bear, and Sylus would know. He had spied on them, all of them. Learned about them trying to find the flaws he could use to pry her away from their grasp. All for it to turn into failures.

Not just because they were clean slate, no like him they had their own fallouts.

But because of how happy she looked with them, so happy, just as she did with him. Not more, not less.

Just as much.

How unfair.

For he wanted her all for himself, blame his dragon roots but sylus don't share, how could he do it with the one who owns half his soul.

Is it so wrong he wants it all to himself? To get back the loyalty he had shown for eons?

He wasn't asking for much was he?

Everyday he will see her with one of them.

Under the starlight, along the oceans, in cozziness of duvets or the serenity of the night sky.

And she would dazzle for them just like she dazzles for him.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Nothing special.

__

His beloved was scattered across the stars, and he too only got the crumbs. The spared affections she had to offer, and sylus had enough.

He deserved to have something sacred. Something all for him. Just him.

And as the time went on he noticed…

So did she.

She deserved to have love that doesn't demand her being, her life, her blood, her heart.

She deserved to love as easy as breathing, not one suffocated with unseen linkages that burned with cosmic mischief.

She deserved to love and be loved with free will. Not because she was designed to, programmed to, and especially not with those picked by forces beyond her kin.

And so sylus decided to let her go, it wasnt easy, nor was it gentle but it did happen.

He pulled apart the string of fate, to let her free. It wasn't clean, certainly not smooth at edges but now she could breath. 

Soulmates can be platonic, romance isn't mandatory and besides, Kittens thrive better untethered, untamed.

—

After the “breakup”, if you can even call it that, a word far too trivial to define the undoing bond burned within the constellation, Sylus threw himself into work. Even more than before, going as far as taking Down the cheap underling, spreading chaos on the streets of the N-109 zone.

He was a ruthless killer before now he was a reckless one as well. His strategic movements and calculated attacks roughed up with insatiable need to wreak havoc.

He barely used his henchmen; why should he when he could do it better than them and also get the thrill of it?

Getting his own hands dirty in the hopes of removing the traces she left behind. He had learned the art of letting go, didnt mean he doesn’t get to process his grievance on his own accord, no matter how bloody it is.

Turns out he wasn't the first one to do so, it was the doctor. He, too, had to de-tangle himself from bushes full of thorns that had given him scars to last a lifetime, to plant a whole new garden with another flower just as fragrant, just as pretty. Even though it was small, it was still beautiful because it was entirely in bloom, not just the scraps he had to lose so much for.

Though Sylus was not looking for one, too tired by the charade to bother himself with it. He lived this long he would live out the rest of it as well.

Or so he thought.

---

During a hunt for a specific rat that had infiltrated the base, Sylus was not pleased when his carefully laid out trap was outsmarted by the traitor, fleeing the spot after tricking someone else into it.

“Looks like the rat trap ended up catching a little mouse” he spoke up approaching the bird cage that held just a sweet little thing, at least compared to him. 

He is displeased red eyes were now on,

You.

your pretty big eyes on him as well as crimson shades dust your cheek. “I- I am not supposed to be here…” you spoke, rightfully scared as the man in front of you approached the bird cage, his veiny hand reaching out to hold a bar, still studying, still weary.

“Obviously” he says in a bored tone “you do not fit the description. It was supposed to be a large burly man and not a, well…a fragile little thing too easy to break” he says.

You couldn't help but giggle and that caught him off guard. “Sorry, it's just- your voice is just as deep as I imagined,” you say, making the man in front of you give you a questioning glare. “Excuse me?” he asked. Of course, she wasn't the first to say something like that to him. Many had tried to tempt the man who runs the city to no real outcome.

“You are sylus right? I- am a huge fan!” You say looking up from your place nearing the bars of the cage.

Many had claimed to be his nemesis, his rivals, even admirers, but a fan? That was a first. “A fan? A fan of what?” he asked, his low voice not portraying the hint of curiosity he felt.

“You know, like your achievements and stuff” you reply simply, matter-of-factly.

There was a beat of silence.

“You mean my criminal record?”

“A mighty impressive one”.

His devilishly handsome face contorts into a slightly puzzled expression as he refuses to look away at the shorter person in front of him who continued to look at him….like that.

Sylus was aware how blessed he was aesthetically but he couldn't help but be drawn to her eyes and how she looked at him. They brimmed with admiration, respect and slight fear that didn't aim towards him. Now it isn't that no one ever looked at him like that before, no. What made it different was how pure it was, how easy it came to her when it really shouldn't. Her desires were sated and she didn't require anything of him. Not his favor, not his hate. She was so contant in the moment just being present here, with him.

Sylus had to step back and look away. An unfamiliar weight unfolded in his chest

“Enough with this charade whatever this is” he says “how did you end up here? Because with what you have said so far I believe you are some kind of stalker? Is that what it is?” He speaks with accusations directed towards you.

“Oh no! No” you to quickly step back, panic drips your demeanor “There is a misunderstanding, I have been played to be accurate”.

“Oh? Why tell me more about it little mouse” he says crossing his arm, his tone was sarcastic yet sincere. “I am all ears”.

With a deep breath you begin “that big and burly man you mentioned vaguely, were you talking about daryl? Also known as the bishop?” When he nods cautiously you continue “right! So what happened was, I owed Daryl a favor and he cashed it in and told me to make this delivery for him and well I had no clue that delivery will bring me here” you breath out seemingly calm but that slight shakiness in your voice didn't miss him. “I assume he somehow knew it was a trap then set me up as an escape goat” 

Once you were finished sylus ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. It doesn't happen often that one of his strategically laid out traps doesn't work or catch someone innocent, but even in this moment after his failed attempt his mind was more interested in you “And why would a small thing like you owe a man like bishop a favor” his eyes narrows down at you with suspicion laced with intrigue. Just who are you? First, you claim to be a fan and then turn out to have some sort of connection with a rat that Infiltrated his base.

The question made you chuckle “ah so funny story” you begin, now having sylus’s full attention because how would it be funny to know a man like The Bishop.

“So my dad killed his dad, and then like kind of adopted him because of guilt since his mom was a druggie, she ended her life subscription after like 4 to 5 years or so anyway” You wave it off like it was no big deal and the red-eyed man could only just listen to you stunned. “So yeah Daryl kind of came and went never really stayed, got in the wrong g crowd and found out the truth so he obviously tried to kill us all but thankfully couldn't” you rambled, sylus felt they were losing the plot “If he tried to kill you all why would you owe him….anything?” He tried hiding how absurd he found it, but she could see it as “that's the funny part of having a dysfunctional family.” she leaned on the bars of the cage. “Can't live with them, can't live without them. After nearly burning down our house and running away for good, or so I thought, he returned again remorseful because, well, my dad did take him in, and we were nice enough to him.” She shrugs. Sylus shifted on his feet, impatient “Still doesn't explain why-”

“I am getting there jeez” you giggle, “though we did not really forgive him and cut off our ties I had to reach out to him because” you take another deep breath and sylus holds his.

“I needed the money, we were in ruins, and all kinds of bills were stacking up my books, not making enough. It- it was rough,” You chuckle, but there is no humor in it; the sparkles in your eyes dim down, replaced by the pain of the past that still seems to haunt you. “It was a good chunk I borrowed and was paying him back bit by bit after I started doing well till out of the blue he called in and asked a favor in exchange for forgiving the rest of the loan and- well, rest is history” she stands straighter arms crossed “that answered all your questions?”

Sylus stares you up and down. He knows, of course, that you are not lying or deceiving him, that your heart is pure even after all you've been through, and it is only what you tell him; he wonders what else you hide behind that flowery smile.

“even if you are saying the truth you have seen too much now, and given your…complicated relationship with the bishop I suppose letting you go so freely won't be an option,” he says, his voice dropping low to that cold tone that can make anyone succumb to their knees, the one you had in your eyes right now. That's the look Sylus was used to, not that mellow one you have been giving him.

“No! No wait, don't kill me” you grabbed onto the bar's desperate pleas falling from your lips making him smirk “I-I can be useful I can help you find him! everything I know I'll tell you. Please” the last word falling much softly.

“mhm is that so then maybe you can be spared” sylus says knowing damn well he was never planning on killing her in the first place.

“Well then” he smirks “I am expecting your full corporation little miss”.

AN: This was supposed to be long lol, but I figured I'd make it a whole part 2 later. It is almost written but I have so many ideas I need to arrange it all first

Anywho, let me know if I should write it or not.

Also here is the link.

[girlsworldillusion]

Feast of the Gods 

DemonKing!Aemond - Fem!Reader

Summary: You always knew how hopeless humanity was. But when the insanity of men dawns on you, it's then that you realize that their wickedness can always surpass expectations.

(A retelling of the myth of Hades and Persephone)

Rated: Explicit (+18)

This story will be divided into II parts.

Ella's Notes: This story is dark, with some heavy themes, such as: KIDNAPPING, PHYSICAL TORTURE, BLOOD, VIOLENCE, RITUALS AND SOME RELIGIOUS THINGS. The reader will go through a HORRIBLE and traumatic moment before being rescued. Please, your mental health is what matters most and if any of these things trigger you, I beg you not to read this story.

If you continue to choose to read with me, I wish you a good read!

Word count: 5k

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you may find.

▪︎▪︎▪︎

Humanity was beyond saving.

If there was any remote chance of this having happened at some point during the annals of human civilization, it was a long time ago. Ages, probably. When humanity was much closer to some divine standard of perfection for men. Not now, not with so much filth and sin diluted in their veins and perversion in their minds.

Your faith in your own kind was never strong to begin with - after all, you watched the news, followed articles in newspapers and social media, and heard terrifying whispers here and there. You knew what people were capable of and how far they could go when driven by their evil and disgusting desires. There was not a single soul safe from the hands of these cruel ones in this world; not women, not men, not the elderly or the poor animals - god, not even children.

You knew that.

However, there was a stark difference between knowing that these things could happen and actually being on the receiving end of human evil. It’s the kind of thing that horrifies you and makes you cry knowing it happens to other people, but you think it could never actually happen to you.

Yes, you kept a small taser in your bag, you kept the tip of key firmly between your fingers when you got out of your car to walk to apartment, you didn’t wear headphones when you were alone on the street, you kept your hair in a bun to make it harder for someone to grab you abruptly, and you took half a dozen other precautions to try to stay safe in this vile world. You were acutely aware of the dangers that lurked in the shadows of the alleys and lanes.

And yet, even with this knowledge and all the safety measures in place, you find yourself completely and deplorably taken by surprise when you are attacked as leave the college building.

It all happens so quickly and unexpectedly that you have no time to react before you are overpowered — your taser is there, the sharp ends of your keys are there, and yet you can’t reach them before it’s too late. Your nightly walk is fatally interrupted by large hands twisting your arms painfully behind your back in order to immobilize you while someone else quickly presses an alcohol-soaked cloth over your nose and mouth. All you have are a few seconds of lucidity as struggle hysterically, heart roaring in chest at the sudden attack, eyes wide and terrified at your attacker - someone, a man you assume by his height and build, face covered by some kind of scary gothic mask, a black hood over his head.

"Shh, shhh..." his voice is cold, impassive, indifferent to what he's doing to you - to what he plans to do to you. "Don't fight it, pretty girl, there's no way out. Just accept it." He is condescending, tilting his head to the side as if that will help him better visualize your reactions.

And you absolutely don’t want to do what he says, your stomach churning and skin turning sickly pale at the thought of what they might do to you once you’re unconscious. Your eyes fill with tears in response, face shaking from side to side to escape the insistent grip of the alcohol-soaked cloth on your nose – but this only makes the man press harder. And there’s nowhere to run, really. The edges of your vision darken, your senses dull and you vaguely recognise that the men are saying something, but all you can hear are muffled murmurs of distant voices – like having your head underwater while someone else talks. Your fingertips go cold and numb and for a moment you can’t tell if this is also an effect of the inevitable onset of unconsciousness or if it’s due to the violent grip the man behind you has on your wrists. Darkness overtakes you soon after, vision closing in like a tunnel as shadows slide before you, a whisper of some dirty laughter sounding in the background - and the only thing you can think is: 'please, let them just kill me.'

Because, yes, the alternative is better than so many other things they could do.

They don't kill you. But god, you wish they would with every miserable second that passes in this unspeakable torture. Your cries are shrill and hoarse, echoing like shards of glass through the tall treetops of the dark forest they've dragged your unconscious body into.

You've wake up to what feels like long hours ago, groggy and confused, thinking that maybe this was all just a horrible nightmare - that you were actually in your own home; safe and warm, far away from the hands of cruel men. But then you take notice of your surroundings; every horrible bit of reality seeping into your bones like a bucket of ice water.

The first thing you noticed then was that you were lying on some kind of stone slab raised above the ground, the surface cold and pitted, loose and sharp protrusions biting the soft flesh of your back until it drew blood. Your arms were stretched out, wrists bound by thick ropes to stakes driven into the ground beside the stone slab, as were your feet. You also realized, with despair and fear you had never experienced until that moment, that you were completely naked.

What they planned became clear to you within a short time.

"Why are you doing this to me?! Please, s-stop! Help me, please!!"

You agonized with what was left of your voice, throat raw and bruised from all the previous times you had done this, wrists torn to bloody flesh from pulling at the rope restraints as you struggled desperately to free yourself.

Those, however, were the least of your injuries.

Almost every inch of your body was bleeding, pierced with deep cuts made by sharp daggers and pocket knives. Your blood, crimson red and thick, sticky and abundant on your back, running down the sides of your body until it stained the entire cold surface of the stone you were lying on.

You read somewhere that the human body could only withstand a certain level of pain; something about the abundant stress of the situation, the extreme pain and fear activating a nerve that is responsible for the decrease in blood circulation and heart rate - which, in turn, causes the body to 'shut down'. Honestly, you can't imagine that anyone could still consciously endure a level of pain greater than what you are experiencing. And, for a moment of emotional misunderstanding caused by suffering, you find yourself resentful and hurt with your own body, blaming it directly for not helping you in this moment of desperate agony.

"Shut up!" One of the men shouts at you, his features hidden by the same creepy gothic mask the other wore, a long, dark cloak covering his body. "Fuck, I told you we should have gagged the bitch from the start. Her screams are already giving me a headache." He comments to one of the other guys, looking almost bored with the whole situation - even as you stand there, mangled and shaking, bleeding profusely from every inch of your body.

How could they do this to you? How could someone do this to anyone?

"Stop complaining, we're almost done." The taller guy, the leader of the group it seems, sighs wearily next to your body, the bloody knife (dripping red with your blood) held high in one of his hands right where you can see it, the other carefully holding a thick, ancient-looking book between his fingers, his grip on the thing almost reverential, as if there were nothing more important in life than this. "Now I just need to recite the final words of summoning."

You choke out a wet sob in response, ignoring the excruciating pain and exhaustion in your body to writhe against the rope restraints once more.

"Are you sure he'll accept this sacrifice?" the other guy asks the leader, completely oblivious to your attempts to escape, looking at you with a disinterested blink, as if you've somehow failed to meet whatever sick expectation he's conjured in his twisted mind.

"Of course I'm sure, idiot. We did everything right," the leader clicks his tongue, laying the cold side of the blade against your waist, slowly pulling to open a new, bloody cut in your flesh, and you gasp out a broken sob - your throat raw and unable to make a sound louder than that. "We have the sacrifice properly bled," he shakes the knife dripping with your blood onto the ground to emphasize his words, "we have the runes meticulously drawn here," with a tilt of his head he points to the many strange markings made across the forest floor, around the sacrificial stone you are lying on. "All that remains is to recite the words of summoning and he will appear when feels her blood sing through the flames. And then we kill the girl before he reaches her, that way the King of Demons will be summoned and bound to us, forced to grant us any wish."

You cry at the insane words, but you can't help but blink your eyelashes more slowly, feeling the beginnings of dizziness take over your head, the loss of blood and pain finally seeming to reach your senses.

"It's a shame, you know." A guy who had remained silent until now comments as he approaches you, raising two fingers to caress your blood and tear-stained cheek, his dark, lustful gaze slowly sliding over your naked body behind the mask. "She's so beautiful. It really is a waste to kill her without us being able to have a little fun with her first."

The lethargy in your limbs prevents you from doing more than just grunt in fear, moving your face heavily to the side.

"Fuck, I thought the same thing. But unfortunately the instructions are very clear when say that the sacrifice must not be contaminated by the summoners. That would put the entire ritual at risk." The leader rolls his eyes, as if such a requirement were insane and unreasonable - but the disgusting and cruel act they're doing to you is totally okay apparently.

He continues after that, sighing before starting to recite words in a language you've never heard before. You have no idea what he's saying, and it's not just because your muscles are tired and your ears are starting to fail. No, not just because of that. The words sound wrong in the leader's tired voice. Like an ancient and forgotten language, one that humans should never attempt to speak. A collection of ancient words that make your skin crawl, clearly dark and dangerous in it's intent, even if you don't understand it's true meaning.

Even though you're tired and shaking with pain, you still jump when a ring of fire suddenly roars to life around where the runes are scrawled, enveloping you and the group of psychopaths who tortured you mercilessly in an intense circle of blaze - high and strong, so intense that they seem to emit their own sound amidst the flames; screams and agonized grunts, the lament of thousands of suffering souls lost forever.

It's not any kind of fire you've ever seen before. The flames are not orange and reddish, nor even remotely recognizable in any way. They're blue. An electric and startling shade of blue that grows louder with each foreign word leaving the leader's lips, as if hiding you in an inescapable dome of hellish flames.

The man’s voice seems to grow dramatically as he approaches what you assume is the end of his speech, the voices of the other men rising to echo the leader, a kind of purposeful climax that makes your breath stutter in terror in your chest, your tearful, exhausted gaze trying to focus on the center of the blue flames - as if you know something will emerge from that specific spot at any moment.

And it does.

The men around the sacrificial stone you are straighten their postures in anticipation as the leader stops speaking, their own voices ceasing as well, masked faces turning to the same spot you are looking at.

Through the blue curtain of fire you see something emerge. Or at least you think you do. Maybe it’s just your fragmented and exhausted mind, the cords of unconsciousness calling it back, creating illusions that don’t exist.

Bare feet on the forest floor, black-stained toes crushing small twigs and dry leaves, dark pants covering a pair of long legs. A defined and completely naked torso, hard and elegant muscles under the pale and flawless skin of the chest and arms. Forearms and hands stained with the same dark paint as the tips of the toes, culminating in long, sharp claws. With broad and powerful shoulders, the creature advances slowly, like a natural predator coming out of hiding to hunt. His hair, you notice with a blurry and unsteady gaze, seems to be as white as the moon hanging in the sky above the treetops, long and silky, loose around his face to reach the middle of his back. One of his eyes is so violet that it stands out even among the blue flames of the fire. The other, however, is occupied by a turquoise blue stone, bright and unique, as alive as the flames roaring around him. His face is all sharp, cold lines, skin pale as ivory — a long, deep scar over the same eye that contains the blue stone.

And if before you thought it was some kind of delirium caused by blood loss, now you know for sure. Because only that would explain the pair of dark wings you see, wide and majestic on the creature's back; their shape seeming to wave the longer you look, as if they were made of blackened smoke, something you can't really focus on. And, as if that weren't disturbing enough, you notice the long shape of two horns on top of his head; the black tone contrasting with the pale immensity of his hair, its slightly twisted shape culminating in sharp points tilted backwards.

Apart from the dying sound of the wailing coming from the flames around you all, there is no sound being made as the creature advances slowly - even the forest seems silenced, frightened and hidden in itself before the supernatural presence. The men who kidnapped you stare at the creature with bated breath, as if not even they were ready for such a sight.

"Tsk, I was in the middle of something important back there."

The creature's voice, a sound both soft and rough at the same time, seems to crawl between your body and ears like a hissing serpent, shivering your flesh and making you cringe in response. His aura, dark and powerful, disinterested and yet horribly cold, makes your neck shiver and your heart race - the presence of something not human, not belonging to this existential plane.

The creature doesn't look at you though. No, his mismatched eyes are lazily fixed on the summoning book in the leader's hands.

"You humans never learn, do you?"

He shakes his head and closes his one good eye, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lip, just enough to expose the pearly glint of an elongated canine, sharp and dangerous like a vampire's.

"W-what are you waiting for?! Kill her now, finish the ritual!"

The shrill scream of one of the men for the leader startles you, but you have no strength left to do anything but lie there, a weak, mutilated lamb waiting for the final blow of the axe.

The cult leader, who had been staring catatonically at the creature, seems to come back to life at this, gripping the dagger tighter between his fingers. He doesn’t even look at you as he raises the blade above your body, aiming for the gap between your breasts, roaring a sound of determination as he lowers the dagger. You close your eyes at this, so tired and sore that you feel ready to welcome death, anything to just stop feeling so much agony.

But the fatal blow never comes.

There’s a wet crunching sound very close to your ear and at first you think that might be it, the sound of the blade piercing your chest.

Except there’s no pain, at least not any that wasn’t there before. And you’re still alive, as far as you can tell. You shouldn't be alive with a knife stuck in your heart, right?

With exhausted, fluttering eyelids, you tilt your head toward the source of the sound.

The widening of your eyes and the dry gasp that dies in your throat is a reaction straight out of a horror movie.

There, right next to your face, is what was the cult leader's head. Now nothing but a disgusting mound of congealed blood, liquefied brain, eyeballs popping out of their sockets, and crushed bones. Atop the bloody mess rests a broad hand, large enough to easily cover what was once the entire length of the man's head, coal-black fingers pressing him against the stone slab, sharp claws as black as his fingers scraping the surface of the sacrificial board.

The leader's body still shakes with involuntary spasms, even though his head is now completely and grotesquely crushed - like a fat grape that has been stomped on.

"Fuck!" One of the cult’s followers exclaims, prompting a general, chaotic reaction of horror and curses. You find yourself struggling to tear your gaze away from the disturbing scene before your eyes, watching as the men scatter desperately, trying to get out of the summoning circle by any means necessary - but they’re not going anywhere, not with the blue flames roaring high above like a containment wall, trapping you all here with this creature.

The only way out now, you think lethargically, is your death - that’s what the leader said earlier, wasn’t it? Your death on the sacrificial table would secure the creature’s forced loyalty, granting them one wish. They might as well order the creature to leave them alone, since the rest of their plan had clearly gone wrong.

And perhaps the men have come to the same conclusion as you, because as soon as they realize there is no escape, the eyes of all five remaining men are on you, their intentions clear on their terrified faces.

And so the chaos begins.

The one closest to you swings the blade at your body with a ferocious scream, only to choke on a gurgling sound, a large bubble of blood spilling from his mouth as his eyes widen. Emerging from the middle of his chest you see the same dark hand with horribly sharp claws, slick with the man's entrails and blood, the creature's presence looming behind his body like an dark mountain.

The creature suddenly disappears in a blurry cloud of smoke, appearing as a shadow beside the other man as he approaches, grabbing the sides of his face and twisting it an unnatural direction. He doesn't even make a sound before his neck is broken, snapping like the flimsiest of twigs between his long fingers.

Another cloud of smoke and he's grabbing the throats of two followers at once, lifting their bodies into the air as if it were nothing before shoving them straight into the raging curtain of blue flames. He holds their faces there for what can’t have been more than a few seconds, but it’s long enough for the men to scream like their limbs are slowly being pulled and torn apart one by one, the grotesque, agonizing sound suddenly ceasing as they too succumb to death.

And so there’s only one left.

The last follower, the one who suggested raping your body before killing you, stands frozen and pale beside you. He doesn’t seem likely to attack you, not with the way his entire body is shaking and his eyes are wide and glassy, ​​flickering over the grotesque sight of each brutally murdered comrade.

The creature drops what remains of the men’s charred bodies at his feet with an exorbitant amount of disdain, walking slowly toward the last man standing, blood spattered and dripping down the hard planes of his torso and arms.

"P-please. I don't want to die - have mercy, I-I beg you..."

The creature smiles at the man's stuttered plea; a cold, indifferent laugh, sharper than any dagger they've used on you tonight, raising a bloody finger to his lips, a long, reptilian tongue slithering out to lap at the wet mess as he keeps his narrow, violet gaze locked on the man.

"Mercy, you say..." He hums thoughtfully, lowering his finger to gently poke at the tight knot digging deep into the delicate flesh of one of your ankles, his gaze flicking rapidly from the man to the mess of cuts and blood leaking from every inch of your body. "Is that what you showed this girl as she screamed and begged you to stop? Mercy?"

He doesn't necessarily say it out of sympathy for your suffering, not for what your eyes swimming in shadows and liquid can see. It's more of a sincere observation, a fact pointed out to solidify the absurdity of what the man is asking of him at this moment.

"I-I..." The man chokes, stumbling back instinctively before he feels the wall of fire behind him, wide eyes turning to the creature. "This was for My Lord! She was a sacrificial offering, the entire ritual, as painful and cruel as it was, was necessary so that-"

"And yet you planned to trick me and kill her before I could reach her, trapping me in this wretched domain until a supposed wish was granted." The creature contemplates with a disinterested click of his tongue, completely controlled and casual, as if the fact doesn't surprise him at all. "Tell me, did you really think this laughable plan would work on a Demon like me?"

The man stammers out a response, shaking his head from side to side, fumbling over his words as his despair grows with each passing second.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” The demon waves his hand indifferently, blinking at you with something unreadable in his dysfunctional eyes before looking back at the man. “I am here to seek what was so kindly given to me. Your presence is no longer required.” His voice drips with coldness somewhere in your mind, and you blink your eyelashes slowly, the edges of your vision darkening.

The man raises his eyebrows in terror, parting his lips to say something - but then the blue stone in the demon’s eye glows a few shades brighter, and immediately the cult follower is kneeling on the ground, hands clenched against his head as he screams in deafening agony. You don't understand what's happening, your own consciousness wavering as the darkness overtakes you - but even in this state you still notice the blood gushing from the man's eyes, nose and ears as he screams, his eyes going completely white as the irises roll violently back into his head.

You can't tell if he dies quickly or if you simply lose all sense of your surroundings, but silence takes over your consciousness shortly after. And you blame the exhaustion and the physical and psychological damage inflicted for the complete lack of compassion in your being for the deaths of these men.

As your eyes close and the darkness finally engulfs your senses, all you can think is that you can die in peace, because justice has been served once.

Aemond stares blankly at the man lying lifeless on the ground, blood dripping profusely from his facial orifices, eyes wide and dull, lips still open in an agonized scream of pain.

It was over.

Now, without the distraction of pathetic men's hearts beating and their disgusting scents permeating the air, the demon feels he can finally focus on the reason he deigned to set foot once more in this wretched and filthy domain.

He looks down at the girl lying on the sacrificial stone. Her small body is scarred with deep cuts from sharp daggers, blood gushing from the wounds to stain the cold surface of the stone. Her skin is pale and sick, but her expression is strangely serene now.

He steps closer, lifting his fingers to push a few strands of hair away from her face. Avoiding the sharp tip of his claw, he strokes the girl's cheek with just the pad of his thumb, trailing the mixture of blood and tears across her soft skin. His attentive gaze takes in the almost mesmerizing way her long eyelashes brush the top of her cheeks, the gentle slope of her nose, the matted hair dirty with sweat and blood splattered across the sacrificial stone.

"So it was you who sang to me?" He hummed nonchalantly, smirking softly as he noticed how his blackened hand completely eclipsed the girl's face. "I heard your call sweet human, I'm here now."

It was not the first time that Aemond had felt the call of a sacrifice being performed in his name from his domain. Over the millennia, humans had attempted this many times - countless times. The practice had, at one point in history, actually worked as a summoning call. But as the sands of time quickly ran down humanity, the ritual lost its power as well. Crucial information and important steps were left unmentioned from generation to generation, and so the ritual became incomplete, allowing Aemond to ignore it when it was performed.

Aemond did not even fully understand the purpose of these rituals. He had no interest in the mutilated and bleeding humans in his possession. Their souls after death interested him, their eternal loyalty and service to the Kingdom in the Underworld.

But while they were alive?

No, he had no interest in that.

That was why he welcomed humanity’s regression to performing such rituals. He still felt the tug of the bond toward sacrifice each time it was performed, but he no longer felt compelled to attend to it — it was something he could ignore.

But tonight was different.

It began like any ritual. Annoying and inconvenient, but ignorable. He was in his castle, managing some important matters involving his Kingdom and the domains in his possession while pretending not to notice the tug on his mind.

But then the girl's blood was spilled.

He felt it permeate the air as if it were right in front of his nose. Sweet, succulent ambrosia, wrapped in invisible strings that seemed to move around his body like a delicate bow, something that should have been there from the beginning.

His attention was fully on the ritual then. The girl's sacrificial blood singing to him across time and the planes of existence, a unique sonnet so forgotten throughout the ages that not even he remembered it existed. His tongue darting out to taste his lips as if he could taste her there.

It was disturbing, especially for someone powerful like him, to feel so captivated by someone he didn’t even know. But the dead thing in his chest, the cold, hollow hole where his heart should have been, ached and pulled in a way it had never done in his long existence.

And before he knew it, Aemond was making garlic he hadn’t made in millennia.

He was answering the call of a ritual.

The King of Demons told himself he just wanted to see her. He just wanted to give that enchanting, seductive scent a face. The creature was nearly dead anyway, it wouldn’t last long.

But as he stared at the delicate, satisfied lines of the girl’s face, surrendering herself to the darkness as if the balance of world were finally leveled, Aemond knew he wouldn’t leave here without her.

She, poor Persephone against her will, unwillingly sacrificed to imprison a dark creature like him, a lonely Hades in his eternal Realm of empty souls.

Oh no, he wouldn’t leave her. The call had not been a coincidence. The cold space in his chest was connected to this creature somehow - this weak, temporary human. A bond had been made, independent of both wills. Aemond would not let that go.

The girl, after all, was his sacrifice. She suffered and bled so that he could be here.

Well, now he is.

With gentle fingers, he unties each of the knots in her bloodied limbs, his aura darkening at the sight of the deep marks left on her skin. Long fingers wrap around her small body, pulling the girl to him, wrapping her in his limbs to cover her with his wings in an instinctive protective manner. He buries his nose in the roots of her hair, inhaling the scent of lavender and honey, dulled by the seductive aroma of her sweet blood.

He hums contentedly, a small but mischievous and almost frightening smile on his lips as he advances with the girl towards the imposing wall of turquoise blue flames.

He would have problems when the human woke up and that was obvious, Aemond did not entertain any pathetic hope that she would accept her fate by his side easily. After all, everything she had, life as she knew it, would end tonight. She was trapped with him now, for eternity. An eternity condemned to the underworld.

From his own experience Aemond knew that it was not an easy reality to accept.

But she would accept it, eventually. He would even sweeten the reality for her, a courtesy that was never done to him. He would grant her luxuries and care that she would never experience in the mortal domains. She would lack absolutely nothing. And, above all, he would grant her his own existence. His constant protection, his loyalty and his endless adoration.

Yes, it would not be easy at first. But she would realize in time that there is no better place to be than ruling the underworld by his side.

"Come, let's go home sweet Persephone."

And so they moved on, leaving the human domain behind. Forever.

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

⚠️Elysium Spoilers!⚠️

I didn't plan on writing anything at all about the new World Underneath story until tomorrow but alas I am God's weakest soldier and am literally going to burst if I don't yap about a particular part of the story that both made me giggle and kick my feet, and caused my heart and eyes to well up. So if you haven't read Elysium yet, scroll past this post!

As for what I desperately need to write about, it's this:

I have said it before and I'll say it again now: whenever Sylus is called a red flag booktok LI, an angel loses its wings. Sylus is the biggest yearner to ever yearn. He is the posterboy of loverboys. A loser in love. A man who wears his heart on his sleeves. This special available exclusively for MC solidifies it. It confirms that MC has always been at the forefront of Sylus' mind.

Let's break the special down:

The Items:

So, what do pepper walnut tart, rosemary gelato, pomegranate jelly and red wine marshmallow have in common?

They're all sweet. According to Dragon!Sylus, Sorceress!MC had a sweet scent - "Like cherry wine".

But the desserts above are not purely sweet. They also have other flavors that add a unique spark, a kick. Just like Sorceress MC (and present MC as well), who was sweet but had an equally strong fire to her. A kitten with claws.

And then there is the last item on the special:

10.5 grams of soul

Now... how much does a soul weigh?

21 grams

What do you get when you divide 21?

10.5

So, 10.5 grams of soul = half a soul.

In other words, it symbolizes the half of MC's soul that Sylus has carried within himself ever since the myth, where she offered it up to him in exchange for half of his 🥺💘

The Description:

"I'm waiting for you"

Shut uuuuup 😭😭😭

I can't with this man... the nerve to drop this on me during my period 😤😭

Who Can Order This Special?

Just MC. The Special is exclusively available to her. And so, naturally, is the side dish that comes with it. Which just so happens to be: Sylus

This is the cutest shit ever

Sylus, the loser in love that you are 😩💘😆

No joke, I'd die for him. It's that serious. I am never leaving the chokehold that he has me in. Not even wild horses nor Paperfold's evil greedy shenanigans can drag me out of it atp.

But yeah, like I said at the beginning of this post, I think this special proves definitively that MC was always at the center of Sylus' mind and heart. His vision for the future life he'd lead in the N109 Zone always included her. He was simply waiting for her to walk into Elysium and order the Sweet Evil Trap. And then they'd be reunited, and she'd be by his side, ruling the N109 Zone.

But, as we know, things took a very different turn due to circumstances beyond Sylus' control. Not only did he have to meet MC in a way he had not planned nor expected, but she also hated him thanks to Ever and Sherman besmirching his name </3

[yokumirumerafan]

*VIOLENTLY CRASHES ONTO YOUR WINDOW* hi :3. I have a request! I'm thinking off KNY characters x Medusa Y/N, where people heard about the myth of the Medusa in the village or anywhere, at first the KNY characters didn't believe it until at night, Medusa Y/N helped them defeating the demons /demon slayers by turning them into stones and crushed them into dust (and also saved them when they've almost dead), the KNY characters instantly fell in love with them, **harder**. Medusa Y/N rarely left their secluded isolated house at day time since they're afraid someone would know their identity beneath their mask and their bandana scarf or a big hat (where their snake hairs are),scared of them, disgust of them, and accidentally turn them into stones. Now I wanna see what's the KNY characters reaction after first time seeing them and knowing where they lives and the reason why they lives alone.

SERIOUSLY YOUR WRITING LITERALLY ALWAYS LIKE ALWAYS MAKES MY DAY BETTER LIKE I'M RIGHT HERE GIGGLING LIKE AN IDIOT RIGHT NOW, I EVEN JUST JOIN MHA FANDOM BECAUSE OF YOUR WRITINGS OF THE CHARACTERS (especially HAWKS) I HOPE YOU HAVE A BLESSING DAY ⭐⭐⭐‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ -shrimp 🦐 #1 fan of Kyojuro, Gyomei, Hotaru, AND hawks

🪞🦐 SHRIMP MY #1 FAN ILY HELLO HELLOOOO <333

🐍🖤 Demon Slayer x Medusa!Reader – “The Eyes That Saved Me”

🔥 Kyojuro Rengoku

“You turned the demon to stone... with your eyes.”

He was wounded, bleeding, yet couldn't stop staring—you, standing beneath the moonlight, your mask half-lowered, snakes hissing protectively around your face, eyes shimmering like obsidian.

You looked like a goddess and a ghost all at once.

When he learns of your isolation, your fear of hurting others, Kyojuro’s heart burns with heartbreak and admiration.

“You live in fear of yourself... while you saved me? While you saved everyone?”

He visits you every day after that—bringing food, talking through the door, asking to see you. His voice never wavers.

“You are not a monster. You are strong. Kind. I see you.” And he wants you to see yourself too.

🛐 Gyomei Himejima

He heard the villagers whispering about the cursed one. About “the monster who hides in the woods.” He prayed for you before he met you.

And then, during a night hunt, when demons nearly ended his life, he heard the sound of stone cracking—and your voice: “Stay still. I won’t hurt you.”

He doesn’t see your face, but he hears your soul.

When you finally confess why you live alone, why you hide—he kneels beside you.

“Your heart is not cursed. Only afraid. I do not need to see your face to know your spirit is kind.”

Gyomei would meditate outside your home, unafraid. You are a miracle, not a mistake. He would let you cry in silence, and say nothing—but let you feel everything.

🌸 Shinobu Kocho

She was skeptical at first. Medusa? Stone powers? Sounds like fairy tales.

But when you saved her, even when she doubted you—when you appeared like a phantom and froze a demon mid-lunge with nothing but a glance—her smile faltered.

“You truly are... something else.”

She treats you gently, like a rare flower. Her curiosity is endless—How do your eyes work? Can you control it? How do you feel when it happens?

But above all… her voice softens when you flinch from her gaze.

“You don’t need to hide. Let me be your antidote.”

🐍 Obanai Iguro

When he sees you, he doesn't speak. Just stares. You hide behind your scarf. He hides behind his bandages. You both know what it feels like to be feared.

His snake, Kaburamaru, is enamored with your hair-snakes. He winds through them, playfully.

He sits outside your cabin often, speaking softly. Not asking for anything. Just existing. Just letting you know—he’s there.

And one day he says: “If you ever wish to leave the shadows... I will walk beside you. Even if the world turns to stone around us.”

⚡ Sanemi Shinazugawa

Barges into the forest to fight the "monster," and nearly gets his ass turned to STONE.

“WHAT THE HELL???”

You literally save him while he’s screaming. And he’s like: “…oh.”

It takes him a while. He’s super defensive. “Why would you live out here? What, you scared of people or something? You think you’re cursed? You think you're scary?”

But he sees how your hands shake when you lower your scarf.

“…Dumbass. You’re not scary. You saved my life.” He blushes hard. He respects power—but softness scares him more. And you? You’re both.

He starts showing up unannounced, bringing meat and yelling through your window: “YA ATE TODAY OR NOT, YOU RECLUSE?”

🌧 Giyuu Tomioka

Giyuu’s the first to say nothing—and the first to understand everything.

He saw your power. Saw your pain. And instead of judging, he just said: “...It must be lonely.”

That’s it. That’s all it took for your walls to start cracking.

He doesn’t talk much, but he visits you regularly. Leaves small gifts. One day, when you say: “You’re not afraid of me?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve been feared too. I know what it does to a person. But I trust you.”

And from then on… he smiles a little more when he's near you.

⚙️ Hotaru Haganezuka

He did not believe the rumors. People are idiots.

But he believed in his sword. And the moment your powers saved it—and him—he was obsessed. Not in a weird way. But like a “Who is this absolutely incredible person and how do I forge them the best sword ever forged” kind of way.

When he saw your snakes, he didn’t flinch. He literally went, “Cool. Metal.”

“Why would I care if your hair hisses? My sword does too when I’m forging it right.”

He doesn't care how you look. He cares how you fight. He brings you special goggles so you don’t have to be scared of hurting people by accident. Tells you: “Come to the forge. You’re safe with me. I got demons to melt, and I want you next to me.”

🍵 Tanjiro Kamado

Tanjiro's empathy hits like a TRUCK.

You save him and he immediately smells it: the scent of sadness. Of fear. Of loneliness. “You’re not a monster. You’re protecting people. Even if they don’t see it.”

He never calls you “Medusa.” He asks your name and says it with warmth, like it’s holy.

And the first time you cry, whispering that you wish you were normal—he hugs you. Snakes and all.

"You're exactly who you're meant to be."

⚡ Zenitsu Agatsuma

Zenitsu… is terrified.

“SNAKES???? EYES??? A CURSE?????” he screams.

But then… you save him. And he sees the look in your eyes. The pain. The fear of hurting others. And it hits him like a freight train.

He’s quiet after that. Real quiet.

Then suddenly he blurts: “I THINK YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL AND I’LL FIGHT ANYONE WHO SAYS OTHERWISE!!!”

He's your biggest hype man from then on. Makes sure you feel loved. Follows you around like a yandere golden retriever.

🌪 Inosuke Hashibira

“What the hell is THIS cool mask lady???” Immediately obsessed with you. Wants to fight you.

But when you say “No. I might hurt you.” He gets quiet.

“You mean you’re scared of being too strong?” Then he nods. “…Yeah. I get that.”

He respects the hell out of you. And he thinks your snakes are BADASS.

Will randomly scream “STONE LADY’S MY FRIEND!!!!” to villagers just to make sure everyone knows you’re good.

🐗 Genya Shinazugawa

Honestly?? Same vibes as Sanemi, but less yelly and more tsundere.

He’s silent when you save him. You disappear into the shadows, and he’s just left there like “…What the hell was that?”

Then he seeks you out. Finds you. Watches you tend to injured animals.

"Why do you do that?" You shrug. "They’re not scared of me."

That hits him so hard.

He starts guarding your home like a bodyguard. Doesn’t admit he likes you for WEEKS.

Then finally: "...You’re kinda amazing, y’know."

[multiversefanfics]

Touch Starved

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Warning: nothing but fluff Summary: Dean is touched starved, he needs you to keep him grounded. Word Count: 644

Dean Winchester — The man, the myth, the legend, the big scary hunter that wasn’t afraid of anything. Except losing you.

Dean loved being touch by you, even more than him touching you. Both sexually and romantically, this big, strong, man was a softie at heart. He hunted the worst or the worst yet the only thing that could make him fall apart was you.

Sure, Dean faced many many losses, but none of that matter when it came to you, you showed him love and kindness that he’s never experienced before, in the beginning he felt as though he didn’t deserve it, he still sometimes feels like that.

You’re the one that brings him back down to earth, the only one that could make him forget all about the turmoil that just occurred hours ago. Dean definitely wasn’t one to share either, so when Sam had all your attention one night during some lore research, he walked around the bunker library huffing and puffing until you finally asked him what was wrong.

“You’re giving Sammy all your attention, while i’m over here alone, withering away to nothing.” You rolled your eyes and continued to flip through the book Dean had enough, he wanted to cuddle, he wanted kissed, he wanted you to rub his back in that special way that he likes, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He slammed the book shut and picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder. You let out a yelp and smacked his butt, you looked up at Sam throwing him an apologetic look, he understood Dean was relentless.

“Dean! We have work to do.” He didn’t care, he wanted you all to himself, the lore can wait.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m in need of some cuddles and. kisses.” He continued up the stairs to your shared room.

There was nothing you could do but lay on his shoulder patiently waiting for him to put you down, there was no use fighting it or trying to negotiate a deal, he was dead set on cuddling.

When the two of you finally reached the room, he pulled the blanket back and laid you on the bed, you shot him a glare as he crawled in bed beside you. You admit, he was very persuasive when he really wanted something.

He nuzzled his way into your arms, causing a giggle to leave your lips. “You’re really needy today.” He nodded against your chest, pulling you closer to him.

You loved when Dean got like this, it showed you that he truly needed you, even when he was angry or just in an all around bad mood, you were always there for him. He left soft kisses along your jawline, as you ran your fingertips up and down his spine, he shivered at your touch but ultimately relaxed under it as well.

“Y’know, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me, sweetheart.” Hearing him say those words made your heart flutter, you knew he was telling the truth too.

Dean wasn’t one to talk about his feelings, not even with Sam, but when it came to you, the words came out like vomit, half the time he didn’t even know he was saying them until he looks at you and you're staring back at him, adoringly.

He felt safe with you, he knew you wouldn’t make fun of him for feeling the way that he did, maybe a little playful teasing when he was super mushy, but you loved him regardless and he knew that.

You started to rub his back in that special way that he liked and only you knew how to do. His breath got slower and light snores began to escape his lips, you smiled softly and allowed yourself to relax, falling asleep along with him.

Everything was perfect and you couldn’t be happier.

A/N: This came out of nowhere and was written in less than 20 minutes, I hope you guys like this if you want to be tagged in future fics comment here or send me a message. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. 🥰

Main Masterlist - Dean Winchester Masterlist

Taglist: @iwudbutnah @littlesoulshine @miss-marmalade

[lya-dustin]

The Stone Table

or a rewrite of a one shot i did when rings of power first came out in my now deleted lotr blog erinti-of-the-maiar

Gil-galad x Erinti(oc)

could be read as part of both The Moon Lives in the Lining of Your Skin(silmarilion version)and I Sang of Leaves of Gold(Rings of power verision

inspired by this post made by @queenmeriadoc

summary: Gil-galad’s Maia wife wants a baby but his schedule is too busy so she uses their bond to spice things up during a feast to get what she wants.

cw: sex, telepathic dirty talk, cunnilingus, p in v sex, breeding, table sex, breast play

Her husband has always been too serious.

He had been serious and sensible with a perpetually stern brow despite his youth when they first married. While Ereinion Gil-galad had never been wild, he has always been bold.

The burden of kingship weighs heavily on him as does a strange hint of evil growing in the air. He smiles less and less these days, rarely takes a day off and Erinti has found him too tired to seek pleasure as of late.

She aches for him, to feel him move within her and see his troubles melt away as he sows his seed into her womb.

The Maia wants a child, to have their feä join and create a life inside her that will become a babe in her arms for them to love and nurture for the rest of their days.

And that cannot happen if her husband refuses to fuck that baby into her. To have him be rough with her, to have him overpower her and fuck her until all of Lindon feels the effect of their orgasms.

It would soon be autumn, but no plant would die nor leaf fall if the High King were to take her bent over his desk, or against the wall or on the balcony like they did a while ago.

Gil-galad’s hand on his glass tightens as his wife’s desire is felt through their bond.

Elves can hold a strong bond to the point of feeling one live and die no matter the distance, a Maiar could even manipulate a person so long as there is an opening.

Erinti and her husband have a bond so strong she knows the Halls of Mandos wouldn’t stand a chance against it. Sometimes they do not even need to speak out loud, his thoughts and hers can be heard and even seen as clearly as if each other were part of their psyche.

She is half expecting him to ask her to stop and yet her husband does not. Instead, her stick in the mud husband matches her desire with his.

Despite the regal and rigid as stone aspect he has, Gil-galad has quite a filthy mind. And, of course, the stamina to tire his maiar wife.

Something he reminds her with a hidden smile as he drinks his wine. Wine he claims is not as fine as that nectar that flows from her womb.

A womb he will fill the moment the feast is cleared, or so he promises.

But it does not end there, no, he doesn’t allow her to concentrate on the things said by those speaking to her as he takes his revenge.

He likes the low cut of her dress, the swell of her bosom on display like that for him, the fact that she wore no shift, or any other undergarments, had not gone unnoticed by him.

The king wants to tease her over the clothes, to knead and brush his thumb over her sensitive nipples as he kissed his way down her fair neck and collarbone until he is tearing off the dress to free her body from its confines. He intended to lavish her perfect breasts and use his mouth and fingers to string out that beautiful melody she makes when she comes.

A good prelude for what he had planned after the feast is over. By the time she’s readied for him to breed her Erinti of the Flowers would be naked and exposed to the cool autumn air.

The stone table would suffice, stone does not grow roots and leaves when he fucks his queen on it. Their bed had become a living tree with great roots and thick foliage with how attentive her husband usually is.

This particular stone was of great strength, carved from deep inside the mountains of Eregion and able to withstand the might of an Ent if it is to be believed.

A maia in the throes of passion may test that myth. Erinti’s hands had broken many things when her control slipped, while her ability was to nurture the earth as a servant of Yavanna and Nessa, her strength could destroy towers and castles with ease.

Gil-galad prided himself in making her lose control and admire his handiwork after. Not all furniture survived after he and his Queen were done.

It would not end with the table; he wants to take under the stars like he did when they wed. To have her ride him as the stars frame her like the goddess she is. To have the heavens and the earth witness the creation of a second Lúthien Tinúviel.

Not a princess, she corrects, but a son, a prince whose name she has seen from the moment she first laid with Gil-Galad.

Finnellach, flame of hair and eye.

The feast is scarcely over when the king makes good on his promise.

The king wastes no time in picking her up and setting her at the edge of the table, hiking up her dress until she could feel his hardness pressing between the heavy robes separating it from her cunt, feel how their game and his victory have affected him.

If she was as wet as the Lhûn before the final course had begun, the Maia Queen was sure to drown her husband with the waters from her womb.

“Has your husband been remiss in his duties, Lothíriel?” he asks between kisses with his sharp eyes dark and voice dripping with arousal.

Lothíriel, maiden crowned with flowers. The name he gave her when they first met, the name she wears as his wife just as he is Rodnor to her and the only name he cries out in pleasure.

“Our bed has wilted from your neglect, Rodnor.” The maia locked her long legs at his waist and let her hands roam up his chest and breaking the gorget he was wearing and tossing it aside as if it were nothing. “The leaves have begun to change color, but you’d notice that if you didn’t come so late and leave so early each day. I had half a mind to file a petition and demand a private audience with his grace to fix the issue.”

“You should have, I would have remedied the issue right there on my throne.” The vivid memory of all those times they had defiled his throne had her as wet as the Lhûn. “Her grace shall be crowned with oak blooms before dawn tomorrow.”

There is no promise of him taking the day off tomorrow, but the maia will fix that before the night is over.

“I better be, or his grace will not be leaving our bed.” The red haired being struggled to contain her desperation for him and effortlessly tore his robe of him to leave him only in his breeches.

He was built like an ox, trained in the same weapon that killed his beloved sister and as darkness grew around them, ready for war.

The scars from the Wrath have long since faded, you would not be able to tell he is a seasoned warrior and commander from looks alone. His physical strength could almost match her own, something Erinti Lothíriel has always loved.

“I won’t leave it either way.” With a smile he tears her dress apart until it pools around her waist on the table, and he is free to kiss his way down her neck and collar to her chest.

Gil-galad loves her breasts, the way they fit perfectly in his hands and their rosy peaks stiffen even more in the autumn air after he’d taken each of them into his mouth. He doesn’t stop there, the high king pushed her gently down to lie on the stone table as he continued down to her cunt as her hands threaded themselves in his dark mane.

The first time he had done this, the maia had turned made the meadow bloom to its fullest and remain so despite summer turning to fall soon after. The other times had resurrected the oak trees their bed had been.

Now as he threw her long bare leg over his shoulder, they would see how the stone would fare against the Scion of Kings putting his mouth and fingers to better use.

He is not the stern king with the weight of the world bearing down on him when they make love. He is simply her husband, her lover who knows exactly how to make her lose control of this fair form she made to be with him.

Her hand gripping the rough edge of the table feels nothing of the discomfort the stone against her soft palm nor does the stone show any sign of crumbling in her hold. Who was to say what would happen when Gil-galad makes her come undone?

She tries to hold back, not an easy task when Gil-galad uses every trick he knows to have her unravel with pleasure.

As great a singer and orator her husband is, Erinti things tongue fucking may be his best talent. The first time he had pleasured her this way the ground had shaken in tandem to her first orgasm and the hold on his hand had resulted in a hard to explain injury.

Still the stone does not break when the crescendo comes to its grand finish. They may have to procure more of it now.

“It passed the first test, but can it pass the second?” Gil-galad wiped her spent from his chin with the torn fabric of her gown, it won’t be of use anymore either way.

His manhood needs little help in reaching full mast, but the sight of it with some seed at its tip has desperate to feel it inside her. To feel it hitting those places only Gil-galad knows as they fuck hard and loud in open air without a drop of shame.

It was far too difficult to stop people from taking notice of their rulers’ sexual habits when their queen’s moods affected the life around them. So difficult it no longer mortified them almost two thousand years after.

“Only one way to find out.” The Maia breathes hard from the peak he brought her to, leaned back on her hands and spread her legs wide for her husband waiting for him to plow into her until Elbereth herself feels as if she too has been fucked senseless.

“The way her grace behaves, one would think she was a courtesan of the Edain and not a holy being.” he snaked an arm around her waist as the other pulled her face to his.

“Perhaps this holy being likes to be worshipped differently.” The maia kissed her husband deeply, tasting herself in his mouth as she pulled him closer to her until he dropped the hand on her chin to guide himself into her.

The wholeness that comes with being with him like this is heavenly, their feä melds into each other’s own as their bodies join in ways forbidden to anyone else.

“Then I will make this table a second altar to worship you on, Lothíriel.” His voice is low with desire and groans as he begins to move within her. Slow and steady, savoring every contour of her perfect body and driving her slowly to madness.

She may be Maiar, but Valar, did she find sexual compatibility the best thing Ilúvatar could bless his creations with. Her womanhood fit him like a glove, or so he says.

Perfection even Valinor would envy, his thoughts fill her head as he goes deeper and harder and brings his deft fingers to her button as his mouth seeks out her breast.

Their lovemaking brings the much-needed release Gil-galad desperately needed. Too many troubles coming seemingly out of nowhere and the lack of respite to find the why of it.

He is not the stone king teetering on the edge of a burst vein in his cerebrum, he is the elf groaning his wife’s name as their lewd sounds and smells fill the air. Time passes by around them and yet nothing exists beyond the two of them and their bliss.

Gil-galad comes just as he brings her to a second climax, a beautiful melody ending with a kindling of a new life.

“The stone didn’t break.” The King of the Noldor is still catching his breath when they remember to see if his theory proved correct. “We shall need more of this stone.”

“The table at your war room will need replacement.” The Maia grins hoping to see how they break that great round table hewn from a weaker stone.

[blustarprint]

au doodles and sketches

I am crap at naming things so the au doesn’t have a name yet.

Here are Some of the mains (might draw bobbet and pebble at some point, but it depends on how I’m feeling)

They’re all so chaotic I love them (just now realizing I gave sprout og dandy’s pose but for my sake we’re gonna ignore that)

If anyway can’t read my handwriting, gingers saying: “You don’t fuck with that shit, Cosmo” Also off topic but i love that Rodger’s a detective, he can just stay that across every universe and it’s wonderful to me/j

anywho info dumping under the cut about all of it if you are actually curious. Warning, it’s not that organized.

-

also sorry if there’s any weird grammar, spelling mistakes, or repetition. I was tired when writing a lot of it.

The whole premise is that people have slowly gone missing in this town (gardenveiw)

starting with dandy (when most of the cast (?) were children) and ending with sprout and Cosmo, at least thus far in the timeline I’ve made up in my head. though it should be noted that the disappearances have happened years apart, the only two that are weirdly close together are sprout and Cosmo (specifically by 3 months)

The mains (and a few others) are these creatures called twisteds 1 because they are like a twisted version of a normal toon (ex: weird anatomy, voice, appearance… they are like the creepy pasta of the toon world. 2 because I’m not original.

- In a way these beings have grown to be a sort of spread around myth on the small town, so towns people know about them. Somewhat. The most they know is that twisteds can be dangerous. (A Little context behind the Ginger and Cosmo image)

A lot of Toon’s do obviously just assume it was some story that was passed around to simply make your kids go to bed on time though, so not many of the present toons actual believe in it. —-

anywho here’s some things about the town:

it’s half surrounded by forest. mysterious black liquid has been found in several parts of the woods and in town, often in decaying and dying things. No more croppps. pretty small town. It is somewhat in the middle of nowhere after all one of those towns where everyone knows everyone and they are weird about new people I’d call it a toon’s version of a boom town that somehow didn’t turn into a ghost town really weird history, may or may not get into that. Currently has several cut off areas, luckily not near peoples houses, but no one will really explain what’s happening to any of the toon’s

random things about twisteds as like a species:

they can shapeshift in the sense of seeming taller or having sharper nails. Most of them can’t entirely change identity just physical attributes. Their ichor seems more poisonous. Can and will hide out as normal toon’s. Don’t ask why, it depends on which one you’re talking to. if your friend goes missing and you see them again after like… a month. run. (Don’t be like cosmo, he’s not dead but he’s also not safe) what do they even want? Where did they come from? who knows?? They won’t answer that. some have different abilities (ex: Astro can make people hallucinate). don’t shoot them, it won’t work they seem to find missing people or are the reasons for a toon’s disappearance. most twisteds don’t look entirely alive, but they are. it’s hard to tell if they can turn people or if certain toons have always just been weird creatures. Eyes look different from a normal toon, but it’s really hard to tell. (I mean in universe, I expect it is pretty easy for you to see) they can shapeshift in the sense of seeming taller or having sharper nails. Most of them can’t entirely change identity just physical attributes. Their ichor seems more poisonous. Can and will hide out as normal toon’s. Don’t ask why, it depends on which one you’re talking to. if your friend goes missing and you see them again after like… a month. run. (Don’t be like cosmo, he’s not dead but he’s also not safe) what do they even want? Where did they come from? who knows?? They won’t answer that. some have different abilities (ex: Astro can make people hallucinate). don’t shoot them, it won’t work they seem to find missing people or are the reasons for a toon’s disappearance. most twisteds don’t look entirely alive, but they are. it’s hard to tell if they can turn people or if certain toons have always just been weird creatures. Eyes look different from a normal toon, but it’s really hard to tell. (I mean in universe, I expect it is pretty easy for you to see)

Also here’s some random little blips about characters:

Rodger technically isn’t a detective, more like deputy, but hey he’s trying his best. Single father yhe entire case is kinda driving him insane. rodger is also the only person who can really help that cares rn, but even that realization takes him more than a moment. Sprout went missing and was presumed dead r sometime after Cosmo came back to visit the town and his family. cosmo is now sticking around to help Ginger and some of his other family members with their like family owned bakery. That and he can’t fathom how sprout is actually dead and wants to figure out what happened to him. (After which he goes looking and starts to feel like he’s insane) sprout learned to cook and bake from cosmo’s family, so he’d also initially been helping out with the bakery too. prior to everything he seemed normal. Ginger is trying to convince Cosmo to let it go because the last person who went snooping did not come back. she’s just trying to move past the whole situation, she’s seen enough to know that interfering was stupid. dandy went missing when he was around 9. along with pebble whi quickly followed his owner off into the woods. after that is was Astro (3 years after dandy so he was like 12) then it was Vee (5 years after Astro, so she was 17) and then Shelly (2 years after Vee so she was 19) and sprout’s disappearance was random, years after all the others, but he may not have been a normal toon in the first place.

anyway I’m planning to draw something of a comic for it, name it, and make am actual organized post about it. It may take me a bit though (like a month) due to my life being kinda messy right now.

[aj-jesterdude]

deltritus worldbuilding theorypost...^2!!!

so!! homestuck beyond canon has ended it's first act and according to the reddit q&a that happened right after, it seems Act 2 will finally, *finally* show us those beautiful beautiful deltritans. i made a post a while back attempting to theorize about what the worldbuilding of Deltritus could look like. but after some recent conversations i have realized i could've gone much more in depth...tackled not just the societal implications but also the biology...so...ahaha...here we go

So let's start off with the species. We know that Dirk has created the Satyrs. Satyrs are, according to Greek myth, essentially horse/goat/human hybrids of sorts. And this makes sense for Dirk, he's a horse fan. I theorize that the Satyrs will be only slightly horse-like. Maybe horse legs, but still bipedal...horse tails, ears. I've heard various suggestions of them having puppet-like features but that is...while not impossible, I think it would complicate them significantly. How does death work for them if they are puppets? How does that interact with SBURB's systems? It's a little too messy for my liking, though odds are there is some other complication to them as if they're just half-horse-half-man, that is just a little too simple. I do suspect that they're going to be male-exclusive, and Rose's species will be similarly female-exclusive. For one, Satyrs in Greek myth *were* entirely male, and secondly, Ult!Dirk's whole...masculinity thing he's got going on. This does raise the question of reproduction, and I would humbly suggest mpreg, but if they were puppet-y I could see them just quite literally making new ones. What I do stand by though is that puppets are at least a huge part of their culture. Let's entertain that within the Satyr lands there's a giant golden Lil' Cal statue, yes? I also presume that, like Dirk, they will be makers of machines and whatnot. Creative types. But something I realized I failed to explore with my last theorypost was the influence of two other forces on the Satyrs: Terezi...and *Jake*. Terezi's running the command terminal to shape the societies, and has automated it much to Dirk's displeasure. And what's more, she's been fiddling with it even though she claimed to be done with it. Obviously she is trying to meddle with the deltritans to do something to sabatoge this new session...but what? This I am still unsure about. Perhaps she's stripped out any Time or Space aspects, to try and doom the session? Now as for what that means for the societies, odds are Terezi's made them not as hostile to each other as Dirk was hoping for. I believe the original plan was to have both species compete, and one would lose and be barred from playing the game. However, I think Terezi's managed to work it so both species are still thriving to play at the same time. Perhaps that will cause messy friction between the two different species that will hinder the session's progress? And let's tackle that little juicy implication I put back up there a little while ago. I think while yes, a lot of Dirk's personal traits and flaws have sunken into the Satyrs...I think a little bit of Jake probably got into them too. Maybe this enhances the manly machismo angle of it all? Will they enjoy making movies? Will firearms be their weapons of choice? It’s something to think about, at least. Now let’s shut up about Dirk and talk about the far more mysterious half of the deltritan population, Rose’s species. We have no name for them, but in the circles I’m in, we’ve taken to assuming Nymphs. Yet again another Greek mythological creature, Nymphs were taken as nature spirits of sorts. And this is interesting, Satyrs would often try to chase after Nymphs. So that feels about right. But what would they be like? I highly suspect we’ve already…sort of seen a Nymph already. Odds are that gavageCunctation is one of them. You see, they mention having “buccal mass”, which is an aquatic feature…and we know at the very least that Rose’s species is aquatic, that’s why they moved to the cliffside there. And Nymphs could be water-dwelling and based too. Now, if Dirk’s basing his off of his particular animal of choice, the Horse, then surely Rose’s aquatic species must be based around squiddles/horrorterrors.

But looking at GC’s hands in the only panel we have them in right now…they don’t look or feel too horrorterror-y, do they? They’re gray, and seemingly have some sort of talon or claw on their fingers. You see, I suspect that Rose has gone two-fold. Sure, work in some of that eldritch horror aquatic beast stuff, but Rose Lalonde has always been, in my mind first and foremost…a cat person. I think the Nymphs are some sort of aquatic cat-like race. In my speculative design for GC, I assumed we’d have tentacle hair and cat-like mouths, go check the drawing to see me go a little more in depth there since I’m really rambling too much already on this post. But what about the society? Well, last post I speculated they’d be a more magically-inclined race to further match Rose’s interests, and act as a further opposite of Dirk’s more mechanical/tangible Satyrs. 

But once again I have to ask how another person worked their way into their design…and if Dirk’s was Jake…then surely Rose’s must be Kanaya. Are they more into fashion than the Satyrs? Are they more inclined to meddle? Will one of the Nymphs act quite similarly to her? It’s just so interesting to entertain. Now before I let you go, I wanna put out just a few more quick thoughts. I do hope that we’ll see Vriska guide the Omega kids, and Terezi guide the Deltritans, as that would create an interesting parallel to their little game they had between John and Dave, right? And wouldn’t it be similarly interesting if Dirk himself decided to get in touch with one his Satyrs, and end up recreating a dynamic similar to Bro and Dave’s? Augh. Anyways.

Thank you so much for reading all of this insane rambling. If you have any thoughts or opinions on this as well, please comment them!!! I wanna talk about this so much more!!! See what other people think. Anyways um. idk how to end this so go read homestuck beyond canon if you haven’t yet okay? <3

[remy-lupin]

The theme is finding out your partner/friend isn't who they say they are. The vibes range from “holy crap you’re glowing” to “I’d fight the entire underworld for you.”

1. “You need to leave. Now.” Their voice is deeper, firmer, more powerful than you’ve ever heard it—and behind them, the air starts to shimmer with something you could only call.. divine.

2. Blood trickles down their temple, but they plant themselves in front of you like a wall. Something about the way they stand—shoulders squared, body crackling with an energy you’ve never felt—makes it clear they aren’t what you thought they were.

3. “I told you not to follow me,” they say through clenched teeth, blade glowing in their grip, shadows warping around them like loyal pets. “Now you’ve seen what I really am.”

4. You watched your best friend punch a creature three times their size—and win. But what shook you more was the way the creature bowed after. Like it knew them. Like it owed them.

5. “You’re bleeding,” you breathe, reaching for them. But they shake their head and press your hand to their chest. “Not yet. Not until you are safe.”

6. Their eyes flash gold for just a second, like a reflection from the sun. But there is no sun in this cave. And when you step back, stunned, they look conflicted but they don’t deny it anymore.

7. “I would’ve told you,” they whisper, hands braced on either side of your shoulders. “But how do you explain to someone you love that you’re part of a myth?”

8. You cover them with your body instinctively, shielding them from the attack even as the world burns behind you. When you open your eyes, they’re no longer on the ground—but floating, hand outstretched towards the attackers. Glowing. A protective shield around you.

9. “They were never after me,” they say quietly, voice thick. “They were after you. Because of what I am.” The heartbreak in their eyes is real—but so is the fury starting to build behind them.

10. You wake up with your head in their lap, blinking through pain. Their hand is glowing, warm against your skin as the wound on your arm heals up. “I'm sorry," they sigh sadly, "you weren’t supposed to find out this way.”

11. They kiss you like it’s the last time, pulling you behind them with one arm while facing down an enemy you can’t even see. “If anything happens to me, run. I mean it.”

12. You don’t remember what happened after the blast. Just their voice—steady, commanding, laced with a power that made everything else go quiet. And now you’re waking up safe. Still breathing.

13. “You’re not afraid?” they ask, looking at their own hands like they don’t belong to them. “Most people run when they see what I am.” You step forward, "I’m not most people.”

14. You’ve seen them mad before—but never like this. Their body shimmers with light, their hair catching fire like a crown, and when they look at you, there’s fear—not for themselves, but for you.

15. “You’re glowing,” you whisper. “Only a little,” they grin. “Comes with being half divine. But don’t worry—I only smite people who mess with you."

16. You thought you were hiding them. Protecting them. But when danger finds you first, it’s them who steps forward, voice low and furious: “Touch them, and I’ll rip your soul from your body.”

17. “You—you bent the sky,” you stammer. They shrug, the wind still swirling around them. “Technically, I asked it nicely.”

18. They catch the falling debris with one hand—one hand—and shield you with their body, not even flinching. You look up. “What the hell are you?” They hesitate. Then quietly: “Yours.”

19. “You thought I didn’t know?” you say, stepping in front of them for once, facing the creature snarling from the dark. “You think I didn’t choose you, even after I saw what you are?”

20. You’re not sure when the moment shifted. When they became something more than just yours—more than just mortal. But now, the gods are watching, the ground is trembling, and they’re holding your hand like you are their only anchor.

[lunarle-old]

Do you have an idea of what you're going to write next ?

Yes... And No.

The current plan is to write my dragon fic. I looove dragons, and I've always loved fics that make my favs dragons. Hoarding Humans is a good example of that ;P I really wanna do it myself! I feel a little weird directly using the concept of HH (just the idea of a dragon's hoard being humans! i've been obsessed with it ever since!!)... I know there's a whole Inspired tab thing on ao3 but remember I was brought up in the animation meme community trenches. I've seen some very vile things said to ""copycats"" (and it's usually just somebody who took inspiration off of someone elses art style or a certain part of another persons meme @_@ don't get me STARTED on the ragebait...) and I am not in the proper emotional state to handle that right now QwQ

However that doesn't mean I can't write about dragons. I have some ideas in mind-- I've properly conceptualized my go-to fantasy world for AUs like this. I know who the main cast would generally be (DICE! Kokichi rounds up some of his classmates from in game :P so people like Gonta, K1B0, Miu, Kaede, Rantaro. . . maybe Kirumi? I have lore trust me. I'm cooking.) I know the main premise of the story, and it goes into my own bullshit with dragons, because lord knows I ever follow any actual myths or tales (´ﾟωﾟ｀) (i read wings of fire that's good enough for me!!!)

I am still trying to learn how to draw dragons in a way I like though. Here's my concept for Maki and Shuichi ^^"

Overall the chances of this fic happening after HGH, as of right now, are fairly high. This is what I plan to write once I'm done with HGH.

But please, please please keep in mind that I . . . am absolutely horrible with making promises about my fics. I'm so forgetful I forget to even check my notes to see what I've forgotten. T_T my fics would be a tiny bit better than they are now if I actually kept track of wtf im doing. maybe i should make a checklist.

Point is, I don't know if this is what I'll write once HGH is done. I've done some estimating and while, for once, I do not have a concrete ending in mind, I can guess how long this'll be. I think... it might be around as long as M5? Somewhere around that 130k mark. Again!! I'm not sure!! I need to figure out what I'm gonna be doing for the non-Tsumugi half of the "recovery" arc, so who knows what the word count for this is gonna be T_T. MY POINT!! MY POINT IS THAT!!! It could change. By the time I'm done with HGH, I might write this dragon fic. I might write a differeny fic. Or I'll lose motivation to write anything for a bit. Lord I am yapping so I'll move on

Que transition, with all that being said, I do have Other ideas in mind!! Ones I've been sitting on for a while!

ONE. Saimatsu mansion :D I've mentioned it here and there, but the idea is that Shuichi and Kaede are plopped on an island and have to escape. It's one of those more out there ideas G_G and I haven't really descended into my full levels of insanity yet (wait until i start posting my crossover aus /j), but this would be bordering on it. I have some more minor ideas for this one, but I haven't rlly explored it yet :'3

TWO. remember unexpendable? yeah so i. i really really like crossover aus. almost as much as i like giving them superpowers. I was thinking of an Undertale x DR fic where I drop Shuichi into the underground. Undertale is super special to me,, it got me out of a really dark place. My favorite OC of mine (Montserrat<3) is an Undertale OC! So I think it'd be a lot of fun, especially since Danganronpa is basically the reason I'm like?? actually living now XD I got a job because posting my DR fics helped me overcome enough of my social anxiety to get employed. So!! It'd be nice. i also think shuichi and papyrus would get along do NOT @ me also undyne would scare the shit out of him. Anyways I dunno if this would be another oneshot, considering the, uh. length of the game. and how insane i could rlly go if i went into the neutral /genocide route stuff too. I dunno. It'd be fun :P i also have doodles wait

THREE. I don't know what could and couldn't be used for a plot twist so I'll keep it vague, but basically it's a fic that involves the ENTIRE CAST. A bit of a challenge for myself. Everyone's back! And all of the blackeneds revert to, like... HGH levels of despairs. So it's up to everyone whos still normal to find a way to make them also normal before, uh. things get worse. TV GIRL BLAST 💥 (oh yeah this would be a kaede-centric fic! her pov for the majority. i had a lot of fun writing her during Unexpendable and i miss her </3)

FOUR. i got really into in stars and time so now i'm even more not normal about time loops. so let's put shuichi in another one! but i wanted to shake it up a bit and really let my less canon-reliant, more creative side flow a bit. It'd also be kind of a message to myself about life... WHATEVER Thats not important. What is important is, hey! I've been watching WAY too many Minecraft ARG analysises than what could possibly be considered healthy for my anxiety, so now I want to sic a bunch of them on Shuichi. this things unfinished because i only have very vague ideas for a few of the loops... but the overarching idea is that even the smallest (but impactful!) change in a choice can lead to an entirely different loop, with an entirely different entity. and during all of the loops, shuichi gets little bits and pieces to the bigger picture, which will break him out of the loops. idk this seems like a big and tiring project so this is more of a "maybe" than the others but i still think it's cool :')

FIVE. ok this one isn't danganronpa... remember when I said I was super into In Stars and Time? I wanted to write an ISAT fic. Siffrin and Bonnie are so so special to me and i wanted to indulge in that. I haven't rlly been writing in my oneshots though so I don't really have a grip on writing anyone from ISAT,, so. :( i have to spiral into full insanity privately before i can determine what is safe to show the internet /hj

And that is all I can think of off the top of my head. :P These ideas have been brewing for quite a bit, and ones that have actual ideas to them. I dunno which one I'll write first... or even if I'll write them. I guess we'll just have to wait and see. Who knows? Maybe I'll break my rules about writing two fics at a time. Just give me time ... and please be patient. I can only write so fast ＼(_ _)

[pinkeos]

The Tides Beckon || Freminet x Merman!Reader (Pt. 1)

Warning/s: Mentions of blood, Fremi almost died, not much dialogue, author's first language ain't english

Notes: WAKE UP BABE ITS MERMAY -my brain last night so i decided to write this one with my favorite fontaine boy. also there's more to this story so i'll write more ehe

Whenever the world grew louder alongside his thoughts, Freminet would often seek refuge in the ocean. While others feared the unknown depths of the waters, the diver knew the nation’s hydrology like the back of his hand. The deep waters and the creatures within became his sanctuary for when everything was just too much.

This didn't come naturally, however. Because there was a time where he, too, grew anxious of what could happen whenever he dived deeper than the last. This was when the beings above hadn't bestowed him a vision yet, when he had to rely on his trusty helmet to dive. Who knew what could happen, his diving suit could malfunction while he was swimming and it would be too late to ascend by the time he noticed it.

There was a specific moment, at night, when he scampered into the waters, drowned in his thoughts and wanting nothing more than to surround himself with the waves that pushed his worries away for even just a moment. It was a mistake to not check his gear beforehand, a mistake that could've easily cost him his life. He was younger then, much less experienced of a diver than he was now.

He tried to swim upwards when water began to flood into his diving helmet, however, fate had something else planned as a bunch of seaweed vines caught his ankle, preventing him from swimming any further. The boy, calm as he may always seem to be, began to panic. His hands started to tug and pull at the seaweed vines to free his foot.

It was dark out, he shouldn't have left and dived into the ocean by himself. He had sneaked away from the House, not informing anyone of his whereabouts, so the chances of someone miraculously arriving just in time to help him was zero to none.

Or that's what he thought. It was when his vision began to blur, his body growing weak as water prevented him from breathing. His body had gone limp, eyelashes drooping, his consciousness slipping slowly and surely.

It was then that a shadow began to swim closer to him. The full moon’s light beamed from the surface of the water, providing decent enough lighting to help him in his blurry vision to make out that this shadow was a person. What they were doing in the ocean in the middle of the night, he didn't know. But they were there to save him.

He couldn't remember clearly nor did his vision help when it came to reveal his savior’s identity. What he was quite sure of was their long hair swaying prettily in the water, their tail moving as they swam— wait, tail? Before he could comprehend what he had managed to see, he blacked out.

Those memories would forever haunt Freminet’s mind. Even in the present, where he sat on a large boulder by the shore, Pers in his hands as he watched the waves roll in and the white seafoam appear and disappear. After that fateful night, he began to rack his brain on what happened.

Little knew of how fond Freminet was with fairy tales, and how often he would imagine this world in his mind where he had companions that would bring color and life to this imagination of his. He has books and stories stored away in his room, away from prying eyes that he would read whenever he wanted to.

That's when he came across the myths and tales of mermaids. Creatures that were half human and half fish, with ethereal beauty and a voice capable of luring many with their angelic singing. They lived in the depths of the ocean, far away from the humans, they served the hydro dragon and his many incarnations. But for some reason unclear in the books, their kin had begun to dwindle over the centuries. It wasn't clearly stated where they came from, or if they even were true, but Freminet was quite sure the person he saw that night was a mermaid.

He hadn't spoken a word to Lyney or Lynette, he was afraid they wouldn't believe him. Heck, sometimes he thought he didn't believe himself. Perhaps it was just an illusion? But then how did he survive? Who saved him?

The soft wind that blew on his cheek managed to pull the boy out of his thoughts. He sighed, hugging his legs closer to his chest as he placed his chin on his knees. The ocean was peaceful today.

At least that was until a loud splash erupted from not too far away. Usually, the salty scent of the sea breeze overwhelmed any other scent when near the shore. But it was different today. 

Freminet could smell it. The familiar scent of blood. And it was so strong. The boy gulped, standing up and silently making his way off the boulder. The splash wasn't too far, possibly from the other side of the large rocks. 

Trained in stealth and being naturally good at keeping quiet, he had easily managed to sneak his way to the other side, peeking over a boulder to see what was going on. 

The boy suppressed a gasp, but his lips still parted in shock, eyes turning wide. A small splash sounded from when the tail came into contact with the surface of the water. A tail, similar to that of a fish, but long and connecting to an upper human body.

The scales were covered in blood, staining its color and the water with it. A groan ripped Freminet’s attention from the tail and towards the human part of the creature. If he wasn't already shocked with the tail, he was even more surprised at the sight of the pained face of a familiar member of the Marechaussee Phantom meeting his view.

It was the face of the young influential official that almost everyone in Fontaine knew of. How could they not when he worked directly with the Iudex?

Though his appearance was far from the usual, because he was a freaking mermaid right now.

Freminet did not know what to think of this. He was just thinking about this a moment ago, even thinking what he could possibly do or say if he were to meet one in real life, as slim the chances are. But that was happening now and he was absolutely speechless.

“Who’s there?” The mermaid’s sharp voice cut through the silence. He was spotted.

Seeing as he was busted, the diver decided to reveal himself, though keeping his distance.

“It’s you…”

Ending note: I haven't written in a while so I'm trying my best because I really like this story😭

[cantorpike]

Dear Friend,

When I was a teenager, I told my dad I wanted to be an actor. In response, he gave me the only piece of advice he ever offered me—“Learn to play the accordion.” And he was serious. He said, “You can always make a living with an accordion.”

Because I ignored his advice, I never found out if he was right. Instead, I’ve lived 80 creative years pursuing acting and photography, and working as a director and poet.

If I had listened to my father, and hadn’t done any of those things, chances are you wouldn’t have recognized my name and you wouldn’t be reading this. Now that you are, I’d like to ask you to consider what I have to say. I reach out to you as someone who is troubled to see the conflict between Israelis and Palestinians continue apparently without an end in sight.

In fact, there is an end in sight. It’s known as the two-state solution—a secure, democratic Israel as the Jewish State alongside an independent Palestinian state. Even Israel’s nationalist Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu, has come to see this as the shape of the future. The problem is how to reach that end point. It’s something we should be concerned about—not only as world citizens, but as Americans.

You might recall the episode in the original Star Trek series called, “Let That Be Your Last Battlefield.” Two men, half black, half white, are the last survivors of their peoples who have been at war with each other for thousands of years, yet the Enterprise crew could find no differences separating these two raging men.

But the antagonists were keenly aware of their differences—one man was white on the right side, the other was black on the right side. And they were prepared to battle to the death to defend the memory of their people who died from the atrocities committed by the other.

The story was a myth, of course, and by invoking it I don’t mean to belittle the very real issues that divide Israelis and Palestinians. What I do mean to suggest is that the time for recriminations is over. Assigning blame over all other priorities is self-defeating. Myth can be a snare. The two sides need our help to evade the snare and search for a way to compromise.

This is the message that Americans for Peace Now seeks to spread. I’m a strong supporter of APN and the work it does. It is a leading voice for Americans who support Israel and know that a negotiated peace will ensure Israel’s security, prosperity, and continued viability as a Jewish and democratic state.

The Middle East is only getting more tumultuous. The upheavals throughout the region show that what happens in the Middle East can’t help but affect us in the United States. This year, we’ve seen oil prices rise sharply and America become involved militarily in Libya. The cost to American lives and our economy continues to rise at a time when unemployment and deficits are sapping our country’s strength.

“If we can solve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, then that will make it easier for Arab states and the Gulf states to support us when it comes to issues like Iraq and Afghanistan. It will also weaken Iran, which has been using Hamas and Hezbollah as a way to stir up mischief in the region.”

Those are the words of candidate Barack Obama in 2008. And although they’re just as accurate today, time has not stood still.

We’ve also seen a marked increase in violence: a Jewish family was murdered in the West Bank and a woman was killed in a bus bombing in Jerusalem. A rocket attack on southern Israel from the Hamas-controlled Gaza Strip resulted in a school bus being hit and a teen died of his wounds. Israel, in turn, has retaliated. We need strong American leadership now to pivot from the zero-sum mentality of violence to an attitude that focuses on the parties shared interests: security and prosperity.

If you’ve learned something from this letter, I’ve succeeded in my preliminary task. Now I ask for your support to continue APN’s educational efforts in this country—to spread the message that there is a peace solution, and to let Congress and the White House know it’s preferable for America to be part of the solution than to be drawn into another conflict.

There is a sizable number of influential voices in Israel saying the same thing. In April, a group of 50 prominent Israelis, including the former heads of the Mossad (Israel’s CIA), the Shin Bet (its FBI), and the military, issued a call for two states for two nations. Their plan includes a Palestinian state alongside Israel with agreed-upon land swaps. The Palestinian-populated areas of Jerusalem would become the capital of Palestine; the Jewish-populated areas the capital of Israel.

These experts are not naïve. They know that even if the Palestinian pragmatists of Fatah reconcile with Hamas, there will be extremists who will try to sabotage any future peace deal. They know how to deal with violent extremists. These people were entrusted with Israel’s security and are saying that the work they did alone isn’t enough to bring Israel security. We cannot know yet what this unification of Hamas with Fatah means and we have to wait and see what emerges. Regardless, the principle of establishing two independent states, one Jewish and the other Palestinian, is still critical in this region for both Israel and the Palestinian people. That is the goal, to support the rational and moderate course.

Their action plan echoes the 348 senior Israeli reserve army officers and combat soldiers who came together in 1978 to urge their government to sign a peace treaty with Egypt. They formed Shalom Achshav, Israel’s Peace Now movement which APN provides nearly 50 percent of their funding.

Peace Now’s activities and programs—such as Settlement Watch, the ongoing monitoring of settlement construction on the West Bank—keeps peace on the world’s agenda. Peace Now gathers and publishes detailed information on settlements and is widely cited in Israeli and international media as the foremost authority on settlements. Peace Now is likewise well known for mobilizing demonstrations and organizing grassroots pro-peace activities. Innovations include an interactive online map of the settlements, “Facts on the Ground,” also available as an app for iPhone and iPad developed by APN applying Peace Now’s courageous work.

Like those Israelis who issued the peace plan, the members of Peace Now have their boots on the ground. They serve in Israel’s military reserves and see every day what life is like without a negotiated peace with the Palestinians.

That’s why I’m a supporter of APN and Peace Now.

I hope you’ll join me, and lend your voice to the influential and credible peace lobby that exists here as well as in Israel. Please give the tax-deductible contribution you can afford.

Dare I say it? It’s the logical thing to do.

Leonard Nimoy

5/11/2011

[dufferpuffer]

I have read some of your long and comprehensive meta on symptoms of lycantrophy, but this is more of a headcanon question:

Remus suggests Bill might have some “wolfish traits” after his attacks. Could werewolves in their human form have enhanced sense of smell or hearing, or immunity for some water borne diseases, or other “wolfish traits”?

Would they be immune to Polyjuice just like Hagrid? Could they be immune to other potions and poisons? Or even spells or curses?

There’s also the moon factor - some people attribute Remus peakiness to the dread he feels before every transformation, some to the “pull of the moon”. So much to explore.

What I sense is that people are trying to give an overlooked side to lycantrophy that might not be that bad or painful, and sometimes I rather like that.

I’ve read some interesting works (some good some bad) that indicated that lycanthropes carry a magic of their own, more intuitive and primal. Personally, I find that exciting to explore, as the myth of the werewolf is really ancient and could be linked to some really cool lore. I also like the idea that shouting latin words and shooting sparks from a wand is only one way of doing things, and that magic itself can be manifested in more mysterious ways that prejudiced, self-important wizards don’t bother to explore.

Half my opinion and half asking for yours, the lycanthrope expert! Beyond uncomfortable pathological symptoms, how do you think the biology of a non transformed werewolf might change?

Thanks for reading my ramblings B^) I'm gonna engage with everything you brought up because thats what I feel like doing, its really really fun to talk HCs and theories

WEREWOLF HCs AND THEORIES

Like... 2000 words or something idk

The Moons Effect My theory is that symptoms are caused not by the Full Moon itself but a culmination of magic the moon puts into the atmosphere, getting stronger through the month until the Werewolf 'pops'.

You don't need to be touched by the Full Moonlight to transform, it happens regardless of where you hide... so it's in the air.

Yet Remus seems to be triggered by Moonlight when nobody expected him to be in PoA. (Part 3 is my theory on that in more detail.)

When they get symptoms before the Full Moon, even during the day, its like something is building up in them.

Their Lycanthropy (Dark Magic curse or Virus or both… perhaps a Virus with its own magic?) seems to feed on the Moon's energy.

I'm sure Remus feels dread before his Full Moon, but I think his peakiness is more than that. I doubt someone like Fenrir would feel that dread - but still has recognizable symptoms pre-Full Moon by Lyall (according to the 'Remus Lupin' Pottermore page)

'Pull of the Moon' is a good phrase. I like that. The moon is getting stronger and their Lycanthropy is responding in their cells, affecting them physically, preparing…

What are 'Wolfish Traits' in canon...? It is SO FRUSTRATING we don't hear more of this, ONLY that Bill likes his steak bloody. The story is teasing me. Leading me on. REMUS WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'WOLFISH TRAITS' DARLING PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME HANGING YOU FUCKING FLIRT

Remus is not ''obviously'' a werewolf. He puts a lot of work into that. Whenever people have worked him out (James/Sirius, Snape, Hermione) it has been based on his disappearances, not on how he looks or acts otherwise.

+ There are vague symptoms pre-Full Moon (as Harry notices in a memory and that Lyall Pottermore thing), + Weakness and loss of weight post-Full Moon (though that could be directly tied to exhaustion from transforming) + And of course - the transformation itself. The psychotic break of becoming a violent bite-hungry wolf. ...Thats it. Thats is all we know about what traits are definitely caused by Lycanthropy.

I can only assume Bill goes through some minor version of this: Maybe he feels a bit off around the Full Moon. Maybe he gets a bit hairy, maybe the moon gives him insomnia and a bad mood… ...I like to think so. As you said - sometimes its nice to think about over-looked sides of Lycanthropy that aren't 'as bad'.

After all, while still horrible, the Full Moon isn't the most major 'disabling' trait Remus suffers. Sometimes he even LIKES the transformation. No, the worst symptom... Is probably the fatigue. Even on Wolfsbane he needs multiple days off work, feeling too horrible to show up for Christmas lunch. The thing that stops him from working, that reveals what he is to a bigoted society, extending beyond a night of delirium and pain into days of suffering… are his 'less bad' symptoms. (That's something often overlook with disabilities: it's often not the loudest symptom that are the biggest problem - but the management of them, the complications of it, side effects from treatments, poor mental health from dealing with it physically and socially... I love you Remus Lupin)

Potential Wolfish Traits There is no evidence that, even transformed, Werewolves have heightened senses. Pottermore says their eyes and snouts are 'more human' than a True Wolf - though that doesn't like… mean much. They could still have wolf-like smell and night vision and stuff. Or they could not. Apparently Muggle and Wizard blood tastes different - whether that is Lycanthropic instinct, heightened taste/smell or sensing magic… who knows.

In any case, I don't think in Human form they do. If Remus had heightened senses he could surely have smelled Scabbers. He could have smelled Padfoot. If heightened senses are a known trait then surely Remus could be sent out to pick up Sirius' scent and track him. (unless it isn't quite strong enough for that...)

In terms of fun HC - I do like it. B^) + I like the idea of Remus being able to hear people approach his office from further away, so he is always prepared. + I like the idea of him being not-so-good at potions because the smells are overwhelming. + I like the idea of him, and all Werewolves, being more active in the dark without Lumos because they can see better. Sneaky.

We get hints that there are 'Wolfish traits' one can tell a Werewolf by, even when in Human form… and I like the idea of them being subtle habits. Or you just blow a dog whistle and they flinch.

There's more evidence against this than for it, though. I don't think it is canon… but it is fun :) In any case it would most likely get stronger around the Full Moon and weaken by New Moon, as all his symptoms do.

THERE ARE SOME THINGS THAT MIGHT HAVE SOME CANON MERIT THOUGH: Magical resilience; Physical dexterity/strength; Healing; Greying.

Fenrir seems to take more powerful magical hits. Maybe he's just a badass. (He is. Punk grandpa is an icon tbh.)

Fenrir can run FAST on four legs in his Human form. Normally people run kinda slow and awkwardly on four legs. Added strength and flexibility from Lycanthropy...? Perhaps he's just a REALLY intense furry and has trained meticulously. No shade - that's impressive

Remus was attacked around the neck and clawed at by Sirius Black, enough to scare him off from a bunch of human prey - but shows no injury the next day. Maybe Sirius didn't break skin. Maybe accelerated healing is just a Transformation thing. Maybe... Lycanthropy wants to help keep it's host alive.

What do Remus and Fenrir have in common...? Grey hair. What colour is werewolf fur? Grey. Could this just be that Fenrir is old/used to be stressed, and Remus is so stressed now that he is going grey? Yes. But honestly if most werewolves go grey early from the stress of life... that's kinda a symptom by itself anyway.

4. Polyjuice Polyjuice is a dangerous potion - as we saw with Hermione. Cat fur messed her form up and prevented her from shifting back easily, because it was a different animal. It seems the only way to cleanly shift your physical appearance is with 'matching' species DNA or whatever.

Hagrid would be the same: he is a different animal. If Hermione became part-cat when she had cat fur and got stuck… I think if someone had Hagrid's hair they would become part-half-giant and get stuck. (same for Hagrid into a full-human, his Giant genes wouldn't know what to do.)

Remus is full-human. I don't think there would be any issue.

Whether or not someone disguised as him would have Lycanthropy symptoms… I'm not sure, but I don't think so. The potion takes into account physical damage and deformities. It copied Harry's eyesight, Alastor's amputation and disfigurements… but copying an infection? If you took hair from someone who had the Flu, would you feel the Flu when you turned into them?

I don't think so - because things like infection and viruses are living creatures in their own right. Like you wouldn't sprout head lice if you turned into a kid with head lice. (Whether virus' are 'alive' is debated a bit, though I see no reason not to consider them alive just because they need to be parasitic to cells to function.)

If Lycanthropy is more like a curse than alive - does a curse transfer through Polyjuice? I doubt it. No curse on Alastor is injested by Barty through his hair. Magic is very intent-based, and the intent of Lycanthropy is spit-to-blood.

Also I just think its more interesting if, like personality and habits, you had to pretend to be sick to pass at the person you disguise as.

HOWEVER - if you took werewolf FUR… Polyjuice takes into account ones current physical state, right? Remus' physical state changes dramatically, painfully, magically - into a wolf-like creature.

A change has happened that is different to what a non-infected human can experiences. Taking werewolf fur, I think, would result in a cat-Hermione that gets stuck in a non-human shape. Same with Animagus fur/feathers/etc: they are humans, but they are in a shape and size that is not what a human that hasn't magically trained their body through the procedure can mimic.

The question I want answered is whether Minerva can have cat-fur Polyjuice and turn into a different looking cat. She's on the registry as a tabby, so she sneaks around disguised as a Calico…

Wolf Magic Magic isn't just latin words and wand sparks. Wands are a European thing - they aren't used much in Africa etc, where they use their hands more. We even see that, as a Wizard becomes more skilled, they don't need to say anything. Wandless magic is advanced. it seems wand movements, words and even wands themselves are just tools to aid in learning, to focus ones magic.

You can follow a recipe to bake a cake - but if you're good at baking, you can just throw that shit together, experiment on the fly.

Since Werewolves are a very old phenomenon with a magical root - whether that be some ancient curse, or Lycanthropy is some sort of magical creature virus - magic only available to Werewolves sounds pretty cool.

I don't like how it further differentiates werewolves from other humans, because the theme is that they ARE humans like everyone else and are being treated as 'other'. I wouldn't want to make them superheroes by accident, yknow?

But like… there's a million cool ways to take werewolf magic. I like the idea of utilizing the magic within the virus/curse itself. It's evidently incredibly powerful, physical, draws and stores energy from the moon, using a human as its puppet to spread itself... What if there were ways to utilize parts of that…? A symbiotic relationship with ones parasite, for better or for worse?

6. Biological changes of a Werewolf - headcanons B^)

I'm a big fan of the idea that Remus is living unhealthily by stifling his Lycanthropy while Fenrir is living healthy by indulging it. Remus is thin, pale, bags under his eyes - despite being young. Fenrir is rangy, tall, heavy, strong - despite being older.

It is a negative experience to take Wolfsbane and stifle the transformation - it is a positive experience to run around with Animagus friends and embrace it.

Lycanthropy is a severe thing. Once a month, EVERY month, you go through a complete physical change. It is painful to endure, you get into fights or self-harm - and Remus at least comes out thinner. There's no way that doesn't do anything. Especially as you get older.

So, my HC, is that Remus - being unhealthy - gets a lot of aches and pains. His body doesn't transform well. + He doesn't eat enough because he wants to be as weak as possible. It's safer. + His fatigue afterwards is worse. His small bones like his fingers sometimes don't set right, costing him more in potions... unless he just puts up with it. + His Wolfish-Form looks like shit. Patchy fur, thin, always panting... + He looks a little wonky from a childhood spent transforming every month - on less food than he should have had. Like he is on the short-average side, but has a stretched spine that makes him look a little taller. Nothing much visually - but can give him joint pain.

Fenrir DELIGHTS in his form. I don't think he has aches or pains much at all - his body transforms well. He encourages it so much, as he gets older, it's leaking into his Human form. + He is described as having 'whiskers' - and I take that literally. Nobody else has their facial hair described in that way, and he is a hairy man with long unkempt hair - he aint shaving... and somehow I doubt he has a patchy enough beard to be called 'whiskers'. I kinda think he straight up has whiskers. + Hairy. He has enough hair to be called fur. + Wolfish form is epic. Strong, noble, heavy, vicious, huge... + I can accept he sharpens his nails - but his teeth? He sharpens his teeth? I think they're natural, because sharpening teeth makes them weaker. His body is getting used to biting outside the Full Moon. + His fatigue afterwards is better than most, but his pre-Full Moon symptoms are stronger, his body AMPED UP in anticipation. + His body is more flexible, more used to different movements, that biting, scratching, prowling, walking on four limbs... its easier. + His voice is ravaged. A unique coarse, rough, barking voice.

Fenrir is a chad who can chase down a rabbit on all fours and catch it in his teeth - while Remus grunts a few times trying to tie his laces. Fenrir shows the signs of his Lycanthopy outwardly as he gets older, while Remus shows them internally as he fails to look after himself.

Regardless of how 'healthy' a werewolf is: + Snarling, growling, whining... all something you get used to. Deep chesty rumbles. A few years of being a werewolf and you're so practiced at it it's second nature. Fenrir embraces it - Remus takes careful control of his emotions so he NEVER slips up. + Hairier in general. Even Remus. They just have more body hair. Because I am biased towards typically masculine traits? Yes. + The bloody meat thing. A heightened desire for protein, better at tasting different things in meat and blood. Safer to eat, too.