#flutter butterfly sanctuary

[somethingsomethingdgronpa]

The size difference between a Red Pierrot pupa and a Blue Morpho larva in Flutter

[peacherweasel]

Bark Bug being a grumpy frumpy & an Angry Driver

Doodle of the day : Bark bug always reminds me of angry passengers in next lane lol.

-Lilian

[rattlingcudgel]

On tumblr Trying to find recommendations for kid friendly apps / mobile games for regressors, but so many of them being so very hyper feminine waaaaah

[robotsdeservebetter]

So this is what it feels like to find loopholes in the system and be a delinquent

[kiwimadegames]

'Flutter: Butterfly Sanctuary' (2015) By: Runaway (Dunedin) For: Mobile Hatch, feed and raise caterpillars into butterflies, slowly expanding your garden as you unlock your butterfly collection. 400 to collect! Links: - iOS: https://apps.apple.com/us/app/flutter-butterfly-sanctuary/id564007552 - Android: https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.runawayplay.flutter

[tottentz]

SOMEONE TO YOU ── zenless zone zero, sfw ౨ৎ⠀⠀or little things you do that make them fall in love again ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ gender neutral reader⠀/⠀ft. billy kid, nicole, anby, wise, belle, von lycaon, zhu yuan. ♡ˎˊ˗

— VON LYCAON ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you fix his clothes. it's nothing, really, you say, adjusting a crooked collar or smoothing a wrinkle. but to lycaon, who wrenches your hips flush to his own when you attempt to break away, it's as if you're unlocking a secret part of his world. the slight, almost imperceptible smile that graces his lips speaks volumes, and if you notice the wagging of his tail or his ears twiching, you never bring it up, instead, you giggle and remind him to be careful—lycaon knows it's not just about the clothes, as he yearns for an affinity but is terrified of the eternal menaces that endanger you and himself alike, but for now, lycaon can get used to the way you treat him as though he is the center of your universe simpers when he deliberately separates from your embrace by prying away and halting the intimate dance formerly initiated. 

— ANBY ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you watch movies with her. anby just adores those quiet evenings when you and she are nestled together, lost in the glow of a flickering screen. it doesn't matter if you understand the movie, or if it is not your favorite genre, she thrives on the way your eyes light up in the dark, a mirror to her own fascination, and in the same way, you always listen to everything she has to say about the film. anby does not know how to physically express her emotions, but she makes it up by pressing your head to her and feel what you often feel with you: safe, soothed — at home. the effect she has on you, it makes you think that maybe everything will be alright. and if you fall asleep, she smooth her palms up and down your sides. she's soothing you, even like this. does she even realize it, you wonder, is it just second nature for her? you don't need an answer right now.

— BILLY KID ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you praise him. he swears his abdomen houses clutters of butterflies who dance to the tempo of his non-existent palpitating heart, and his cranium is a ground of play for rampant imagery whenever he hears your voice. he revels in the way you celebrate his victories, no matter how small, and how you tease him with an affectionate grin after every misstep. your belief in him, wrapped in your energetic spirit, lights up his world with a spark that fuels his every move. and there's also you. his person. and he loves, and loves, and loves so endlessly you'd think he would give you the world and everything in the sky, if he could. and if he feels too embarrassed, he would gasp as if stumbling upon treasure before he clumsily grips at your shoulders with a child's enthusiasm. billy is sure to divulge his honest opinion. you, to him, were his one in a million.

— NICOLE ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you hold her. she will never admit it, but nicole finds a serene joy in the gentle, reassuring touch of your hands. it could be any part of her body, from the way you keep your hands warm for nicole when it's cold outside and come up behind her and rubs them up and down her arms. she can do it herself, obviously, but you don't stop, whether it's a supportive grip during a comission or a delicate caress in passing, you know it brings a soothing sense of closeness that she treasures. in private, however, she's so ironically fragile. you could hold her in the palm of your hand, present his broken pieces to the world and they'd still choose to be fooled. the leader of the odd-job agency the cunnin hares will never admit the times she falls asleep like that, cradled against you, soft in your arms.your touch is like a quiet promise that reassures her and makes her heart flutter with contentment, 

— WISE ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you lull him to sleep. when insomnia weaves its restless threads around him, it's your voice that becomes his sanctuary. you don't care if you have to be up at 4am. if you stir awake at an odd hour and finds him still up and restless, you'll always be wrapping around him before he can get a word out,a and it doesn't matter if he is working on the computer or watching the tv, you'll drag him back to bed so you'll press him snug to your warm chest as you hum in that soft, gravely tune that always helps him fall asleep. and in the morning, he is grateful to be woken up by you snoring next to him, and wise breaks into a smile at the sight, eyes baring crow's feet as his fingers rouse through your knotted locks, thumb prodding into your temple and stroking soothing lengths into the dimpled flesh. your presence becomes his most cherished remedy.

— BELLE ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you play fighting games with her. she always wins, anyway, but you know the way belle’s eyes sparkle with a fierce joy when you join her in the world of fighting games is worth the try. if only you knew she consistently were to be reduced to putty in your hands, an object to be used for your disposal, belle would allow such. to remain within contact for a second more, she’d do whatever it took. desire which set her heart aflame affirmed her certainty when deciding his aim for the future. she would remain by your side, sure to treasure everlasting memories crafted within your presence. she still hands out pieces of herself like there's enough to go around (there isn't). and when she lose( on purpose ), she since convinced herself that she has already won. content with the belief he had already acquired millions with you.

— ZHU YUAN ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you buy flowers for her. zhu yuan's heart flutters with a delicate joy whenever you present her with flowers, their vibrant colors a testament to your affection. she once mentioned how much she likes keeping fresh flowers, but since she is busy she would not have time to take care of them; and now the house never seems to run out of them, the vases always full with fresh sugar water and kept - you tend them for her. blemishes blind to her eye, she discerned only visage of an appeal, your charm far too bewitching to discourage her nursing of attraction towards you. she adores not just the flowers themselves, but the care you take in nurturing them, reflecting the same tenderness you offer her. regardless of how you had been perceived by peers or what grade you had been given, the way she viewed you was like no other.

. ࣪✦ ៸៸ tottentz ▐ © 2024 ､ ? 𓄹 ܵ ۪

[lunememes]

🌙 * ― 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐑 ( a collection of date locations and things to do with your date. feel free to adjust the prompts as needed! do not add to the list. )

a relaxing date

quiet night. our muses snuggle up together beneath a blanket on the couch or in bed and listens as the other muse reads a book to them. bookshop. our muses go to a bookshop and pick out books for each other to read once they get back home. console. our muses play a casual and fun game on a console together, requiring teamwork and strategy. park. our muses take a relaxing walk through the park together to talk and get to know each other better. spa. our muses go to a spa to treat themselves to a day of relaxation and pampering. movie. our muses go to the local cinema to watch a movie together, where they can snack on popcorn and be transported to another world. beach. our muses go to a warm sandy beach, where they can soak up the sun and dip their toes into the sea for a swim or a splash.

a fun date

pins. our muses go to a bowling alley together, where they can play a casual game or aim to have the highest score. wheels. our muses go roller skating together, where they can race one another or skate hand in hand for a more relaxed date. rink. our muses go ice skating together, where they can show off their moves or wobble on the ice and tumble in unison. swim. our muses go swimming together, where they can playfully splash one another, go down the slides or brave the wave pool. shopping. our muses go to the mall together, where they can shop to their hearts content and find a new thing to take home. ride. our muses go horse riding together, either separately or together, and enjoy the sights atop their horses. hole-in-one. our muses go to a crazy golf course, where they must overcome obstacles and get the ball to its end destination. laser. our muses go to a laser tag event and test out their stealth and aim as they try to hunt one another down to tag them. paintball. our muses go paintballing together and form up to be a formidable team or test their skills against each other. rodeo. our muses attempt the mechanical rodeo bull, where one muse must hang on for dear life or try to stay on together.

a delicious date

restaurant. our muses go to a nice restaurant, dressed up and treated to vintage wine and delicious food. fast food. our muses go to a fast food place, where there are no expectations and the company is all that matters. café. our muses go to a homely little café, where they can enjoy a warm drink and homemade cakes. truck. our muses go to a local food truck, where greasy but delicious food is served up right in front of them. homemade. our muses have a home-cooked meal, where one muse cooks the other a delicious and intimate meal. baking. our muses bake something together, sending flour everywhere and bringing out the playfulness of one another. picnic. our muses go on a little picnic together, a quiet patch of grass beneath the warm sun. cold treat. our muses find an ice cream truck and decide to treat themselves to a cold treat. sweet treat. our muses go to a desert place where they can get waffles, crêpes and brownies.

a nature date

zoo. our muses take a trip to the zoo where they can admire all the various walks of life and get the special privilege to feed an animal. wings. our muses visit a butterfly sanctuary, where the air is filled with colourful wings and life flutters all around them. feed. our muses visit a park with a bag of seed on hand to feed the local wildlife, getting to see them up close and personal. sea life. our muses visit and aquarium together, where they can stand beneath a tunnel of water and see sharks and fish swim overhead. sun. our muses find a clearing or a good vantage point to watch the sunrise or sunset together. stars. our muses lay beneath the stars together, where they can try to catch a glimpse of shooting star or point out the constellations. garden. our muses visit a botanical garden, where vibrant colours and fragrant flowers bloom.

an entertaining date

play. our muses attend a play at a theatre, where music fills the halls and actors perform on stage. opera. our muses attend an opera hall, where classical music takes people back to a different age. ballet. our muses attend a ballet showing, where elegance and grace captivates the audience. sport. our muses attend a sports event with the best seats in the house, where they can cheer on their favourite team and have a beer or two. concert. our muses visit a concert together, where the crowd raves to the music and joins in harmony. amusement park. our muses go to an amusement park, where they can relax on a log ride or risk it all with a daring ride. night out. our muses go to a bar where the drinks never end and the party goes well into the night. prize. our muses visit the arcades where they can try to win as many prizes as they can or jump into a stimulation game. old games. our muses have a fun and competitive go at old board games, where it could bring them together or test the strength of their relationship.

an educational date

pottery. our muses attending a pottery class where one muse helps the other to make a pot, hands on. paint. our muses attending a painting class, where they can gift one another their painting or paint one another. dance. our muses attend a dance class, where they can learn a few new moves and share an intimate moment. axe. our muses go to an axe throwing class, where a professional teaches them how to throw axes. museum. our muses go to the museum, where they can learn the earth's history, admire the artwork or venture into space. castle. our muses visit an old castle, where history lingers and people can peer into the past.

a medieval date

renfair. our muses attend a renfair event, dressed up for the occasion and enjoy the festivities. joust. our muses attend a medieval restaurant where they can dine, watch knights joust and have a medieval experience. ball. our muses attend a grand ball, where couples take to the dance floor and let the music flow through them. masquerade. our muses attend a masquerade ball, where masks shrouds faces and scandals thrive. feast. our muses attend a grand feast, where jolly laughter and mountains of food await.

an adventurous date

climb. our muses attend an indoor climbing place or brave the mountains, to put their strength and resilience to the test. camp. our muses take to the wild and set up camp in the woods, putting their survival skills to the test. sail. our muses go on a cruise together, where they can kick back and enjoy a nice cocktail on the ocean waves. lake. our muses brave the brisk waters and go skinny dipping together for some naughty fun. rapids. our muses go canoeing in the treacherous waters of a fast running river sky diving. our muses take to the skies and go sky diving, either together or side by side, and experience the world from above. slope. our muses go skiing or snowboarding together, soaring past the snow covered trees and gaining air with ramps.

an unconventional date

heist. our muses go on a more unconventional date and go on a heist together to bring home a new, shiny and expensive addition. fight. our muses attend a fighting match where adrenaline is high and cheers fill the room. rage. our muses go to a rage room and smash things together, letting out pent up rage and stress in union. graveyard. our muses visit a graveyard at night, where they can try to scare one another with a scary story or visit the dead. ghosts. our muses try to find the paranormal in an abandoned place, where spirits are said to linger. hunting. our muses go hunting together, but what exactly will they be hunting? escape. our muses go to an escape room, where they will need to work together if they ever stand a chance of getting out. sacrifice. our muses perform a ritual with the intention of summoning something, but is it for fun or is it something all the more sinister?

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 15 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

The familiar sensation of teleportation washed over you as you stepped into the sanctuary of your bedroom, nestled deep within the tranquil garden you called home. The soft hum of magic dissipated as you collapsed onto the plush sheets of your bed, your body sinking into the comfort, though your mind remained anything but at ease.

Your children—your loyal butterflies—fluttered around you, their tiny wings glowing faintly in the dim light. They hovered closer, sensing your turmoil, their small efforts to soothe you proving futile. One even landed gently on your forehead, a silent gesture of comfort, but the irritation within you refused to be quelled.

You groaned, pressing your palm to your face. How can Jinwoo be this tactless?

Your mind reeled, replaying the earlier interaction that had left you seething. For someone with such absurdly high perception stats, he was alarmingly dense when it came to anything outside of battle. The man who could detect an enemy’s movement down to the faintest twitch somehow couldn’t read the room to save his life. It was infuriating.

You let out a sigh, memories of past pages of various manhwas flooding your mind. There was always this recurring trope among protagonists—ridiculously talented in combat but utterly clueless when it came to basic human interaction. You recalled all the times in the manhwa when Jinwoo’s obliviousness had made you want to reach into the pages and shake him. Back then, it had been frustrating in an endearing way. But now? Now that you were living in this world, dealing with the flesh-and-blood Jinwoo, it was infinitely worse.

Your thoughts strayed to that infamous scene—the one where Jinwoo missed every single obvious hint that Cha Hae-In wanted to join his guild because she liked him. That moment hadn’t happened yet in this timeline, and you silently thanked the heavens for small mercies.

You rolled onto your side, one hand absently reaching out to pat Red, the oldest of your butterflies and your right-hand. Red perched on your palm, its wings pulsing faintly, “It’s all right.”

“No, Red, it’s not all right,” you muttered, your voice laced with frustration. “Out of the two of us, I’m supposed to be the recluse,” you grumbled. “For heaven’s sake!”

The irony was not lost on you. You were the one who had spent years isolated in the system’s trials, cut off from the world. Yet here you were, the one seemingly more adept at navigating social interactions than Jinwoo.

The butterfly fluttered its wings again, this time with a slight tilt as if to mock you gently. You let out a huff. Your frustration still simmered beneath the surface, refusing to fully dissipate.

You sat up abruptly, your gaze distant as you stared into the void of your room. The soft glow of the garden lights seeped in through the window, bathing the space in an ethereal glow. You let out a slow breath, trying to steady your thoughts.

There was no time to dwell on Jinwoo’s shortcomings. You had pressing matters to attend to. Better to focus on something productive than stew in your frustrations. A flick of your wrist summoned a plane ticket into your hand, the parchment shimmering briefly before solidifying.

“Just in case,” you murmured to yourself, slipping the ticket into your pocket. Though teleportation was your preferred method of travel, it wouldn’t hurt to have a mundane backup plan.

Your gaze softened as you looked around at your butterflies, each of them settling on nearby surfaces, their glowing forms creating a comforting ambiance. Red crawled closer to your shoulder, its small form vibrating faintly in silent encouragement.

Your hand rose to stroke Red’s wings absentmindedly. “I can’t save everyone,” you whispered, the words heavy with resignation. “But I’ll sure as hell try.”

---

Thomas Andre stood near the bustling entrance of Incheon International Airport, his massive frame towering over the steady flow of travelers. The hum of hurried footsteps and overhead announcements filled the air as his assistant—Laura’s insistence—handled the final details of their arrival. He shifted his weight, a slight frown pulling at his lips.

He was here on business, an important discussion with the chairman of South Korea’s Hunter Association about a certain reckless guild member of his.

Thomas Andre wasn’t a man easily surprised. As the head of the Scavenger Guild and one of the world’s most powerful Hunters, he was accustomed to the extraordinary. His sheer physical size alone intimidated most people before they could muster the courage to act unpredictably around him.

Yet here he was, caught off guard by something as mundane as a stranger bumping into him.

The collision barely registered to Thomas—hardly more than a tap against his solid frame—but the person who had stumbled into him nearly fell flat on their face. Instinctively, he reached out and caught them with one hand, gripping their gloved arm firmly to steady them. His brows furrowed as he glanced down. It was a woman—small, almost fragile-looking compared to him. She remained frozen in place for a moment, her eyes obscured by the brim of her hat, the lower half of her face covered by a black and white mask, and Thomas noted how light she felt in his grip, like a feather caught in a breeze.

“You all right there, Little Miss?” His deep voice rumbled with mild amusement.

The woman’s head snapped up at his words, her wide, panicked eyes locking onto his.

And then it hit him.

A sudden, overwhelming urge crashed into him like a tidal wave. It gripped his very core, making his knees threaten to buckle. The instinct to kneel, to bow before this stranger, clawed at his willpower. Something ancient and primal whispered in his mind, demanding submission. His veins felt like they were on fire as he fought the compulsion, his muscles straining under the pressure.

The woman quickly stepped back from his grasp, bowing her head in a hurried apology. “Thank you for catching me,” she said, tone clear and polite, her English flawless. “I’m sorry for bumping into you.”

Her voice was soft, warm, and soothing—a stark contrast to the chaotic storm raging inside him.

Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and hurried away, her pace brisk as she disappeared into the throng of travelers.

Thomas stood frozen, his chest heaving slightly as the overwhelming sensation dissipated as quickly as it had come. His hand, still trembling slightly, clenched into a fist. He turned his gaze toward the direction the woman had gone, catching a brief glance of her looking back at him. Her eyes flickered toward his fist, almost as if she could see the struggle he had just endured.

And then she was gone.

“What the hell was that?” Thomas muttered under his breath.

He replayed the moment in his mind and tried to recall the woman’s face, but his memory was hazy. The warm aura that radiated from her felt both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. It wasn’t oppressive or intimidating—it was calming, yet it carried an undeniable weight.

A healer class? It was the only explanation that made sense. Her aura had been faint, almost unnoticeable, but undeniably soothing. Perhaps she was a low-ranked Hunter, though something about her didn’t quite fit that profile.

“Mr. Andre?” His assistant’s voice broke through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality. “The car is ready.”

“Yeah,” Thomas grunted, shaking off the lingering unease. He took one last glance toward the direction she had gone before following his assistant. “Let’s go.”

But even as he walked away, the memory of those comforting yet commanding eyes lingered in his mind. He didn’t know who she was, but one thing was certain—he wasn’t going to forget that encounter anytime soon.

---

The air in the Sung family's apartment was tense. Jinah ducked beneath the window frame, peering cautiously through the blinds as the reporters gathered below. Their relentless pursuit had only grown worse, swarming the building in hopes of catching a glimpse of Korea's strongest Hunter and prying into his personal life.

"Seriously, Oppa, they're still here!" Jinah whispered harshly, ducking back to avoid being seen.

Jinwoo sighed and stood, rolling his shoulders. "I'll just shoo them off—"

Jinah whipped around, cutting him off. "No! Don’t. You’ve already gotten trashed online enough as it is."

His confusion was evident as he frowned. "Trashed? For what? I didn’t even do anything!"

Jinah groaned, exasperated. Did her brother really not understand why he was the talk of every social media platform? She was about to explain when your voice suddenly cut through the tension like a blade.

"It's because you left without paying any attention to the reporters last time, you fool," you said sharply from the doorway.

Jinah turned to see you standing there, your arms full of neatly stacked items. Her immediate reaction was relief—finally, someone who could articulate what she was feeling—but it quickly shifted to curiosity. She noticed the unusual sharpness in your tone and, to her surprise, her usually unbothered brother flinched.

"When did you get in here?" Jinah asked, confused but grateful for the interruption.

You offered her a warm smile, instantly replacing the tension with your characteristic kindness. "Hello, Jinah. It’s nice to see you again. I’m so sorry for intruding so suddenly. I just wanted to drop off these souvenirs I promised from my last trip with your Brother."

Jinah’s eyes sparkled at the mention of souvenirs, and she eagerly reached for the neatly arranged stack as you set it on the table. She began rifling through the items—a selection of high-quality medical books, some incredibly appetizing meals wrapped up beautifully, and a set of clothes that looked both stylish and perfectly tailored to her preferences.

"Did you make these clothes yourself?" Jinah asked in awe, feeling the soft yet durable fabric between her fingers.

You chuckled lightly. "I did. I thought you might like them."

Jinah leaped at you, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you, Unnie! You’re the best!"

Caught off guard, you stumbled slightly but quickly steadied yourself, returning her hug with a laugh. "Woah there! Careful!"

As Jinah nestled closer, she noticed something unusual. "Unnie, did you just come back from the beach?"

"Hmm?" You tilted your head, momentarily puzzled, before replying, "Oh, I was on an island in Japan for a business trip. There was an urgent international order for a particular batch of flowers I had to handle personally."

Jinah hummed in understanding, but her curiosity was quickly piqued by the expression on her brother’s face. Jinwoo, who had been watching the entire interaction in silence, now stood stiffly, his arms crossed and his brows furrowed.

"(Name)—" Jinwoo started, his voice low and uncertain.

You didn’t even let him finish. Turning only halfway to glance at him, you spoke with chilling finality, "I’m still mad at you. So shut it."

Jinah’s eyes widened, and she instinctively stepped back, letting go of you. She quickly pieced together that her brother must have done something incredibly dumb to earn your ire. She sighed internally, wondering: What now, Oppa?

"I'm here for someone else today," you said, your tone softening slightly as you looked at Jinah.

The sound of the doorbell interrupted the moment, and Jinwoo moved to answer it. Jinah watched him open the door to reveal a boy about her age, wearing a large backpack and looking pitifully disheveled.

"Who’s that, Oppa?" Jinah asked, peering around her brother.

---

Jinho stood in the doorway, his head bowed slightly in embarrassment as he glanced nervously between Jinwoo and the unfamiliar girl behind him.

‘She’s really pretty…’ he thought briefly before shaking his head. Now was not the time.

"I—uh, Hyung-nim, I’ve been kicked out," Jinho mumbled, his voice filled with genuine regret and self-pity. He shifted awkwardly, gripping the straps of his backpack. "Can I… stay here for a while?"

Jinwoo’s answer was immediate. The door slammed shut in Jinho’s face.

"Hyung-nim!" Jinho called out, panicking. But before he could knock again, your voice cut through the tension once more. Sharper. Colder.

"Jinwoo. Open. The. Door."

Even Jinho, standing outside, felt a shiver run down his spine. Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing Jinwoo standing stiffly like a child caught misbehaving. You stepped forward, your expression instantly softening as you looked at Jinho.

"Jinho," you said warmly, your voice filled with kindness, "You can stay in the spare room at my shop for a while until you get back on your feet."

Jinho’s eyes filled with gratitude, and he nearly lunged forward to hug you but stopped when he noticed the chilling shift in your demeanor. The warmth you’d shown him was gone, replaced by a saccharine-sweet smile directed at Jinwoo.

"I’ll leave now to escort Jinho," you said curtly, your gaze locking with Jinwoo’s.

You gently ushered Jinho out of the apartment, turning back only to bid Jinah a cheerful goodbye. But the cold glare you leveled at Jinwoo lingered for a moment longer, sending a clear message before you turned and left.

---

Jinwoo stared at the closed door, utterly at a loss. Your anger, though more subdued, still burned bright. He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.

Jinah watched him from the couch, her arms crossed. "What did you do, Oppa?"

"I don’t know," Jinwoo muttered, his frustration mounting.

His thoughts drifted to the dinner he’d planned as a peace offering. But now, he wasn’t even sure you’d agree to go with him, let alone accompany him back to the Demon Castle. For the first time in a long time, Jinwoo felt completely out of his depth.

End Note:

Unfinished Draft of [15/11/2024] -

[z-zeph]

“Is this affection?” you’d once asked Xiao, holding up a mangled butterfly he’d cupped in his palms for you—wings torn, thorax pulsing. A gift.

He’d stared at it, head tilted, as though the concept were a puzzle. “It wanted to escape the realm,” he’d said. “Now it stays.”

Of course.

By dawn, the butterfly had shed its ruined wings, the remnants dissolving into the realm’s air. In their place bloomed a grotesque marvel. Chitinous plates, translucent as cursed jade, veined with bioluminescent threads that pulsed aquamarine. It was strange, but they reminded you of Xiao's tattoos.

You traced a finger along its carapace, recoiling as it emitted a sound—not a flutter, but something resembling a whisper, faint and fractured.

You named it A-Qing.

The first victim Xiao confessed to you. A girl who had offered him a pair of sunsettias with glazed eyes, imploring him to end the flames of the Archon War that consumed her village. A girl who 'disappeared' when his spear slipped.

Once his feet stepped back into the realm that evening, he caught a glimpse of the creature perching on your shoulder, its new wings casting prismatic shadows on your flesh. "Look," he murmured, bloodied fingers twitching at his side, "it thrives.”

You didn't tell him that you had named it. Your gaze snagged on the crimson pooling beneath his body. Drop after drop. Contaminating the sanctuary with its metallic smell.

Nor did you tell him, weeks later, that the whispers were morphing into words.

"Let me go," it pleaded in the darkness, voice raw. "Let me go, let me go, let me—”

You crushed it against your ear, silencing the mantra. Its legs pricked your neck. How to explain that endurance was but another word for bearing? That its bioluminescent veins mirrored the web of scars beneath your tunic, the ones Xiao's spear had carved when you were still lovers?

A sigh. The butterfly was gone, as was the girl, as was your freedom. The voices also ceased, and you told yourself it wasn’t madness. That perhaps they were whispers from the resentful souls that accompanied Xiao in his torment. Perhaps they were illusions caused by the corrupted ley lines of this place.

It no longer mattered.

When he found you scrubbing your hands raw in the realm’s stream, he brought you another 'gift'. A songbird with opal feathers, its beak cracked. "It sings for you," he told you, ignoring how its throat convulsed, regurgitating a melody that mirrored A-Qing's cry. With a lump in your throat, you ended up telling him that you valued material gifts more. That anything non-living would be fine.

His eyes narrowed, but he vanished—dutiful, always dutiful—to pillage mortal markets for porcelain and dead things.

That night, you dreamt of the butterfly perched on Xiao's spear, its luminous wings weaving across a girl's face. “He doesn’t know,” she gurgled, blood blooming like peonies on her qipao. “He thinks he saved me too.”

You woke up alone.

You couldn’t help but wonder what face the Devourer of Dreams would wear if he ever stumbled into this nightmare of yours.

[smok3ygoth]

SANCTUARY

Summary: After a chaotic day, you head to the pub and bump into Louis, which blossoms into something beautiful. [1.3k]

—

Tonight, you find yourself at the local pub, seeking solace in your usual escape. As you sip your vodka and Coke, the familiar rhythm of the low music surrounds you, creating a comforting haze that drowns out your racing thoughts.

You swayed gently, letting the world outside fade away, if only for a little while. You'd been inside for hours, drinking and giggling to yourself, realising just how ridiculous your life had become.

"Can't fucking believe this."

After an exhausting eight-hour shift, you were so ready to unwind and enjoy some TV time with your lovely boyfriend, but then everything changed.

Once you got home, you heard squeaking from upstairs, like someone was bouncing on the bed. You didn't bother changing; you stormed up the stairs and burst into your bedroom.

"What the actual fuck?"

There, right in front of you, was one of your best friends getting bent over by your boyfriend—the guy you'd been with for five years, and someone you’d known forever.

"Wait—"

"I don't want to fucking hear it. You better be gone by the time I get back or you'll regret it." You'd said rather calmly, which is undoubtedly scarier than screaming at them.

And now, here you are at the bar, alone.

"Fuck, I need some fresh air." You grabbed your drink and went to sit outside on one of the empty benches. You reached into your back and you swore you had a pack of fags in there.

"For fucksake, could this day get any worse?" You said this right before someone accidentally spilled some of their beer on you.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry!" The woman apologised, but you could tell she was very pissed, so you just waved it off with a smile.

"Guess I'll just sit here and sip my drink," you said to yourself, hoping the night would turn around. You pulled out your phone, thinking about what series of movies you could dive into later to forget all this.

Then, a hand reached out in front of you, offering a cigarette. You looked up, surprised at the man standing before you. You took the cigarette and placed it between your lips as his hand came up to light it for you.

Inhaling deeply, you asked, "How did you know I needed a smoke?"

"I've seen you here a few times, crying, and I've always offered you a smoke." You blushed at his words.

Well, that's embarrassing.

Taking another long, deep inhale of the cigarette, you asked, "Aren't you that singer? What's your name?"

"Louis Tomlinson, and what may your name be, darling?" The pet name sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Why did it suddenly feel so warm?

"It's Y/N, but you can call me whatever you like. Isn't it a bit risky just hanging out at the pub with no security?"

"A bit. My fans are respectful, though, so I love seeing them when I'm out. I'm guessing you're not a fan?" he joked, a playful glint in his eye.

"I could be a fan, but I might just be hiding it. You'll never know," you replied with a laugh, feeling the chemistry spark between the two of you.

"Well, I suppose I'll just have to find out then," he chuckled, leaning in a little closer. The warmth between you felt electric, and for a moment, the earlier chaos faded away.

"So, what brings you out here tonight? Besides, you know, the vodka?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by why you would be here all by yourself.

You took another drag from the cigarette, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. "Honestly, I just needed a break from everything. It's been one of those days, you know?" You smiled, hoping to keep the conversation flowing.

"But now it seems like I've stumbled onto something a bit more interesting."

"Oh? And what might that be?"

"You."

"You're quite bold, you know?"

"I am aware, yes." You giggle as he lights his own cigarette, offering you another since you'd finished yours.

You both sat there for a few minutes, enjoying the comforting silence that you both needed.

"Hey, Lou?"

"Yes, love?" He turned to you, a spark of intrigue in his eyes at the nickname you had given him.

"Would you like to—I don't know—be friends? We could go to my place and watch some TV since it's getting quite chilly out here, and I don't really want to drink anymore."

"Course we can, yeah. Don't want you walking home by yourself either." A smile spread across your face, gratitude shining in your eyes.

"Let's go then." You both finish your cigarettes, and you take his hand, leading the way to your place. It’s closer than Louis expected, but he’s not complaining.

Once inside, you kick off your shoes and drop your bag by the door. You quickly turn on the heating, eager to warm up from the chilly air outside.

"Would you like a drink or something?" you ask as he settles onto the comfortable sofa in the living room.

"Tea, please, love."

"On it." You smile at him as he gets comfortable on the sofa, making himself at home while scrolling through a bunch of different movies.

As you focus on making tea for both of you, your mind drifts, and you momentarily forget about your boyfriend—now ex-boyfriend.

"Y/N?" You spin around, shocked to see him still lingering in your house.

"I told you to get the fuck out."

"Wait—please let me explain!"

"What is there to explain? It was pretty obvious what was happening. I'm just curious about how long this has been going on." He avoids your gaze, mumbling.

"Hmm, what was that?"

"Two years."

"Wow. This all happened under my roof? You're fucking disgusting. Get out. Now."

"You heard her, get the fuck out." Louis spoke.

"Who the fuck are you?" Louis steps closer, wrapping his arm around your waist—a protective gesture that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Your replacement. I'm better than you, and you know it, so fuck off." Louis grinned, a mix of amusement and defiance in his eyes as he watched your ex-boyfriend storm out, slamming the door behind him.

You couldn't help but chuckle at Louis' boldness and the way he handled the situation. "Thanks for that. He really needed to go."

Louis shrugged casually. "No worries, love. No one messes with my friends like that."

You felt a wave of gratitude wash over you, grateful for Louis' unexpected presence and unwavering support. "I owe you one, Lou."

He flashed you a warm smile. "Nah, we're friends now. That's what friends are for, right?"

Right, friends. But did you want to be just friends? Of course not. You didn't know how it happened so quickly, but you knew you had developed some romantic feelings for Louis.

"Lou?" Your voice wavered as you spoke, looking up at him with shy eyes.

"Hm?"

"I think I like you. I know we've only just gotten to know each other, but I like you, and I know you probably don't feel—" He cut off your rambling with a soft kiss on the lips, a smile spreading warmth across your face.

"What were you saying, hmm, love?" You gazed into his eyes, feeling a rush of courage. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him again, this time slower and deeper, savouring the moment as his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer.

"I like you too," he whispered against your lips, making you grin and kiss him harder. The world around you faded as you lost yourself in the moment, feeling the warmth of his body and the electric connection between you.

As you pulled away slightly, breathless and smiling, you could see the sincerity in his eyes.

"So, what now?" you asked, a playful glint in your gaze. Louis chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Now, we take it one day at a time, together." With that, he leaned in for another kiss, and in that moment, you realised this was just the start of something truly beautiful. He had become your safe haven, your sanctuary amidst the chaos.

—

This is my first fic on this app because I have no idea how to use it, and it needs more Louis fics. I'm trying to figure out how to make a masterlist and all that, but for now, I'm just going to leave this little thing here. :) P.S. This is my first fic ever, so please don't hate. Thanks! xD

Please send requests! <3

[grandline-fics]

Hiiiiii

I am absolutely smitten and in love with your work omg

Can I request a Mihawk x F!reader where both of them are just chilling and reading books while each of them steal glances of love and admiration from the other without knowing, and mihawk showing his soft side admiring his love leading to them eventually locking gazes its all fluff and cuteness ifk I just crave fluff with this man 😓

DESCRIPTION: Stealing glances with the other until caught

WARNINGS: fluff

CHARACTERS: Mihawk

WORDS: 642

A/N: Thank you for the fluff request with Mihawk! It's something on the shorter side but I hope you're happy with what I managed to come up for this.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

———————

Mihawk is no stranger to silence. If anything he’d view it as a friend. It’s calming for him to sit and be at peace and revel in the stillness when the noise of the day has finally subsided and he can retreat into his sanctuary. The silence was easier to obtain before Cross Guild’s founding but in a way it was so much more rewarding to get it now. Because now, the silence also comes with added indulgences he never got to experience when completely alone. From the other end of the sofa he heard the soft turn of a page. His sharp gaze subtly flickered away from the book in his hand, his attention stolen by you once more. Mihawk had lost count how many times through the course of the quiet evening that he’d looked your way without your notice. 

There you sat, your back against the armrest and feet tucked underneath you. Your eyes slowly roved over the words in your book, lips curved ever so slightly as you let yourself become immersed in the story. It didn’t matter how many times a day Mihawk looked your way, whether in keeping eye contact with you through conversations and stolen glances like these the reaction was always the same; his usually cold and piercing stare was softened and warmed as he took in every little detail in your features and expression, just taking all he could of you and your presence. Mihawk had never thought such a thing would happen for him and for every day you’re with him, even in the calm silence, he drew every possible moment he could and savoured it like the finest wine. Quickly he dropped his gaze back to his own book, his need to steal a look at you sated for another while. 

The minutes passed and you slowly dragged your attention away from your book when Mihawk stretched out to prop his feet up on the end of the coffee table in front of the sofa you were both sharing. Carefully you looked him over with a growing smile, unable and unwilling to stop how happy you became each time you glanced at him. Even moments like this were so precious to you, neither you or Mihawk needed to be talking to get the most out of your time together and you counted yourself lucky because very few you knew had yet to experience that sort of security and peace for themselves. Especially in the constant chaos of the Big Top, it was no easy feat but you and Mihawk always found a way.

Suddenly you paused when Mihawk’s stunning gaze flickered out at the corner of his eye and locked on yours. From the way he blinked and slowly turned his head to look at you, it seemed he hadn’t expected to find you staring at him. Mihawk’s lips turned up in a small but still powerful smile while you beamed at him, the butterflies in your stomach that never seemed to leave even after all your time together fluttering gently.

Mihawk’s position on the sofa shifted slightly, his body turned just enough to face you while his arm set itself on the back of the seat in an invitation for you to come closer. You wasted no time in drawing yourself closer to now prop your back against his waiting side and stretch your legs out towards the cushion you’d previously been sitting on. When you were settled, Mihawk dropped his hand to rest it loosely against your side. With a content sight you opened your book again and began reading while Mihawk did the same while lightly resting his chin against the crown of your head. Now in this position it meant that if either of you were to try and steal a glance the other would know instantly.

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa

[milliesfishes]

୨ৎ⋆˚౨ৎRibbons (Act One)౨ৎ˚⋆୨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: depression, control, mention of a past suicide attempt, angst pairing: coriolanus snow x fem reader author’s note: this work contains topics that may be upsetting pertaining mental health, controlling relationships, depression, and suicide. I did my best to portray them correctly. I hope you all enjoy the series, it's very angsty :) 𝓟𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓑𝓸𝓪𝓻𝓭 𝓢𝓹𝓸𝓽𝓲𝓯𝔂 𝓟𝓵𝓪𝔂𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

THE ELUSIVE FIRST LADY We've all seen the pictures. Coriolanus Snow was wed to the most beautiful bride Panem has ever seen in a lustrous ceremony two years ago. After the honeymoon, the young politician engaged in a slew of campaigning, and nearly exactly twelve months later, he was elected president. The First Lady has neither been seen or heard from since. In the past, it has been customary for the wives of the President to host galas and attend charity events. Mrs. Snow has done none of the above. President Snow was very open with his wife before the election, and she was alongside him at every speech and dinner. Presently, he attends what few events he does alone, his wife nowhere in sight. Due to the now-First Lady's popularity before her husband's candidacy, it is a curious occurrence indeed. So we, and all of Panem, have to ask the question- where is she?

Suffocation is very slow.

Even butterflies in bell jars flutter around for a bit before they take their last breaths. They are there to admire for what their captors know is a limited time. That was the difference between theirs and yours.

For your own peace of mind, you reasoned that Coriolanus Snow had not known what he was doing.

Breathing in the salty air of the seaside, you felt the scent and sound of everything wash over you and slip your mind into a state of relaxation. It had been months since you'd felt this free.

Hands on the smooth, grainy railing of the porch, you stood on your tiptoes, the edge pressing against your belly. The sea breeze tickled your hair around your neck, the skirts of your white dress brushing your ankles.

It had been four weeks of bliss; of waking up with cotton sheets tangled around your legs, of feeling the sun freckle your skin that was no longer pale as death. A whimsical month of sand in every crease, of collecting seashells the length of your little fingernail and spreading them over the kitchen counter to admire.

You were supposed to escape this way. To get better. But the little details of this place painted a picture of home; the very spot you were not supposed to think of. Truly, the great, roaring mass of water was more alike to what you had left behind than the thing itself.

The ocean was the same blue of his eyes, contained secrets of the same magnitude. The tide ebbed and flowed the same way he did. There was one marked difference, though. When you thought of him, resentment and sorrow bubbled in your chest to create a confusing swirl of unexplainable feeling. You did not feel this toward the sea.

Fisting the skirt of your dress, you ran a hand up the column of the house. The porch was strewn with sand, the pastel walls of the Victorian exterior worn with time but adding to the charm. This place had become your sanctuary. And you had your doubts about whether you would be allowed to return.

Padding inside, the knotted rug cleared the majority of the sand from your feet, but you knew some would manage to stick and track onto the hardwood floor. Your two round suitcases were packed, the few belongings from your month away tucked away and reminding you how little space things actually take up. Mass does not account for the memories.

Looking around at this little space that had become your home, you felt a familiar pang of dread tap your chest. You had been avoiding it- the idea that you must leave. The idea of returning to what had gotten you sent here in the first place.

A dam of memories began to crack, but you resisted, holding the splits in the structure with your fingers. I am better now. The whole point of you coming here was to recover. That single dreadful flicker of a recollection sparked, but you held it down.

Tires crunching on gravel. An involuntary shudder racked your body. It was time. Funnily enough, this felt more like a punishment than coming here had. You bent and picked up your suitcases, slipping your feet into the black flats that would deem your ensemble appropriate enough for return.

Your companions for the month had already departed, quiet goodbyes and well wishes in their wake. They knew what was waiting for you, and doubly they knew how you dreaded it.

Shutting the door behind you felt like forcing two magnets away from each other. You slowly pulled your hand away from the doorknob, thumb pressing into the embossed symbol in the center. When you looked down at your hand, you could see the imprint of it in the skin. A rose.

Using that hand to bunch your skirts again, you descended the creaky stairs and down the willowy, crunchy path of seashells and rocks to where the black-suited driver was holding the door of the car for you. He eyed you when you bent to pick a handful of beach aster before continuing your walk of doom.

Shutting the door behind you, he offered a polite tip of the hat, which you acknowledged with a smile. It wasn't his fault you were headed back into the lion's den.

The entire drive, you stared out the window, eyes chasing the sights as they whizzed by, back into the past already; those golden hours you missed already. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as the reality of it hit you.

Good-bye sandy sunsets and shining waters.

It was your final farewell as you were forced to greet empty halls and lonely luxury.

Back into the bell jar.

If you had wings, they would be wilted. The second you saw the mansion, looming over the car like a monster, you recoiled, shrinking back into your seat and wishing you could sink into the spot. Maybe if you willed it hard enough you would disappear and leave nothing but a white dress with a pocket full of seashells behind.

You shivered, folding your hands around your arms as goosebumps sprouted. Longing for the crackling fire in the hearth of your beach house, you tried to sit up straight. It wouldn't do well to have a shaky appearance.

Being in the car made you more anxious than the idea of returning. Clenching your fingers around your arms, you breathed in and out, tried to count to one hundred. The car ride to the beach house had elicited a similar reaction, your nerves getting the better of you.

The golden gates parted for the car, and that was when you saw him waiting, hands folded behind his back, standing on the pale marble steps leading up to the house. His hair was so light it was nearly the same color, the red of his coat a stark contrast. In your absence you had forgotten the season, and suddenly you regretted your choice in dress. The thin straps would do little to protect you from the cold.

As you stepped out of the car, using the hand of the driver as leverage, Coriolanus moved forward toward you. His icy blue eyes roved over your appearance; sun-warmed skin, simple dress, some beach aster stuck behind your ear and more peeking out of your pocket. The tiny shells in the same opening slightly jingled as you met him halfway.

"Darling," he greeted, his voice low. The only other people out here were the Peacekeepers used for the mansion's security and the driver of the car, who was taking your two circular suitcases from the back.

You lifted your chin, taking his offered hand and letting him help you up the steps. Repressing a shiver because the house was only a minute away, you eyed the barren trees lining the walls. There were only a few dried, stiffened leaves clinging to the spindly branches. Even the roses were trimmed now, at the stems.

Disappointment twinged at your insides. One of the only things you'd been looking forward to was escaping through the garden. Coriolanus noticed your face fall at the sight, and he squeezed your hand. "Some of them were cut and moved inside. We can have more brought in if you would like."

Nodding slightly, you gave him a soft smile, doing your best to hide from him the dread eating you from the inside out. Stepping through the lacquered white doors, the chill of the mansion made you shiver in a way unrelated to the temperature. Coriolanus secured his arm around you, rubbing your elbow. "You must be freezing in that dress. Come, let's get you something more...appropriate."

The disdain in his tone was hard to miss. But you knew he wasn't talking about your outfit. He wanted to transform you back into the woman he knew. In appearance only.

It felt like an attack. Coriolanus wanted to scrub from you any remnants of your escape, of the time you hadn't been under his shadow. Truthfully, you couldn't be too upset for it. He didn't know of the haven in your beloved ocean. All he knew was that you'd been away from him.

"Of course," you whispered, lifting your eyes to meet his. Your husband caressed your cheek briefly, an unrecognizable look flickering in his irises.

It quickly diminished though, and you were then escorted up the stairs, walking hand in hand down the hallway with him. His shiny shoes clicked on the tile, your flats barely making a sound.

Stopping at your door, Coriolanus turned to you, searching your eyes for any sign of discomfort. "Will you come down for dinner?" he questioned quietly, voice barely echoing in the expanse of the hallway.

Nodding slightly, you managed a little upturn of your lips, feeling like you were performing. "Of course."

A sort of relieved expression fell over him, and he lifted your joined hands, kissing your fingers. "Wonderful. I'll let you freshen up."

Once you were behind the door of your bedroom, you leaned against it, sliding down to the floor. It was over. The first part was over. Maybe this will have been the hardest.

You stared at the ceiling for a moment before getting to your feet, watching the sunset cast shadows on the floor and expose the dust of the air. At least the same moon would appear when the night fell.

Wandering into the bathroom, you studied your reflection for a moment. You didn't look at all like the woman who'd left these walls four weeks ago. But you didn't look like who you'd been before being her either. Now you were some foreign, unfamiliar thing whose nature you had not yet uncovered.

It was like stumbling upon the Gardens of Babylon; something inside you that there had been whispers of, but nobody had known existed. And now you weren't sure if you were entirely yourself. Everything you were before was shelled inside like a nesting doll, but you hadn't the courage to uncover it.

Tearing your eyes away from the mirror, you slipped off your shoes, feeling the cool marble beneath your feet. Checkered tiles. You had picked them out so long ago.

Turning your head to the side, you saw it standing there, like a lone specter. The smooth, rounded bathtub, like a cupped hand. Reaching out, you lightly ran a finger down the side of it. It wasn't the same one. Of course it wouldn't be.

You wondered what he'd done with it. Had it destroyed, maybe? He'd blame anything but you for what happened.

Even an inanimate object that had been doing nothing but what it was created to.

Dressed in a light pink sweater tucked into a matching skirt, a belt cinching your waist, you sat primly diagonal from him, picking at the food on your plate. Long gone were the beach asters, any grains of sand that may have clung to you. A shower had erased it.

Now you were back, settled into the space you'd inhabited before. Even though your heart wasn't the same shape anymore, you fit it perfectly.

He was looking up every few seconds, as if you'd disintegrate if he didn't always have one eye on you. You didn't question it.

Determinedly casual, Coriolanus commented, "The doctors reported well of your conditions." He speared a potato with his fork, bringing it to his mouth.

Hands folded in your lap, you let your chin move up and down as a response. It had been a topic in question for you; how he was going to broach the situation. If it was up to you, it would never be spoken of again.

Your husband set his utensil down with a gentle clatter, resting his elbow on the table, palm facing the chandelier above. Recognizing what he wanted, you lifted one of your hands, setting it limply atop his. His fingers closed around yours, squeezing.

Somehow you mustered the courage to meet his eyes, that deep blue that so reminded you of your missed getaway. Coriolanus rested his other hand on yours, thumb rubbing your knuckles. He made sure you were looking right at him when he said, "I apologize, darling. For everything I did to-" he cut himself off with a swallow. "I'm sorry."

Casting your eyes to the side for a moment, you noticed for the first time the vase of roses sitting modestly close to your setting. These weren't ordered, no, they were from the garden. Perhaps cut today even, spared until the last minute before you arrived unlike their stemless companions.

Turning back to him, you took in a light breath, lifting your free hand to touch the sliver of a belt over your stomach. Tracing the little buckle for a moment, your eyes found his as a question you'd been wanting to ask for a long time slipped past your lips. "Why did you do it?"

Coriolanus' face hardened slightly, but then his thumb traveling your hand found your wedding ring and his shoulders relaxed. "It was to keep you safe."

"I wasn't allowed to leave," you retorted quietly, some newfound bravery inside you urging the words from your mind. "Months trapped in this house, allowed to see no one-"

"To keep you safe," he reiterated. If it were not for the sincerity in his eyes you would have thought him cruel for feeding you the same statement he had before your trip to the seaside. "Darling...all of this was to keep you protected."

"And look where that's gotten us." Your soft response was punctuated by you pulling your hand back, clasping it with the other on your thigh. Freshly painted a pale rose color, your nails poked at your skin when you balled your hands up, an attempt to keep control. Quietly, you added, "The media got ahold of an account of my spending. Apparently, an inside source gave it to them."

Your husband sat upright, a frown creasing his brow. "I thought you weren't supposed to look at those things while-"

"I didn't." You looked down. "Not on purpose. One of the caretakers left a magazine out and I... saw my name. I couldn't help it."

"Did it say what you were spending on?" Coriolanus leaned back again, and you could almost see the wheels in his head turning.

"No," you shook your head, fingers coming up to touch the space between your eyebrows. A headache was coming, you could feel it. "But they had an exact amount."

"Anyone working with our finances wouldn't know what happened," Coriolanus reasoned, fingers thrumming the arm of his chair. His hair looked a little mussed, you observed. Like he'd been running his hand through it. You could see the gel wearing off, his natural curls beginning to take form again. How you'd loved petting his hair before. And how he'd loved letting you. "I'll have the staff cleared out and replace them."

Clenching your jaw so you wouldn't cry, you nodded. One tear escaped, trickling down your cheek as a wave of shame crashed over you. Unable to help yourself, you put your hands over your face, whispering, "It was awful, Coryo. The number was so high. And now everyone thinks I'm spending the country's money on parties and dresses."

"Darling. Darling." There was the sound of a chair being pushed back, and then you heard him step to you, two hands pulling you to stand and fall into him. Despite your qualms, you let your arms wrap around him, face pressing into the spot over his heart, where the steady thump nudged your cheek. He buried his nose in your hair, a gentle kiss finding a home there. "We know the truth, sweetheart. That's the most important thing."

"But you're the president," you sniffled, all previous fear forgotten as you remembered how good it felt to be in his arms. Living in his shadow also meant being protected by it. "I'm making you look awful. It won't be good for the reelection."

"I don't give a damn about the reelection if you're not well," Coriolanus murmured into your hair. "This isn't your fault, it's the staff's for letting this information get out. I won't stop spending my money on doctors as long as you're unwell." He rubbed your back. "I don't care if the tabloids think it's something else."

A dry sob erupted from your lips at his words, and he tightened his arms around you. You hated yourself for finding comfort in him after what he'd done.

"Let's get you upstairs," he said quietly, and you nodded into him. He made a move to take a step but hesitated. In a careful gesture, Coriolanus leaned down, securing his arm under your knees and lifting you up. You wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning your head against his shoulder and closing your eyes. The headache that had begun to make an appearance was now pounding, and you fisted your husband's shirt as it did.

Aware of your discomfort, Coriolanus swept you upstairs, and before you knew it you were being laid on your soft bed, atop the covers as he went to the closet to find something for you to sleep in. Sitting up, you began to undo your belt, sliding it through the buckle and winding it up neatly. You removed your skirt, unzipping the side, and then your sweater by the time he returned, one of your old favorite nightdresses in hand.

He bunched it in his hands, holding the neck open. "Lift your arms."

You did, and he slid the fabric over your head, straightening it out over your body. Wrestling your arms through the openings, you murmured. "The bathtub's new."

He paused, seeming surprised that you had brought it up. The sight of you was sure to be a sorry one, with messy hair and teary eyes, sitting in a little white nightdress, the skirt of which was messily pinched and spread over your thighs. Kneeling at your feet, he looked at your legs, one hand coming to smooth the fabric over them. When it reached your knees, the hem brushing the bone, he muttered, "In no world was I going to keep the old one."

Plunging your head underwater, you felt the thoughts numb. Every second you stayed under; the noise stopped. One moment you had hope of the end, and then the next a pair of hands were breaking the surface and yanking you from your peace.

Staring up at him, you felt the fog begin to settle over you again. Blinking tiredly, you said, "You could have."

Coriolanus inhaled, resting his head on your knees. Then his arms moved, encircling your waist and now his head was buried in your stomach. You lifted your hand, hesitantly touching his hair. It was mostly soft, a little stiff in some places from the dried out, hours-old gel.

For a moment, you didn't think he would let go. But his arms loosened, and he looked up at you. The vulnerability etched in his roaring oceans of eyes nearly drew from you a gasp. He shook his head, and you could almost see the reflection of what he was thinking in the blue.

You, wet hair sticking to your chest, water dripping from your bare body and pooling beneath on the floor.

Coriolanus grasped your waist, watching your chest rise and fall with your breathing. He rubbed your side gently, something melancholy drizzling over the scene. "Did you do it...because I made you stay?"

The question made your motions through his hair stop, and he lifted his head. His eyes pierced your heart, but you were tired of withholding the truth. Your response was soft. "Week after week of being confined to this place. And you still won't even tell me why." The look on your face was answer enough for him.

Rising, Coriolanus leaned in, hand finding the crown of your head and holding you as he pressed a kiss to your hairline. He held his lips there for a long time. Broad and strong, he stood firm and steady in the tumultuous waves of your life, drawing you in like an unbendable force.

Thunder seemed to shake your being, the waters up to your neck. And yet there he was, unaffected by any storm, his arms open and willing. And suddenly you missed him, needed him like you had never needed anything before. Hands shaking, breathily, you asked, "Will you stay?"

Even after everything, after the history that defined you by being written, you were helpless without him. It was that love you'd never rescinded, that had bloomed when he slid his ring on your finger and had hardly even wilted when he imposed such a harrowing restriction upon you.

You wished you hated him.

He began to loosen his tie. It was discarded along with his shoes, shirt, jacket, and pants. Each item shed unsheathed the man beneath the president. And then you saw your Coryo again, the one you'd loved before he consumed the power bestowed on him.

Maybe you weren't the only one with multiple versions inside yourself. He was just better at uncovering them.

Had it been the president who'd given you strict orders to never step past the grounds? Who'd brushed away your pleas to leave even for a few hours, saying he'd send for more catalogs and books to keep you occupied? Who'd pried the shiny, embossed invitations from your hands when you begged to attend events with him?

You had thought it was the president who you'd walked in on in his study after you'd been pulled from the dripping throes of death, in a meeting with the doctor who'd thoroughly examined you. The president who stared at the wood of his desk, brow furrowed, backs of fingers covering his mouth as the doctor told him he would recommend for you to be sent away to recover fully. "Many of my patients have said the seaside, in particular, has improved their condition," he said in hushed tones. The president nodded.

When you whispered, "The seaside?" it was the president who noticed you, who got to his feet and was at your side in an instant.

But it was a different man whose eyes roved over your disheveled appearance; messy hair, wearing nothing but an oversized sweater that fell to your middle thighs and engulfed your hands. He slid an arm around you, bringing you to his chest and smoothing your hair. "Sweetheart, you need to be resting. Let me take you back to your room." Still in a daze from the prescribed sleeping pills, you nodded hazily and let him lead you upstairs with an arm around your shoulders.

It was that man who was getting into bed with you right now, pulling you into his arms and tucking you to his side, whispering that it was okay, that all you had to do now was sleep.

Instead of drifting off, your mind wandered near and far, body feeling heavy with all the answers you lacked. The burden of it all was nearly breaking you. And before you could regulate, the one thing on your mind was escaping your head through your mouth.

"Did you do it because you love somebody else?"

He stiffened, and then his arms tightened around you. You could feel him shake his head immediately, even though you couldn't see it. "No. Never." Coriolanus adjusted the position of his hands, splaying one over your tummy. He kissed your hair, mumbling into it. "I love you. You're my wife." His words were firm, and you felt some comfort return.

"Was it because you were ashamed of me?" You turned around, facing him. The only light was from the candle at your bedside, flickering dependently. He exhaled softly at your questioning, thumbing the side of your face. You asked in a small voice, "Did you want to hide me away?"

His head moved back and forth, declining your theory. "Darling, I have never been ashamed of you. Not once."

"But why else would you force me to stay where nobody can see me?" you asked quietly, on the verge of tears again. Over your weeks away, the medical care staff had discouraged you from wondering about such things, telling you they would only send your head into a spiral. But now, in the last honest moments of waking, you were incapable of holding back.

Coriolanus' face was tender, and he cupped a big hand over your head. You could hear the words before he said them and you dreaded their arrival. Shaking your head, your lower lip trembled as he breathed life into the phrase once again.

"To keep you safe."

Despondently, you watched him, giving no response as he gave you a final peck to your temple and tucked your head under his chin. The irony of the statement was not lost on you. He had protected you from everything except yourself.

Nobody tells you what to do once you survive. Once you are past the point of danger, there is nothing but wide, open space in front of you that only serves to collapse what you have thought you healed.

Even after your self-inflicted brush with death, the person whom you loved most still refused to give you the one answer that would bring you peace.

After blowing out the candle, it did not take Coriolanus long to slip into sleep. You laid awake for hours afterward, thoughts piling up like discarded flowers after a wedding.

You had held him as your lover; fulfilling your marriage vows before they were uttered. He was forever, adoring in every sense of the word. But now you couldn't help but feel as if he was holding you for a different reason.

He was concealing you. And if it be the will of Coriolanus Snow, undiscovered you would remain.

Though he had given himself to you, it radiated off him. The shame of being yours.

𝓝𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓐𝓬𝓽

[robotsdeservebetter]

UM??? Are you threatening to eat my butterflies, Sofia?

[kiwimadegames]

'Flutter: Butterfly Sanctuary' (2015) By: Runaway (Dunedin) For: Mobile Hatch, feed and raise caterpillars into butterflies, slowly expanding your garden as you unlock your butterfly collection. 400 to collect! Links: - iOS: https://apps.apple.com/us/app/flutter-butterfly-sanctuary/id564007552 - Android: https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.runawayplay.flutter

[pinkslipxox]

Hi love

Can I request reader being friends with Jovaan and being in the 6B video where she meets Miko and they hit it off and are basically attached at the hip the whole time, then after a break everyone is looking for them and they're hooking up in her trailer

hey, baby!! Yes ofc, hope you like it 🙈❤️😩

——————————————————————————

You can feel the vibrant energy of Puerto Rico buzzing around you as you step onto the colorful set of the 6B music video. The sun is blazing overhead, casting a warm glow on everything, and your heart is racing with excitement. Jovaan has been your friend for years, and he has been making a name for himself in the music industry, something that you’re immensely proud of as his friend. Today, he’s invited you to hang out while shooting a music video for the fierce and unapologetic rapper, Young Miko.

Jovaan wraps his arms around you, his charisma and charm shining through. He’s incredibly excited as he talks about how today’s shooting will turn out, his energy palpable. Then, just out of the corner of your eye, you see a woman standing nearby.

You catch her eye for a brief moment, and there’s a flicker of intrigue in her gaze. You feel a slight flutter in your stomach as Jovaan nudges you, encouraging you to approach her, and before you do so, she strides over to you with a big smile on her face. Her dark hair cascades over her shoulders, her lean body clad in printed trousers and a white crop top, and dark ink tattoos snake around her arms. You can’t help but feel butterflies as you realize that the woman before you is Young Miko.

“Hola, mami! Qué tal?” Miko says with a playful lift in her voice.

“This is my friend, Y/N,” Jovaan introduces you, smiling ear to ear. He then gestures from you and Miko. ���Y/N, this is Miko.”

Miko smiles, and you can’t help but notice how she looks at you up and down for a brief second. “Un placer, Y/N. We’re going to have a fucking blast!” she says, her voice smooth and inviting.

“I can’t wait!” you giggle, and you can’t help the feel a pang of warmth in your chest.

Throughout the week, you and Miko get to know each other. During breaks, the two of you would laugh and talk as if you had known each other for years. Even after shooting, Miko invites you to go out with her crew, and eacb of you have grown to develop a liking with each of them. But with Miko, it feels incredibly different. Miko is fierce on her verses, embodying the essence of the bold and confident persona she is, but with you, she softens, her playful side shining through. You discover that she’s not just about the tough exterior; there’s a sweetness beneath all that ink and bravado.

On the last day of shooting, you can’t help but sense a shift in the air. You catch yourself gazing at Miko longer than usual during filming, and at one point you look away just before Miko catches you. Each glance and cheeky smile exchanged between the two of you leaves your stomach fluttering like a butterfly’s wings, and you find yourself wanting more.

“Hey, pequeña,” Miko calls out, her voice cutting through the noise as she approaches you during a break. There’s a mischievous glint in her eyes, setting your heart racing. “Come hang out with me. Meet me in my trailer in five?”

Her invitation echoes in your ears, and a newfound wave of anticipation and excitement courses through you. You can’t help but smile, your eyes meeting her blue ones. Before you know it, you find yourself stepping inside Miko’s trailer, a sanctuary from the outside world. The inside of her trailer is cozy, filled with personal touches and vibrancy that matches her vibe. There is even a delightful scent of vanilla and musk in the air, unique, and so undeniably Miko.

“Wow, it’s really nice in here,” you say softly, feeling a flutter in your chest as she gestures for you to sit. She follows suit, leaving only a breath of space between you. The tension in the air is palpable, a mix of heat and unspoken words. Miko’s gaze is intense, her eyes searching yours, and suddenly it feels like it’s just the two of you in the world.

“Gracias, mami,” Miko hums, and after a moment she reaches into her pocket, retrieving her vape pen. She holds it out to you, her eyes full of mischief. “Quieres un poco?”

You feel your cheeks flush as you take it from her. As you take a small hit, the sweet smoke fills your lungs. Miko watches you intently, leaning a little closer, and you can’t help but feel the heat between you. Your breaths become a little deeper, a little quicker, and for a moment, the world outside fades away. You can sense the tension building, the air thick with unspoken words.

“Eres tan adorable, pequeña,” Miko whispers, her voice low and smoky, making your heart flutter.

And that’s it for you.

Surprising both Miko and yourself, you grab the back of her neck and pour all your desire and adoration against her warm, soft lips. A moan escapes Miko’s lips, the sound like music to your ears, and the kiss becomes more passionate as it transmits the unspoken emotions that have been pent up inside you both. Your hands tangle in her hair, and she pulls you closer, her body warm and inviting against yours. As your hands explore each other's curves, clothes become discarded and long forgotten, your bodies molding perfectly like two kissing puzzle pieces. Miko gently guides you to lay down on the couch, her lips traveling down your neck, then your collarbone, and finally to the gentle swell of your breasts.

“Miko…” you half-moan, half-whimper as she sucks on the soft skin, your body instinctively arching against hers. She’s gentle yet fervent, each touch leaving sparks of electricity and wanting for more. Her name comes out in breathy sighs as she leaves love bites that make you hers.

Then, with a fluid motion that takes your breath away, Miko sinks lower, her warm breath teasing against your skin. The anticipation sends jolts of electricity coursing through your body. She drapes your leg over her shoulder, planting soft yet teasing kisses along your thigh, and just like that, Miko begins to lavish her attention on your aching pussy, her tongue gliding deliciously over your pulsating clit. You gasp, fingers tangling in her hair, a symphony of soft moans escaping your lips, and you gently urge her further into your core.

Miko looks up at you, her eyes filled with mischief and adoration as she continues her ministrations, her deliciously warm touch creating ripples of pleasure that reverberate through your very core. Every lick, every flicker of Miko’s tongue makes you squirm and beg for more, the outside world becoming nothing but a distant memory.

“More… please, more!” you beg, the sensations overcoming your senses. You feel your legs start to shake, your vision blurring, and the blissful pressure in your tummy starting to unravel.

Miko responds to your cries, her ministrations intensifying, pushing you over the edge of pure ecstasy. You feel her smirk against your skin as your fingers tangle in her hair, urging her on, and she groans against your core. You surrender completely to the waves of pleasure that leave you shaking and breathless beneath her, your moans and gasps echoing inside the trailer.

As the waves begin to subside, Miko crawls her way back up besides you, pride evident in her beautiful features. She cradles your face between her tattooed hands, whispering sweet nothings in Spanglish, her lips gently brushing over yours as if sealing her words. You melt against her, feeling safe and cherished.

“Eres increíble, pequeña,” Miko murmurs, her forehead gently resting against yours as a soft smile lights up her features. She pulls you closer to her, kissing your lips once more, her thumb brushing delicately over the curve of your cheekbone. “How about we go out to dinner tonight? I like you… a lot, actually.”

Your heart flutters. “I’d love to, Miko,” you breathe, feeling like the luckiest girl alive. Then, suddenly, the desire to pleasure Miko just as she has done for you makes you untangle yourself from her grasp and sink down to your knees.

“Ay, mami…” Miko’s breath hitches as she watches you, her eyes darkening with need.

“Let me take care of you, baby girl,” you purr, gently kissing Miko’s inner thighs, reveling in the soft gasps that escape your lover’s lips.

You lose yourselves in the heat of the moment, and all you can hear is the sound of Miko’s moans and pleas for more. When the door clicks, and Jovaan’s voice calls out for you both, you ignore it, entangled in your own world. As you pull back, breathless and grinning, you know this week is just the beginning of something beautiful.

[fel-09]

Good night

Thranduil x Fairy !reader

Words 1.600

The dense forests of Greenwood the Great had always been a sanctuary of secrets. King Thranduil, ruler of the woodland elves, had guarded its beauty for millennia, tending to it as a devoted gardener would tend his most cherished flowers. Yet, even his vigilance could not halt the slow decay of magic from Middle-earth.

One moonlit night, as the stars mirrored themselves in the tranquil pools of the forest, Thranduil found himself wandering beyond familiar paths. His steps led him to a clearing unlike any he had seen before. It was a place that seemed to breathe magic: flowers, luminescent and otherworldly, glowed faintly in the dark; butterflies with shimmering wings danced in lazy spirals. And at the center of this mystical scene lay a figure.

She was curled upon the soft grass, her golden hair fanning out like rays of the morning sun. Her lips, slightly parted, seemed to whisper a silent melody. She appeared as though she had stepped from a dream, too perfect, too ethereal to belong to the mortal world.

A butterfly landed delicately on the tip of her nose, and her eyelashes fluttered. Slowly, she opened her eyes, their gaze like the depths of a twilight sky, meeting Thranduil's as though she had been waiting for him all along.

He took a step forward, his heart betraying its usual steady rhythm. Kneeling beside her, he studied her face, and for the first time in centuries, he felt something stir deep within him—a sense of longing, of completion.

"You awaken," he said, his voice soft yet steady.

She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint smile.

"In a forest so strange, there must dwell a wondrous king to match its beauty," she whispered, her voice as light as a summer breeze.

Thranduil's lips quirked into a smile of their own. He reached out, almost involuntarily, and placed his hand over hers.

"And now, both the king and his forest belong to you," he murmured, his voice carrying an unfamiliar tenderness.

From that moment, she became a part of his world. He brought her to his halls, where her laughter echoed softly, a melody that haunted his mind long after the sound had faded. She was unlike any creature he had ever known—gentle yet unyielding, with an air of timelessness that reminded him of the magic that had begun to fade from the world.

Her wings, once radiant and iridescent, had grown duller with time. She explained, in a voice tinged with sorrow, that the magic sustaining her kind was dwindling. The world was changing, she said, and with it, the fairies were vanishing, their light extinguished like dying stars.

Thranduil listened, his heart growing heavier with every word. He could not allow it. He would not lose her.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. He never let her out of his sight for long. Her delicate frame seemed to grow frailer, and yet his devotion only grew stronger, fiercer.

One day, she asked him timidly if she might walk in the woods again, to feel the breeze upon her face and the earth beneath her feet.

"You are too weak," he said, his voice laced with both concern and an unspoken command. "The forest can come to you."

And so, he transformed her chambers into a sanctuary. Rare flowers from the deepest parts of the woods were brought to bloom around her bed, their fragrance filling the air. Butterflies flitted tirelessly, their delicate wings glowing faintly in the dim light. She was surrounded by beauty, yet her gaze often drifted to the window, where the trees swayed in the wind she could no longer touch.

Thranduil would sit by her side for hours, reading to her from ancient tomes or recounting tales of his youth. His voice, deep and melodic, became her constant companion, soothing and steady as the tides. Yet there was a shadow beneath his affection, a possessiveness he could not hide.

"You are mine," he would say softly, his fingers brushing her hair. "The world cannot take you from me."

His smile, though warm, was edged with a quiet desperation. She could feel it in his touch, in the way his eyes never left her, even when she turned away.

"Thranduil," she said one evening, her voice weak but resolute, "you cannot fight what is meant to be. My light is fading. You must let me go."

But he only shook his head, his grip tightening on her hand.

"I will not lose you," he replied. "If this world has forgotten magic, then I will remind it. I will keep you here, no matter what it takes."

And so, he sought remedies in every corner of the earth, commanding his healers to concoct potions and elixirs that might slow the inevitable. She drank them reluctantly, her gaze growing more sorrowful with each passing day.

One day, when the halls were quiet and the sun dipped low, Thranduil returned to her chambers to find them unnaturally still. The bed where she had lain was empty. On the pillow, where her head had once rested, was a scattering of fine, silver dust that shimmered faintly in the dim light.

He froze, his breath catching in his throat. Slowly, he stepped forward, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch the dust. It clung to his fingers, cool and weightless, like the ghost of a memory.

"No," he whispered, his voice cracking. His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, clutching the edge of the bed as though it might anchor him to the moment.

The world seemed to blur around him, its colors fading to gray. She was gone. The light she had brought into his life, the warmth, the laughter—it had all vanished, leaving only silence in its wake.

And yet, as he stared at the silver dust, a part of him refused to let go.

They say that Greenwood the Great grew quieter after that day, its songs subdued, its light dimmed. Thranduil rarely left his halls, and when he did, his gaze was distant, as though searching for something only he could see.

In his private chambers, there was a room untouched by time, filled with flowers that never wilted and butterflies that never rested. It was a sanctuary of memories, a shrine to the one he had loved and lost.

And in the stillness of the night, when no one could hear, the king of the woodland elves would whisper her name, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand lifetimes.

For even in the most unyielding of hearts, there is a place for sorrow. And in Thranduil’s, it burned eternal, like the last ember of a dying flame.

_____

I hope you like it