#halloween vibes are a must too

[ssahotchnerr]

can the hot weather just be gone already i need it to be hoodie wearing, candle lighting, cozy rainy weather, rewatching cm s1, pumpkin spice season now

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Wouldn't you like to see something strange?

HI I know the new Halloween character isn't out yet but I needed an outlet for my excitement (Yes, I am unfortunately a Nightmare Before Christmas girlie) 💀 so please be advised that he may not be in character here, I'm just writing based on vibes! This is technically a twisted!Jack Skellington x Reader fic, but the Reader is basically playing a role similar as Sally from the film.

P.S. I want everyone to know that I busted out my drawing tablet to make this special border for him the same day he was first announced... Yeah...

Boo.

On the nights with full moons, he liked to steal away to the Spiral Hill on the outskirts of town.

The outcrop of land overlooked a vast graveyard and field laden with pumpkins, perfuming the air with the crisp sweetness characteristic of autumn. Beyond it, uncharted territory. When he squinted into the darkness, he could make out the vague shapes of naked trees, their gnarled branches like fingers beckoning him to approach, whispering his name.

He draped his long, lithe legs over the hill, letting them hang in the frigid air. Spindly as he was, the wind easily blew them, knocking his legs around like the straw-stuffed limbs of a scarecrow. He kicked with the breeze, carefree as a child on a playground swing.

The moon stitched his pinstriped suit and tattered cravat with silver thread, touched his pointed crown at its highest points. Even the white ribbons ribbing his jacket and the pattern of bones tugged over his gloves seemed to glow under the celestial light. He liked the view, and the view seemed to like him, too.

Held in his skeletal hand was a single flower. He stroked a silken petal, then slipped another finger under it, plucking the petal free. The wind claimed it, setting it sailing off into the unknown.

He continued. A second, a third. So on and so forth, until the flower was left stripped down and barren, even robbed of its leaves.

He dropped the stem off the hill. The pumpkins below consumed it, and the once lovely flower’s body became one with the patch.

"I figured this is where you were."

He lowered his dark circular lenses. His bright eyes slid to the figure that had approached from behind, on feet so swift they hardly made a sound. They came in with the sweetness of deadly nightshade, the trace of a poisoning committed at midnight. "Not a lethal dose, just enough to knock the doctor out for a few hours," as they always said. "How else would I sneak out to see you?"

Dry, ghostly lips dashed with hatch marks pried into an open smile, both teeth and the gaps between them. Charming, in a crooked sort of way. "My dear. You've come."

You bent down. “If you don't mind, I'd like to join.”

“The spot beside me is always reserved for you.” He patted it, inviting you to take a seat.

"Such a gentleman." You sunk down, folding your hands in your lap. "And so handsome when you're brooding. You're terribly good at that."

He was, he was, especially silhouetted by the moon. The man was practically monochrome, but bathed in silver like this, his pale skin was less sickly and more ethereal. He almost appeared like a cruel angel in the light, descending to expunge evil.

"I'm not brooding," he pouted, "I'm dreaming."

“Dreaming." You reached out and tucked a strand of alabaster hair behind his ear. "Father says it’s a ridiculous, wild thing.”

"Ah, but that's what makes it so much thrilling. Life’s no fun without a good scare.”

His mouth quirked to one side, and his smile became off-kilter--as his ideas often were. "He'll bring us to ruin with his crazy, new-fangled thinking and flights of fancy," your father would complain. But you adored that about the boy. How spontaneous he was, how his curiosity was never-ending. He'd race about like a child, picking items up and sticking his face where it probably shouldn't go.

Full of life in this otherwise lifeless town.

"What's this? What's this?" he'd say. "I must know!"

"He's gone daffy," your father would declare.

"Mmm." You nodded absentmindedly, tracing your fingers along the shell of his ear and down to his arm. "What were you dreaming about today?"

He lifted his head, looking beyond the hill and to the woods. Not a word was exchanged. None had to be.

"The Hinterlands?" you whispered. "But we don't know what's out there. No ghoul or monster has ever ventured out that far."

"Then sounds like I'll be the first! They’ll put me down in the history books as a pioneer." His laughter brightened up the gloomy night. When he quieted, his gaze was solemn—more solemn than you'd ever witnessed him. "... Don't you wonder about what's out there? Stuff that's cold and fluffy and falls from the sky. Things that come in colors we haven't seen."

"Sometimes," you admitted quietly, "but those are just dreams. I don't chase them."

"Maybe you should. We should," he mused, fingers tucked under his chin. "I bet there's all sorts of things we've never even dreamed of, too. And wouldn’t you like to see something strange?”

"I would. I really, really would," you told him in a soothing tone. Trying to reassure him as much as you were yourself. "Let's not doing anything dangerous though. I sense something in the wind—tragedy at hand. I can't shake that feeling that something bad is around the bend if you tread that path."

You gingerly laid your hand over his. Behind tinted lenses, his eyes widened.

"Stay here with me," you begged. "We can be together. Gaze at the stars. Be safe in one another's arms."

“… Sweetness, I would love for nothing more than to have you and to hold you ‘til death do us part.” His voice fluttered like the brush of a falling leaf upon your cheek. He regarded you tenderly, locking his fingers with yours and squeezing. “But you know that’s not the kind of man I am.”

“Yes, you’re every flavor of foolish imaginable,” you replied, pressing your forehead against his, “and I love you for that.”

“As do I.” He brought his icy lips to the back of your hand. A chill spider-walked up your arm, and you shivered.

“Then…”

“That’s why I must depart one day.” He pushed his glasses up. You caught the tragic reflection of your face in his lenses. “Out there… something more awaits us. I’m sure of that. I intend to find it and revive our town, this season that’s gone stale.”

“I won’t stop you if you decide to go,” you murmured. “And I will count the days until you return to me.”

“I knew you’d understand.” His smile—now it was touched with sadness, the knowledge of soon parting ways. “Thank you, dearest.”

He stood slowly, drawing you up with him. Your feet followed, as if pulled along by a puppeteer. How in sync the two of you were, how nicely molded your bodies were to one another’s. Your joy melded under the watchful eye of the moon.

“Shall we share a dance? One for the road,” he crooned. An errant breeze tousled his pallid hair, his tattered coattails—but to you, he was fairest of them all. “Our last dance for a while.”

“Alright, let’s make this one count,” you chuckled, “so I can send you off on your travels with a smile.”

“Excellent 🎵” He slid a hand around your waist, guiding you to lean into him. “Let the merrymaking commence!!”

“Yes…!!”

The midnight waltz began.

He led you, step by step, and you trailed after. Movements easy and effortless, like two intertwining maple leaves, spinning and spiraling. Their partner, the center of their universe.

“It’s as plain anyone can see,” he breathed.

“We’re simply meant to be,” you returned.

They danced as if possessed or an enchantment was cast upon their footwear. The moment too sweet, too succulent, to relinquish so soon. They wanted to savor it, indulge in it—and each other.

For never was there a more perfect pair than the Pumpkin King and his consort.

[nightisawkward]

"Another challenger… it has been ages. Perhaps you have forgotten how this game is played. Allow me to remind you."

Happy halloween fellas!!! Hermitcraft/Life SMP inscryption AU ft. Boatem gang I cooked up awhile ago but never got around to posting B-) Wild life smp has reminded me how mentally ill I am about putting these Guys in Situations so here I am

Mild to major inscryption spoilers under the cut!

For those familiar with the game, the general roles are:

Luke Carter - "Challenger"/Grian

In this AU Grian is still a trading card-based youtuber who's recording all this nonsense going down real time as in canon, but has closer ties to the GameFuna company equivalent, named "WatcherCorp". His old college roommate/best mate Jimmy went to work for them, but mysteriously passed away in a fire at their headquarters. He found the Inscryption cards in Jimmy's leftover personal belongings a few years after his death, and decided that the best way to honor him would be to make a video featuring the project he put his heart and soul into... in more ways than one.

Key difference from canon Inscryption: Grian's mind is sucked into the game of Inscryption whenever he is playing. He is able to enter and leave the game at will, but he doesn't realize this until he first dies to Leshy/Pearl and ejects himself unconsciously out of fear of dying. The only reason he realizes he isn't hallucinating is because his camcorder footage proves he actually enters the game. He obtains the "Watcher's Eye" during Act 1, which he keeps for all future acts and allows him to see things he shouldn't see as a Challenger.

P03 - "Scarred Stoat"/Scar

Despite being the one who convinces Grian and the other Scrybes to stand up against Pearl, no one seems eager to spend any more time with the conniving conman than absolutely necessary. This may have something to do with Scar's history of backstabbing and cheating both Scybes and Challengers whenever it benefits him most. Which makes it rather unfortunate that Grian is must spend time with Scar in order to gather as much information as possible.

In the beginning, Scar and Grian do not get along in the slightest. Grian finds Scar's attitude too "fake", while Scar finds Grian's "cowardice" to be irritating. At some point, the two go from passive-aggressive fighting, to a grudging truce, to more friendly, lighthearted banter. Neither person seems to trust the other, but it doesn't seem to stop the two from being ✨saddled with unnecessary feelings✨. Scar's Act 3 world is much like Leshy's Act 1 world, with much more emphasis put on environmental storytelling and general Vibes than actual gameplay. Even if his game is a smokescreen for his true goal of Ascension, he feels strangely obligated to give Grian his best shot.

Scar in his proper Scrybe form appears more steampunk than canon P03. Think of a Grumbot with Scar's boatem base aesthetic and tons of missing nuts and bolts. P03's bastardous tendencies+ Scar's steampunk base made this role perfect for him.

Magnificus - "Horned Wolf"/Impulse

Impulse is a talented artist and an even more talented programmer. His future sight stems from his literal sight: His eyes are able to see read the code veil behind Inscryption, allowing him to predict likely futures based on what code is running. He often laments his status as an NPC, claiming that if he were given administrative privileges and the actual ability to modify source code he would have been able to escape Inscryption long ago.

He is rather absent in Act 2, focusing on finishing his "artwork" as soon as possible. He uses his brush to create a menagerie magical creatures with strange abilities in hopes that using one in battle might trigger a unfixable bug, allowing him to rip a hole through the source code. It is unclear whether he was able to accomplish his goal before Act 3 roles around, but it seems like Scar's method of Ascension seems awfully similar to Impulse's... perhaps a sneaky spy was able to steal Impulse's information?

As a proper Scrybe, he resembles a walking mop or a yak with overgrown fur. Most of his features are indistinguishable, save for his small horns and his glowing goat eyes.

Lemora - "Distinguished Stinkbug"/Mumbo

Mumbo is by far the most easygoing Scrybe in the cast. While he would greatly prefer an eternal slumber over yet another temporary ceasefire amongst the Scrybes, he is willing to work with the others in Act 1 simply because he finds his stinkbug form too uncomfortable to sleep in. Mumbo's goal is simple: to delete the game of Inscryption, and therefore himself, and finally rest. However, finds the constant power struggles in the world of Inscryption rather tiring and simply can't be bothered to make a grab for power himself to achieve this goal. This hasn't stopped him from asking Grian to destroy floppy disk of Inscryption. Unfortunately for him, the temptation of the o̷l̵d̷ ̶d̸a̶t̷ [REDACTED] mysteries within Inscryption are simply too powerful for Grian to resist.

As a proper Scrybe, he looks almost exactly like Mumbo's minecraft skin: A pale, mustached man with blood red eyes who resembles a vampire. Mumbo denies all vampire allegations. While he is the most "normal" looking Scrybe, Grian would still hesitate to call him "human" ...there's just something slightly off about his appearance that sets him on edge.

Leshy - "Game Master"/Pearl

Pearl is an unforgiving gamemaster that puts more emphasis on providing the player a challenge than her canon counterpart. After her self-proclaimed "tutorial", there is no more handholding and she gives Grian an absolute hellish time. Grian is only able to get a slight edge when he discovers all of the Scrybes, who provide him with stategy help to even the playing field. It is unclear whether Pearl actually enjoys running her Act 1 game or not: she seems to derive an animalistic pleasure from defeating Grian, but there are times where she seems tired and fed up with the endless gameplay loop and intentionally throws during key fights. She switches between manic and depressed at the drop of a hat.

During Act 2, she barely even tries to give Grian a challenge, allowing him to progress straight to her boss fight without any side quests to "get it over with quicker". She seems to hold a deep grudge against Scar for some reason, which is the only thing that motivates her to take action to stop him during Act 3.

Mysteriously, Grian finds a burned and unusable Unicorn card within her Act 1 cabin. Upon discovery, Scar immediately suggests that Grian leave it where he found it. Some things are best left forgotten, after all...

[frenchkisstheabyss]

⛧ 𝙽𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝙱𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝙺𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝙸𝙸 ⛧

⛧ Pairing: poly!slasher!minsung x chubby!fem!reader

⛧ Genre: slasher au/horror/angst/smut

⛧ Summary: It's Halloween 1996, you've just broken up with your toxic ex, and there's a killer on the loose. When you go to the local video store to find your next distraction, you run into your longtime crushes who have their hearts set on looking after you. But you must be careful. Not everyone's who they appear to be.

⛧ Word Count: 2.k-ish

⛧ Warnings: If you don't like horror turn back now. This isn't graphic by any means but there are horror elements! Slight sadomasichism, full blown yandere vibes, mentions of toxic ex, mention of dead body w/ tame description, shallow knife wound (you don't get stabbed. no worries), knife/blood play, a lil smut because there's kissing/fingering/nipple play, pet names (babe, baby) a threesome happens but is only referenced, slasherfucker reader, reader's kinda losing it

⛧ A/N: This is part 2 in a series. I linked the first part in the summary. Part 1 was dark and fluffy while this one is really dark and angsty. There's still romance but said romance is kinda psychotic. For the record, I'm in no way encouraging you to go out and have sex with two psychokillers. But if they're Minsung hot? I meaaaaan....

💀 <<< Rewind to Tape 1 or Keep Going to Tape 3 >>> 💀

Han laughs, bringing his arms around your waist, “Oh but sweetie, we’ve played your game. Don’t you wanna play ours now?”

Street Fighter is a game. Monopoly is a game. Minho forcing you to hold a knife to his throat in the middle of their kitchen? This is unlike any game you’ve ever played before. Against your better judgment, you throw caution to the wind and ask the million dollar question.

“And what are the rules to this game of yours?” 

Minho clicks his tongue, delighted at your morbid curiosity, “It’s simple really. If I can make my lips touch yours without the blade slitting my throat open I get a kiss.” 

“And if he doesn’t—” Han muses, “I’m down a roommate I suppose.” 

“Kiss or death, baby” Minho says, leaning into the tip of the blade so that it's agonizingly slow to witness. He stops when it pricks his skin, a scarlet drop of blood rising to the surface. Your fingers tremble around the handle of the knife, your body running ice cold at the realization that this is actually happening. 

“You’re both fucking psycho!” you shout, twisting free of them with reckless abandon. You stumble backward into the kitchen counter, the blade still in your hand. When you regain your footing you notice tiny droplets of blood decorating the white tile floor. You trace their source to the much larger cut in the side of Minho’s neck.

Han stares at you with a Milky Way galaxy of stars dancing behind his eyes, “So she does have it in her.” 

Time itself seems to come to a halt when you register what you’ve done. You hadn’t meant to do it but, accident or not, you did it. “Oh god, no, I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry. I…I…” you stutter, tossing the knife into the sink. Minho takes a deep breath, running his fingers across his wound as he approaches you. “It’s okay. I’ll live” he smirks, applying blood to his lips like some luxurious lipstick, “Now about that kiss.” 

Minho’s close enough to you that you can feel his shallow breaths against your face. His bottom lip brushes yours and your mouth falls open without hesitation. The voice of the girl you were before you came here whispers for you to run—leave this place and never come back—but it’s far too late for that. Minho locks you in a kiss, metallic and sweet, that makes you a stranger to yourself. 

It’s not you hungrily kissing Minho, blood staining his collar as he takes greedy handfuls of your plush body. It’s not your cheek that Han cups, tilting your head to the side to steal kisses and taste that last bit of blood on your tongue. Only…it is you and you’re loving every second of it. So much that when Han unbuttons your jeans, slipping a hand inside to tease your clit, you’ve already managed to soak through your panties.

“Aah, I knew it” he whispers, lightly stroking your entrance, “I told you she was the one. That she was special.” You moan into Minho’s mouth when Han’s fingers sink into you, your cries of pleasure echoing within his cheeks. “It’s true. You’re our special girl, aren’t you?” Minho hums, his thumb circling one of your nipples through your shirt. 

The praise goes to your head in the worst way, setting a once cold body ablaze with lust. Your walls contract with every mention of how special you are—of how long they’ve waited to have you here. Han’s never had his fingers this drenched before, his mind’s already running wild with thoughts of licking your juices from them once you come. The noises you make are so melodic, so splendid, that they'd burn them into their memories if they could.

Minho’s sharp eyes lock onto yours, fingers toiling away at the delicate hooks of your bra. “Can we keep you?” he asks like a demon masquerading as a child. Innocence with something darker lurking beneath, waiting to tear you to pieces. The answer comes easily, driven by your thirst to be devoured.

“Yes,” you moan, exhaling at the relief of being freed from your bra, “I’m yours.” Han licks up the side of your neck, softly nibbling at your earlobe as his fingers pick up speed.

“All ours,” he whispers, “Forever.” 

Grainy black and white dots dance across the TV screen, casting a white glow across the bed where you lay naked cuddled up beneath the blanket with Han’s childhood teddy bear. It’s 3AM and Camp Counselor Sleepover Murder Party 4 ended an hour ago. Not that you were paying an ounce of attention to it. Your focus was placed entirely on being bent into a series of unholy positions by the two men you expect to see when you open your eyes. But when you finally do—limbs still tingling from your last orgasm—they’re nowhere to be found.

Yawning, you force yourself up in bed, squinting at the light from the TV. Holding your hand up to shield your eyes, you notice the dried up blood on your fingertips. The events of the night come back to you gradually like a fuzzy radio signal sorting itself out. Your mouth is saturated with that same metallic taste from before, the sweetness of it having long faded. Finding it too nauseating to tolerate, you retrieve your underwear from the floor and set out in search of something to wash the taste away.

Stepping out into the hallway you find yourself in near pitch black darkness. The only guiding light is the glow of a lamp from the bottom of the staircase at the opposite end of the hallway. “Minho!” you call out, taking slow cautious steps down the hall. You extend your arms out on both sides, feeling around for anything you might bump into. You hold your breath, listening for even the faintest sound of his voice but it never comes. Finally reaching the staircase, you grab onto the sides and make your way down.

You call out again, this time trying another name for good measure, “Han! Where are you guys?” It suddenly occurs to you that this is the moment in slasher movies where the girl wanders downstairs and gets sliced up by some masked psycho killer. You stop halfway down the stairs, glancing up at the darkness you left behind. “Fuck that” you huff, jogging the rest of the way down the stairs to find safety in the light.

Finally you’re back in familiar territory. To your right you spot the kitchen and your heart jumps at the thought of the Halloween candy left untouched on the table. But your tooth rotting dreams are derailed by the sound of whirling somewhere to your left. You turn to spot a heavy wooden door left slightly cracked. It’d look like any other door if not for the two deadbolts drilled into the frame. Off to the side sits a black garbage bag, the kind contractors use on construction jobs, and it’s stuffed full of…something.

Hearing the low chattering of voices, you drift towards the door whispering to yourself the whole time. “Why are you freaking out? Nothing’s wrong. They’re probably just taking out the trash. Don’t be so—” You choke on your own words as you stare down into the trash bag. It is full of trash. There’s pizza boxes, empty soda cans, and crumbled up chips bags all from last night.

And then there’s something else.

The tip of something red poking out from between the pizza boxes. You lean in closer and make out deep wrinkles carved in plastic. Pinching the end of it you pull it from the trash and you feel even more nauseous than before. It’s a mask. Not just any mask. The same mask your ex had on when you saw him at the video store. A chill runs down your spine, making you let out an unexpected squeak that brings all of the background conversation to a halt.

“Hello?” Han’s voice rings out, seemingly from beneath you. You crack the door a little more, peeking in to find another set of stairs leading down into the basement. “Everything okay up there?” Minho asks, his tone oddly suspicious of you. You clear your throat, tucking the mask back into the trash bag, “I’m—I’m fine. Just got a little snack craving is all. Are you guys good?”

You’re met with silence reminiscent of the moment before Minho forced you to cut his throat. “Why don’t you come down?” Han insists, bubbling with joy, “We have a surprise for you!” You pull the door open all the way, shuddering at the creaking sound the old wooden stairs make when you step on them.

“A surprise? What kind of surprise?”

“One you weren’t supposed to see yet” Minho pouts, “But you’re here now so whatever.”

Minho’s adorable tendency to whine gives you the sense of normalcy you needed to get you to the bottom of the stairs. But when you reach it you wish you hadn’t. The basement is nothing like the welcoming warmth of the rest of the house. It’s pristine and white, the polished floor icy against your bare feet. In each corner there’s a large cabinet stocked with all sorts of medical supplies. It reminds you of an operating room in one of those medical dramas.

It is an operating room and at the center of it, in a pool of blood that leaks between the cracks in the tiles, is the partially dismembered body of your ex boyfriend. “Hi, baby” Han waves with the hand not currently holding a cordless saw. Still in his underwear, he’s dressed in a long black apron with the gloves to match. Minho’s dressed the same and both are slick with blood.

Before you can think better of it, you’re screaming at the top of your lungs and bolting back up the stairs. All the while images of torn flesh and fractured bone flash in your mind. You couldn’t stand that man, hated him in fact, but you’d never wanted to see him in pieces.

Spotting your purse by the front door, you make a mad dash for it clueless to the two figures gathering behind you. Your vision clouded with tears, you fight with the front door locks to get out. “I knew it was too soon” Minho sighs in disappointment, “We should’ve waited.” Han slips his gloves off, coming over to kiss you on the cheek.

Your body recoils, shaking in fear, “Don’t hurt me. Please.”

“Hurt you?” he scoffs, flipping the lock open, “I’d never hurt you. You just seemed like you needed a little help.”

Minho flops down in a chair near the door, messy hair falling in his face, “Take my jacket at least. It’s cold out.”

Their calmness is odd to say the least, making you reevaluate the fear that you feel. “You’re letting me go? Just like that?” Han plucks a wool trench coat from its hook, draping it over your shoulders. He pulls the door open and a slight autumn breeze blows through the door. “I told you. We don’t want to hurt you. We’re here to protect you...and maybe teach you how to protect yourself.”

His sincerity makes you uncomfortable and you feel yourself splitting in two again. This time the old you wins and throw yourself out into the night, scanning the street to find where you parked your car. The block is as dark as the upstairs hall, giving you the sense that you’re on some terrifying island all your own.

You can't make sense of why they’d let you go. Any normal person would drive straight from here to the police station. You know their faces. Their names. Where they work. Where they live. Do they want to get caught?

“You can’t run from who you are forever, pretty girl!” you hear Minho taunting. You look back to see them watching you from the doorway, smiling lovingly in your direction.

Minho winks at you, blowing you a kiss, “See you real soon, babe.” 

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Weinersmith and Boulet’s “Bea Wolf”

On July 14, I'm giving the closing keynote for the fifteenth HACKERS ON PLANET EARTH, in QUEENS, NY. Happy Bastille Day! On July 20, I'm appearing in CHICAGO at Exile in Bookville.

Bea Wolf is Zach Weinersmith and Boulet's ferociously amazingly great illustrated kids' graphic novel adaptation of the Old English epic poem, which inspired Tolkien, who helped bring it to popularity after it had languished in obscurity for centuries:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250776297/beawolf

Boy is this a wildly improbable artifact. Weinersmith and Boulet set themselves the task of bringing Germanic heroic saga from more than a thousand years ago to modern children, while preserving the meter and the linguistic and literary tropes of the original. And they did it!

There are some changes, of course. Grendel – the boss monster that both Beowulf and Bea Wulf must defeat – is no longer obsessed with decapitating his foes and stealing their heads. In Bea Wulf, Grendel is a monstrously grown up and boring adult who watches cable news and flosses twice per day, and when he defeats the kids whose destruction he is bent upon, he does so by turning them into boring adults, too.

And Bea Wulf – and the kings that do battle with Grendel – are not interested in the gold and jewels that the kings of Beowulf hoard. In Bea Wulf, the treasure is toys, chocolate, soda, candy, food without fiber, television shows without redeeming educational content, water balloons, nerf swords and spears, and other stuff beloved of kids and hated by parents.

That substitution is key to transposing the thousand-year-old adult epic Beowulf for enjoyment by small children in the 21st century. After all, what makes Beowulf so epic is the sense that it is set in a time in which a primal valor still reigned, but it is narrated for an audience that has been tamed and domesticated. Beowulf makes you long for a never-was time of fierce and unwavering bravery. Bea Wulf beautifully conjures the years of early childhood when you and the kids in your group had your own little sealed-off world, which grownups could barely perceive and never understand.

Growing up, after all, is a process of repeating things that are brave the first time you do them, over and over again, until they become banal. That's what "coming of age" really boils down to: the slow and relentless transformation of the mythic, the epic, and the unknowable and unknown into the tame, the explained, the mastered. When you're just mastering balance and coordination, the playground climber is a challenge out of legend. A couple years later, it's just something you climb.

The correspondences between the leeching away of magic lamented in Beowulf and experienced by all of us as we grow out of childhood are obvious in hindsight and surprising and beautiful and bittersweet when you encounter them in Bea Wolf.

This effect owes a large debt to Boulet's stupendous artwork. Boulet brings a vibe rarely seen in American kids' illustration, owing quite a lot to France's bande dessinée tradition. Of course, this is a Firstsecond book, and they established themselves as an exciting and fresh kids' publisher in the USA nearly 20 years ago by bringing some of Europe's finest comics to an American audience for the first time. You can get a sense of Boulet's darker-than-average, unabashedly anarchic illustrations here:

https://www.comixtrip.fr/bibliotheque/bea-wolf-weinersmith-boulet-albin-michel/

The utter brilliance of Bea Wulf is as much due to the things it preserves from the original epic as it is to the updates and changes. Weinersmith has kept the Old English tradition of alliteration, right from the earliest passages, with celebrations of heroes like "Tanya, treat-taker, terror of Halloween, her costume-cache vast, sieging kin and neighbor, draining full candy-bins, fearing not the fate of her teeth. Ten thousand treats she took. That was a fine Tuesday."

Weinersmith also preserves the kennings – the elaborate figurative compound phrases that replace nouns – that turn ordinary names and places into epithets at you have to riddle out, like calling a river "the sliding sea."

These literary devices, rarely seen today, are extremely powerful, and they conjure up the force and mystique that has kept Beowulf in our current literary discourse for more than a millennium. They also make this a super fun book to read aloud.

When Jim Henson was first conceiving of Sesame Street, he made a point of designing it to have jokes and riffs that would appeal to adults, even if some of the nuance would be lost on kids. He did this because he wanted to make art that adults and kids could enjoy together, both because that would give adults a chance to help kids actively explore the ideas on-screen, but also because it would bring some magic into those adults' lives.

This is a very winning combination (not for nothing, it's also the original design brief for Disneyland). Weinersmith and Boulet have produced a first-rate work of adult and kid literature, both a perfect entree to Beowulf for anyone contemplating a dive into old English epic poetry, and a kids' book full of booger jokes and transgressive scenes of perfect mischief.

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/24/awesome-alliteration/#hellion-hallelujah

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

OmfffffGGGG the fun I had writing this chapter GUYS—

I mean start to finish, I've been giggling like an idiot the entire mfing TIME

Well, alternating between giggling like an idiot and snickering deviously like a witch huddled over a cauldron but that's neither here nor there

Of course we have banter between Garp's dippy ass and Bogard's far more poised and reasonable demeanor, but also

BUT ALSO—

No

i cannot

I can't spoil it I cannot I will not I must not I shan't it would be positively rude in all honesty i will not—

Just———muffled screaming

Look I'm sorry in advance I had way too much fun with this

even mihawk is done with my shit at this point

Flight Risk

Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB!Reader

Ch. 4 of who even fcking knows at this point honestly, five? Six? Fifty? Whatever just let me vibe

Brief summary of The Story So Far: Your mission, as a Marine and Zoan type devil fruit user (gray parrot), is to gather intel on Dracule Mihawk, a pirate on the Grand Line who has become a thorn in the Marines' side over a relatively short period of time. Your first recon mission, while more or less a success, left you wounded and your commanding officers more divided than ever over the operation at hand. You have since arrived at Marineford to complete your training for the mission, and gods only know where things might go from here....

Previous chapter, First chapter, Next chapter

SFW for now, but not in later chapters

No Trigger Warnings in this chapter. Possible future Trigger Warnings for imprisonment, mild torture (definitely psychological, maybe physical)

Tags: Enemies to lovers, eventually NSFW, idk maybe more later Word Count: 4,832

Taglist: @i-am-vita thank you so much you have no idea how much this means to me

♫♬Halloween Blues - The Fratellis♬♫

Well, I'm gonna make ya love me, gonna make ya wish that you'd never been born

Now ya wish you'd never met me, I could be the joker that you couldn't shake off

It was agreed upon by all parties involved that not a word would be spoken of your ill-advised “test” at Kuraigana Island to anyone but Fleet Admiral Sengoku. The brunt of the chastisement fell upon Garp and Bogard, as the commanding officers overseeing the mission; and while you were scolded yourself for getting far closer than your orders had suggested you should, you were still commended for providing valuable new information.

The Marines were now aware that Kuraigana Island was home to a population of large primates, of undetermined size or intelligence but with enough intellect to use basic weaponry.

The Marines were also now aware that the presence of Dracule “Hawk-Eye” Mihawk on the otherwise abandoned island was confirmed, and that the volatile pirate had most likely set up at least a temporary base amid the desolate castle ruins.

You were permitted to keep in contact with your mother over the following months of your training as promised, with the stipulation that your letters would be screened to ensure you didn’t relay any confidential information to outside parties. As such, you wrote your final letter aboard a small unmarked vessel bound to pass by Kuraigana Island perhaps four months after the first, and had handed it over to Bogard to scan over.

Hi, Mom!

I’m still doing great, I promise. Training has been exhausting but I’ve learned a lot, and it’s been a breath of fresh air to be among people that actually seem to like me. My commanding officers are a little annoying, but I guess they’re okay. I trust them.

This will be the last letter for a while since I’m being deployed. You don’t have to worry, it’s nothing serious and I’ll be fine, I just won’t be somewhere that I can receive any mail. You can still write me though, and I’ll be able to reply the second I get back to my base. I don’t know exactly how long that will be, but the tentative estimate is two months. It could be sooner, but it could be a little longer.

Love you, and give my love to all our feathery friends.

“Ten minutes out,” said Garp, sitting against the railing with a doughnut hanging out of his mouth as he finished filling out the remainder of the paperwork he had put off until the very last minute.

“‘Commanding officers are a little annoying, but I guess they’re okay,’” Bogard read aloud, lowering your letter to glance down at you with a wry look.

“She’s not wrong, you’re pretty damned irritating,” said Garp. Bogard lowered his eyes to the vice admiral sitting on the deck of the ship, lifting an eyebrow.

Garp only raised his doughnut with a nod and took another bite before returning to his report. Bogard huffed out a sigh and folded the letter, turning his gaze to you as you paced back and forth across the small deck. The vessel was little more than a sloop, designed for no more than one or two people to sail on their own, sturdy enough to withstand the unpredictable weather patterns of the Grand Line but far less advanced than the standard Marine vessel. You barely noticed his gaze upon you, staring down at your feet as you paced, counting the nails in the deck boards in a futile attempt to keep your mind clear from the quickly approaching start of your mission.

You stopped in your tracks the moment Bogard cleared his throat to get your attention, lifting your head sharply and standing at attention.

“A…at ease,” he said slowly, watching you shuffle your feet and fold your hands behind your back. “Your letter will be sent once Garp and myself return to Marineford,” he assured you. “Once you have left this ship, your own contact with the Marines will cease for a period of no less than two months, unless you are forced to make emergency contact. Emergecy contact will only be employed—”

“Under the circumstance that my own life is in immediate and unquestionable danger,” you responded immediately, to which Bogard gave a curt nod.

“Correct,” he agreed. “There will be a covert Marine presence at every island neighboring Kuraigana. Should you require rescue, the closest vessel will be able to arrive within twenty-four hours.”

“She won’t need it,” Garp chimed in through the last bite of his doughnut, and in a rare break of his iron composure, Bogard reached into one of his overcoat pockets and threw a pen at him in response. You watched as Garp caught it and used the implement to sign his name at the bottom of his paperwork before flicking it across the deck of the ship. “Have a little faith, Bogard. We have at our disposal a trained weapon of subterfuge.”

Garp wrapped his hand around the railing behind him and pulled himself to his feet, strolling over to your side and clapping you on the shoulder.

“Trained under our own supervision,” he went on proudly, while Bogard closed his eyes and heaved a slow, impatient sigh, waiting for him to go on. “Who has already provided us with more up-to-date information on the target than anyone else in our ranks—”

“—I’m still not saying your impulsive little test was anything but idiotic—”

“—and humbly declined to take credit for any of it,” Garp went on , ignoring his partner. You jolted as he gave you a sharp pat on the back. “She’ll be just fine. Won’t ya, kid?”

“I’ll—perform my duties as expected of…” You trailed off into a sigh yourself when Garp rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” you said stiffly. “I’ll be fine.”

“See? She’ll be fine.”

Garp gave a firm nod, as if your word was more than enough to affirm your fate as solid fact.

And then his brow furrowed as he stared across the deck.

His eyes narrowed into a squint, and he turned his head the slightest bit, his hand lowering from your shoulder and back to his side,

“No…that’s not…”

By the time Bogard turned his head, Garp was already striding across the deck, extending a spyglass as he leaned over the railing and stared through the scope. He gave a growl of annoyance as he held the scope out behind him for Bogard to take. Your heart raced as you slowly crossed the deck to join them, your already thin resolve faltering when Bogard slowly lowered the scope to glance at Garp.

“This changes—”

“It changes nothing,” said Garp, jerking his head to look at Bogard.

You didn’t need the spyglass to see the foggy haze around Kuraigana Island past the railing, no more than you needed it to see the small ship docked near its southern banks. You couldn’t make out much about it, but you could see the one thing that mattered—it flew a black flag.

“Red-Hair,” said Garp. “I knew he’d be trouble. I told Sengoku, I told him—”

“Why the hell would he be here?” Bogard said slowly, looking back out toward the island. He glanced behind him, and held out the spyglass for you to take. You moved to the railing between them, holding it to one eye and shutting the other to look through it at the distant ship. “There’s no chance any information has—”

“No, there isn’t,” agreed Garp, as your vision adjusted against the magnification of the lenses. You scanned over the small ship, which appeared to be empty, before lifting your head to focus on its flag—a jolly roger, decorated with a pair of crossed cutlasses and a skull with three slashes across one eye.

“Red-Haired Shanks…?” you said slowly, lowering the scope, glancing between Garp and Bogard as they stared out at the ship. “Ah—three hundred million, two hundred sixty-two thousand berry bounty.”

“Sixty-three,” corrected Bogard absently, glancing at Garp. Garp remained focused, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the ship, his grip tight around the deck railing. “Vice-Admiral.” He glanced over sharply when Bogard spoke up. “This does change—”

“It changes nothing,” Garp growled firmly.

You didn’t particularly like the way Bogard leaned over the railing, holding his hat in place as he shook his head, staring at Garp with no small degree of trepidation. Your eyes shifted to Garp when he turned around to face you, frowning down at you thoughtfully,

“Or it could change things for the better,” he said slowly, letting out a small chuckle. “Well, lass. This is your call. Seems more than just Mihawk might be docked at the island ahead of us.” You nodded shortly to show you were following, waiting for him to continued. “Not much is known about Shanks as yet…to the masses.”

“Garp—”

Garp held up a hand when Bogard tossed a warning look at him.

“—but I have on good authority that he trained under Gold Roger himself.” Your eyes widened, flickering back toward the ship in question, as Bogard let out a growl of annoyance and stormed back toward the opposite side of the deck. “This is an unexpected turn.” Your gaze shot back toward Garp as he straightened out, folding his hands behind his back and staring down at you. “We can head back toward Marineford and go through all the meticulous to-do’s of officially changing our plans, spend a few more months buried in paperwork, or—”

“I’m going.” He raised his eyebrows, his lips already twitching toward a smile at the firmness of your words. “The Red-Hair pirates would be no more aware of who I am than Mihawk. There’s no point wasting any more time.”

“No, I guess there isn’t,” he agreed, grinning. He cleared his throat, cupping a hand around his mouth and making a show of calling across the small expanse of the deck to Bogard. “You might just be able to gather us a little more intel than we expeced. Hear that, Bogard? No need to delay!”

“No need to pull a muscle patting yourself on the back, either,” Bogard grumbled, just loud enough to ensure Garp heard him.

“Alright, kid,” said Garp, happily ignoring him as he leaned against the side of the railing. “We’ve got under ten minutes, so here’s the rundown.” He turned his head, looking out toward the ship moored just off the edge of the island. “Shanks, as I said. Captain, pupil of Gold Roger himself. Primary weapon is a sabre. Straw hat, bright red hair, difficult to miss. There’s Yasopp, the first man to join his crew, at the time he was regarded as the sharpest shooter in the East Blue. Dark skin, dreadlocks, carries a pair of flintlock pistols.”

“So...that’s his first mate?”

“No.” Your brow furrowed. “That would be Beckman. Dark hair, ponytail, built like a brick shithouse. Carries a flintlock rifle. He’s a damn good shot himself but he’ll use the thing as a club in close quarters. Lucky Roux, the cook, bastard’s probably as wide as he is tall…”

You listened closely to Garp’s continued colorful descriptions of the crew officers of the Red Hair Pirates—and the potential dangers they could pose to your health should anyone discover what you really were.

“Red Hair isn’t the brightest match in the box,” he went on, “but there’s a great deal of evidence that he closely rivals Dracule Mihawk in swordsmanship. Should the two end up fighting, you keep your distance. Otherwise, be exceedingly careful around Benn Beckman. He’s the idiot’s first mate for a reason and probably accounts for ninety percent of the collective brain cells of the entire crew. You’ll have to keep a close eye on him while you keep up your act. There’s no telling why they’re docked here, and it would be in your best interest to figure it out. If they’re going to be around for a while, keep your distance.”

“I...sort of doubt any of them are ornithology experts,” you said, frowning.

“As much as one might doubt that a species of unknown primates could learn to use relatively modern weaponry.” You turned your head sharply at the sound of Bogard’s voice close behind you—you hadn’t heard him cross the deck. Your frown deepened as he gave a pointed glance at the scar spanning nearly the entire length of your right upper arm. Garp, gestured to the other Marine pointedly at his statement, and you couldn’t deny that he had a point either. “You’ll keep your distance. Fooling one pirate alone is going to be a great deal easier and safer than attempting to fool an entire crew of them.” He turned his head to Garp. “This is still the most ridiculous mission I’ve ever had the displeasure of being involved in.”

“Ah, girl’s got her act down fine,” he said dismissively—and Garp wasn’t wrong about that. Your favorite part of your training by far had been simply flying around the massive base at Marineford, taking tally of how many of the staff and officers you could fool. The only individuals privy to the exact nature of your mission were Garp and Bogard, a small selection of admirals and vice admirals, and Fleet Admiral Sengoku himself. Your performance had been enough to levy a unanimous vote to go forth with the mission. “Your persona, cadet?”

“Gray parrot, previously the pet of a pirate crew that perished in battle, therefore comfortable around pirates in general,” you said. “Able to repeat a number of sounds and phrases that might be heard aboard a ship, capable of learning new phrases and words faster than most other similar species of bird. Particular disdain for Marines and may fly into a frenzy at the sight of their vessels.”

“See?” said Garp, clapping you on the back hard enough that you flinched. “I’d say we’ve got this in the bag.”

Bogard stared between the two of you for a moment, frowning, before shaking his head. “God help us all,” he muttered under his breath, lifting a hand to rub his eyes.

The final few minutes of the voyage were spent with Garp and Bogard grilling you about the small amount of information known by the Marines about Dracule Mihawk, about the quick briefing you had just received on the Red Hair pirates, about your memorization of the den den mushi numbers you were to contact in the event that your life was in immediate danger or that you found any information useful enough to wrap the operation up early. Garp gave a resolute nod as you neared your destination, around a mile and a half off the shore of Kuraigana Island, and Bogard gave a heavy sigh and a short nod in silent agreement—no matter how little he approved, you were as ready as you were going to be.

“Alright, then, cadet,” said Garp, his wide grin a direct contrast to his partner’s pessimism. “Bird mode, activate.”

“Must you call it that?” said Bogard, tossing a weary look at Garp as you gave a quick salute and immediately shrank down into your devil fruit form on the deck. You fluttered your wings enough to hop up onto the deck railing in front of them, and Bogard frowned down at you. “Best of luck,” he offered. “Should all go according to plan, we’ll see you again in no more than two months.”

He cringed the slightest bit when you raised your wing in another salute, squawking out over Garp’s snort of laughter, “Wind in your sails!”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Garp, waving you off. “Now shoo, bird. And no getting yourself killed.”

And once more, you found yourself flying out toward Kuraigana Island.

You made a high pass over the Red Hair’s ship, squinting down toward it as you soared overhead, and the cause of their mooring near the island became quickly clear—it appeared that there was work being performed on a few sizable cannonball holes on the port side of the vessel. You were surprised to see a handful of the crew on the beach near the edge of the forest, seeming to be laughing among themselves and having a grand time, the primates that had attacked you nowhere in sight. Lucky Roux was easy enough to pick out, exactly as Garp had described him—striped shirt and tinted goggles, easily as wide as he was tall, sitting against a tree and taking a bite out of what looked like an entire leg of lamb while another crewmate assisted in bandaging his arm.

Perhaps they had had a run-in with the local apes.

You took that as enough reason to remain vigilant as you flew high over the forest, scanning the treetops below for any signs of movement. It was a relief that there seemed to be none—if the Red Hair pirates had come in contact with the violent creatures, it seemed they had managed to beat them into submission. You considered how Garp had told you that no one had ever entered the island on foot and lived to tell the tale, and it sent a shiver over your spine to think that the crew might be that formidable.

The first signs of movement you witnessed came only once you neared the castle itself, and you nearly faltered in your flight.

Your target was directly below you.

Sitting on a broken piece of stone wall in the courtyard, clad in a white shirt with a ruffled collar and a pair of black pants, his hat sitting to the side next to him, his massive sword lying across his lap as he polished the handle. You slowly, cautiously circled lower, keeping a fair distance, your eyes remaining on the pirate. His mouth seemed to be fixed in a scowl, his posture tense.

You cautiously landed in one of the castle windows several feet away, side-stepping until you were perched in the very corner of the indentation, your gray plumage a perfect camouflage against the rugged stone, and the reason for Mihawk’s clear irritation became immediately evident as the sound of a nonchalant voice tore your gaze away from him.

“Nice place you’ve got here, Hawk-Eye.”

Shanks.

Garp’s description had once again been right on the money—his stringy scarlet hair was capped by a straw-hat, his hands tucked behind his neck as he paced across a pile of rubble that might have once been a wall, a long sabre tucked into his red cloth belt at his right hip. He hopped down to the ground as you watched, resting his elbow on the hilt of the sword as he stared up at the castle. “Be a shame if something happened to it.”

He reached over with his left hand, wrapping it around the handle of the sword, and you tensed immediately, prepared to take flight as he grinned and glanced over at Mihawk.

“Divi—”

Mihawk was on his feet in a flash, his sword extended out at arm’s length, the blade less than an inch away from Shanks’s neck, his sharp yellow eyes narrowing to threatening slits as Shanks lifted his hands up in mock-surrender, still grinning.

“Only kidding,” he said, taking a cautious step back from the edge of the black blade.

Mihawk eyed him with a venomous glare for a few seconds longer before pulling his blade back swiftly to his side and rolling his eyes, a growl of annoyance leaving him as he turned on his heel and stormed back over to the broken wall, sitting down once more. “Remind me of what the hell you’re doing here and precisely why you haven’t left yet?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my friends?” said Shanks, clutching at his chest dramatically in feigned offense. Mihawk ignored the redhead as he sat down heavily on the ground, grabbing a bottle of dark liquor propped up against the pile of rubble and working the cork loose. “Hey, it’s not my fault. This is where the Log pose pointed us. We needed to do a few repairs on the ship. Noticed your old rowboat moored nearby—”

“Rowboat,” Mihawk repeated under his breath, one of his eyes twitching the slightest bit.

“So what’s with the pissed off monkeys, anyway?” said Shanks, nodding toward the forest before taking a swig from the bottle and flicking the cork over his shoulder. “Few of them were damn near as good with a sword as you are.” Mihawk’s eyes shot toward him in a warning glare, and rolled away when Shanks gave a broad grin in response. “Train them yourself?”

“No,” he said shortly. “The humandrills were already quite capable with a variety of weapons when I arrived—”

“Aww, you named them?”

“I discovered the name among the historical documents in castle,” he said through his teeth. “It seems they learned to use weapons by watching their human neighbors before they managed to wipe themselves out. Perhaps,” he went on, before Shanks could speak up again, “your time would better be served overseeing the repairs on your ship so you can leave the moment they’re done.”

“Oh, the repairs are almost finished,” said Shanks, waving a dismissive hand. “Just waiting for the log pose to finish linking up.” He took a sip from his bottle, lifting his eyebrows. “Why? Aren’t you enjoying the company?”

“Oh, yes, immensely,” Mihawk responded dryly.

Your eyes darted between the pair of pirates amid their exchange, keeping yourself perfectly still in the stone windowsill. It was clear that Shanks, at least, was enjoying himself, and that they seemed to have some sort of history between them. It was equally clear that Mihawk would have very much preferred that his company take a long walk off the nearest short pier. He still kept his irritation in check, though whether it was out of any actual sense of camaraderie or he simply didn’t feel like wasting his energy fighting remained unclear.

Their exchange gave you an almost overwhelming sense of déjà vu, and you made a mental note to inform Garp and Bogard of it the next time you saw them.

“Oh, so grumpy,” Shanks commented, leaning back against the rubble behind him, stretching an arm out across one of his knees. “Why don’t you go take a nap, old man? I’m sure there are plenty of beds more than suited for someone of your positively regal manner.” Mihawk went on polishing the golden handle of his sword, not bothering to glance up. “Probably more than enough beds for any number of guests—”

“No,” said Mihawk coolly, still keeping his eyes turned down toward his sword.

“Oh, come on,” Shanks groaned in complaint, laying his head back. His mouth turned down into a despondent sort of pout, tilting his head to look over at the castle—and you tensed immediately, holding your breath, remaining still as a statue. “I’ve never even been in a castle before—”

“No,” Mihawk said again, louder this time, his yellow eyes fixing on Shanks with a firm gaze this time.

“You’re absolutely no fun at all,” Shanks huffed, lifting a small piece of stone from the ground and tossing it in his direction in a half-hearted manner. “You know, you’re going to die sad and alone one day in your desolate castle.”

“And what a peaceful end it will be,” said Mihawk disinterestedly, rolling his eyes back down to the sword across his lap as he buffed a rag across the gleaming blue gem at the end of the hilt.

“But not friendless,” Shanks added, completely ignoring him. He offered another broad grin. “I’ll always be your frien—”

“Would you just go away already?” Mihawksighed wearily, lifting his head and tossing the rag aside. “It’s abundantly clear what you’re attempting to do, and it isn’t going to work.”

“Oh, and just what am I trying to do?” said Shanks...and he seemed to bite his tongue for a moment, before adding in a cheeky tone, “...friend?”

“You’re fishing for a fight,” said Mihawk, gritting his teeth, briefly gripping the handle of his sword before releasing it from his grasp. “And I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh come. On,” Shanks groaned once more, leaning back heavily and pouting. “I’m bored. There’s literally nothing on this damned island except a pile of rocks and a bunch of trees and a particularly nice castle—”

“No.” Shanks gave a huff of irritation, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Mihawk. “Go off and play with the other monkeys if you’re so damned bored.”

“They’re already afraid of me,” he huffed, pouting like a child. He brushed a few unruly strands of hair away from his eyes, turning his gaze out toward the forest. “Stupid apes.” Mihawk only rolled his eyes, shook his head, and returned to the idle task of sword maintenance. “I’m frankly surprised you didn’t just slaughter all of them the moment you set foot here.”

“They make for a decent security system,” he said levelly.

“Or you’re secretly just a big softie—”

Shanks straightened out and gave another broad grin when Mihawk tossed a sharp glare at him...and then slumped back down in defeat when his supposed “friend” gave a heavy sigh and turned his attention back to his sword.

It went on this way for some time—Shanks continually poking and prodding, attempting to annoy Mihawk enough to coax him into a fight; and Mihawk persisting in the task of sword maintenance, running a whetstone across the already razor-sharp edge of the blade as he fought to keep his composure. The entire spectacle was rather like watching an excitable puppy yip at a surly cat.

You shifted your gaze to the edge of the nearby forest when Shanks looked over, the young captain waving once the rustling of the dense leaves gave way to a tall, broad-shouldered man in a black shirt, picking leaves out of his ponytail—no doubt Benn Beckman, from the description Garp had offered you. There was indeed a large rifle slung back across one of his shoulders, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He glanced toward Mihawk, before stopping just short of his captain, looking down at him.

“Repairs are finished and the Log Pose’s set,” he said, his brow furrowing when Shanks frowned in clear disappointment. “We getting off of this rock or are you still antagonizing the current inhabitants?”

“I am visiting with a dear old friend,” said Shanks, giving an indignant huff and crossing his arms. He rolled his eyes back over to Mihawk. “Isn’t that right, Hawkie—?”

“Call me that again and you’ll be leaving this island wearing your entrails as necklace,” said Mihawk coolly.

“See?” said Shanks, gesturing toward Mihawk. “We’re just catching up on old times.”

Beckman stared down at his captain for a long moment, frowning, his cigarette smoldering at the corner of his mouth. He finally shook his head and stepped back a couple paces, leaning back against a pile of stones and crossing his arms. “Alright,” he said. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I am,” Shanks assured him with a positively gleeful grin. He rolled his shoulders and took a drink from the bottle of liquor clenched in his hand, his eyes drifting back over to Mihawk. “Well, it seems our all too pleasant reunion may be drawing to a close, Hawkie—”

Shanks’s grin only widened when Mihawk lifted his gaze to glare at him, his hand gripping tighter around the whetstone.

Shanks seemed to bite his tongue for a moment, pursing his lips to suppress his growing amusement at Mihawk’s growing annoyance, before his expression spread back into a grin as he lifted his eyebrows.

“How about a little kiss goodbye—y’know, between friends and all—”

“That’s it—”

Mihawk was on his feet in a flash, tossing the whetstone away.

Shanks was on his feet just as quickly, a look of absolute glee brightening his features as he drew his sabre.

Beckman took a few casual steps off to the side, pulling his cigarette down from his lips to flick the ashes away, shaking his head, his hand tightening around the butt of his rifle almost imperceptibly.

And you, in spite of yourself, let out a tiny squawk of alarm at the entire spectacle...and quickly realized your mistake.

While Mihawk surged forward with his blade drawn, while Beckman kept his sharp eyes flickering between him and his captain, Shanks’s gaze flickered over toward the sound you had just let out.

And his eyes widened the slightest bit as his eyes met yours.

And he lifted his sword to block what would have been a deadly blow from Mihawk as he continued staring at you as you froze in the windowsill, your feathers ruffling out the slightest bit in response to the terror dawning over you.

Beckman also followed his captain’s gaze, lifting an eyebrow as he noticed your presence.

Shanks drew in a sharp breath, his eyes growing even wider, wide as the eyes of a child with a bottomless wallet in a candy shop. One single, almost breathless word left his lips as they spread into a delighted smile:

“Parrot.”

Next chapter link again, for your convenience

First chapter link again, for your convenience

[daenysx]

Enjoying cinnamon girl sleepover very much so far!

I adore fall, but the end of summer always brings on a wave of mysterious melancholy for me and SO much anxiety 🥲 so I guess my request would be modern! aemond comforting reader in a moment of anxiousness, with cozy fall vibes! Much love to u! 🫶🏻

i definitely agree with you, thanks for requesting, angel <333

modern!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

"enjoyed the bookstore?" aemond asks as you inspect the books you got today. you have this weird feeling today which is the main reason that got you in the bookstore earlier, you wanted a distraction.

"very much." you say, extending him a book from your pile. "this is for you. i remembered you mentioned it."

no matter how much time passes, the feeling of being listened to will be strange to aemond. he casually mentioned a book and you got it for him the next day? must be some kind of a dream. he leans in for a kiss, cups your cheeks softly. it's his way of saying thank you, other than whispering it against your lips.

the kiss lifts your mood a little. he notices something's off with you today, you aren't so chipper about the new season after summer as you are almost every day. you didn't force him to drink too-sweet-fall-themed coffee, or bought something for halloween no matter how excited you are for it.

"are you okay?" he asks, pulling you to his lap. you soften immediately, put your head on his shoulder.

"i don't know if i'm ready to go back to old routines and everything. i think i wanted summer to last more. more free time to think, get ready for things, you know?"

aemond nods. no matter how much you like halloween and fall, it's hard to get back to the usual stuff. you know you'll get more tired, colder, busier. you'll always feel like you need more time to adjust.

"i know." aemond agrees. "but you also like having a busy mind, having stuff to do all the time, and feeling productive. maybe we should focus on that part instead of being upset over the season."

"maybe." you say, you're not sure. "i don't know."

it's a clue for him to drop the subject for now. he rubs your back to ease off your tension, to give you something for comfort. his kisses on your cheek are slow, his hand extended to you to play with his fingers.

"i got you something today." he says. "would you like to see it?"

you lighten up, eyes wide. your nod is quick, aemond is quicker to reach his bag on the side to get you your gift.

"i thought- it would make you feel better." he explains, giving you a little box.

"thank you." you say, fondly, kiss his cheek before opening your present. it's a pumpkin shaped, scented candle. it's small enough to be kept on your nightstand all the time.

"it's so beautiful." you say. "i'll never be able to use it, i'll just keep it unburnt like this forever."

"please, use it." he says, accepts another kiss on his lips. "i'll get you a new one any time you want."

cinnamon girl sleepover ♡

[bunnwich]

Okay I’m assuming that the other long ass ask you mentioned was about the Halloween event too and your take on it so fair warning, this will also be about that and will also probably be long. I only play en and try to avoid spoilers but also I love the lion man so I got some of that anyway. But you really hit on a lot of points that I feel are important when people wanna flatten Leona’s character to 2D (even though he is literally 2D I guess), but what we’re seeing now in terms of “Leona chugs respect women juice and hates men” feels like just another iteration of “lazy lion man is lazy and doesn’t wanna do anything.”

And about Leona respecting a potential friend or partner regardless of gender, it’s like two weird sides of the same coin where people will say he hates men but it feels almost infantilizing toward women (Sally specifically in this case) about him being kind to her BECAUSE she is a woman. No! He likes her because she is smart and cunning and clever and will do whatever it takes to get what she wants (poisoning someone to get to freedom)- all things Leona values, and I think there’s probably a certain amount of “finally, my kind of person” with some of the closer analogues I feel being Leona mentoring Jamil and pushing him to go after what he wants as well as letting Yuu “bully” him into helping with Azul because dammit Yuu is using everything at their disposal and figured out the trick to Azul’s contracts, both of which are worthy of respect (and it lets him destroy his own contract). I’ve lost my train of thought a smidge but yes, it’s not about respecting women specifically or a matriarchal society, it’s about being around someone he actually vibes with and respect

Switching topics but yeah, he IS a hypocrite! He’s calling out Skully’s not seeking consent specifically because the behavior annoyed him as a whole, not just the consent part. And possibly Yuu’s or anyone else’s reaction of “oh how gentlemanly” too. I feel like that one goes back to his tendency to seek any and every advantage or whatever he can use to get the result he wants. In this case, he wants Yuu to not be overly impressed or even annoyed with Skully, and that’s the way to get the result.

Okay last one but yes it is so cute to get to see Leona a bit softer and kinder since it’s such a rare sight in twst. There’s this kind of vindication too, at least for me, to see what as so obviously there to me out in the open for once.

Leona has always been soft…but not a gentleman.

HI ANON!! Actually, the other ask was not about the event but honestly, I get why you would think that. (I get Leona asks a lot about different things :3c DFGHJ)

“Leona chugs respect women juice and hates men” feels like just another iteration of “lazy lion man is lazy and doesn’t wanna do anything.”

YEAH YEAH I think I see what you mean with this. I have a couple of thoughts on that tbh- 

Ppl get excited about a character they like and then they end up saying/joking about things without thinking about other ppl in the fandom who are different from them. Which…is fine to a degree but fandom is a community (or supposed to be) AND masc/nonbinary (and/or those with those types of OCs) often ALREADY get left out of fandom content and end up feeling like they aren’t “as valid” as femme folk and their OCs.

The other thing may be that some of these ppl feel in order to “justify” liking this “flawed character” that they MUST sanitize aspects of them. And turning Leona into a “squeaky clean feminist” suddenly and “consent” king is their way of flattening his character in order to make him safer to like?? Or like a vindication for him liking their femme OCs over a masc one?

Maybe I’m wrong, but those are my thoughts.

To your second point, YES EXACTLY!! I have always felt like Leona takes a soft spot for the MC in Chapter 3 and even somewhat for Jamil in Chapter 6 when he sees aspects of himself in him. And I feel like I never see ppl bringing that up about Chapter 3 especially. 

In the manga, you can see how delighted Leona is when Yuuta figures out the secret to Azul’s Unique Magic. He respects Yuuta's tenacity and even though he “says” he only helps because he wants his personal contact destroyed, I have always believed that that is just a part of it. I think he genuinely grows to like the MC more and actions speak louder than words. If he TRULY wanted to be rid of Yuuta or the MC in the game…he would have thrown them out like he threatened to do from the beginning. He’s a pushover…for certain ppl ofc.

You can even see this with Ruggie as well. Leona “says” it’s only for his benefit but we KNOW that he helps Ruggie behind the scenes with his homework “gives him extra money” and hand-me-downs. If it was truly only a business relationship he wouldn’t bother. And in one of his birthday vignettes, Cater goes on about how much he obviously cares for his underclassmen.

I guess what is truly interesting to me is that I’ve ALWAYS known Leona has the ability for softness and kindness. And bc Sally is a sweetie and so cool and YES a lady I think he was just more open about being nicer to her. 

Let’s remember that Leona doesn't have a lot of ppl he's close to at Night Raven College, therefore we don’t get to see that side of him often.

Idk…I feel watering this all down to “Leona is just a feminist” and that is why he’s nice does as you say: infantilizes women AND waters down Leona’s capacity for said softness and kindness and just making it about “manners” he learned growing up, yk?

THANK YOU, HE IS A HYPOCRITE. Leona as much as I defend is…rude AF. He has touched people without consent in vignettes and in the past. So I agree with your interpretation. I think it could even be interpreted as jealousy if someone wants to go that route.  But is it bc he TRULY gaf about Scully's manners? idts

As we know, he’s blunt compared to many of the characters and according to Vil and others has terrible manners. In fact, this was brought up MANY times in the Tamashina Mina event and so I think more the scene with Sally was more to show that he CAN be kind and a gentleman…when he wants to. Rather than showing he’s a simp for women or w/e.

 I'm FINE with ppl saying he’s a feminist or respects women! I believe he does! That’s harmless but- 

I just wish that ppl wouldn’t use this as an excuse to put down others AND remember that Leona isn’t just kind to women. He may have been softer to Sally but he has always been a generous person to those he believes has potential and/or respect.

I agree, I loved seeing him in this! I hope to see more of this openness from him in the future. 

Like you, I feel like I always knew it was there and have been preaching it for years! I already knew he was capable of softness. I think we just got to see it so openly bc it was someone NOT from NRC. 

And IT IS a great vindication for me too! Leona was always big bro, soft for those he admires etc. And I think before it was hidden between the lines and now it’s just out in the open.

Thanks for this ask! I’m glad my yapping is understood and that you could relate to what I meant in my previous post about him.💚💚💚 TLDR;

[soaps-mohawk]

I've been doing some thinking about kinktober and Halloween in general this year.

The vibes have been pointing to gory for the theme this year and so I must go where they lead.

That being said, I have some thoughts about kinktober on this blog this year. I've already started writing (about eight fics in currently) and I will say before you panic, they're not like all super graphic, and a lot of them won't be, but I wanted to ask like on a general level, what is the tolerance for graphic/disturbing/violent/gory content among the normal people on this blog.

Like on a scale from the classic slashers (Friday the 13th, Nightmare on Elm Street, Scream, etc) to like the Guinea Pig series, where do most people fall? (If you even know what the Guinea Pig series is, you don't get a say because you, like me, are not among the general population).

*I wanted to add not all kinktober fics will be graphic and even horror-esque. Of course you can just choose not to read it, but I'd still like to know what the average level of tolerance is in general on the blog for future reference*

**I also know it's my blog and I can just do whatever I want and people can choose not to read, but I've kind of...set a precedence with CRCB and it's...very tame. Very, very tame. I've toned down my writing a lot over the years and honestly I'm ready to not. I just don't want to 180 on people and have it come out of nowhere**

***not everything written on this blog going forward will be super graphic/disturbing/etc. Even I can't do that all the time. I'll still write soft, wholesome little fics too. I just want to throw other fics out there too and I promise I will tag them very very clearly***

[otterneuvillette]

✧ BLOOD SUCKER ! ✧

⋆🍷— pairings: vamp! wriothesley x fem! vampire hunter! reader

⋆🍷— Sypnosis: You are Fontaine's biggest vampire hunter (Van Helsing vibes) and your dream is to eliminate all vampires in Fontaine. You were trying to lure one of the oldest existing vampires, Wriothesley at the Musée du Vampirisme until someone approached you. Confrontation ensues.

⋆🍷 — content: fem! reader, angst, spicy but NOT SMUT‼️‼️ (OOC wriothesley?)

⋆🍷 — A/N: In favor of the spooky szn, I give you this!! (Also Reader has a history of some sort with Wriothesley. Also sorry if this is too rushed and doesn't make sense, I was trying to finish this before Halloween lol!!)

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You wandered through the marble halls of the Musée du Vampirisme, marveling at the exquisite artworks on display. You paused in front of a particularly alluring painting, captivated by the man depicted in it. It was a portrait of a man, in his late 20s or so, his eyes held a icy stare piercing through at you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

"Quite a captivating piece, isn't it darling?" The voice was deep and smooth. The voice had a mysterious tone that both intrigued and unnerved you.

A tone you knew all too well.

Wriothesley.

Your crazy plan worked! But now what?

"It is. It's really truly one of a kind." You said, before realizing what he said.

Your eyes widened, cheeks ablaze with embarrassment.

The nerve of this-

"Did you just call me darling?!"

"I did indeed, my dear." He replied, gaze still fixed on the painting before us. His demeanor was still casual, the mystery of his character only making him more annoying. 

"I don't see a problem with that, do you?"

You huffed in annoyance, Wriothesley could see the feistiness in your spirit, the burning life in you.

And he loved every second of it.

"You know, darling, your fiery temper only makes you more desirable." He turned his attention to you, his gaze never leaving yours. "Don't you agree? I would assume that you are quite the passionate lady." Wriothesley took a step closer to you, unable to resist your innocent charm.

"And you, my lady, do you know who the man in the painting is?"

Oh? He's playing coy with you now, well, only two can play that game.

"A Night Child, or in human terms, a vampire."

You explained.

"This painting specifically was painted in the 1800s. The peak of vampirism, where vampire activity was at its highest."

"Very impressive darling. You know your history." Wriothesley nodded approvingly. "It's not every day I meet a lady so knowledgeable about that time period." My gaze became more intense, and I could see the way it affected you. 

"Would you like to know something else about that painting, my dear?"

"Hm?" You made a noise of curiosity. Wriothesley leaned closer to you, his gaze still locked on your frame. "That painting is, in fact, a painting of myself." 

He gave you a satisfied smile, allowing the truth to slowly sink into your mind. He knew how he had one-upped you, that he was leading this game, he loved the way your expressions changed as you went through different emotions: confusion, shock, disbelief-

As soon as it happened, your expression turned blank, emotionless.

"Oh, I know." You chuckled with a toothy grin, eyes shining with familiarity.

"Did you enjoy my expressions, Monsieur?"

Wriothesley's eyes narrowed, slightly upset that you were poking fun at him so brazenly. You noticed how his eyebrows furrowed a little, and you smirked, knowing that you'd won.

But it's okay, he'll have to make sure that you get what you deserve later.

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You cleared your throat, and you saw how his eyes darted quickly to the movement.

"Hello, Wriothesley. Fancy seeing you in the museum after closing hours, no?"

A faint smile curled up on Wriothesley's face. 

"Hello, my sweet. It's been a while since we last met, no? You must be that hunter the humans speak of. I've heard rumors about you; your abilities, your tactics, the number of vampires you have slain over the last few years." 

He paused, admiring the way you carried yourself so far.

"That's quite a reputation you have created for yourself. It's a rare sight, that determination of yours. I don't know if it's by sheer luck or recklessness that kept you alive."

"Hah! It seems like my reputation precedes me!" You grinned wolfishly.

Wriothesley swears he could feel the waves of pride escaping you, it was adorable actually.

He chuckled, still admiring your strong sense of self. 

"Indeed it does. It seems like you enjoy this little game of ours, but let me tell you, my dear. You have no idea what you're going up against. I am a vampire of the ancient world, my powers have been cultivated for centuries. There truly is nothing like me; no other vampire in this world can match me."

His voice still carried a hint of amusement, you could tell that he enjoyed this little game of dominance with you.

"And I have taken down many powerful vampires Fontaine could offer!" You kept your gaze dead straight on his, the confident grin still plastered on your face.

"So, what are you doing here? Any ill intentions on that head of yours?" You asked.

"I don't have any ill intentions, my dear. I simply came here to appreciate some old-world artwork. You know, humans were a lot more artistically inclined back then."

He took a deep breath, in a bit of a teasing tone. "And I must say, you look quite fascinating too, my lady. Your beauty, combined with your fierce attitude...quite the combination, to say the least."

"Hmm...your sweet talk will never work on me this time, Wriothesley."

You said, enjoying the conflicted look in his eyes.

Wriothesley's grin widened, the confidence in his words growing even larger. 

"And who's to say I want it to work on you. If anything, I enjoy my reputation being challenged by an outstanding young lady such as yourself..."

He took a deeper breath, slowly approaching you. "But, what if I want to taste your beauty, your fierce attitude. What if I simply want to...devour you?"

"I wouldn't want to try that if I were you. I've got my reputation for a reason, you know? Fastest kills in this business."

"Is that a challenge? I don't see how a little woman like you could ever overpower me. Just look at me...I stand before you as a vampire lord. No one can possibly resist me."

His hand ran through his hair, and I looked deep into your brown eyes. "But I also cannot deny that I am quite intrigued by this little game of ours. It has been so long since I last saw a mortal that could match me."

You gave him a cocky grin and took a step closer, so now you're basically toe to toe with him.

His gaze locked on yours. The smell of your sweet blood was intoxicating, and I felt my fangs itching to pierce your skin, to taste all of you.

"Tell me, my dear, would you mind if…I take a little bite?"

He leaned in closer to you, lips just inches from your neck. Wriothesley's voice was whisper-quiet as if asking you for a forbidden delight.

The glint of silver under your coat shines brightly underneath the museum's lightning. The sharp blades lined up against your belt prepared and enchanted.

"Don't try it, Wriothesley."

Wriothesley let his tongue dance across his fangs, words becoming an intimate whisper in your ears. 

"...Please...I beg of you."

He was completely and utterly drunk by your beauty. Your blood, it was calling his name. He wanted it too badly, he'd been fighting these urges for so long, surely he couldn't wait any longer

"...I want to take a little bite." His breath was heavy, and his voice became more desperate...hungry even.

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"I will sink this blade into your heart if you try."

You growled, challenging him.

Wriothesley couldn't help but be impressed by your determination. A human being who was always prepared; always ready for a fight. You were different from the rest, the ones who cower in fear at the sight of a vampire.

"I see that, my dear. I see that. But I also see this...what is it? A necklace, an amulet, around your neck." 

His gaze was locked on the glinting, pure silver you wore. It was too obvious to ignore. "Tell me, what does it do?"

"It doesn't concern you."

Your bluntness and self-assurance intrigued him even further. "Oh, but you see, my dear...it does concern me. I am the one who has to deal with it, after all.

He took another step closer to you, hand reached out towards the necklace. His other hand remained ready to catch the dagger if you decided to strike.

You moved at a speed, pulling out a vial from the many pockets of your coat, the speed of it even stunned him.

Before he could say something, you had already crushed the vial in your hand.

The scent of your blood fills the air and Wriothesley gets distracted from it. It was sweet but in a mellow smell, a little flowery. The same scent that he used to remember.

His face contorted as he could smell something else than your blood that corrupted the scent that he craved.

Holy water.

Wriothesley snarled, his gaze went back up to you, and his eyes narrowed. His fangs bared and his eyes let out a dim glow.

"No human in his entire life had ever been able to pull off something like that." Wriothesley thought.

He could smell the faint scent of the holy water wafting through the air, and his body tensed up. He was too distracted by the beauty of your neck, by the lure of your sweet blood. That moment of distraction almost cost him his life.

"My goodness, my lady. You're quite dangerous." He whispered, his fangs glinting in the dim light. "How did you obtain this?"

"I have my ways, connections to the church and all." You shrugged, your hands dripping with your own blood. The holy water slightly stung your wounds.

Wriothesley took a deep breath, the smell of your blood still lingering in the air. 

"You're smart to come prepared. Too many hunters have come at me unprepared, cocky even." He laughed.

"I had to give you credit. You seemed to be the only hunter that could possibly match me. Your beauty combined with your intelligence made your presence even more alluring..."

His grin grew even wider, fangs gleaming with more intensity. The thought of your lovely blood trickling down his throat...the image alone sent shivers down his spine.

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"Now tell me, Wriothesley, why were you following me here?"

The two of you stood facing each other, one hand bloody and another one clenching into a fist as an act of self-control.

Time to put the plan into action.

His eyes widened in surprise. "I wasn't following you! I merely happened to be here for a different purpose." He took a few deep breaths to keep himself calm. He couldn't give you any hint of the real reason he was here.

"I came here to appreciate the artwork, as I have previously stated."

He lied.

"And I must say, what a coincidence that you happen to be here as well. But do tell…why is it exactly that you also happen to be here, my dear?" Wriothesley's eyes narrowed. He had already suspected it, but he still wanted to hear it from your mouth.

"I was trying to see if you were following me." You said, it was kind of the truth yet also a lie.

You were trying to lure him here.

A faint, sly grin appeared across Wriothesley's lips. "You really think I am dumb enough to follow you around, without even hiding my presence?"

He took a step closer to you, his face dangerously close to yours. The scent of your blood intoxicated him, and it was becoming more difficult to control himself. "I am not the type of vampire to just follow you around without you knowing."

He moved his lips closer to your neck, voice was barely a whisper. "After all, I'm much more subtle."

"But let me ask you something, my dear. What if I really was stalking you from the shadows? Would that have scared you or made you feel more…exhilarated?"

He paused, his warm breath lingering on your neck. A faint smile curled up on his lips. "It certainly feels like the latter in this moment. The thought of a vampire stalking your every move, with you never knowing. Is that why you're so tempted to give yourself to me, my dear?"

"I never said that I would give myself up to you!" You teased, turning to face the other side.

"No, but the way that your voice trembles when you speak to me, and the way your body shakes ever so slightly in my presence." He tilted his head.

"You may be brave, my little dove. But your heartbeat has been racing in your chest since the moment you first saw me. And there is a reason for that."

He stepped closer to you, my gaze fixated on your skin. "We both know your secret desires deep in your, my sweet child,"

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, and your temper flared up again.

"Lies. I feel no such thing."

You whispered harshly, stepping away from Wriothesley.

"Tell me, my dear. Why do you fight me? Don't you want the bliss of surrender? I can provide you with everything you've ever longed for."

"There's nothing you can provide me that could sway me from my path!" You exclaimed.

How dare he-

Wriothesley laughed, closing his eyes for a moment. He savored your boldness, your stubbornness, your courage.

"Is that so?" He said, in a teasing tone. "That path won't be for much longer if you get in the way of my plans."

His eyes opened, and he locked them onto yours. "Tell me, if you could have anything you wanted, what would it be? Money? Power? Fame? I can provide all those things if you just abandon that hunter path of yours."

He chuckled silently. He was still enjoying our little game. The moment of tension, of uncertainty, of danger. It was such an intoxicating feeling. He loved seeing the way you stood your ground, but also loved knowing that your will could be broken.

"But what if I don't want those things?" You asked, your voice quiet.

"I already have everything I need, it would be selfish for me to ask for more."

Wriothesley didn't understand your response at all. Was it stubbornness, or was it courage? Perhaps both.

"Selfish? What an odd reply coming from my little dove."

"Why would it be selfish to ask for everything your heart desires?" He said in a whisper.

"What if I'm the person who can grant you that wish?" He offered.

You chuckled, before cocking your head to the side.

"I don't need anything from you, but, you want something from me."

Wriothesley chuckled, unable to deny the truth of your words. "You're very perceptive. Yes, I do want something from you." He paused, thinking of the exact wording I wanted to use. "I don't just want something. I crave something you have inside you."

His fangs were sharp, and my lips were so close to your skin. "And that, my little dove, is why I've come here."

"Come on, won't you let me have a taste of your irresistible blood?"

"I'd kill you if you tried." You said in a low voice, eyes glinting with a dangerous glow.

Wriothesley smirked. "Kill me how exactly? With this tiny silver dagger you carry?"

He glanced down for a moment, then looked back up at you. His face was filled with amusement. "If you can manage to pierce my heart, then by all means… I'll welcome the sweet release of death."

Wriothesley was not cocky. nor arrogant. Death is the only thing that ever truly frightened him. And yet…the sight of you holding a silver dagger to his throat while looking into his eyes with that determination of yours, was truly enticing.

"But before that happens, I want to savor your beauty. I want to feast my eyes on your delicious neck, I want to have you right here in my arms." He moved my face even closer to yours, until your lips were centimeters away from each other.

"Imagine you and I together. A mere human girl, and an immortal vampire." His voice was filled with passion and seduction.

"Together."

The two of you were so close from each other, so close from being united in a sensual embrace.

But then you pushed yourself away from him.

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Wriothesley let out a faint growl as you jerked your body away from him. The smell of your fear and panic excited him. He wanted you to give in to your desire. He wanted you to throw that dagger away and surrender yourself to him.

"C'mon, my little dove. Isn't this what you want? Isn't this what your heart has been longing for?" He reached for you again. "Come to me, little one.."

"N-No! I will not fall for your tricks again���"

You rushed towards the doors, breathing hard. Puffs of steam escaped as your warm breath met the cold air of the museum.

He watched you run towards the doors, his hungry gaze fixed on your body. The shape of your hips, the curves of your legs, the soft texture of your skin. He wanted to have you, and he wanted it now.

Quickly, Wriothesley moved over to you. He grabbed your wrist and forced you to halt. He moved his face closer to yours, once more. "Now why are you running away my dear? Do you not want this as badly as I do?"

He leaned in, just centimeters away from your neck, right above your pulse point.

Wriothesley couldn't help but savor this moment. The look of fear and doubt on your face, the sweet temptation of your slender neck. He didn't want to hurt you, but his urges were so difficult to control.

"But what's life without a little danger, my sweet dove?" He whispered, his lips lingering just above your skin.

"Just a slight taste…I promise I won't even break your precious skin…" He panted slightly, his cold breath sent shivers down your spine.

You managed to slice him with the silver blade on his arm as he was distracted by the scent of your blood under your skin.

"Let go of me!" You growled.

Wriothesley's eyes widened, and he quickly let go of your wrist. "My my, my little dove." His voice was dripping with amusement. The smell of your blood, the taste of your fear, was more arousing than it ever was before.

"I'll be honest with you, my dear. You're an incredibly fascinating human being. You've impressed me with your boldness, your courage, your resilience."

He held up his bloodied arm, the smell of blood lingering in the air. "And now that you've hurt me…I want you even more."

He ran my tongue against the cut, the taste of blood only serving to heighten the desire he already felt.

How he wanted to drain you dry, to let you slowly dissolve inside of him. The way your eyes fluttered in fear, the way you trembled before him…

"Tell me, my dear. Are you sure death was still your preferred option?" He whispered. "After all, death means an end. And I can offer you an eternity of pleasure if you just came with me…"

"I swear, I will kill you. I'm letting you off easy here, let me go, or I'll make sure you won't see the light of the moon anymore." You threatened him.

This wasn't going the way you planned at all.

He chuckled, my eyes sparkling with sick and twisted joy. "Such boldness, my little dove. You're right, this does turn me on."

He moved even closer until your faces were just a few inches apart. "A mortal like yourself has the gall to threaten me…an ancient vampire." His hands slid up your arms, his cold, undead skin against yours made your heart skip a beat. "Do you know how adorable that is, my dear?"

Wriothesley couldn't help but let out a faint growl. There was something different about you than the other hunters he had encountered before. You weren't the type to back down. You had fought back even when everyone else would've been terrified and run away. Your courage was alluring, your spirit intoxicating.

"Your fearlessness. Your determination. It arouses me, my little dove. I want more." He moved one of his hands to your cheek, caressing your skin with his thumb.

"Please don't resist, my dear. You'll only make this more addicting for me."

"I understand perfectly, my sweet dove. But do you understand what happens if you don't give in to me?"

He was staring deep into your eyes with his hypnotic gaze. "The longer you resist me, the harder I will find it to control my urges. And if your luck runs out, there will be no one to save you from me. Not even your precious Archon."

"Surely you want to survive, my sweet dove. Just let me have a taste."

You hesitated.

But then you had an impulsive idea, and it could just work. Maybe your plans on killing him might work after all.

Yet now, you felt as if you couldn't bring yourself to kill him.

You loved him still.

So you settled for the next option, capturing him.

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"Fine." You whispered, pretending to give in.

He smirked as you finally gave in, and your lips came in contact with his. The taste of your lips, the warmth of your breath. The softness of your skin. It was all so addictive.

He parted your lips, allowing his tongue to slip inside. He had let out a deep moan, body trembling with pleasure. Wriothesley didn't want this moment to end, he didn't want you to escape.

The taste of your blood was on his tongue, and he had never wanted anything else more than to drain you dry.

The two of you remained like that for a few moments, your tongues locking in a playful battle for dominance.

After what seemed like hours, Wriothesley pulled away, breathing heavily. Your blood was on his tongue as well, the sweet taste driving him wild and he had to admit…

He had never felt more alive than ever.

Suddenly, it all stops.

His voice was barely above a whisper. "What…have you done…?" As soon as you had kissed me, the hold he had tried to control had weakened. He could feel your heartbeat throughout his body. It was louder than usual.

He realized that you had sedated him with some kind of special tranquilizer.

He stared at you, suddenly realizing what you'd done. His lips parted slightly, breathing growing more labored. "Darling..." He whispered. "Why did you do this…why…"

His heart grew heavier, and his racing thoughts began to dim.

"What…what's happening…?" He moved my hands towards his chest, his heartbeat growing increasingly erratic. "Y/N…what's happening, please…"

"I'm sorry, my dear. I just need you to go under for a bit." You whispered, gaze turned cold yet you felt pity in your heart.

"It shouldn't kill you, just knock you out as I capture you."

"Why you…" Wriothesley's voice was strained, his breathing shallow. My eyes grew heavier, and his legs gave out from under him.

He crashed into the floor, unable to move. "My dear…" He gasped, his hands clutching his chest. "…please…darling"

His thoughts blurred, and his breath was shallow as he tried to remain conscious. "Don't….make me…sleep…please…my love…"

"Goodnight, Wriothesley, I'll promise I'll keep you safe from the church."

Wriothesley remained unresponsive as he listened to your voice, his body limp.

He was completely at your mercy, a state he had never experienced before.

A small smile spread on his lips, his heart flickering with joy. He felt alive. He also felt loved, and desired. He was no longer alone. There was someone who cared for him.

It was such a strange feeling.

A tear fell down his cheek as he drifted into unconsciousness, his thoughts quieted down.

He prayed that the next time he woke up...

It would be in your arms.

✧✧✧⁠✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

[intrepidacious]

about that night (the bugs and the dirt)

summary: You never talk about that night, and Bucky never asks. Even though he can't help but suspect something is wrong.

pairing: bucky barnes x witch!reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: past character death and vague mentions of blood (yk, spooky stuff); there's no actual dialogue in this and the characters are worse for it 💛 please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: it only took me three years but i finally managed to finish a fic in time for halloween 😌🎃 i genuinely don't know how to describe the vibes of this except buffy the vampire slayer season six meets "if lisa frankenstein was a drama" meets hozier's like real people do. have fun 🫶🏼

masterlist | read on ao3

Something’s wrong.

Something’s been wrong for a while, but Bucky can’t quite put his finger on it. It’s a fragile thing, this knowledge, this certainty, lingering at the back of his mind like the dim light of a forgotten lamp, shimmering, seeping through the cracks.

Whenever he asks you, you tell him that everything is fine, and he wants to believe you, desperately. You wouldn’t lie to him, you with your luminous eyes and your soft smile. Deceptions would taste foul on your lips.

But something’s wrong.

It’s all wrong.

He’s always been too smart for his own good, and he’s going to find out, you know he will, but that’s precisely why you can’t let him. He’s going to know how far you’ve fallen, and he’s going to despise you for it.

So he forgets.

Sometimes, when he wakes up, his tongue is heavy with bile and dirt, his eyes crusted shut with something worse than bad dreams. Sometimes, when he listens closely, he can hear the air humming with lost hymns that are not from this earth.

Maybe he should’ve gotten used to that, by now; your walls have always had ears and mouths and eyes, after all. That’s the price for loving a witch, you’d say, back in the days when your smiles came easy. Wherever you are, you’re never alone.

It’s different than he remembers, though, even through the cracked and blurry pictures of his memories, his foggy mind, but he can’t put his finger on why. Darker. Colder. Damp. It’s like something has left.

Doubt follows his every waking hour, even more so when he tries to think of that night.

That night.

Oh, that night.

The taste of blood on your lips when you kissed him, desperately, like you hadn’t seen him in months. The muddy streaks on your arms when he looked at you in the pale moonlight, the scrape of dirt underneath your fingernails. It had been raining. You smelt like pain.

What had you been digging?

He needs to forget about that night and what it actually was you’d dug up, then. You’d told him you’d had to bury an animal that had gotten lost and died in the garden, and it was a half-truth even by the most generous account.

Dark, evil things happened that night, and no matter their intent, you were the sum of them.

You’d sacrificed a lamb to dig up a wolf.

He doesn’t remember your answer now, but it must’ve been enough for him, then. It must have been.

So he doesn’t ask again, no matter how hard uncertainty tugs on his lungs.

On that old, familiar path, he follows you home and feels like a stranger.

The blood itself was the easiest to wash off, and maybe that was the worst part. In the human world, crime rarely disappeared without a trace, but magic always left its mark.

You remember tumbling on your way back, almost tripping over your doorstep, a sudden pulse of energy pulling the breath from your lungs. These were your own four walls, the ones you’d blessed yourself, tended to and looked after for years, and they seemed to recoil.

Bucky caught your arm without even looking, catching you like he always had, and you crossed the threshold together. You looked at him, then, for the first time since the graveyard. You could feel his pulse under your grip, his heartbeat strong and loud enough to be mistaken for your own, but his gaze so uncertain, like he wasn’t sure he actually belonged here.

With you.

You made up your mind right then and there. He could never know.

You stir your tea as you always do, and you’ve set out his cup on the kitchen table. Alpine paws at it before he can pick it up, a fierce growl accompanying the sound of smashing porcelain.

She’s been angry with both of you, and he doesn’t know why. She keeps hissing at him, and she refuses to sit on your lap when you study your books next to the fireplace like she always used to. Like she’s punishing you in whatever little way she can for a crime he doesn’t understand.

You sigh, and you repair the cup with a flick of your wrist, and then you don’t reach out to pet that spot behind Alpine’s ears.

It’s little things like that.

And it’s your tired eyes.

Of course, no one else can know either; it’s not a risk you’re willing to take.

If Bucky notices the phone’s been unplugged all this time, he’s never said a word. He’s never been much for talking, anyway, but he does it even less so these days. You’ve both turned quiet around each other, but the only thing that matters is that you’re both still here.

Even now, you can feel the dark powers humming through your veins, just like you could that night. You hear the whispers calling out your name and see the shadows at the very periphery of your vision. They follow you into your dreams until you give up on them, slipping out of the warm embrace of your bed to hunch over the tome again, again, just a little more.

Perhaps you should worry about repercussions, but what for? After all, everything you did that night, you did out of love.

Everything you’ve done, you’ve done for him.

Sometimes, he doesn’t notice them for a very long time, and then it hits him all over again just how exhausted you look. When he wakes up in the middle of the night, your side of the bed is empty and the roof of his mouth tastes like ash and decay. In those moments, he thinks he might still be dreaming; his bones are heavy and cold and unyielding, and he lies there like something forgotten, and all of his thoughts revolve around you.

He’s so worried about you.

He wants to ask if it’s something he’s done. He wants to know if he can make it better, make you smile again like you always did at the sight of him, every time. But he’s afraid of the answer.

You’ve not been yourself and you know it, but at this point, you feel unable to stop it. It’s too late, anyway. The dead already walk to earth, and you’re the one to blame. You’re the one to thank.

Sometimes, the thought does hit you that there’s something a little wrong with you these days. But then he looks at you and he smiles, and you’re young and foolish and in love all over again, that weight of all those weeks of screaming and crying lifted with every glance, every touch, every kiss.

This, the uncertainty, is the worst part of it. It becomes his closest companion, and it only lifts slightly when you return to him, if only for a moment. When you do smile, when you put your hands around his neck and kiss him and he can feel real again, feel like himself again.

He barely notices that you will only look him in the eye when it’s dark, when he can lose himself in your touch, foreheads pressed together, breaths heavy and mingling, the only real creatures in the world. The sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

Maybe you are wrong. Maybe you are wicked and evil and rotten to the core, and maybe there’ll be hell to pay for it yet.

But you’re not sorry.

hearing hozier perform "like real people do" as a duet with victoria canal changed lives y'all

thank you for reading!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!! also, comments are trick or treats that last all year long. just saying 💛

oh, before we leave, here's an extra shoutout to @brandycranby for telling me this was fun and the perfect length. i accidentally made it longer again. love u 🫶🏼

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi!! I sorta get the vibe that maybe Rook has some deep rooted trauma from his childhood?? Just because of how secretive he is; i know hes eccentric but i feel like it’s more than that. A lot of ppl are upset at Vil for “changing” Rook somehow but i feel like rook changed his appearance to match with Vil, moved to pomefiore, etc. because HE wanted to be more like Vil, i feel like him meeting Vil was a rly big turning point for him. And with how upset he was at having to hurt dream Vil and Neige (and his fanboy bedroom😭😭) i feel like he’s really dependent on both of them for his happiness and he’s avoiding dealing with some traumatic experience, but this could be a stretch. I was wondering what your thoughts were. Sorry this was so long, have a nice night!!🫶

Mmm, maybe? There's certainly nothing to disprove the idea, although there also isn't much to support it. Rook doesn't strike me as someone who is scared or put off by most things. He was very much able to keep his calm and composure even in demanding, high-stress situations like the STYX base raid in book 6 and the rescue operation in Endless Halloween Night. If he has experienced something dangerous and/or dark, he gives me the impression that he could handle himself just fine. (This isn't to downplay trauma; I'm just saying that Rook could very well be the type of person that reacts and copes well with it.) As for him being secretive, it could be for other reasons such as his family's line of work (which is implied to be pretty important, since they have warp pads and villas all over Twisted Wonderland). This would be reasoning similar to why Jade and Floyd's father's occupation is kept dubious. Rook's secretive nature could also be an intentional diversion (ie purposefully playing "the fool") so it's easier for his targets to lower their guards around him or not take him seriously. Really, there's many reasons for his enigmatic and eccentric attitude. I'm also of the opinion that you don't necessarily need to have a deep-rooted trauma to get deep into fandom or stan culture. Sometimes you just get really into something and want to dedicate your entire being to that which holds your attention! For Rook, that's Neige and Vil--and it hurts him on a deep level to have to harm those who have brought him so much joy. I liken it to like... how TWST fans have merch shrines dedicated to their favorite boys. Non-Twsties may not understand our love and dedication to these characters, nor why we may get upset if those merch shrines are destroyed or damaged.

I think a lot of Rook's emotional attachment to Neige and Vil doesn't come from "relying" on them to fill in some void within himself. Rather, the behavior stems from him literally viewing them as pinnacles of beauty, combined with his own reverence for beauty itself and how they've helped his own character development. We know that, as a child, Rook struggled to express himself and was first introduced to the magic of the arts when he watched a play that starred Neige. The performance and show must have deeply resonated with Rook. Later on, we see that he, as a first year Savanaclaw student, acts much closer to the Rook we know of today. Invasive, bright, speaking his mind in a verbose way, etc. This makes me think that it was through stanning Neige that Rook was motivated to express himself in a more open manner. Then, when Rook meets Vil, he's inspired and encouraged to beautify himself so as to be like the works of art he already admires. As you've said, Vil isn't the one forcing change on Rook; instead, Vil gives the suggestion and Rook becomes enraptured with the idea--to the point where he changes dorms against Vil's advice. This is another huge turning point in Rook's life. He changes dorms, becomes Vil's right-hand man, and drastically changes his appearance too. This is all so he can be closer to the "beauty" he wishes to see, so he can fully dedicate himself to that chase. Neige was the impetus that started it all, and Vil is the one who motivated Rook to go "above and beyond" in his pursuit of beauty. So thinking about it, Rook has gone on his own journey of personal growth, and Neige and Vil are both closely tied to that. It's like how some of us TWST fans have been with the game for a few years now. We've grown and changed, and TWST has been with us every step of the way. I bet you're a totally different person today than you were when you first came across your current hyperfixations. That's bound to deepen the emotional connection we already have with the object of our affections--be it TWST for us, or Neige and Vil for Rook, no trauma necessary. From all of that, I get the impression that Rook cherishes Neige and Vil because he has "grown up" with them and they're so pivotal to who he is and has become as a person. When he has to turn his arrow on them, it may hurt him in the sense that he's destroying his passions or the very figures who have inspired him to come as far as he has. That's how I interpret it!

I still think it's fine to headcanon whatever you want for Rook's past though! There's no harm in filling in the gaps with whatever you think suits the character or the story.

[seafoamreadings]

week of october 27th, 2024

these are written predominantly for the *rising* signs but they are also intuitively "channeled" enough that they should work for any dominant energy you have! (try your sun if you don't know rising, or more advanced readers can try moon, anywhere you have a stellium, etc and see what works best for you!)

aries: new moons in scorpio may sometimes be good times to take out loans or lend money if needed, but this time around not so much. your ruling planet in a sextile with pluto and at a critical degree makes things very tense and emotional, and although the overall effect of this state is likely beneficial, lending can end up feeling like more of a battle than is good for you.

taurus: avoid such dangerously jarring phrases as "we need to talk" but... you're going to have things to say, especially in the first half of the week. it may be wise to organize your thoughts and motivations first, and then actually get to the bottom of things after mercury has moved into sagittarius. but be prepared for the truth! it may not always be what you were hoping to hear (although it can also go better than expected, of course.)

gemini: any deep changes you may want to implement into your daily life via habits and routines can get a great boost from this week's new moon. meanwhile any relationship talks you've been postponing will fare nicely after mercury is into sagittarius, provided you are willing to be very honest and face the candid truth from others.

cancerians: for optimal auspiciousness, use this week's new moon to have fun, whatever form that takes for you. a new hobby, an early night, a chat with friends, or making some art would all be good ideas now.

leo: if you don't use this week, especially after mercury moves into sagittarius, for creativity, you'll be missing out. start at home - making and maintaining a sanctuary keeps your mind fertile and generative. then start moving your thoughts onto paper, or a screen, or a canvas, or some yarn and needles, or wherever they're asking to go.

virgo: your mind is likely racing with possibilities all week. you can trust your logic *and* your intuition. but don't invest overly in your worries or anxieties or compulsions, and certainly not in outside influence. listening is ok, but the decisions ultimately must rest with you.

libra: this week's new moon is, for you, a money moon. a wise investment (of time, if money is not in the budget) pays off big time in the long run, say, six months or so from now. but it's not the time for splurging too much. something local especially can be beneficial to you now, anything from opening up an actual storefront to just telling your friends and neighbors about a service you can provide for payment.

scorpio: annually there is a new moon in your sign, always near halloween time. it's a mysterious and magical new moon and dark sky, absolutely ripe with possibilities. so you get to make of this energy whatever you will. watch for it to unfold over the next six months.

sagittarius: any shadow work or psychoanalyzing you've been wanting to do on yourself can be greatly aided by this week's new moon, but avoid risky activities or shady behaviors. then mercury's ingress into your sign grants you a silver tongue - try to use this power only for good.

capricorn: using this week to make new friends is a fantastic idea, as is using it to deepen bonds with old friends. if you're not in a very sociable mood a deep journaling session would not at all go amiss.

aquarius: some form of public spotlight is on you. perhaps your status or reputation is under a microscope at work or your wider circle of friends has learned some private secret about you. these things may be awkward at this time, but later on prove to move your life along in the correct direction. it's for the plot.

pisces: strong vibes are being emitted from all the elements but this week water is among the strongest of all vibes. you're extra psychic, especially with some of the neptune transits occurring. but don't expect people to understand - you can tell them whatever you wish but they are unlikely to be on quite the same wavelength.

watch the transit posts in real time to have the best guide through your week. want a little more? have a look at my patreon or ko-fi.

check out my etsy for a private reading or dm me to set up a reading through venmo, cashapp, or paypal.

[skyeslittlecorner]

Orphan from Hades, outcast from Gehenna

I've wanted to do this for a long time, and I finally got around to it. Here I collect all the details that this sweet lamb has in common with Hades. ...aaand some rambling about him and his Solomon thing, because why not.

Yes, I miss him very much. Yes, I did it just to look at his beautiful face. Get ready for a collection of screenshots.

We all know that Sitri is a little... ok, very delulu about Solomon. As strange as it may sound, this is the most superficial of problems. This is eye-catching. But underneath the irritation he causes there is much, much more, and it is not good for him.

In the first part we will go through the facts and his connection with Hades, the second part is my long rant. You will have marked what is where.

PS. Sitri lovers, don't worry. I belong to this nation myself, it's not a hate rant.

Jealousy and distrust

Do I even need to mention it? He's regulary call out for this. And this is the jealousy he feels especially towards the Solo MC. During the Halloween event, he was even called out that, paraphrasing, "at this rate, maybe you really should leave Gehenna and go back to Hades". Unfortunately, I don't have this one screenshot, so you'll have to take my word for it.

Not only MC is a person which makes him jealous, but also his king. Offtop, Satan knows this and really enjoys irritating him. Apart from Sitri, MC and Leviathan (so probably all others kings too), I don't remember Satan trying to annoy anyone so purposefully, but it may be me just not remembering.

Additionally, constant doubts. Sitri has always distrusted Leamas, and if it weren't for Satan, he would have killed him on the spot. The first thing he does when Marbas appears and threatens us is pulls out a gun and puts it to his head (he is justified here because the kings did the same). In the Christmas story, whenever he sees Gabriel, he immediately throws knives at him.

Who else kills everyone who has even a 1% chance of threatening Hell?

Let alone the thing that they know and remember each other.

It doesn't mean that they knew each other very well or that they were friends. But, for example, Sitri and Bimet did not know each other. Since both Sitri and Leviathan remember each other even after some time, Sitri must have spent a lot of time in Hades. No wonder he took over their vibe.

Also, a little spoiler of ch5, just as Sitri only called us by our name when we drifted off into the land of sleep, Leviathan in his H-scene only softened when we were so unconscious that we could no longer remember it.

Weapon of choice

I have already addressed this topic here. There's no point in me dwelling on this too much. His weapon is straight from Hades. We mark this point off as obvious.

Mark & clothes

Here's a slightly more interesting thing, I admit that I noticed it only later. The tattoo on Sitri's neck. We see that it is a pentagram assigned to Satan and Gehenna, but I want to point a little curiosity.

At one point, the Sitri's symbol on his neck and Leviathan's symbol in his eye were the same. Also, very distinctive - Levi's symbol on someone's neck.

The second non-obvious thing is his clothes. Sitri is the only noble of Gehenna wearing all black. Nobles from Hades also wear black. Does this refer to this? Not necessarily, because we know that Satan's closest commandos wear dark uniforms the same as him. Sitri as a noble and Satan's right-hand devil may combine these two features.

Some headcanons and rambling

The part where I tried to be objective and draw facts ends here. Now let me happily chatter on how I interpret his behavior

bUT FIRST, I still have some unused screenshots, and how can I miss such an opportunity? PB why did you create something so beautiful?

My aesthetic sense is satisfied~

So. Let's go to my ramble. This sweet creature has huge abandonment issues. He is intelligent, and even Ppyong is confused and explains that Sitri is usually really smart, but with us he goes crazy. Besides, you can see that he behaves quite normally around others (the only exception, he can sometimes become detached around Satan).

As for our name, he knows it, and he is aware that we are not Solomon. The famous words at the end of his H-scene. So why does he call us Solomon? Because he is unable to come to terms with his departure? The easiest excuse is that he misses him and projects him onto us. That Solomon never left them and those years never existed. That Sitri doesn't care about us, that he only really wants Solomon.

But I like to think of a slightly different version.

To Hades belong the orphans, to Gehenna the outcasts. And Sitri belongs to both. We don't know what he went through, we don't know what's going through his mind, but we see his behavior towards others. He is calm and perfectly controls his emotions even during his H-scene. He is smart and morbidly suspicious, what we see a lot. Finally, he must have everything under control, to such an extent that in some matters even Satan does not try to fight him (the most striking example is that he is the only one who gives Satan blood).

When he saw us, of course, he felt the familiar spirit of Solomon. But what he really liked was us. His emotions were out of control and it scared him. So he dealt with it the only way he knew how. He can't afford to trust again and be let down again, so he forced his true emotions that he felt towards us into the "it's just love for Solomon" box. Because he has already experienced mourning for Solomon and he can cope with it somehow, maybe not well, but enough to function on a daily basis. If he was rejected again, he wouldn't be able to cope. And he can't afford it.

He is Satan's henchman, prince of Hell and The Guardian of Gehenna. He can't show weakness. He can't break down. So the defending remnants of his sanity did what they could to maintain the fragile status quo.

Does he know what he is doing is wrong? Of course. Does he realize that he is hurting us? Of course. But he is one of the highest generals in a country at war, he has to deal with all the nobles, he has to support the king, he has to be ready to fight at any moment. And his Hades mentality makes him willing to sacrifice his happiness (and last crumbs of sanity) and our liking for him to protect his king and country.

Emotions cannot be controlled. But he tries nevertheless. If he didn't feel such strong emotions towards us, he wouldn't try to deny them. If someone is traumatized, they do not always know how to properly cope with it, and his mechanism is not healthy, it harms himself and us. But what else is he supposed to do? We know the approach in Gehenna. Only strength counts. Besides, he is the "responsible one" who would listen to him and help him? We? The moment we deny him, his psyche will collapse like a house of cards.

Maybe I'm exaggerating, overinterpreting, or it's just a running joke. But after how well-developed the characters are so far, I don't want to believe that his brain just turns off with the snap of his fingers.

After all this, I only have one question.

Sitri. Baby. Who hurt you?

[rollinouttahere-writes]

What about monsters au or maybe a fairy au

These have yandere themes to them from when this was supposed to be part of a Halloween event, but I decided to keep it that way because I like it. The first paragraph lightly explains what they are, the second is a reader-insert scenario.

Yandere Straw Hats Monster AU

2.3k words

Monkey D. Luffy - Faerie

Luffy has some intense fae vibes in my humble opinion. He’s chaotic, marches to the beat of his own drum, and he’s prone to dragging people into lifelong friendships that they CANNOT escape from. Luffy finds other fae to be rather uppity, and he prefers the company of humans. They’re so funny and weird! Plus he likes their food. Luffy comes from a very powerful bloodline, though people tend to forget about this fact until it’s too late and they’ve already provoked him.

One day when you’re out foraging, you almost step inside a fairy ring. You count your lucky stars that you didn’t and turn to leave and give the ring a wide margin, but a voice comes from behind you. A faerie is casually sitting in the circle and asks if he could have some of your food. Not wanting to upset him, you toss the snacks you brought for the day to him. He all but demands that you come to visit him once in a while, and you’re forced to abide. Refusing would upset him, but agreeing and then not keeping your word would be even worse. Fortunately, as you continue to meet with him, you find him to be awfully kind and fun for a faerie. You begin to look forward to these meetings. When he asks one day if you’re his friend, it’s only natural for you to say yes. A big mistake, you would quickly come to realize. By agreeing that you’re his friend, you’ve unwittingly given him ownership of yourself. But it’s okay! You two will have lots of fun along with all of his other friends!

Roronoa Zoro - Werewolf/Barghest

Another case of vibes, Zoro just screams werewolf to me. The barghest is a monstrous black dog originating from English mythology, with some sources claiming that a wound inflicted by its claws will never heal. I’ve combined this creature with a werewolf to make it a bit more interesting. When Zoro transforms, he takes on a grotesque and massive wolf-like shape with green fur. He’s capable of standing on two legs, but walking on all four feels much more natural in this state.

Zoro is a renowned monster hunter, as well as a close colleague of yours. After working with him for years, it’s deeply concerning to you when he comes back from a mission only to seal himself away in his home and refuse to interact with anyone. You try to be patient with him, but as time goes on, you NEED to get to the bottom of what happened. He’s been holed up for over a month, so you figure that he must be leaving in the night to get food and water. As you’re lying in wait in a nearby shed, rather than seeing him leave, you hear crashing and yelling coming from his home. Without thinking, you rush in. You don’t know if he’s being attacked or what, but you can’t leave him to suffer. It takes some effort to break the door down, but you do. The home is in shambles. Furniture is ripped to shreds, holes have been punched in the walls, and there are claw marks everywhere. Your attention turns to the writhing mass of limbs and fur in the corner. The moonlight illuminates the room just enough for you to recognize the shade of green the fur is, and your heart falls into your stomach when the creature turns to look at you. There’s a scar over the left eye. Before you have a chance to process this gut wrenching information, he’s on you. As he’s snarling over you, you wonder if you’ll be able to bring yourself to kill your friend before he can kill you.

Nami - Kitsune

Kitsunes are highly intelligent, cunning, and mischievous. All of these traits fit Nami perfectly. She is still quite young for a kitsune and only has two tails so far. In order to make some easy money, she establishes herself at a shrine and demands tribute, primarily in the form of money, though she will also accept fine jewelry and kimonos. 

The shrine she occupies happens to be the one your family cares for, making you her personal shrine maiden. Well, shrine maiden in training. In the beginning, you’re run ragged trying to accommodate such a demanding spirit. Once Nami is confident that you are a good match for her, she relaxes somewhat, but demands near constant attention. You’re unable to eat with your family because she wants you to eat with her instead. Opportunities to see friends are consistently shot down by her requesting that you brush her hair/fur for her or other mundane tasks. It was a little flattering at first to have a prestigious spirit favoring you, but it rapidly becomes draining. It isn’t truly your place to be asking her questions, but you do anyway. Why is she so dedicated to taking up every second of your time? You aren’t even a proper shrine maiden yet, doesn’t she want someone more experienced assisting her? Nami giggles at your inquiry and pets your head in a way that feels more than a little condescending. She explains that it only makes sense for her to be focused on you. Your initiation ceremony is coming up, and those play out like wedding ceremonies more or less. Of course she’s going to favor the person who is about to essentially be offered as a spouse to her.

Usopp - Drider/Anansi

Anansi is a popular figure in Akan mythology and is strongly associated with storytelling. He’s known for being a bit of a trickster, but also a hero and extremely cunning. I’ve combined this with a drider to make him more humanoid, but he is also capable of shapeshifting when he so pleases. Usopp has a reputation for being troublesome, but ultimately helpful. Sure, he drives the locals up the wall some days, but he’s willing to step up into a heroic role when necessary.

Usopp had been dwelling near your village for a while now, longer than he normally would. He just can’t help it though, you’re one of his favorite people to tell his tales to. You never question the validity of what he’s saying or roll your eyes, you just eagerly listen to his stories with a sparkle in your eyes the whole time. When he’s causing trouble, you take it on the chin and laugh it off. He falls fast and he falls hard. Slowly, he starts to incorporate scarier stories into his repertoire. To make sure that you fully believe what he’s telling you, he’ll shapeshift into various forms and lurk around just barely in the corner of your vision, only to flee when you whip around to investigate. When you vent to him about how frightened you’ve been as of late, he’s quick to offer a solution. Why don’t you come with him? He’ll bring you somewhere safe and keep all the monsters away from you. Doesn’t that sound perfect?

Sanji - Yaoguai

I bounced around with a lot of different monsters before eventually settling on this one. A yaoguai is a type of demon from Chinese mythology. Though technically, he’s only half-demon. His father was a god turned demon who was banished from Heaven by the Jade Emperor when he became too arrogant in his power and miserably failed in defending an important artifact. Ever since then, he has been desperate to regain his godhood and has resorted to trying to make supremely powerful warriors of his children. Their mother was a human who was forcibly taken and used in their creation. Sanji suffered a lot of cruelty for being the weakest of his siblings, with the only kindness he ever received being from his human mother (as well as a certain chef after he ran away from home). It’s unsurprising that he strongly prefers the company of humans to demons.

That also means that in his quest to find true love, he’s only looking at humans. Unlike his father, he desperately wants to have a loving, mutual relationship. He tries so hard, but his courtships always end the same way. Everything seems great in the beginning, they’re happy, they’re falling in love. The problem is that all of these begin with him taking on the appearance of a normal human. He wants to be open and honest with what he’s hoping will be the love of his life, so when it’s gotten serious and marriage is brought up, he reveals his true form. Every time, every single time, they scream and run away in horror. Sanji has lost track of how many times he’s been chased out of a village after doing this. He’s getting desperate. By the time he ventures into your town, he’s made up his mind to not tell the next person. At least not before the wedding. Even if you scream and cry and say that you hate him, he’ll make you stay with him long enough to see that he’s the same Sanji that you fell in love with even if he does look different now. He isn’t going to hurt or eat you, you just need some time to realize that. After you have, everything will be fine. At least so he hopes.

Tony Tony Chopper - Leshy (there are so many spellings I’m sorry if this isn’t the right one)

A Leshy is a type of guardian deity for forests from Slavic mythology. They rule over and protect their given forest, and their attitudes towards people imposing on it can really vary based on where the legends originate from and how the intruders act in the forest. They are able to take the form of anything in the forest and imitate woodland noises. It’s anyone’s guess how they will handle a human wandering into their domain. Maybe they’ll be lighthearted and playful, or maybe that person won’t ever be seen again. They’re very ambiguous. Chopper leans towards the more lighthearted side of things. He’s very shy towards most humans, but can become angry and lash out if they do something he doesn’t approve of.

Living right on the edge of a massive forest can certainly be nerve wracking, but you do your best to make it work. You did everything in your power to avoid potentially upsetting whatever Leshy is inhabiting the forest, and it seems your efforts worked… Perhaps a little too well. It started with seeing a bizarre deer-like creature amongst your livestock or outside your windows. Then you started hearing things. One day you could have sworn a terrible thunderstorm rolled in abruptly, only to dash outside and see nothing but clear skies. Eventually, the Leshy got bold enough to approach you directly. You knew you should have been distressed to have such a deity so close to you, but it was hard to be scared of such a small and cute creature. Chopper seems so youthful and childlike that you can’t help but grow fond of his little visits. Then he starts pushing for you to visit him. He has a home at the center of the forest and he desperately wants to show it to you. It couldn’t hurt to go just once, right?

Nico Robin - Harpy/Gamayun

The Gamayun is a prophetic bird with the head of a human woman from Russian mythology that is said to know literally everything and to spread prophecies and divine messages. Again, I’ve combined this with a Harpy for the sake of giving her a more humanoid form. While some people appreciate the endless knowledge Robin possesses, others fear and want to repress it. Robin can rarely stay in the same area for long without worrying about an attempt on her life.

It’s after an almost successful murder attempt that she meets you. One of her wings was shot, leaving her unable to fly away. When you suddenly appear and usher her into your home, she is highly suspicious of your intentions, but she goes along with it because she feels like she has no other option. Much to her surprise, you misguide the people hunting her and then tend to her wounds. As time goes by and she stays put while she’s still healing, she is shocked at how you never once ask her for information or prophecies. You’re being kind to her… because you want to? And you expect nothing in return? It’s unheard of for her. By the time she’s healed, she’s completely enraptured by you. She can’t go back to her perpetual solitude now that she’s gotten a taste of kinship. You must feel the same. You have to feel the same.

Franky - Talos

Talos was a giant bronze statue built by Hephaestus to guard the island of Crete in Greek mythology. His main job is to drive off pirates and other enemies by hurling boulders at them. For the sake of this AU, let’s say that rather than dying, he is simply subdued and ultimately lives. Franky feels lost and like a failure. He leaves Crete to set up shop on a new island where he takes it upon himself to take misfits under his wing. He doesn’t want other people to feel the way he does, so he does his best to take care of them and give them a sense of purpose.

Admittedly, you haven’t made the best decisions in life, that’s a given. Being a petty thief and general troublemaker is hardly anything to brag about, but it’s your life and you’ll do what you want. That is, until some giant bronze behemoth snatches you up and declares himself your mentor. He isn’t even giving great advice, it looks like he’s herding cats when he tries to get all of the local hellions to work together to better their lives. Unfortunately for you, not only can you not escape him, the others are buying into it and trying to drag you down with them.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

MORE Spider Society Headcanons

Halloween: Spiderween

First of all: DECORATIONS??????

The ENTIRE campus done up with jack-o'-lanterns and lights and smoke machines and COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF SPIDERWEBS for the Spooky vibes???!!!

Spider decorations EVERYWHERE. From October 1st.

There's a haunted house on campus - filled with volunteers AND REALLY REALLY good jumpscare holograms made by Lyla

The food court starts serving Halloween specific food. Like a Vampire Miguel Milkshake at McMiguels.

COSTUMES??!!! COSTUMES BUT OVER THE SUITS.

TRICK OR TREATING Some people stay home at their universe and people portal over for candy and they get to see a glimpse of your universe

Or you get to hop universe to universe dressed like a Spider-person dressed like a giraffe. And since it's Halloween, it's fine if a bunch of Spider-people are running around dressed ridiculous because so is everyone else on most Earth's, Miguel's like 'yeah sure okay'

BIG BONUS POINTS if they dress up like ANOTHER Spider-person but like... Still over the suit.

Like wearing the crappy costume Miles had over your actual suit and 'acting' like someone else.

And EVERY TIME you see someone dressed as you, or wearing the same costume -

You know what you must to do.

One year Hobie comes as Ben Reilly. All dressed up in punk but with a blue hoodie crop top to match . He spends the whole day wailing about the harrowing memories and crouching on ledges. Dramatically collapsing in people's arms

Is your Spidersona small? Imagine them dressed as Miguel. Walking around acting and irritated and fake angry and DOING THIS TO MIGUEL

Miguels like 'are you serious? Cut that out-'

"aRe yOu SeRiOuS?? cUt ThAt OuT'

(and Lyla's like 'oooo that was good. They sound JUST like you Migs')

Lyla being a very popular costume

A bunch of Spider-people wearing fur coats and heart glass and they just decide to spend the whole day being useless to Miguel.

Which LYLA ADORES SHE'S LOVES ATTENTION

They all lounge around on all the seats like her, some even in bob cut wigs, and they follow Miguel and trying to get selfies with him LMAO

The Lyla with the cutest or funniest Miguel selfie gets put in the Campus newspaper

MJs A POPULAR ONE TOO -

ALL the lazy Spider-people wanna throw a red party city wig over their suit and be like 'I'm MJ'. NO YOU'RE NOT.

Or some will even wear their MJ's clothes. Walking around calling everybody, Tiger. (Mayday gets the joke - they're supposed to be her mom - she thinks it's HILARIOUS and giggles the whole day)

Sidebar - can you image Gwen with a wig over her suit BUT LIKE under her hood??? SO SHE WOULDN'T LOOK BALD?? I'M SCREAMING AIRPOD LOOKING AHH

VILLAIN COSTUMES - Spider people dressed as Doc Ock over their suits, coming in with fish bowls on their head and going 'Look, I'm Mysterio!! Lol'

While the caged villains are looking at them like

('y'all mfers got a lotta nerve')

I bet some people get REALLY REALLY into it and go all out, designing everything to a T. (Like the perfectionist!pavitr)

Some friends even do joint costumes - WebSlinger makes a costume for Willow so they match. Hobie does all his costumes DIY and it's like the ONE thing on campus he participates in.

Because he loves the DIY spirit. And the chance to mock his bosses on company hours.

Goes ALL IN on him and Gwen's (he wants to match) costumes. Or maybe he doesn't participate cause-

What's even better is people 'Punkifying' their suit to be like Spider-punk is a popular costume too!!

They throw together their own vest and jeans and jewelry and boots. And follow Hobie around, hands in pockets, and they all act all cool and fake punk all day , Hobie hams up the act for the occasion

Hobie of course weaponizes this by annoying Miguel with his 'clones'.

Ten Hobies outside his office sturming untuned guitars REALLY badly and Hobies likes 'Keep it up you !! U sound great!!'

Miguel's office full of Hobies and Lylas, Last year Margo went as Jess and Jess was touched

Then there's some Spider-people that are broke as hell. But since they all have top tier humor they make the intentionally cheap or out of the closet costumes. that ends up being stupidly hilarious.

Like wearing boxes and drawing a Spider-suit on it. Boom - Lego Spider-man.

Sometimes people might wear their makeshift suit over their new suit. So like a Spider-person having this as their costume OVER their suit

And arguably the funniest of them all - having a really elaborate overdone homemade costume of a specific hero on campus, and everyone is like woah so cool have they seen you in it yet?

And you take off the costume mask... And it's just you... AS YOURSELF Like it's just the same mask underneath LIKE A HAT ON A HAT

THERE'S SO MANY POSSIBILITIES THIS JUST BRINGS ME JOY

But the ONLY TWO THINGS YOU CAN'T DRESS AS AT ALL-

Venom and Deadpool.

Venom is too risky. Deadpool is not allowed on campus and if THE REAL ONES seen they have to evacuate and deploy the capture team cause he gets too excited (you'd be surprised of what one man is capable of in the need of Spider-attention)

Anything else is fine though-

CAN YOU SEE IT ARE YOU SEEING SPIDERWEEN????? HUH