#haunting scenes in full sound and silver

[sytoran]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟎𝟎𝟔 — 𝐒𝐈𝐙𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊

kinktober day 006 | roommate!natasha x werewolf!reader

despite your countless pleads for natasha to stay away during the full moon, she decides to brave the beast and be right by your side during your transformation. she gets a lot more than what she bargained for.

cont. reader has a cock, (very) rough sex, breeding, creampie

word count. 2063

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

“Natasha, you can’t stay here during my transformation,” you plead, grasping your roommate’s hand in yours.

The brunette is adamant, looking up at you with a stubbornly steely gaze. “I’m staying, Y/N. You don’t have to do this alone anymore. You don’t have to suffer alone.”

You wring your hands in exasperation, somewhere near tearing your hair out in frustration or crying in anger. “You’re not listening to me, Nat. It’s not just the pain. I become a different being altogether, and you just can’t see me like that.”

“I can, and I will,” she stubbornly says, folding her arms over her chest and mistakably pushing her cleavage up, too.

The tips of your ears burn at seeing Natasha so utterly bratty.

You bite your tongue, refusing to argue with Natasha even more. Keeping you safe was one thing, but the real reason to steer Natasha away from you during the full moon was to keep her safe.

Because when you’re in your werewolf form, your true desires get heightened by a thousandfold, and from the way you already feel about Natasha, you’re worried it might implode when it comes to your inner beast.

As the Gods of Fate have it out for you, the full moon comes earlier than expected.

Your first agonized cry comes when Natasha’s still in the shower.

“Y/N!” Natasha calls out your name, once, haphazardly scrambling to wrap a towel around herself and sprint to the room where your cries are coming from.

The sight that greets her is absolutely horrific.

You’re bent over, on the floor of your room, on all fours and spitting out blood. Your back is bent at an inhuman angle, your spine broken.

“......Y/N?” Natasha’s voice shook, rooted to the spot in sheer terror.

You don’t respond. You’re in a state of little awareness, or so it seems, a low grunt of pain and fury escaping from you as your transformation continues. 

Natasha takes in a deep breath and steps into the room.

She wants to reach out, hold your hand, tell you that it’s going to be fine but she knows it’s not. The sounds of excruciating pain, broken bones, and surpassed limits make Natasha weep for you on the inside, knowing that you have to go through this painstaking process every month.

The transformation seems to be slowing down, now. Your human blood is splattered across the walls of your room, but your werewolf form seems to be perfectly healthy. You’re still more human than wolf, though: your muscles had thickened and were iron-hard, and you were taller than before. 

However, your wolfish eyes that survey the room are bloodshot red and absolutely inhuman.

That gaze is a chilling scene, narrowed eyes and steady puffs of air surveying the room. Your slow yet calculated mannerisms are reminiscent of your human form.

Natasha hasn’t quite yet caught your eye,  but when she does, it’s like a predator has found its prey.

Your red eyes are like lit coals and smoking silver, surveying Natasha with every ounce of authority and a near possesiveness.

“Natasha.”

Time stills, and the sound of your haunting voice reverberates around the four walls of your room.

Natasha truly can’t help but let out the tiniest whimper of fear. And perhaps a little something more.

“Y/N,” Natasha says your name again, because it seems to be the only thing capable of falling from her lips, and she swallows harshly at your predatory behaviour. She presses into the wall, one hand clutching the top of her towel, the other finding purchase in the edge of your cupboard. 

When you begin to move closer, Natasha screws her eyes shut, anticipating what was to come. Your presence looms over her, metaphorically and physically, and Natasha waits for her inevitable demise.

The ‘inevitable demise’ never happens.

Instead, Natasha’s eyes flutter open slowly to your huge hands gently wrapping around her torso, a sharp nose burying itself into the crook of her neck.

The whine she lets slip is involuntary. Your close proximity undermines her calm composure, regardless of your way, shape, or form. If that was telling of her feelings towards you, Natasha would choose to play oblivious.

You’re supposed to be scary, and Natasha’s supposed to be terrified, but with the way you’re dragging your nose up and down the column of Natasha’s slender neck, inhaling her sweet scent, she hardly considers her heart to be beating steadily.

She’s intoxicated by you, even more so with your unabashed exploration of Natasha’s neck. The redhead might be grasping at straws, but it’s almost like you’re seeking something. Something from Natasha. Comfort, perhaps?

“You’re okay,” the redhead whispers, fingers combing through your fur in comforting motions. She hears something that sounds suspiciously like a purr of satisfaction, so she repeats that motion.

Your head moves from her pale neck to her pretty collarbones and down her cleavage until your nose hits the obstruction of Natasha's towel.

A low rumble of disgruntlement sounds from somewhere deep in your chest. Natasha lets a full-body shudder take its hold of her body, under the vibrations of your low decibels.

Not comfort, then. What was it?

Almost like you could read Natasha’s inner thoughts, your werewolf form decides to say capre diem and let a huge hand slither up the inside of your roommate’s bare thigh.

Natasha squeals and swats your hand away, instinctively, then she catches herself and her eyes go wide. 

Oh. 

The fire that dances in your eyes is nothing short of a human-like mischief, playful and oh so dangerous. The incarnadine flush that adorns Natasha’s cheeks like a flower blossoming in the spring is one that your werewolf greedily soaks up, pulling her body flush against yours.

You can see the moment realization hits Natasha, the moment she realizes your desires are nothing short of sinful. 

“Want,” you enunciate slowly, stately and unyielding. Your eyes are locked onto hers, gleaming. 

Expectant. Possessive. Knowing.

The grasp of your hand on her inner thigh once again has Natasha letting out a breathy moan, one of pleasure and a startling realisation.

It wasn’t comfort. It was sex.

-----

If Natasha knew that werewolves were this fucking astronomical at sex, she would’ve introduced supernatural creatures into her bed a long time ago.

The position she’s in is nothing short of embarrassing, on all fours, grasping at the headboard like it was her lifeline. 

Perhaps it was, truthfully, because with the ferocity of the thrusts of your Herculean-sized werewolf cock into her pussy from behind was worthy of being sent to the afterlife. Not like Natasha would complain, though.

“Oh- mhmmm, n’more, s’too much,” Natasha slurs, her breasts shaking rhythmically with each time your jerk that massive thing into her, velvet walls squeezing tight around your pulsing cock. Her eyes are threatening to roll back, drool already spilling from the sides of her lips, arousal already leaking from her thighs and on to the bed.

You don’t seem to give a damn about the messiness of it, though, and that could perhaps be linked to the scientific nature of more barbaric animals. But Natasha could ponder over animal studies at a later point in time, for now she was being treated like a fuckdoll, and it was midblowingly gratifying.

“All– the way,” you grunt, trying to shove the entirety of your huge cock into Natasha’s pussy, clearly displeased by the fact that you were struggling to be sealed inside the redhead completely and inescapably. 

It shouldn’t have been a problem because she was already so wet, so pliant, so perfect for the taking. You’d make do with what you had, though.

“It’s too big,” Natasha had whined earlier, gasping as your tip stretched her opening out, the biggest thing she’d ever taken in her life. Her grasp on the headboard tightened as you slid in with a cruel impatience, big hands digging into the soft flesh of her ass.

“I’ll… make it fit,” you reply, somewhat slowly, your speech clearly deterred by your transformation into part-animal. The results of it are undeniably effective, nonetheless, the cockiness of your brash words making arousal pool in Natasha’s hips.

You’ve reached a sweet spot of Natasha’s, and her walls clench around your big cock tightly, mewling as you push its head against her sponginess. 

“Right there, please, please, plea-” Natasha is cut off by one of her own moans when you jerk inside her, spurred on by the sheer tightness she’s providing you. 

When you lean down to entrap Natasha in a breeding press, your bigger body engulfing her smaller one, slick and sweat converging in an unholy sacrament, it’s all over for her.

Going weak in the knees, Natasha moans as her arms give out and her front flops into the bed. The results of this lie in the fact that her back becomes beautifully arched, her ass rising towards the ceiling; your wolfish eyes drink the sight in with a lick of your lips, cock twitching at the prospect of all the new angles you’d be able to reach.

An animalistic prowess takes mighty hold over your sentience, triggering a feral craze to wash over your werewolf form, and it takes mere seconds before you ram your cock back inside Natasha’s wrecked cunt with undying fervour.

The warbled sounds the girl lets out beneath goes unheard, muffled by the pillow, but the sheer slickness of her pretty pussy gives a certain confirmation that she was enjoying it as much as you did. 

Not that your werewolf would care much, anyways: What it was chasing was pleasure, seeking relief in the completely sexual sense, a carnal desire to take and to breed and to claim. 

You push yourself in hilt-deep inside Natasha, fully lodged in, skin against skin.

Instinctively, your hands fly to Natasha’s belly. You can feel your cock bulge there, spreading her out, filling her up.

The next series of your thrusts cause Natasha to make noises she’s never made before, her body moving like clay under your touch. 

You pull out and make her sob, then thrust all the way back in with an unbridled strength that leaves Natasha breathless. Then again, and again, until she cums helplessly around your cock, pulsing and throbbing and alight with nerves.

This is not the side of you Natasha’s grown to know and love. There are no gentle smiles, no soft hugs and whispered words of admiration. It’s completely animalistic, entirely pleasure-chasing, undeniably one-sided.

You’re thrusting into her like she’s your personal fuckdoll, bringing her to high after high, but you don’t even seem to register that fact. You’re using her for your pleasure, and it should be wrong, but…

“More! More, please, please, need another,” Natasha sobs into the pillow, every fibre of her body screaming at her to stop but her brain unable to put it into action. She hardly registers what she’s saying, only begging pathetically and dripping endlessly.

“Inside,” you growl, right next to her ear, sharp teeth grazing her earlobe. Natasha babbles her acknowledgement, even more turned on at the prospect of being filled, fuck it, and the orgasm that crashes over the both of you is heaven-like.

Natasha’s scream of your name reverberates for miles to come.

With that, you’re cumming, finally, and the seed that spills out from you is endless. Natasha drools into the pillow as you unload your cum inside her, gripping fistfuls of her ass pressed flush against your hips. 

“Mine,” you hear yourself say. The helplessly, pathetically aroused tone of your voice nearly makes Natasha weep again — she’s rendered a damn werewolf near speechless.

Streams of white fluid spray onto Natasha’s back once you’re done with her cunt. You manhandle her around to face the front, to find her pretty eyes rolled to the back of her head, drool coating her lips.

Your werewolf heaves as you watch as your seed overflows from her pretty pussy and on to her thick thighs. A perfect creampie.

Your werewolf, however, has different plans, feeling your cock stiffen again at the sight of her ruined pussy. 

-----

The next morning, you wake up with a throbbing feeling between your legs.

Shit. Was it my transformation?

You leap out of bed, yanking the covers off—

To reveal a very naked Natasha Romanoff, your best friend and your roommate.

She awakes with a start, blinking at the light, and then wincing as if her body was aching all over.

“.......Nat?” you ask hesitantly, eyes trailing over her marked thighs and tits. “What happened last night?”

“Okay. Don’t panic, but you’re fathering my children.”

finally catching up on fics!! i did spend significantly longer on this fic, so it would be highly appreciated if you could reblog

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Tears to Shed

This is based on Tears to Shed from the Corpse Bride. Where Alastor accidentally marries the reader. The only problem is Alastor doesn't want to marry anyone. TW: Angst, Hurt, Sorrow, Illusions to Suicide but you can't die in hell unless it's angelic steel; Alastor is well Alastor, Mimzy is Alastors partner in this. <I am open to writing a part 2 if yall like this> @willowaudreykeyes helped me edit!

The day Alastor slipped the ring onto your finger seemed to shake the whole world with the weight of fated lovers. He was a striking figure, with caramel skin glinting beneath the sun, eyes alight, and a vigorous appetite for power and immortality. But beneath the surface, a shadow lingered: his heart was not free but tied to Mimzy, that star of the city, resplendent with the possibilities of influence and status among humans.

But in that very moment, as your eyes caught the gleam of the ring, you could almost think he chose you. You were, after all, wearing his ring, and he had said those vows with such passion as if some unseen force bound your destinies. 

But then time unraveled, and the truth trickled in like a cold, silent mist: Alastor wanted neither you nor Mimzy. He wanted to be free and live a life unencumbered by chains called commitment. He wanted power and to be feared above all others in his realm.

You had been heartbroken, perched up on the roof of a falling building in Hell, looking out at the fire spreading to the horizon. Never a fan of red and black, you'd always enjoyed blue and silver. The licks of flames danced like lost souls, taunting your self-worth.

You did, indeed, feel the gravity of your life in that moment-the corpse bride, once a loving beauty, now a demon cloaked by yearning and solitude: Alastor had brought one spark of hope into your heart only to cast it down into the dark. The pain of betrayal and the weight of your new existence as a demon were crushing you, threatening to consume the last remnants of your humanity.

You remembered that cold, starless night when he slid the ring onto your finger. For the beat of a moment, you were complete, while today, you are the broken pieces of what you once were: a beautiful woman full of life and a longing to be loved. But now, the truth stared you in the face: he was trapped, and you were the specter haunting his every step, it would appear.

You'd found Alastor begging for Mimzy's help only hours before. The scene had played like an echo in your mind, a foreign sound that twisted your insides. You'd seen it in his eyes, heard it in the shake of his voice. Beneath the bluster of a power-hungry fool, he was just a man desperate to be free of the tethers of a promise he had never wanted to make. And you, you were the one who had been used as a pawn in their twisted game of power and love.

As the reality fell in your heart like ashes, your friends emerged from the shadows: Nero, the imp, and Arianna, the succubus. Their loyalty to you puts a soothing wave over your spirit of fire and ice. They pressed themselves against your sides, the heat from their bodies contrasting with the chill of your skin and the despair that began to wrap around you as time passed.

They stared at the scene before you, knowing this was their doing. Had they not encouraged you to keep Alastor in your life, to guide and mentor you in a fantasy of mortals and demons in love, you wouldn't be like this on the brink of unleashing your powers on all of Hell once again, just as you had on the day you had died.

"What does that wispy little brat have that you don't have double?" Nero's voice was soft yet managed to cut through the fog in your brain. The gentle touch of his hand to yours was akin to a lifeline for a moment.

Arianna leaned in, her eyes aglow with wild affection. "She can't hold a candle to the beauty of your smile!" she said, in words that were an attempt at stitching the pieces of your heart together.

"Yeah, how about a pulse?" You snorted, the venom of bitterness thick in your voice as you stared at the fiery scene below your chosen hideout. You just felt like an antique compared with the sweet Mimzy.

"Overrated by a mile!" Nero chipped in, his voice light yet grave, as he sat by your side with a mutual understanding of the pain you are experiencing.

"Overfed!" Arianna cut in with a snort, her tail flicking in outrage.

"Overblown!" Nero exclaimed, with echoes of laughter resounding around the darkening space. Then he turned to Arianna, who nodded with full vigor. For a moment, their eyes shone with playfulness as they looked at you, hope alighting in their pupils.

"If he only knew the you that we know," they chorused in unison, gripping your hands tight. Their faces held pride with a touch of pain, but they held steady on one thing: their unity in support of you.

Arianna played with the ring on your left hand, smirking with mischief and love. "And the little silly creature isn't wearing his ring!"

Nero playfully elbowed you. "And she doesn't play piano!"

"Or dance or sing! No, she doesn't compare!" they chortled, their voices rising like some haunting melody.

But the shadows of doubt clung to you like a second skin. "But she still breathes air," you muttered; the weight of your reality fell again.

"Who cares?" they chorused, still enthusiastic, though you knew they were growing tired of your self-doubt.

"Unimportant!" Nero insisted, scrambling onto your shoulder, his small frame reassuring.

“Overblown!" Arianna echoed with whimsical reassurance, wrapping her tail gently around your arm.

"If only he could see how special you can be. If only he knew you that we know," they said in one accord, a mantra to which you were no longer sure you believed.

You stood, peeling yourself gently from the tangle of friends. Your undead eyes threatened to spill over with tears as you swayed on the precipice of despair, humming a mournful tune. Closer to the edge of the building you sat atop, the seductive allure of the fall whispered promises of nothing, for you could not die here.

"If I touch a burning candle, I can feel no pain. If you cut me with a knife, it's still the same." You flourish the blade hidden in your garter, the cold steel calling to your mind your immortality. The use of it on Alastor flashed across your mind a spark of the most dangerous kind. You chase the thought away, turning back to your lament. The struggle between your desire for revenge and your lingering love for Alastor was tearing you apart, threatening to push you over the edge of sanity.

"And I know her heart is beating, and I know that I am dead. Yet the pain here that I feel, please try and tell me it's not real." You turned your gaze to your friends, their faces dimly lit by the firey light of hell, then fell back from the rooftop, landing softly within a coffin overflowing with blue and silver roses, the delicate petals wrapping you in a sorrow growing only larger by the minute.

"And yet, it would seem I still have a tear to shed." Your eyes, no longer shining bright, now blazed with the bitter salt of lost love, lost on the one with whom you had believed you shared. Yet time was a thief and saved little space for sorrow. Nero and Arianna were already down to your level, their eyes afire with determination in jarring contrast with the despair flooding your heart.

Nero was first to huddle beside you, his face lined with concern and encouragement. "The only redeeming feature of that little creature is that she's alive!"

Arianna joined him, her cheeks flushed from the hurried descent. "Yeah, it's overrated!" she chimed in, light in tone but weighted with the depth of unsaid meaning.

Nero nodded vigorously, nudging you gently as he gestured to the world beyond. "Yeah, even overblown!"

Arianna smirked, crossing her arms in a very defiant pose, even going so far as to tilt her chin upward in some kind of dare for you to say otherwise. "Everybody knows that’s just a temporary state, which is cured very quickly when we meet our fate!"

Nero's grin widened as he helped you sit up, your surroundings—a darkened alleyway—looming on like some sort of forgotten lover's heart. "Who cares?

Arianna wrapped her arm around your waist, the touch grounding and warm. "Unimportant!" she insisted, dismissing the weight of your sorrow with a wave of her hand.

Nero tugged your good hand with newly formed determination, pulling you toward the busy streets, back into the folds of society. "Overrated!"

Arianna toyed with your hair before flashing a mischievous wink over the mask of worried tension she knew was building the more they danced around your feelings. "Overblown!"

The pair sparkled brightly as they laughed-a stark difference amidst the cowering crowds shrinking away from you, the infamous Corpse Bride, the dainty specter who wielded more souls than damn near Lucifer himself.

"If only he could see how special you could be, if only he knew you, that we know!" Their words of encouragement merely cut through your heart like daggers.

You merely shook your head, a deepening frown as the shadows danced in your eyes, before pulling away and meandering to drift across the streets. A melancholy tune tumbled from your lips as those who'd dare to follow quickly began to wither into roses of silver and blue, scattered remnants of what once was. As you approached the next street, your lament started again, an echoing whisper.

"If I touch a burning candle, I can feel no pain; in the ice or in the sun, it's all the same." You breezed by a café with candles on its tables casting their golden light into the night air, and without even batting an eyelash, you blew them out, embracing the darkness like an old friend.

Your eyes closed, knowing, sans sight, that you were the most significant threat this Hellscape had ever known. Your heart clutched, and your sorrow blossomed into a dark storm that sent those who knew your power scurrying back into the shadows, fear etched upon their faces.

"Yet I feel my heart is aching; though it doesn't beat, it's breaking, and the pain here that I feel, please, try and tell me it's not real." As your eyes fluttered open, the street transformed before you: what once was vibrant red and black now lay cloaked in shades of blue and silver- your wailing, weaving a tapestry of despair, draped over the once bustling scenery.

"I know that I'm dead, yet it seems that I still have some tears to shed." Your voice was barely heard, and there was a broken murmur as you made your way to your house. The chill of the stone outside was like the weight of your grief. Climbing the stairs with sluggish motions, you sat at your piano bench and stared onto the keys, the swell of your sorrow deep.

Nero and Arianna watched you, their faces heavy with what was not said, too much pain entering them as it had the rest of hell when you started your lament. They knew all too well that you only called upon your full banshee powers when the weight of despair bore too much, even that they could not fix it.

You laid your fingers against the keys, and the weight of silence fell. You pressed a key, and the note sang out to resound as one deep ache in your soul, for Alastor would go back to the world of the living, leave you for another, and leave you a shadow.

The sob, so fragile yet mighty, ripped itself free from your lips and unleashed a storm into the very pits of hell. Your wail pierced the night, a chorus of anguish, seeing as you were Y/N, the Corpse Bride, or better yet, a banshee of ill fate, rivaling the voice of Lilith herself.

The roses that danced around your abode shook with solemn trembles at the harmonization of keys to a requiem of lost love. And you, still lost between the planes of life and death, celebrated being the Harbinger of Sorrow.

[batmanlovesnirvana]

— ‘our love still remains.’

BRUCE WAYNE X FEM!READER

ONE SHOT | angst, death, murder, depression, drugs, suicidal thoughts.

synopsis : A year had passed since you died, but grief lingered, clinging to Bruce like the ash of a fire long extinguished.

A/N : This was inspired by this haunting scene between Thomas Shelby and Grace’s ghost. It’s one of my favorite moments—so raw and emotional—and I couldn’t help but feel it resonates deeply with Bruce. The weight of grief, love, and unresolved pain feels like a perfect fit for his character.

English isn’t my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes!

WAYNE MANOR had never seemed so empty.

A place once filled with quiet purpose, with the steady rhythm of lives intertwined, was now a mausoleum—a tomb for memories that Bruce could neither escape nor embrace.

You had been dead for a year, and with you, everything human in him had begun to rot.

He was barely functional. No. That wasn't right. He wasn't functional at all. 

A ghost of himself wandered these halls, sat in these rooms, wore his skin, but it wasn't him. 

Not anymore.

The fire in the study crackled weakly, but its warmth never reached him. It flickered, casting trembling shadows on the dark oak walls, as if mocking his inability to burn with anything but guilt.

Bruce sat hunched in his chair, his head low, his shirt disheveled and sleeves rolled up. 

The man who had once stood as Gotham's unshakable guardian, a force of sheer will, was now a fractured thing.

His eyes, sunken and bloodshot, stared into the flames, but they saw nothing. He didn't need to see. He had already memorized the way the world looked without you in it.

The decanter of whiskey shimmered in the firelight, its amber liquid untouched at his side. He had never been one to drink—not before. But since you'd been gone, nothing was the same.

Tonight, though, the glass remained full. Not yet. Not for this. 

He couldn't dull the edges of this particular torment. He had to feel it, let it pull him under, heavy and unrelenting, like a stone tethered to his chest, dragging him to the depths.

His hand hovered over the glass, fingers curling tightly around it, the tension in his knuckles sharp and pale. The tremor wasn't from the cold but from the brutal weight of his own restraint. His mind hissed its merciless refrain, over and over, unyielding:

It should've been me. Not you.

Me. Not you.

Me. Not you.

The glass gave way with a brittle snap, the shards biting into his palm, the sound cutting through the suffocating quiet like a scream. He didn't flinch. The brief sting was insignificant, a pale shadow of the raw, festering wound buried deep within—a wound that time had refused to heal, a wound that still bled.

He craves the burn. Craves the searing pain, the consuming fire that might finally match the inferno raging inside him—the fire that could never touch you the way it's devoured him.

The night presses close, suffocating and merciless, but he doesn't move.

He doesn't patrol. He doesn't sleep. He doesn't eat.

He simply exists, caught in the liminal space where grief and guilt coil around each other, tightening like a noose. Waiting—for the silence to break, for the weight to crush him, for something, anything, to drag him back from the edge of this endless void.

The door sighed as it swung open, the faint creak swallowed by the oppressive stillness.

Alfred entered, a silver tray balanced in his steady hands, its polished surface catching the flickering glow of the fire. Every movement was deliberate, quiet, as though the room itself demanded reverence. He set the tray down with a soft clink, his weathered face composed, but his eyes—sharp and searching—betrayed the concern he could no longer contain.

"Master Wayne..." His voice was soft, hesitant, like stepping onto fragile ground.

Bruce didn't stir. His gaze remained fixed on the fire, the flames reflected in his eyes like ghosts of battles fought and lost.

Undeterred, Alfred took a step closer, his measured footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. "I thought you might need something to eat. It's been... some time." His tone was calm, but beneath it lay a quiet plea.

The silence stretched, vast and unyielding. Bruce remained a statue, motionless, unhearing—or perhaps unwilling to hear.

Alfred lingered, his hands clasped behind his back. He studied the man slumped in the chair, once an unshakable force—a sentinel against the darkness, a man who bore the weight of Gotham like it was his birthright.

But now?

Now, he was something hollow.

A shadow consumed by grief, its edges blurred, its substance eaten away until nothing but silence remained.

"No patrol tonight, then?" Alfred asked, though he already knew the answer.

Bruce's hands trembled faintly—not from the cold, nor from the blood still drying on his knuckles—but from something far deeper, raw and unrelenting.

The old butler sighed.

Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew a small glass vial and placed it on the tray with deliberate care. The gesture was quiet, pointed—a subtle admonition wrapped in concern.

"I'm worried, sir," Alfred said, his voice thick with the weight of restrained emotion. "About the medicine. You've been relying on it too much."

Bruce's eyes flicked to the vial, his fingers curling involuntarily, but his lips remained sealed.

His gaze turned distant, unfocused, as though he were retreating into some unreachable corner of his mind. The flicker of firelight played across his expression, but it gave nothing away. The silence, though, spoke volumes.

The fire crackled softly, its warmth feeble against the icy void that seemed to envelop the room.

"She wouldn't want this," Alfred ventured at last, his voice trembling at the edges. The words came haltingly, heavy with pain. Saying them was a struggle; even he found it difficult to speak of her. "I know it's hard, but—"

But he faltered.

What could he say to a man who had lost so much? To a man who believed the one constant in his life—the one light in his endless night—had slipped from his grasp because of him? What comfort could Alfred offer someone who carried the unbearable weight of guilt and grief and punished himself for it, day after day?

Not even the ever-thoughtful Alfred had answers for that.

He lingered for a moment longer, his weathered gaze heavy with unspoken worry, before letting out a quiet, resigned sigh. Stepping back, he retreated as softly as he'd entered, unwilling to disturb the fragile stillness any further.

The door closed behind him with a muted click, leaving Bruce alone once more in the oppressive quiet, the firelight casting shadows that danced like ghosts around the room.

Bruce didn't move. The tray remained untouched, its polished surface glinting dully in the flickering firelight. The room seemed colder somehow, emptier, as though the flames themselves were losing the will to fight against the encroaching dark.

The silence pressed down, heavy and suffocating.

His hand moved slowly, hesitantly, reaching for the vial. His fingers trembled as they closed around the cool glass, the faint quiver betraying the storm raging beneath his impassive exterior. He held it up, watching the liquid swirl under the amber glow of the fire. For a moment, he hesitated—then tipped his head back, letting the bitter contents slide down his throat in one unbroken motion.

The burn was sharp. Familiar. Almost comforting.

But it fixed nothing.

The ache inside him remained, raw and unrelenting. He stayed rooted to the chair, unable to move, the weight of his grief pinning him down. His eyes drifted to the shards of glass scattered across the carpet, their jagged edges catching the firelight like cruel reflections of his fractured soul.

With a sudden, violent motion, he hurled the empty vial into the flames. It shattered on impact, the fire greedily consuming the fragments until nothing remained.

His head dropped into his hands, shoulders curling inward as though trying to shield himself from the crushing weight of everything he couldn't escape. The room fell silent again, save for the crackle of the fire, each ember rising like a ghost of what once was.

And then, it happened. Just as it always did.

The impossible.

You appeared.

Bruce's cold, detached eyes flickered, his breath hitching as the warmth of an illusion—one he neither welcomed nor could let go—took shape before him.

You were perched on the edge of the canopy seat by the window, your silk pajamas catching the soft firelight in a way that felt achingly real. One leg was tucked beneath you, the other dangling lazily, your toes grazing the rug in that familiar way that sent a sharp pang through his chest.

Your hair spilled loose around your shoulders, soft and untamed, just as it had on those stolen nights when dawn would catch you both mid-conversation, the rest of the world forgotten.

And then there was the smile. That quiet, tender smile—the one that had unraveled him every time, breaking through walls he hadn't even realized he'd built.

The billionaire swallowed hard, his voice hoarse when he finally spoke. "What now?"

Bruce's bitter smile wavered as you tilted your head, amusement flickering in your eyes like embers in the fire.

"What am I, a genie?" you teased, your voice light but carrying an undercurrent of something deeper, something unspoken. Your gaze darted to the flames, where the shattered remnants of the vial had disappeared. "Summoning me with your little bottle of dope?"

His laugh was dry, almost inaudible. "I take it for the pain," he murmured, the words heavy, fragile, as if they might shatter under the weight of his grief. His eyes found yours, softening in a way that made him feel utterly exposed. "To keep warm."

You moved then, gliding across the room with that effortless grace he had memorized, your bare feet soundless against the carpet. He stiffened when he felt your fingers ghost across his shoulder—a touch too warm, too tender to be real. Yet he didn't pull away.

"Is that what it's for?" you asked, your voice wrapping around him like a balm for a wound that would never heal. "The warmth?"

Bruce closed his eyes, his head dipping forward slightly as if trying to catch just a moment more of the phantom sensation. "The warmth," he echoed, his voice breaking. "All this time..."

You moved again, slipping into the space beside him on the couch, your presence as vivid as the firelight dancing in his peripheral vision.

He turned toward you, and for the briefest, most treacherous moment, it felt real—your scent, your nearness, the way you looked at him like you could see straight through to his soul.

He leaned in, his breath catching as he inhaled the memory of you, his eyes fluttering shut in the desperate hope that he could hold on just a little longer. Just a little longer.

But deep down, he knew.

It wasn't real.

It never was.

The realization struck like a knife twisting in his chest, but he clung to the illusion all the same. He would take anything—anything—to feel you again, even if it was a cruel lie conjured by his own fractured mind.

To touch you. To kiss you. To lose himself in you, the only solace he had ever known.

Since your death, there had been no one else. No empty arms, no fleeting connections. He didn't want anyone else. Couldn't. It was always you. It would always be you.

"I know," you whispered, your hand brushing his cheek in a gesture so gentle, it nearly broke him. His breath hitched, a tear slipping free.

"Our love still remains," you said, your words a quiet promise in the suffocating silence.

And you were right.

Because no matter who tried to step into his life, none of them could ever compare to you.

Bruce's head bowed, his shoulders trembling as he pressed his forehead to the illusion of your hand.

He didn't speak, didn't dare. He let the hallucination linger, let it fill the gaping void inside him for as long as it would. When it faded—and it always did—the cold would return, and he would be alone once more.

They lingered in that fragile silence, heavy with the weight of unsaid words, the room echoing with everything neither could bear to voice.

At last, you broke it, your tone steady yet tender. "But you have to listen, Bruce. To the voices you hear. To what they're telling you."

His brow furrowed deeply, his eyes squeezing shut as if to block out everything but you. "There's too much to do," he whispered, his voice trembling, breaking under the strain. His breath hitched unevenly. "The kids... the city... it never stops."

When he finally opened his eyes, they met yours, glassy and filled with unshed tears. "I need to say goodbye," he confessed, his voice a raw whisper, hoarse and fractured.

He rubbed his face with trembling hands, weary to his bones. "I need to sleep... just for a little while."

Your hands cradled his face again, grounding him in the moment, as real to him as the warmth of the fire. "Then think, Bruce," you urged, your voice a mix of unwavering love and quiet strength. "Think about what I would tell you. About what you need to do."

A tear slipped down his cheek, his body trembling as he leaned into the phantom touch. He tried to form words, but they came out as fractured pieces of his anguish. "It's too much... I can't... I should've..."

His voice cracked and faltered. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should've protected you. I should've saved you."

"You don't need to apologize," you said softly, your voice cutting through his despair like a light in the dark. "I was never angry with you, Bruce. I never could be."

His chest clenched painfully, a fresh wave of tears spilling free. "But I failed you," he choked out, his voice barely audible.

"You didn't fail me," you replied, your words sharp yet soothing. "But you're failing yourself."

You moved in closer, kneeling in front of him, your hands lifting his face so his eyes met yours.

There was a love in your gaze that steadied him, but also something more—a heaviness, a truth he couldn't yet name. "This isn't the way, Bruce. I won't let you destroy yourself like this."

His grief overtook him, his entire frame trembling with the force of it. "I can't let go," he admitted, his voice breaking as fresh sobs racked his body. "Not of you. Not yet."

Your smile returned, soft and filled with sadness. "Then let go of the pain," you said gently. "Let go of the guilt. Let go of the past. I'm here, but I can't stay. Not like this. Not while you're lost in the dark."

His heart shattered again, the pieces cutting deeper, but he couldn't deny the truth in your words.

"Please," he whispered, his voice raw, pleading, desperate. "Please don't leave me. I can't do this alone."

But you were already slipping away, your warmth dissipating like smoke, fading from his grasp.

He reached out, his hands trembling, but there was nothing there—nothing to hold onto. The room grew colder, your presence vanishing into the shadows, leaving him alone in the silence.

The fire crackled softly, its flames flickering weakly against the oppressive darkness. The emptiness of the room settled over him, pressing down with a weight he couldn't bear.

"I'll never let go," he whispered, his voice fragile, a shattered promise he knew he could never keep.

But you were gone. And the silence consumed everything.

Bruce's hand lingered on his cheek, still warm from where you'd touched him, but it too began to cool, slipping away too quickly.

Long moments passed before his voice cracked through the stillness, breaking the silence like glass. "I'll think," he murmured into the void. "I promise."

Even as the words left his lips, they felt empty—hollow echoes in a room full of nothing. 

As hollow as the man who spoke them.

go check [ TU’BURNI (Bruce Wayne fic) ]

Little thing while I write the next chapters of TU’BURNI :)

I’ve been considering publishing one of my Tommy Shelby fics, so if anyone’s interested, please lmk.

[sacredjake]

Carpe Noctem

pairing: Jake Kiszka x Siren!Reader

warnings: MDNI 18+!!! blood, death, killing, angst, cursing, supernatural elements, brief mention of weapons and minor assault, guilt, talk of dying, smut, fluff, soulmate au

word count: 13.8k

This fic will display themes of death and killing, and i will do my best to tag every warning, but if i miss one please, please, please bring it to my attention.

As Nympha Legatus of your pod you must do what it takes to complete the duty bestowed upon you and your sisters. Even if it means killing the man you love. Will fate continue to haunt you or will you give in to what you truly desire?

a/n: this fic has been almost a month in the making and even longer in the brainstorming stage and i am so excited to share it with everyone! thank you @malany-gvf for always helping me talk out the ideas i have. huge, massive thank you to @gold-mines-melting for giving endless feedback, support and suggestions and taking time to read this and edit it. i appreciate and love you both so much, thank you from the bottom of my heart <33333

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Light from the full moon overhead illuminated your already glistening skin every so often as clouds passed by. The silver rays that shone upon you reflected a scene like the ocean you had emerged from, like moonlight glittering off the waves. The night was misty, rain falling lightly as your pod walked through the streets towards the closest club or bar. Forgoing the need for a coat, raindrops dotted the exposed areas and rolled off seamlessly disguising the naturally dewy texture of your skin. 

The rain was purposeful, a product of your magic to blend in better with the humans. If not for that you would look even more out of place with the way your skin looked wet even when dry. It was also a way to ensure everyone was hydrated and avoided drying out. While a quarter of you would not return tonight, at least it would not be from lack of water. 

Scuffing from shoes on gravel and rocks being kicked were the only sounds echoing through the dark streets. Some of your sisters were still getting their bearings, it being their first night on legs and all, stumbles were to be expected. Wearing shoes was a major adjustment, but to fit in, shoes were a necessity. 

Oh how you missed the days when the humans walked around barefoot. Things were so much simpler then. Before him. 

You shook the memory out of your head before it snowballed any further. Now was not the time for that. Focus. 

Red light caught your eye as it reflected off puddles and the shiny black gravel. Your eyes followed the trail, landing on multiple different neon signs lighting up the club your pod approached. Like you had expected there to be, a long line formed outside the bar of humans waiting to get inside. At the front stood a tall, large man wearing a tight black shirt and jeans with his arms crossed looking over the line. 

Sarenya stopped beside you, and your sisters who followed closely behind mirrored both your actions. She turned to face the pod as you eyed the bouncer a bit longer, sizing him up. When she began to speak you turned around and met the faintly glowing eyes of your younger sisters. 

Another distinguishing trait that showed you were not human. 

Nymph’s eyes were usually different from the humans’. The color of one’s eyes determined their age and their status. While a siren’s eyes were green in the early stages of their life, red during their middle age and silver in their later years, a mermaid’s eyes were blue, purple and then gold in their respective life stages. The commonality between the two? Every nymph’s iris sparkled. No, not like that disgusting glitter humans loved so much that stuck to everything. Within each iris lay a million tiny flecks of their color in a lighter shade, reflective and bright. And definitely not human. 

And yes, mermaids and sirens were both sea nymphs. Humans always tried to make different categories for everything they knew little about, but it was not that complex. Although the technical terms back home were oceanids and naiads, you had learned long ago that people on land had left their original names behind. It didn’t matter much to you honestly, you were all children of the sea, and there wasn’t much difference between a mermaid and a siren anyways beside your eye color and abilities. 

Everyone knew sirens had beautiful voices, but this was merely an amplification of their compulsion. While sirens couldn’t compel any other sea nymph, it worked on every other living being. But that’s just the most well known ability. Sirens can also manipulate water, and alter the way something may appear to others. Illusion was the most useful ability a siren could use on a night like tonight.

A mermaid’s abilities were different of course. While sirens could manipulate water, mermaids could control the state of water turning it from liquid to gas to solid. Hence the rain, a combination of both your powers working together. Their most useful power for tonight, however, was their ability to control the emotions of others. 

“Alright, we have a few fleshlings with us tonight so we’re going to go over how this works.” Sarenya addressed the pod since she was tonight’s leader. “Use your abilities, rule number one. We are here for one purpose and we must do whatever it takes to achieve that goal. Rule number two, do not leave any damning evidence behind. We do not need a repeat of 1986 where a scale was left behind for a human to find and cause a frenzy. Rule number three, the humans can be quite attractive, but do not forget that they are not one of us. They are food, not mates. Kill them and move on. Fail and you will die. We can not survive on land.” 

At the end of her rules she caught your eye, speaking the last one almost directly to you. Like a reminder. As if you needed one. It made your chest hurt, your heart being squeezed torturously by an invisible vice. 

She was right though. You only got one night on land, one night to quench the insatiable thirst and gather enough blood for the members of your pod who were not allowed to join the hunt. 

Sea nymphs didn’t rely on blood to survive, it’s not the main source of food. Proteins and sea veggies like kelp and seaweed were a big part of an everyday diet. But human blood was a delicacy, and the key to immortality for a nymph. Just a drop of their blood, and a few ingredients, and you had the key to another ten years of youth. 

“We only have nine hours until sunrise. I do not care what you do in that time as long as all of your vials are full when you return and you follow those rules. Remember, when the sun comes up this is finished. If you do not make it back to the ocean by then… Well you get it by now.” For a mermaid Sarenya was quite blunt and cold, but when so many of your sisters fail to return over the years you kind of have to be. 

“Fleshlings stick by me until I say otherwise, everyone else, you know what to do.” Her golden eyes landed on yours once more with a reassuring glint to them before she strode off towards the bouncer, fleshlings in tow.

The two of you had been overseeing your pod’s hunt since 1693 when you were both promoted to Nympha Legatus, or Nymph Lieutenant. Rising in rank isn’t an easy thing to do, and it was rarely heard of especially since they usually lived forever, but that was an unusual circumstance. The hunt had started out as it usually did with the Nympha Legatus, Nymerian and Tessaya, leading your pod on the shore before breaking off for the night. As the night progressed things went horribly wrong. It had been a year since anyone had been on land and no one was aware of the witch mania that had overtaken the town of Salem. Along with a few others, Nymerian and Tessaya were captured, accused of being witches and thrown in jail to which they never made it back to the sea. Upon returning to the Nympha Ducem, Nymph Commander, you and Sarenya were the only two old enough within the pod to assume the position which required one mermaid and one siren. Since then she has been by your side through everything. You looked out for one another and always made sure the other made it back to the sea even if they had wavering thoughts. 

“Alright everyone, you heard Sarenya, you do what you need to and get back to the beach before sunrise. This isn’t your first Hunt. You know what to expect and how to handle it and we expect you to do just that. Enjoy yourselves, but don’t return home empty handed. Good luck…” Your silver eyes flitted to each of theirs briefly before continuing on the last note before separating. 

“Carpe Noctem.” Their voices mingled with your own as they recited the phrase with you. Sharing smiles, you and the pod turned towards the bar and made your way to the big guy in front of the door. 

Convincing him to let you in was easy. There was no need to use compulsion on him, your beauty taking care of that all on its own. When he asked for an I.D. however, you knew you had to turn it on. Pretending to look for the nonexistent item you pat down your pockets before giving him a sad, doe-eyed look. 

“Oh no… It seems like I left it at home. If I tell you a secret will you let me in?” You could feel the power roll off your tongue, sweet and thick like honey coating each word. The bouncer’s eyes glazed over and he leaned forwards at your request. 

“You don’t need to see my I.D. or any of the girls behind me. You know us.” He straightened back up, his eyes still in a haze. 

“Oh I didn’t realize that was you! Go on in ladies, I don’t need an I.D. for my best girls.” 

There was muttering from the line of humans behind you. Most of them were women expressing their displeasure and jealousy and some were men who were fawning over you and your sisters. Human men were so simple, each one of them the same as the last, year after year. All but one had ever shown you any difference. 

The bouncer opened the door and stepped aside letting you walk past him into the crowded bar. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air and blurred your vision slightly as you push through people to find an empty spot to sit. In your experience the hunt always worked better when you let the humans come to you. It was nice to sit and enjoy your time on land, appreciating the music, observing the humans and their strange behaviors, and savoring the cocktails they made. There was work to be done, sure, but you had the time. 

After an hour had come and gone of observing and accepting drinks from different men you had found yourself in conversation with one. And by Zeus was he the most obnoxious human you had ever met. Ethan, or so you think you heard right, went on and on and on about how much money his family had and how nice his house was and how he just got back from Italy- blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Pfft. Italy, big freaking whoop you had been there more times than you could count, and you really could not give less of a fuck about his money either. So trivial. 

Ethan, or was it Evan, who cares honestly he was about to be dead, kept talking even though you had zoned out long ago. For the last few minutes while what’s his face rambled on you were thinking how exactly you wanted to end his life. Would you promise him sex if he walked out of the club with you only to die in the alley? Or would you use your illusion and kill him right here without anyone noticing? You could also ask him to show you his ‘sick new lambo’ and bleed him dry all over the white leather seats he was raving about. New ideas kept popping into your head, each one better than the last, but your train of thought came to a screeching halt when you caught his eyes. 

He looked the same as he did every damn time. Long, slightly wavy chestnut brown hair, a soft yet strong jawline, plush soft lips, and gentle brown eyes lined with subtle dark circles underneath. No matter how many times you saw him he always seemed to steal the air from your lungs. 

Once his eyes were set on you they didn’t move. It was like he was trying to piece together where he recognized you from although you knew he never would. Your eyes bore into his own taking you back to when you first met. 

June 1713

Dover, England

Twenty years. It had only been twenty years since you were appointed Nympha Legatus which seems like a long time, but in the life of an immortal that’s nothing. Barely scratching the surface. 

The first ten years were rough. You and Sarenya had lost every single fleshling each year, none of them returning to the sea. Some were killed in random accidents, and the others just never made it back. On the eleventh year the first fleshling from your pod survived, finally giving you both hope that maybe you could do this. Maybe everything would be okay. Each year after more and more survived until only one or two didn’t return. That in itself was a success. 

Sarenya led the speech this year warning your sisters about pirates in the area, and human officers in the streets. Men were not so kind to women, especially pirates, and on land nymphs were at their most vulnerable, the Nympha Ducem deeming it illegal to use your abilities during the hunt in fear of causing suspicion amongst the humans. Deciding to hunt in a well populated port was dangerous, but it also offered a safety that desolate towns could not. More people meant you were less likely to be looked upon for being strangers, the sea was close by and there was safety in large crowds. 

“Carpe Noctem.” Everyone spoke the phrase in unison just as they had for centuries before, beginning the hunt. 

You wandered the streets for some time before finding a small pub to begin your night. Drunk men were always easy prey. But they were also unpredictable. A man who went by Billy had approached you shortly after entering the rickety establishment and offered his rum to you. The rum should have been the first indicator of who you were dealing with. The cutlass at his hip should’ve been the second. 

Between sips of the dark liquor and hollow flirting you had ended up in a back alley with Billy trying to execute your plan for killing him. You had sorely underestimated how aware, sober and strong he was. When he caught on that you were not going to do him any sexual favors the cutlass at his hip had been drawn to your neck with his other forearm laid across your chest, pressing your back into the rough brick. You squeezed your eyes shut and waited for whatever Billy was about to do, but nothing happened. 

The pressure against your chest lifted, and the cold metal of the blade at your throat was gone. When you opened your eyes Billy stood in front of you, his hands up in defense, shock and terror written all over his face, dagger pressed to his jugular. 

“Drop the cutlass. Now.” A male voice spoke from behind him, commanding but smooth. Billy did as the disembodied voice said, the sword clattering loudly, the metal banging and scraping against gravel. 

“Apologize to the lady.” 

“I- I‘m sorry miss. Won’t ha- happen again.” Billy stuttered, his legs shaking and hands trembling in the air. 

“Leave and don’t come back. If I see your face in Dover again I can’t promise I’ll be as kind a second time.” 

The man behind your attacker lifted the blade off his throat, nicking the skin ever so slightly drawing the smallest amount of blood. Finally free, Billy bolted down the street not staying to try and fight. You swore you saw his brown trousers darken as he ran away, streams of piss flowing down his legs. Coward. 

When the man straightened up from retrieving the cutlass off the ground you were able to see his face. His brown wavy hair was illuminated by moonlight, plush lips upturned at the corners into a gentle smile, and brown eyes twinkling in the silver beams from above. He was the most gorgeous human you had ever seen. 

His smile dropped a fraction when you made no movement, continuing to stare at him with wide eyes. He took a step back thinking he must have frightened you even more and mentally cursed himself. Instead you took a step forward wanting to not be any further from him than you already were. 

“It was not my intention to frighten you, my lady.” He hung his head in disappointment and shame, unable to meet your eyes again. 

“You did not frighten me, sir. I am just in awe of your beauty.” 

You wanted nothing more than to reach out for him. To touch him, and feel his smooth skin under your fingers. You kept your hands to yourself begrudgingly. 

The man’s head snapped up so quickly it looked like it hurt. Brown eyes were back on your own, a pink tint flushed onto his cheeks. 

“My beauty?” It was incredulous to him that a woman so fair, so breathtaking, was in awe of his beauty. 

“Yes.” You took another step closer to him as you spoke. 

“The most devine creature I have ever seen is calling me beautiful.” 

Your entire body froze. Every muscle and ligament locked in place and rigid. Creature. Did he know what you were? 

“Creature?” The word rolled off your tongue with disgust. A word you had always despised. 

“Well you certainly can not be human and possess the features of a goddess.” 

Just as your body had locked up in mere seconds, it relaxed hearing that what he had called you was a compliment. This was the first time you had actually liked the word creature. It was filled with endearment not disgust. 

“What is your name?” 

“Jacob.” 

“Thank you for stepping in, Jacob. I can only imagine what could have occurred had you not. Would you allow me to buy you a pint as a show of my appreciation and gratitude?” 

“Only if you’ll stay and enjoy one with me.” He beamed brighter than the moon overhead, eyes and smile wide. 

“I shall join you then.” 

The two of you walked down the cobblestone street back towards the small ale house you had come from with Billy. He had asked your name in which you told him earning yet another compliment. 

“A name just as beautiful as the woman who bears it.” 

You couldn’t describe what he was making you feel. There was never another time during your long life that you had ever felt so giddy and nervous around a human. Jacob was something special indeed. 

Time was lost on you once the two of you entered the pub and sat to enjoy a drink. Various conversations about either of you followed naturally, careful to think about your answers. You were not like him after all and one wrong thing could raise questions. 

“That’s a pretty blade.” You pointed to the dagger Jacob had set on the table, it had been the same one held to Billy’s neck. The weapon was fairly simple, a straight cross-guard that downturned slightly at the end and thinned out, the grip looked to be wrapped in leather leading to a round pommel with an atocha coin in the middle. 

“Thank you, I actually made it. I’m a silversmith.” 

Jacob was quite talented. Every piece of weaponry aside from Billy’s he had made himself. A few of the patrons in the tavern had also been carrying around his creations, all of them beautiful. He had taught himself how to fight with a sword, and how to play the guitar. He was the most intriguing human you had ever met. 

And yet he would die that night by your hand. 

Things had finally been going right for your pod in the last nine years, and you had almost thrown all of it down a trench because of some human. Wasting the night away talking to a human because he saved your life? Because he was a wonder to look at? No, that was not important. What was important was gathering the blood you needed and getting home. You had a mission. 

At least that’s what you told yourself when you drained the blood from Jacob, unable to stop. What you had to remind yourself when you saw his body limp and lifeless at your hands. It was what played in a loop in your head any time you thought of how you would never see his beauty again, how you would never admire another human in that way again. 

But you were wrong. Fate was cruel and twisted. 

You finally tore your eyes away from his and turned back to whatever his name was. He will come just as he always did, but this time you will be prepared. Finally taking a breath from speaking, Erik allowed for a lull in the conversation giving the opportunity for you to suggest the two of you find somewhere more private. Of course he was more than happy to oblige. Naïve human. 

Once Edwin was taken care of and you had your vile of blood, you cleaned the mess in the dirty alleyway as best as you could. The door you walked out of had been propped open from the cardboard box you wedged in the doorframe and you slipped back inside easily. Women filled the tiny bathroom, drunk and stumbling as you cleaned yourself up making sure there was no evidence left behind. Satisfied, you left the bathroom and made your way back to where you had been originally sitting. 

You sat there for some time watching the humans dance, talk and laugh trying to keep your eyes off of him. A truly fruitless distraction, your eyes trained on his form unable to look away. A part of you knew that you had to cherish this before it was too late. Not knowing how much time would pass before you did see him again. 

After what seemed like hours, although you’re sure it could’ve only been thirty minutes, he pushed off the table he was leaning against and made his way over to you. Trying to seem like you had not been staring at him all night, your eyes wandered elsewhere looking for anything remotely interesting. It wasn’t until he was basically right in front of you that you allowed your eyes to shift onto him. He stared down at you, the corners of his lips pulled into the smallest smile. 

“Alright if I join you?” His hand was outstretched, palm facing upwards and motioning to the empty seat next to you. 

“Not at all.” You smiled back at him and scooted over slightly on the small cushioned bench to make more room. 

“I wasn’t going to come over here since you were with someone earlier, but it appears that he left.” 

“Yeah,” You chuckled, “Honestly I’m glad I was able to ditch him. He was a bore. Had I known you’d come over sooner I would’ve gotten rid of him a long time ago.” 

“Is that so?” His eyebrows raised, the smile on his face only growing in size. You hummed a short “Mmm,” your eyes meeting his for the first time since he sat down.  

“I’m Jake by the way.” 

Jake extended his hand out to you and you took it, shaking his hand with a firm, but still soft grip. Neither of you could keep your eyes off the other. 

“Y/n.” 

“Fitting. A name just as beautiful as the woman bearing it.” You could feel your heart skip before it sank. You knew he would say it, but that didn’t make the pain any easier. He dropped your hand and lifted his glass up to his lips taking a sip. 

“Not much of a dancer I presume?” 

April 1865

Boston, Massachusetts  

People were everywhere. In the streets, in the bars, cheering, drinking, celebrating. The perfect time to begin the hunt. 

After separating from the pod you found yourself observing the humans while they celebrated victory. The civil war had just ended and their side won. It was fascinating to watch them dance and sing and drink to their hearts desire without any care in the world. 

So caught up in watching the humans, you hadn’t even noticed him in the crowd. But he had noticed you, of course he had. Not only were you the only person in all of Boston to not be celebrating in some way, but you were also stunning. 

“Not much of a dancer I presume?” 

The accent was much different, but the voice was the same. Your head snapped to where he was standing just left of you, shock wracking your entire body. How was it possible? He was dead. You had killed him over a hundred years ago. 

“Um… Uh- n-no. Not really.” You stumbled through the shock that had taken hold of you, mind racing. 

“I see… C’mon,” He held his hand out to you as an offering. When you didn’t take it he whispered, “If you don’t celebrate in some way they might think you’re a sympathizer. Take my hand.” 

You did as he asked and slid your hand into his. He pulled you up from the stoop you were occupying and led you into the street with all the other humans. Musicians were playing loudly out in the open, the songs always fast and upbeat keeping everyone moving. He dropped your hand once comfortable with where you were standing and began a dance you had never seen before. When you didn’t move an inch he stopped. 

“Do you not know how it goes?” 

“No.” Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you shook your head. 

“I’ll teach you. Follow my lead.” 

“Okay…” 

“Jacob. You can call me Jacob.” 

Song after song, dance after dance, Jacob leads you into each one. He taught you all the steps, keeping patience the entire time which would not have been an easy thing to do. While you were no fleshling, you definitely looked like it was your first time on legs with how uncoordinated you were. 

You talked as you danced the night away. Jacob was just as intriguing the second time you met him as he was the first. He was the same man you had met in 1713, but more modernized. Everything about him drew you in. 

Eventually the music died, the streets cleared and it was just you and Jacob left out in the night. The two of you were sitting on the steps of his porch talking under the stars and enjoying each other's company. At some point you were no longer looking at the empty street or the starry night sky, but looking at one another instead. Jacob’s eyes traversed every part of your face like he was trying to memorize even the smallest details. After a few moments of this he sighed dreamily. 

“May I kiss you?” 

“You want to kiss me?” 

“More than anything.” 

“Then yes, Jacob, you may.” 

You had kissed plenty of humans in your lifetime, none of them ever meaning anything significant. But when Jacob’s lips touched yours for the first time you had finally realized why humans liked to do this. Your entire body felt… alive. The feeling was the strangest, yet most blissful experience that you wished would never end. When he pulled away from you sadness ran through every fiber of your being, instantly missing the warmth of his soft lips.  

You would never forget the way Jacob looked at you after the kiss. His eyes were soft, a gentle smile gracing his pretty face, every bit of him glowing with something other than the light from the moon. You would’ve done anything to see him like this for the rest of your life. To feel like he had just made you feel for eternity. 

When the blissful haze cleared however, the longing vanished and panic quickly set in. What was he doing to you? This wasn’t right. You have a purpose and it is not to fall in love with a human. Get it together. Do your duty. 

Every other thought bounced back and forth, your heart and brain fighting for dominance. Your heart told you to let him live, you didn’t need to kill him, but your brain knew better. You needed to do it or you would come back year after year just to see him. Risk the safety of you and the pod for a human you could never be with. 

You had to kill him. 

“Thank you for tonight Jacob.” 

“The pleasure was all mine.” 

He had insisted on walking you home to which you didn’t fight. If he walked you home you could lead him to a quiet place to take his life. Maybe even somewhere beautiful. Jacob deserved more than to just be drained and dumped in some filthy alley. 

When he took you through the public garden you knew that was the place. So you led him down close to the pond underneath a willow tree, rays of light breaking through the wispy leaves that lay in drooping branches.

“Jacob?” You turned to him and gently grabbed both his hands. 

“Hmm?” 

“Kiss me again… Please?” There was the possibility that he would not come back like he had this time. A possibility that you would never feel his lips on yours again and you needed to experience it one last time. 

“Okay.” It was soft and breathy, and had the night been any more lively you weren’t sure you would’ve heard it. 

Jacob did as you asked, his lips pressed to yours like they had the first time. Tingles rolled through your body from head to toe crashing over you like waves. When you thought he would pull away and end the kiss he did something that surprised you. His tongue swept across your lower lip sending new vibrations along your spine, your body shivering slightly. Your own mouth acted without volition and opened against his lips. 

The feeling of his tongue gliding along yours like velvet was euphoric. Noises bubbled from your throat in sighs of pleasure to be swallowed by Jacob. His hands gripped your waist, fingertips pressing into the meat with desperate longing. You liked the way his hands felt on you, almost as intoxicating as his mouth. 

The kiss calmed and turned into short, slow kisses until your foreheads were resting against one another. You watched both of your chests rise and fall rapidly as you tried to regain your breath and slow your racing hearts. Neither of you said a word, just simply enjoying the moment. 

Do it now. Get it over with, the longer you delay the worse it’ll be. Do it. 

“May the flames of our souls dance together endlessly, Jacob.” You didn’t dare look at his face when you spoke your last words to him knowing you wouldn’t have it in you to do what needed to be done. 

As your teeth sank into the delicate skin of his neck you prayed for it to be over quickly. Each desperate gasp of breath was a stab to your already fragile heart, and you were thankful you couldn’t see his face. 

When he finally fell unconscious you filled the vile with his blood quickly before returning to finish what you started. Each pull of your mouth was a physical battle within yourself knowing that if you left now, before it was too late, he’d live. You could save him if you stopped. But that wasn’t an option anymore. You had to see it through. 

You laid him down gently beneath the willow, teardrops dotting his skin, and cried harder at the sight of them. Had you been crying the whole time, you weren’t sure, but deep down you knew you had been. Brushing his hair from his face you looked at him one last time and pressed a shaky kiss to his forehead. 

You had never run faster or sobbed harder in your life than you had that night.

“Something like that. I’m not one for this type of dancing or music if I’m honest.” You shrugged looking out at the people jumping and grinding to the music the DJ played. 

“I’m not either, but my younger brothers wanted to check it out so I appeased them,” His eyes were trained on the crowd as he spoke, “I was starting to regret coming, and was just telling my brother I was going to leave.” 

You peeled your eyes away from the people dancing on the floor and looked at Jake. He did the same, turning his focus back to you. 

“Oh really? What made you change your mind?” 

“Well I saw the most gorgeous woman looking like she’d rather be anywhere but here.” A cheeky smile formed on his lips. You’d forgotten how smooth he always was, your own lips breaking into a small smile. 

“Would you wanna get out of here?” 

“And go where?” 

“I know a place.” Jake stood from his spot on the bench and set his drink on the table. When he turned to you he had his arm extended for you to take. His face gave a look of ‘what do you say?’ 

“Better be a good place.” You smiled and took his hand letting him lead you out of the noisy club. When the two of you stepped outside onto the street his hand dropped yours, the warmth he brought quickly dissipating. The action made you sad, wanting nothing more than to touch him again. 

You weren’t sure where he was taking you, but you trusted him and let him lead you down the wet streets. The two of you talked, and just as you had expected he was the same as each time before just with slight differences. He was a musician now, self made of course, and in a band with his brothers. It was almost relieving to hear that there was finally a version of him in which he played music. You knew he was destined for this profession, his love and devotion for the art always remaining throughout the decades. 

Eventually you came to the entrance of a park shrouded with hundreds of trees and flowers. He continued to walk down the pathway, a destination clear in mind. You couldn’t help but look in awe at the breathtaking scenery around you, all the trees and flowers, the moonlight bouncing off the large pond that sat in the middle of the park. You wondered what it might look like in the daytime. 

Since you had left the club there had not been a moment of silence. Comfortable, casual conversation flowed easily between you, talking about anything and everything you could think of. Jake was well read in human history and literature, things you knew much about having lived through most of them. While you only came upon the shore for one night each year you liked to keep tabs on what was happening with the humans as it usually impacted the lives of the nymphs greatly. Especially as technology advanced. 

The two of you came to a bench surrounded by large drooping trees that overlooked the pond, and your chest tightened. The scene before you looked strikingly similar to the public garden in Boston where you had taken Jake’s life almost two hundred years ago. Images of his lifeless state came flooding back to you, tears pricking your eyes. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, willing the tears back down. When you opened your eyes again and looked at the trees more closely you breathed a small sigh of relief. They were not willows, but instead oak trees covered in spanish moss that were still living. And they were hauntingly beautiful.

“I like to come here at night when I’m stuck on a melody or riff I can’t quite work out. There’s something about this place that’s so peaceful and reminiscent. Which sounds ridiculous since I don't even know what I could possibly reminisce about in a place like this.” He sat on the bench and looked out over the water as he spoke, like he truly was thinking back to something. You tried to deny that maybe in some way he remembered that night in Boston as you sat beside him. It was easier to lie to yourself than accept that old pieces of his lives that involved you lingered.

The night had grown somewhat cold and a chill ran through your body as wind swept through the trees. Jake noticed the way your arms wrapped tightly around your body and wordlessly took off his light jacket, placing it around your shoulders. 

“Thank you, but you didn’t-“ 

“I wanted to.” 

The skin of your cheeks burned, heat creeping along your face and down your neck. You were thankful for the thickly coated trees overhead as they blocked out most of the moonlight and hid your growing blush. With the wind dying, you could smell his natural musk that wafted from the jacket, woodsy and clean like driftwood that sat on the beach. The smell flooded your senses, reminding you of the last time you had seen him. 

September 1923

Charleston, South Carolina 

Prohibition made hunting harder. Without the effect of alcohol humans tended not to hang around in large groups and were more difficult to subdue, but thankfully speakeasies existed. Sure finding a human who knew where one was could be a challenge, but once you did find one who could point you in the right direction they would do so of their own free will. 

Bourbon and Branch was where you had found yourself this night for the hunt. The darkly lit underground club was congested with smoke from cigarettes and cigars, the sound of jazz filled the space. There couldn't have been a better place to prey on humans and you certainly took advantage of it, your body count for the evening rising higher and higher. Were you out of control? No, not yet, but hey it was the roaring twenties, everyone was on the verge of losing what little grip they had on self control. It didn’t help that you had been nursing your self loathing and pain since 1865.

Every waking moment that fateful night played on a loop in your mind. Over and over. You would do anything to get through the day without thinking about him, and human blood helped take your mind off of everything. The more you drank, the better you felt, the less you thought of him, but the more you drank, the more you pushed yourself further to the edge. You were quickly becoming a liability to the pod with each hunt that took place. It’s not that you didn’t care that you were endangering the pod, you just couldn’t see past your own misery to realize that what you were doing was dangerous.

You had lost track of just how many bodies you had left in the alley behind the speakeasy that night. It was nearing double digits, but you didn’t care and instead headed back inside the small club to find your next meal. When you slipped back inside though the image of the next human you had intended on targeting vanished instantly. 

Sitting in a booth with a drink in hand looking at home was the man who haunted you. His eyes seemed to be scanning the room, like he was looking for something in particular when they landed on you. You didn’t dare take your eyes off of him, fearing that maybe the blood had gotten to your head. You watched as he said something to one of the men who sat by his side, identical to him in some ways, before sliding out of the booth and walking towards you. Not once did his eyes leave yours. 

It felt like catching up with an old friend in some weird way. You know the person down to their core, but aspects of their life have changed, and small parts of them have too. Most of the night was spent in the Bourbon and Branch just talking with Jacob and getting to know what he was like in this life. There were plenty of smiles, laughs and flirting, and you were floating on air. And when he kissed you that night it was as if no time had passed, like you were back in 1865 sitting on his porch steps under the stars. 

When the bar had finally closed for the night, neither of you could bring yourselves to say goodbye. Jacob invited you back to his house with his brothers and their partners as a proper way to wind down after a night out. More secret booze and music. The lot of you danced and drank for what seemed like hours before everyone either left or went to bed leaving you and Jacob out to enjoy the night alone. The two of you talked and talked until talking led to gentle touches, those touches turned to kissing, and the kissing led to something you had never done.  

While painful at first, the feeling that came after was truly unlike anything you had ever experienced. Nothing would compare to the overwhelming euphoria you and Jacob had shared that night. Images of him above you, bare and glistening with sweat while his light brown eyes bore into your own were seared in your brain. The scent of driftwood and sea salt was all around you, enveloping you wholly. His whispers of praise, encouragement, and adoration echoed forever in your head. How beautiful you were and how good you felt. How utterly perfect you were. If you thought you liked the way his hands felt on you once long ago, you loved how they felt on you tonight. You loved the pleasure he could bring you with just a drag of his finger, and how gentle he was. So gentle like he was afraid he would break you. When you reached your peak you felt nothing but pure pleasure, every thought and memory erased from your mind that wasn’t him. He invaded every part of your being.

Afterwards the two of you laid in his bed, bare and pressed against one another. No words were spoken, but none needed to be. You were both content to exist in the moment listening to each breath the other took while his fingers traced mindless shapes and paths across your skin. The only noise that could be heard was Jacob humming softly, a tune that had no real body like it was something he made up as it came to him. 

When he finally fell asleep you slipped out from underneath his arm carefully to not wake him and redressed. You had decided you would not repeat history this time. You wouldn’t be the cause of his death, you couldn’t do it again. You knew had you taken his life a third time you would come apart at the seams completely. While you were unsure if he would ever come back to you since you had let him live, it was a chance you were willing to take. For one last time you admired him in the faint glow of the candles by his bed, and this time as you looked upon him you didn’t have to tell yourself he was sleeping. 

“May the flames of our souls dance together endlessly, my love.” Your hand caressed his cheek and you bent down to place a gentle kiss to his forehead before you made your exit. You had barely made it to the ocean when the sun rose that morning, your first true close call. To you though it was well worth it.

“So you’re in a band? Do you enjoy it?” You pulled his jacket tighter around your frame hoping to trap in more heat and cocoon yourself in his smell. 

“I love it. It’s been my dream for so long to be a musician and I don’t think I would trade anything in the world for it.” When he spoke you could feel the excitement pour off of him. He truly loved what he was doing and that made you happy- knowing that he was happy. 

“I’m sure it's not easy though being in a band with your brothers.”

“Everyone thinks that, but it’s not always difficult. Sure tempers fly, and things get smashed or broken, but nothing will ever come between us that we can’t overcome. We’re family, we’ll always have each other’s backs.” 

You could understand where he was coming from. Your pod was your family, each member was a sister to you biological or not, and the hunt was your job. Things get dicey every now and then, but for the most part you just tried to do what was best for your family and looked out for one another.

Another hour had passed just sitting under the trees talking about everything and nothing at all. It had taken all the strength you had to not shiver uncontrollably from head to toe till now, Jake’s jacket not doing much anymore. You were positively freezing. The cold finally won, and violent shakes wracked your body. 

“I have this beautiful hand-made dagger from the 1700s, absolutely exquis-“ His sentence stopped abruptly on the count of way your body jolted continuously and he began to rub his hands up and down the length of your biceps, “C’mon let’s get you somewhere warm, you’re shaking like a leaf.” 

Jake stood from the bench, his hands falling away from your arms for a moment to help you stand. When the two of you began to walk he was next to you, his arm wrapped around the back of your body so both of his hands were back on your upper arms. The friction from his hands did heat your body slightly, but not enough to subdue the intense shivering. 

“My place isn’t far from here, is that alright?” When you turned to answer him you came practically nose to nose with him. He was so close that the only thing you could see in front of you were his honey brown irises. 

“Um, yeah that’s fine. How far away are we?”  

“About seven minutes, think you’ll make it that far?” The smallest hint of a smile drew the corner of his mouth upwards, his top lip curling the tiniest bit. 

While you didn’t spend most of your time around humans you knew when one was making a joke. Or in this case, poking fun at you. Instead of finding it offensive the jest was rather endearing. Nonetheless you rolled your eyes playfully.

“Yes I can make it that far.” You finally willed yourself to look away from his mesmerizing face and stare out ahead of you. A part of you feared that if you didn’t look away now, you never would. 

Shortly after leaving the park you had stopped shivering and Jake’s hands stopped their vigorous movements on your arms to rest at his sides. It seemed silly, but you mourned his touch as soon as it left your body and you decided to ask him about the dagger from earlier to distract yourself. 

“You were telling me earlier about a dagger that you have?” 

“Oh yeah, I forgot I was nerding out a little.” A breathy laugh escaped from between his lips. It was more of a huff of air than an actual laugh. His focus was on his boots as he walked beside you on the concrete sidewalk. 

“Tell me about it? I would love to know more.” 

“Yeah, uh,” He looked up to you with an expression that looked something similar to disbelief mixed with excitement. “It’s a beautiful handcrafted dagger from the early 18th century I believe. It’s a family heirloom, been passed down to the Kiszka men when they turn twenty-five. That’s how old my ancestor was when he made it.” 

His hands waved about and fidgeted as he spoke like it was something he did out of nervous habit, but you think he just liked to keep his hands busy. You knew exactly which blade he had been referring to, there was no doubt in your mind. The weapon had to be the same blade used to strike fear into the heart of Billy back in Dover, England. The same blade which you complimented later on in the night. 

“This is me.” Jake stopped in front of a large house, very modern and elegant looking, but simple, and dug his keys out from the depths of his pockets. While he fidgeted with the keys you took the opportunity to slide the vial of blood you had collected from earlied out of your pocket and drop it gently in one of his bushes by door to grab in the morning.

He opened the door and walked inside, holding the door open for you to follow behind him. As soon as you stepped through the threshold of his home, warmth flooded over your entire body.

Jake’s home on the inside reflected the outside, modern and sleek, but it still had a cozy and comfortable element to it. In a way it somewhat reminded you of his home in the 1920’s. 

You followed him deeper into the house through a hallway that led into a living room and kitchen. The areas were separated by a black granite bar top that had bar stools lined along the wall facing into the kitchen. Jake walked around the bar into the kitchen and you decided to stay on the other side, standing next to a stool. He looked at you from the other side, his hands on top of the black surface and his upper body leaning towards you.

“Would you like anything to drink? Water, tea, booze?” 

“Hmm, tea sounds quite nice. Would you by any chance happen to have any peppermint tea?” 

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He smiled at you fondly before turning around and walking to a cabinet on the wall behind him. He opened the cabinet and pulled two mugs off the shelf before closing it and opening another one to rummage through it. When he found the proper tea he filled the kettle up with water and set it on the stove to bring to a boil. 

“You can sit, you know, make yourself comfortable.” He was facing you now, back pressed against the island in the center of the kitchen, his hands resting on the countertop behind him and his legs cross at the ankle. You knew with the tone of his voice and the soft smile on his face that he was just trying to make you feel more welcome.

“Thank you, although I’m content standing for now.” You smiled back at him gently with your upper body leaned into the cool black stone. Jake only offered an amused hum in response, continuing to stare at you with fond eyes. 

“What?”

“Nothing… You’re just so beautiful,” His focus shifted to the ground and he shook his head, a giddy smile still splayed across his lips. “When I saw you at the club tonight I almost couldn’t muster up the courage to speak to you, and now you’re in my house and I’m making tea for you, and…” He looked up from the ground and met your eyes again. “You’re just so beautiful.” 

You pushed off of the counter and made your way into the kitchen where he was standing. Neither of you looked away from the other the closer you got. 

“I think,” You stopped in front of him and lightly draped your arms around his shoulders. His hands lifted from the countertop behind him and rested on your hips. “That you are quite beautiful.” 

He was quiet for a moment, your compliment stunning him. He continued to stare at you in wonder and your eyes stayed locked on his.

“Me? Beautiful?” 

“Breathtaking.”

His hand left your waist, his palm coming to rest on your jaw with his thumb splayed across your cheek, and his fingers laid against your neck just under your ear. 

“C’mere.”

Jake pulled you closer to him, his fingers curling gently around the back of your neck, his lips pressing to yours. Just like each time before your skin felt tingly, spreading from your head all the way down your toes. You could feel his lips still curled upwards into the smile he was wearing as he kissed you. After a beat or two he pulled away from you. 

The second his lips lifted from your own you felt the immediate longing of wanting to feel their warmth and softness again. It felt like sand slipping through your fingers. 

However, his mouth was back on yours continuously pressing quick, tender kisses upon your lips over and over. With each time he pulled away, the amount of time between the kisses grew shorter like he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from you entirely. Not only did they become shorter, but they quickly became more heated and needy. Jake’s tongue ran the length of your bottom lip and you welcomed it happily, parting your lips with a low hum. You didn’t fight him for dominance and instead let his tongue explore your mouth as he pleased. The tip of his tongue teased the roof of your mouth slowly from the back to the front before he met your lips again and his tongue brushed against your own. 

He walked forward a few steps and used the hand placed on your hip to turn the two of you in an one-eighty, and then walked you backwards. Your back pressed into the edge of the island countertop, Jake’s chest and hips pressed flush against your own, his hand moving to tangle into the soft tresses of your hair. Everything he did was gentle, careful not to push too far. Even with his body pressed into yours there was no overwhelming force. 

Your hands wound into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you and earning a groan from Jake in return. He grabbed both your hips in his hands and grinded his growing erection into your core. You couldn’t help the way your head lulled back, breaking the kiss. Taking advantage of your exposed neck, he trailed kisses down the column of the soft skin. His mouth worked slowly, dragging out each open mouthed, hot kiss with his tongue licking over the area before moving to place the next one.

“Jake.” His name rolled off your tongue in a whisper, broken and whiny. You hadn’t meant to say his name out loud, but the reaction you pulled from him was worth it. The tips of his fingers dug into your hips harder and vibrations rumbled from his mouth through your neck with the low moan he released. 

“Sounds so pretty when you say it like that, darling.” His teeth scraped across your skin with the next kiss just barely applying any pressure. 

“Fuck, Jake.” 

His teeth grazed the delicate skin once again, adding in another roll of his hips into yours. He was much harder now and the friction he supplied was making your head dizzy. You wanted more of him, so much more of him. In the background you could hear the kettle whistle loudly on the stove signifying it was ready. 

“Water’s ready for tea.” Jake’s voice was low and husky while still moving his mouth down your throat. 

“Forget the tea. I need you, please.” Your hand traveled between your bodies to palm his clothed length. His lips finally ceased their assault, his forehead resting on your clavicle with a sharp breath pulled into his lungs.

“Oh darling,” He lifted his head from your chest to look into your eyes. There was a fire in his eyes this time that you had never seen before, dark and swirling beneath the surface. “Have me you shall.” 

He stepped away from you and grabbed your hand, pulling you behind him. He walked over to the stove quickly turning off the burner and setting the kettle aside. Once the fire hazard was taken care of he pulled you into him again and reconnected your lips. You were walking backwards, unsure of where exactly he was directing the two of you, but you couldn’t care less. Your fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt popping them open one by one. In return, Jake was working to unbutton your pants. When the last button was undone on his shirt you pushed the light material away from his shoulders and let your hands roam his warm skin. He was solid under your hands, yet still delicate. You loved the way his chest and stomach felt, obsessed with how sturdy and soft he was at the same time. 

He moved on to your shirt once the button on your pants was undone and the zipper had been pulled down. You could feel the material slipping lower on your hips ever so slightly with each step you took. Jake pulled your shirt up over your head by the hem and dropped it to the floor, and you took one more step backwards before your back hit what you assumed was a door. His hand flew out and twisted the knob opening the door. He continued to walk you backwards into his room until the back of your knees came into contact with his bed. 

You let out a shocked gasp, your knees buckling underneath you and falling rather ungracefully onto the bed while pulling Jake with you. He was able to stop himself from crushing you fully, his arms on either side of your head. When the initial surprise subsided the two of you broke into a fit of giggles unable to contain them. 

“Sorry, I should’ve stopped.” He pushed himself up from the bed to stand still chuckling slightly.

“It’s okay.” One last giggle escaped from your lips as he made to stand. He was wedged between your legs while he looked down at you. 

The look in his eyes from before had returned, quickly stirring the heat in your core again. While you were still wearing your bottoms, the top you had been wearing was long gone revealing your bare chest to him for the first time. He leaned forward and placed his hands on both sides of your hips. His fingers gripped the tops of the waistbands on your pants and underwear. 

“Can I?” There was a gruff tone to his voice now when he spoke. 

“Please.” 

Jake didn’t waste anymore time and tugged the clothing from your body. There was no rush, taking his time undressing your lower half, and you propped yourself up on your elbows to have a better view of him. He dropped your bottoms to the ground and stood up straight to have a better view of your naked body. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone more stunning.” His eyes trailed along your body, drinking in every inch. You sat up fully, your face level with his toned abdomen and your hands toying with the waistband of his trousers. 

“I have.” 

The sight of you below him made his dick twitch. You were looking up at him almost innocently with your hands and mouth mere inches away from his aching cock. The very thought of having your mouth so close to him made him almost cum right there. 

You started to undo the button and fly on his pants while placing sweet kisses to his stomach just above his navel, never breaking eye contact. Once the button was taken care of and you moved onto the zipper you trailed the light kisses lower and lower until your bottom lip brushed the top of his underwear. You drew your lips from the heated skin of his torso and hooked your fingers into his pants like he had just done to you. 

“May I?” You were still so close to him that your breath fanned over his skin and sent shivers through his body. 

“Oh god, yes.” The words were filled with air and flew out in a hushed whisper. 

You pulled the fabric down his legs taking the boxers down with his pants. His hardened length sprang free, the tip slapping his lower belly gently. You were mesmerized with how gorgeous every part of him was, and while it had been over a hundred years since you had seen him bare, he was the same as before. When you got the top of his pants past his sturdy thighs they dropped freely the rest of the way down his legs. 

Jake stepped out of the trousers carefully before bending down to cup your cheek and bring his lips back to yours. He laid you back slowly as he kissed you, kneeling on the bed with one knee between your legs. His other hand rested on your hip and pressed into you guiding you to move further up the bed. 

Satisfied with where you were, Jake laid into you more fully. His forearm was braced into the mattress next to your head, his chest brushing yours with each heaving breath, and his heavy cock nestled in the crevice where your thigh met your groin. 

His fingers skirted from your hip down the outside of your thigh just barely touching the heated skin. With the same pressure his hand crossed over the top of your thigh and slowly inched its way up to your core. Every touch his fingers made on your skin left behind a trail of raised skin in their wake. A breathy moan was pulled from your lips as he ran his middle and index fingers up your slit slowly. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” Jake groaned against your lips. 

Your hips bucked into his hand involuntarily as his fingers swept over your clit for the first time. You writhed under his touch earning a smile from his lips that you could feel against your own before he began kissing his way down your neck towards your chest. Even as he moved down your body you could still feel the smile he wore. His fingers swirled your clit in tight, slow, figure eights while his tongue gave an experimental flick to your perked nipple. Your back arched from the bed, pushing your chest into him silently begging for more. He loved how responsive you were, and you could tell. Each time you reacted to his touches, you felt his hard length twitch and pulse against your hip. 

His lips wrapped around your nipple fully, sucking and licking the bud, earning the sweetest sounds from your open mouth. Not once did his fingers stop moving against your clit and you were quickly being brought to the edge of ecstasy. He pulled his mouth from your breast with a soft pop and kissed lower down your belly. A soft giggle bubbled in your throat as his lips passed over a sensitive area of your stomach, his lips tickling you. He huffed a laugh at the way your muscles contracted and you squirmed under his touch only making the tickling sensation worse. 

“Sorry.” He laughed with you, his eyes catching yours. 

“S’okay.” 

You reach a hand down into his hair encouraging him to continue where he left off. Jake did as you implied and kissed further down your abdomen to your core, looping his arms around your hips and thighs. He kept eye contact as he placed one last kiss to your center right on your clit. When his tongue licked a stripe through your folds his eyes fluttered shut. He hummed against your soaked heat, the vibrations flowing through your entire body. Your fingers wound tighter into his hair and your hips begged for him to be closer. 

He slid his tongue back up your slit, collecting your arousal and wrapped his lips around your clit once at the top. He sucked the sensitive bundle into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it rapidly. Your entire body felt like it was on fire and your head was becoming more fuzzy with each roll of the wet, velvet muscle. Whines and moans of pleasure rolled out from your throat, his name mixed in along with them sweetly. Just when you were about to be sent over the edge you pulled his mouth from your core and back up to your own. His chest and torso were pressed to yours, now propped up on his knees between your spread legs. 

You could taste yourself on his lips and tongue. Sweet with a hint of saltiness. Like watermelon lightly sprinkled with salt on a summer’s day. You wanted more.

“Jake, please,” You whispered against his lips between feverish kisses trying desperately to get the words out. “I need you. I need all of you. Please, please.” 

“Say it again.” His hand pressed down between your sticky bodies, gripping his length.

“I need all of you.” 

“Say my name again.” He ran his swollen head through your wet lips, and coated himself in your slick. 

“Please Jake.” He pressed into you slowly, the tip just inside as you spoke his name causing it to hitch in your throat. Your walls fluttered around him trying desperately to adjust to his size while he continued to push the rest of the way inside you. Your arms wrapped around the underside of his arms holding him close to you with your hands resting on the tops of his shoulders. The sound of his heavy breaths cascaded into your ear, his head dropped with his chin resting on your shoulder between your cheek and his hand. 

“Oh fuck, you’re so tight.” He took a few ragged breaths. “Are you alright if I move?”

“Yeah, I-I’m okay.” Your voice cracked in a whisper already sounding fucked out.  

Jake withdrew his hips from yours slowly, his thick length gliding out easily until just the tip of his head remained inside at your entrance. He pushed back in faster than before, but still at a steady pace. His other hand that was placed next to your head shifted so that he was cradling your head in his hand and gently pushing your opposite cheek into his. 

With each push and pull of his hips to yours, both of your breathing became heavier, filled with moans and whispers of praise. He brushed your cervix upon every re-entry and grazed a spot that made your entire body explode in pleasure. 

There was no doubt how good he was making you feel, and while you knew you were making him feel the same pleasures, you wanted to physically be responsible. 

“Jake.” You tapped his shoulder lightly to get his attention. He quickly stopped all movement and lifted his face, looking at you with worry etched onto his features. 

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?” 

Your heart practically melted at his sincerity, and you couldn’t help but smile up at him. Worry changed to confusion at the sight of you smiling.

“Yes, I’m okay. I just, um,” You weren’t sure how to tell him exactly what you wanted. Mainly because you didn’t know what exactly it was that you wanted. “I want to… You’re just making me feel so good, and I… I want to make you feel good.” 

“Baby,” A breathy chuckle left his lips, and his head fell, shaking lightly, “You’re already making me feel good. So unbelievably good.” He looked back up at you, the corner of his mouth pulled upwards showing off the smallest portion of his top teeth. 

“I just want to… actively make you feel good.” You tried to reiterate to him what you meant. 

“Are you trying to tell me that you want to be on top?” 

You nodded your head slowly and watched the adoring smile on his face grow. Without much warning, his arm hooked around the back of your knee securing it closer to his body as he started to roll onto his back. He was seated fully inside you as he changed your positions, making you feel much more full once you were sat on him completely. 

You wiggled your arms out from under his shoulders and sat up using his chest to stabilize yourself. He looked even more gorgeous below you than above with his skin shiny from sweat and his hair falling in waves around where his head rested. You stared at him for a moment longer taking in the way he looked and feeling how firm his chest and tummy felt. 

You also weren’t sure what you were supposed to do, so you were sort of stalling. 

“I, um, I’ve never really done this before…” Your gaze fell to watch your fingers dance along his tanned, smooth skin. 

Jake didn’t respond. Instead his hands found your waist and gave you a reassuring squeeze making you look back to his face. 

“I’ll show you.” 

His hands lifted your hips ever so slightly before angling them forward gently. He continued to guide you upwards at this angle until you reached the end of his length. Just before he slipped out completely, you rolled your hips backwards again with the guidance of his hands and took him down to his base. He repeated the motion a few times to help you get a feel for it, each time speeding up just a little. 

“If something feels good, follow it. Don’t think too much about what you want to do. Just let your body be the guide.” Not once did his hands stop guiding you while he spoke.

You started to take more control by lifting your hips on your own and changing the angle to take him down deeper. His hands stayed on your hips with his fingers extending to your ass. The more comfortable you got, the more you rolled your hips and sped up causing Jake’s fingertips to dig into the meat of your backside. 

“That’s it. Doing so good.” 

You did what he told you and just let your body do what it wanted to naturally. Carefully, you leaned back placing your hands on the outsides of his shins and kept moving your hips forward. With the new angle you could feel a searing hot tightness form in your lower belly with each thrust. You could see his cock, glistening in your juices, disappear in and out of you which only spurred you on more. You looked up to Jake to see him watching you slide along his length, his lips parted and his chest heaving. He caught your eyes and his hands traveled up your back. 

“C’mere.” 

He pulled you back to him, his lips crashing into yours and his hips bucking up into you. A loud moan ripped from your throat and was sent straight into his mouth. You could do nothing for a moment, but lay on top of him and let his hips do all the work, his thrusts disabling your mind and body. When you did finally push back onto him, his breath hitched before a deep groan tore from his chest and his hands gripped you harder. It took you a few tries to find the right rhythm, but after a few moments his hips were thrusting up to meet your own on their descent. Curses and praises tumbled freely from him, air filled and raspy. The movements were perfectly timed and you could feel yourself on the edge of the cliff once again. His kisses became sloppy, filled mostly with grunts and breathy moans against your lips. 

“I’m close. A-are you, shit, are you almost there?” He sighed, his breath fanning over your face.

“Yeah, I’m- I’m about to- Oh fuck, Jake.” Your orgasm hit you before you could even finish your sentence. Intense pleasure ignited every inch of your body as your muscles contracted, squeezing his cock like a vice. His name slipped off your tongue over and over as he helped you ride out the high while chasing his own. 

It was his name falling from your lips continuously like a mantra while you came that had him reaching his own climax. Soft whimpers, moans and gasps spilling from his lips and swirled around your head. He pulled you into his chest further, hugging you tight to his chest and kissed you harder until his hips slowed to a stop inside you. 

Neither of you made to move for a few minutes, both of you entirely spent. Your entire body weight was being supported by him as you laid on top of his chest and stomach trying to come down. Jake was the first to move. He helped you up and gently guided you to lay on your back before making his way off the bed with a promise to return. When he came back he was holding a wet cloth and a glass of water. He cleaned your mixed release up from between your legs tenderly, and then disposed of the cloth in his dirty laundry basket. You gulped down the water while you waited for him to return again. A few moments later he came back and crawled back into his bed laying next to you. As soon as Jake laid down you started to get out of his bed to leave for the night needing to return back to the sea. 

“Hey, you don’t have to go. You can stay- If you want to, I mean-” He fumbled over his words trying to get across what he wanted to say properly. You couldn’t get over how cute he looked, his cheeks getting pink from being flustered. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I would like for you to stay.” 

“I can stay for a little bit longer.” 

You smiled at him softly and eased back into the bed beside him. He pulled you closer to him and wrapped his arm around your shoulder. You rested your head on his chest, his skin warming your cheek, and laid your arm across his stomach. The two of you stayed wrapped up in each other’s arms until you drifted off to sleep, the slow rise and fall of his chest soothing you. Just before sleep took you under you heard him mutter something in his sleepy haze. 

“I’ve waited for you.” You could barely register what he said, already half asleep and in a dreamy haze yourself. 

A faint yellow glow woke you from your dreamless sleep. Sunlight beamed into your eyes when you finally got up the courage to pry them open, and your heart sank to your stomach. It was daytime and you hadn’t made it back to the ocean. You frantically threw the covers off of your still naked body, jolting Jake awake in the process. You began searching all around the room for your clothes having no luck in locating a single item of clothing. Jake’s hand around your wrist finally stopped you. You hadn’t realized that he had been talking to you the entire time.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” His eyes searched your face, his soft voice trying to calm you down while his thumb rubbed circles on your wrist.

“I can’t find any of my clothes, and I have to leave. I can’t believe I missed sunrise, I-” You stopped talking immediately, the words dying in your throat. You had missed sunrise, by hours, and yet you were still alive. How the hell were you still alive? 

You felt disoriented and nauseous, the edges of your vision blurring and your hearing starting to muffle. The pounding of your heartbeat thundered in your ears completely blocked out whatever Jake had said to you. Your mind raced trying to make sense of what was happening. There was only one possibility that could explain it. 

“It was all a lie…” You muttered to yourself still in shock, forgetting that Jake was still there. 

“What was a lie?”

“Um,” You shook your head, trying desperately to clear the fog from your mind. When you shifted your focus back onto his face, you instantly felt at ease. The nausea subsided, and your hearing came back in full. The black edges around your vision faded away allowing you to focus on his face, seeing clearly the lines of worry between his furrowed brows. 

“Nothing. I- I think I was having a bad dream… I’m okay now.” 

“Are you sure? You had me stressed out there for a second.” His thumb was still rubbing against your skin in soothing motions. 

“Yeah, I’m good now.” You gave him a reassuring smile and tried your best to make him believe it.

It was the truth though. You felt better and it was because of him. With just a look of his face you knew this was your destiny all along. For centuries you pondered over why the universe had always brought him back to you, and now you knew. You were always meant to be with Jake. 

“Okay, good… So you don’t have any plans for today?” 

“No, I have nothing planned.” He smiled at you then, and you had never felt better in your entire life. 

“Would you wanna grab some breakfast then? I’d like to spend more time with you.” 

“I would absolutely love that.” 

———————————————————————

Your bare feet sunk into the warm, white sand with each step you took along the beach. Carrying your shoes in one hand and the other intertwined with Jake’s you looked out to the open water of the sea. The sun was setting over the water creating beautiful orange glitters across the top of the small waves. While the blinding light burned your eyes you couldn’t turn away. Sunset was your favorite time of day and the scenic view of your old home had you somewhat reminiscent. 

Roughly eight months had passed since the night of the hunt. In that time you’ve been adjusting to living life as a human which was quite different than living as a nymph. The biggest adjustment was probably the loss of your powers. Or getting a job, that was pretty difficult. Throughout the whole process Jake was there though. The two of you had started dating and eventually you had to come clean about your true nature, especially when you didn’t understand the simple things that came with human life. Cell phones, bills, cars, rent, social media. It was all very foreign to you and Jake never understood. 

When you did finally tell him about being a nymph and coming from the sea he truly didn’t believe you. He thought you had made the whole thing up which you understood. After a while and some very confusing conversations about the aforementioned topics, he finally believed that you were not originally human. The most convincing aspect for him were your eyes. You were able to hide them for a few months before your powers faded completely, but when your abilities were gone he finally was able to see your glittery silver irises. Now though, your eyes too have since faded and changed color allowing you to look fully human. 

He asked a lot of questions, all of which you welcomed and answered freely. You decided to omit the whole truth from him when it came to your previous meetings in his previous lives. How were you supposed to admit to the man you love that you had killed him not once, but twice centuries ago? He knew your paths had crossed before and in a few instances the two of you had become close in a sense, but you mostly told him how and where you met unless he asked for specific details. When he learned that the two of you had had sex before in the 1920s his only response was, ‘I was better this time.’ Mostly he would ask which version of him you liked better.

As you continued to look out at the sea you thought of Sarenya and your sisters. You wondered who would’ve taken your place as Nympha Legatus and where they would be this time around. Ciree would make a great siren leader if she could focus on- 

“You’re doing it again.” Your thoughts faded away as Jake spoke beside you, squeezing your hand gently. Instantly you knew what he was referring to, you gazed down at your feet that we’re almost touching the water now. Every time the two of you walked along the beach you would absentmindedly walk towards the water until the salty liquid lapped at your toes or Jake made you aware. Usually he would say nothing and just watch in amusement while you led him closer.  

“Sorry.” You laughed under your breath and turned to face him. He was smiling warmly at you, his honey brown eyes sparkling in the orange hue of the sun. 

“Nothing to be sorry about…” You both started walking down the shore again still hand in hand letting comfortable silence take over. Your thoughts continued to wander, thinking about what life would be like for your pod now. 

“Do you miss it? Your old life and your sisters?” 

This was the first time he had asked you if you missed any part of what you used to be. You were sure he never asked because he didn’t want to make you upset. While it didn’t make you upset, you did think about it for a moment before responding. 

“Sometimes... I miss Sarenya mostly. I mean she was my best friend and sister and she probably thinks I’m dead, so it makes me sad to think she’s grieving me and that I probably won’t see her again.” He nodded in response, showing that he could understand what you meant, your arms swaying between your bodies while you walked.

“But I’m happy here. I think this was always supposed to be my destiny… to be human and be with you. Live our lives with one another and grow old together. Even if I could go back somehow I wouldn’t because this feels right. This is right, and I don’t ever want to not be with you. I’d rather have this lifetime and the afterlife with you and remain human than have only fleeting moments together and be a nymph.” 

He was beaming at you now with a smile that could only be described as soft, warm and giddy. The amount of love in his eyes as he looked at you was unmistakable and you were happily drowning in it, letting it lay like a heavy blanket over your entire body. Jake used the hold he had on your hand to swing you forward in front of him and maneuver your body to where he twirled you around a few times before bringing you into his chest tightly and pressed his lips to yours sweetly. He shifted his weight from foot to foot creating a small swaying motion as he held and kissed you.

“May the flames of our souls dance endlessly together, my love.” He repeated the phrase you had spoken to him years and years ago against your lips, smiling the whole way through it against your own smiling lips.

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[pix4japan]

Echoes of Dawn: Where Silver Grass Meets the Forest’s Edge・夜明けの響き：ススキ草原と森の端で

At the break of dawn, I visited Sengokuhara Susuki Sogen, a vast field of Japanese silver grass nestled on a gentle slope at the northwest foot of Mt. Daigatake in the Hakone range of Kanagawa Prefecture.

My eye was immediately drawn to the soft, green silver grass with golden tips, arranged in a flowing zigzag pattern leading up to a dense, dark forest of tall, bare trunks stretching upwards to rich green canopy. The scene held a striking contrast—the dark, almost foreboding forest looming over the softly illuminated grasses below.

In the stillness of this early morning, the eerie bellow of a deer buck echoed across the landscape, a reminder of the rutting season. The sound added a haunting groan, making the forest feel like something out of a Grimm’s fairy tale—a place of mystery and hidden stories.

Full write-up with references and Google Maps links (1-minute read): https://www.pix4japan.com/blog/20241015-sengokuhara2

Location: Hakone, Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan Timestamp: 06:49・2024/10/15 Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter ISO 160 for 1/320 sec. at ƒ/2.2 Astia/Soft film simulation

[sauron-kraut]

A Call for Loyalty

Listened to too much viking folk today and this quick thingy is what came out. Basically somewhat written out scenes passed between @lvsifer and me so please take credit for this too Mausebär 🧡

3rd age Sauron haunts the woods.

Probably set shortly before his necromancer era when he has regained some corporal form again

The woods lie bathed in blue twilight, the woods know a full moon will rise.

It is silent, just a breeze in the trees, making their leaves rustle in the wind.

The creature crouches, turning his head towards the sound of branches snapping. 

An animal, he thinks, and rises slowly.

He walks between the trees that look as old as time. They are not, but the creature is.

He walks carefully, putting one bare foot in front of the other. The moss withers away under each step.

Where his feet touch the ground leaves shrivel and flowers die.

The creature is clad in long black tattered robes. His paleness rivals the moon itself.

His hair is as black as the nights in this forest he calls home and blows gently in the wind.

These days he struggles to remember.

Memories, images, they tend to blur.

All the creature’s strength had been spent in creating this form he walks in. 

It is never enough.

The creature claws at memories and his very being like he claws at the clammy soil under his feet when he cannot endure it anymore.

He walks carefully yet sometimes stumbles, holding on to trees and branches.

He hides in the woods like an animal.

Withered to an old wives’ tale.

In the village there is talk of a shadow prowling in the dark. Something haunting the hills.

A wraith, possibly.

The shadow comes at night and tears into their goats and sheep with bare hands and teeth.

Blood red snow in winter.

All that had burned loud and bright and golden has long faded to darkness.

All that once was fire is now ash.

A moon has risen, reflected in silver eyes.

Is there a hint of gold still? He does not know. 

The creature walks and tries to grasp memories that threaten to disappear in a raging river of time, change and sorrow.

A face. Love. Power. Violence. 

Water. Death.

A second death.

He is gathering strength.

He remembers syllables and words.

The creature sings, not more than a quiet whisper to himself at first.

He breathes the words into the cool night air, he inhales. The singing continues.

Louder, louder.

Desperate.

The creature screams.

He sinks to his knees, gasping for air.

The incantation has cost him everything.

It is a call for aid.

He has called The Nine.

When the woods darken, when a circle of nine shadows closes in on him, the creature sits quietly.

When one of them approaches him and holds out an iron-clad hand, he takes it.

And lets himself be pulled to his feet.

[upwards-descent]

Guillotine

(mild body horror/gore, m! Durge/Gale)

What a fight. Changelings were no joke, Gale was learning. Not that he'd been ignorant; of course not, avid reader that he was. No amount of text compared to the real thing, however.

He was providing support, hauling himself up a ladder before leaning back and firing off a few Missiles. One shapeshifter fell, battered to death. As the wizard claimed overwatch, he studied his companions, trying to determine the best time to strike. The air was heavy with apprehension, given the ambush, and soon that uneasy feeling was bolstered by the scent of freshly spilled blood.

Jaheira was like a one-woman tornado, alternating the twirl of her twin blades with expert druidic magic. Lae'zel was as fearsome as always, blood and spittle flying with every proud githyanki war cry. Between them, himself, and the terrifying power Autumn had been steadily culminating, the enemy didn't stand a chance.

"Whoo!" The warlock sighed, swiping sweat from his forehead. "Thrilling. That was a good warmup coming back into the city."

"Good except for my Harpers." Jaheira drawled, more melancholic than angry.

"Oh, right, yeah. Sorry about that," A genuine frown passed over Autumn's lips as he assessed a steaming corpse. "How did they even slip in I wonder..."

"We've seen how both incessant and creative Orin can be," Gale rolled his eyes as he clambered back down the ladder. "I'm sure she keeps a diary full of the worse tortures known to man on her person at all times."

"Hah! I should get one of those," Autumn laughed brightly. "Maybe I'll even--"

There was a sickly sound, the running of a sharp blade through flesh and bone. Of course Gale had to have been staring right at his lover as the warlock's head was promptly cut from his neck. Silver eyes, like the stars on a crisp clear night, held the wizard's gaze.

"Oh," Autumn gasped. "Oops."

Before his head even hit the floorboards, Lae'zel and Jaheira handled the final cretin. Between blades and magic, all the changelings in the building were properly dispatched, leaving behind hot blood and a shrill scream.

"AUTUMN!" 

Gale ran, but strong wiry arms snatched him about the middle. In a rare moment of kindness, Lae'zel wrestled him back, ensuring the wizard didn't catch a look at his fallen beloved. Writhing, wailing, Gale did his damnedest to struggle free but he was no match for the githyanki warrior.

"O' Oakfather, Silvannus above, around, and below," Jaheira dropped to her knees, folding the warlock's cloak over his cooling body as she prayed. "Please shepard this great hero... May your light and benevolent blessing guide him..."

"Hey, whoa, I'm not dead yet!"

Everyone went utterly still, eyes wide and haunted. Autumn's body twitched, the toes of his boots scraping along the floor.

"Uhh, hullo?" Jaheira stood, head cocked as she studied her supposedly slain companion. "Even for an old elf like me, this is... Strange. Are you... Alright, Autumn?"

"Evidently not," Even relieved of his cranium, the warlock found room for sass. He was facedown which humourously muffled his voice. "I can't believe that bitch snuck up on me like that. Embarrassing," Another little flutter of movement kicked up his cape. "I'll need a hand, no pun intended. Oh, and Galey? Look away, babe, I don't want you to see this."

"How are you-- this is madness, I--" Gale spluttered. "I... I need a drink after this, I think."

"A round at the Blushing Mermaid on me," Autumn's voice became clearer as his severed body was revealed. At least Gale obeyed, turning with his back to the gore. "Once I'm righted. Lae'zel, would you just... Grab my head? Hold it straight so I don't fucking pop it on backwards. I don't know if I can make this magic happen again if we fuck up."

Lae'zel was silent. She did as she was told, seemingly numb to the scene save the slight tremor in her gaze. Carefully, she swept the hair off his inch of neck before offering the stub of his spine to the body. Autumn's majority half suddenly jerked upright, a lifeless puppet being hauled and manipulated by shadow strings. It was macabre, and probably hilarious out of context, but the scent of the Dark Urge's heady blood seeping into the floorboards was beginning to turn everyone's stomachs. It was far more intense than any other man or beast, as if it was aged or cured or condensed.

With his hands on his knees, Autumn's body hunched over. Lae'zel tenderly held his head in place and made sure to press forward once both halves of his neck connected, like pressing down on a seal to ensure it'll stick. Gasping, Autumn jolted straight, flashing a big bright smile as his fingers assessed the damage.

"There we are! Good as new!" He clapped his hands once in triumph.

"How the bloody hells did you do that?" Gale was the first to demand, twisting around to catch any last glimpses of the carnage. He watched as a needle and thread made of smoke and darkness finished sewing Autumn's head into place. They vanished once the work was done, the skin around his throat looking perfectly normal without any scarring. "I'm relieved, don't get me wrong! That was absolutely horrific. But you... Shouldn't be... You should..."

"I'd say take a deep breath," Two big warm hands settled on the wizard's shoulders, their familiar heat calming him somewhat. "But if you guys inhale any more of this shit, you might pass out. Let's get to clearer air."

"And then you'll spill your secrets?" Lae'zel watched him warily, even as the smallest smile tugged at her lips. "I should be disgusted by such acursèd dark magic and yet I can only muster up admiration. Your unwillingness to stay down goes beyond impressive into world-warping insanity."

"Hey, that's my domain, baby," Autumn flashed her a sharp-toothed grin, eyes glinting unnaturally even as the room was well lit. "Darkness, madness, bloodlust, only the funnest shit."

"I'm still reorienting but I'm on board," Jaheira held her hands up in mock surrender. "I've seen what you are capable of and, freak as you are, you continue to prove your decent nature and righteous justice. Let us get to clearer air, yes, before I vomit all over my boots."

Both women began to take the ladder upstairs, to traverse from the remnants of a bloodbath to the more civilized society that awaited overhead. As Gale set a hand on the wooden rungs, he glanced back at his boyfriend.

"... Was that the Urge or your patron?" The wizard asked, a flicker of knowing reflected in his pretty brown eyes. "Mastery of shadow isn't quite a Bhaalist attribute, eh?"

"... They've been quiet recently."

In the brief bubble of intimacy, Autumn's true feelings were willingly bared. The tension in his shoulders cramped up to his temple and the bags under his eyes were stark against his freckles.

"Oh?" Gale wasn't sure how to react or respond. Warlock patrons typically got a bad rap but that clearly wasn't the relationship before him.

"... It's foreboding. Once I inherit their power, their kingdom, they'll cease to exist," The soon-to-be demigod let out a frustrated huff. "The quieter they become, the more worried... The more worried I am that I've just heard their last words," When he met Gale's gaze, the wizard could keenly feel his despair. "They're the closest thing I've ever had to a parental figure, Gale. They've guided me, empowered me, raised me since I was 5 years old. I'm fucking 40, Gale. This is the first time I've been alone in this body for 35 fucking years."

Gale held his tongue, wanting to empathize without sounding like some self-centered asshole; perhaps now wasn't the right time to comment wow, that's how old I am.

"You won't be alone, Autumn," The wizard tried to soothe, laying a hand on his forearm. "You have me. You have my family. You have our companions, our allies, our dear friends."

"It's alright, Gale, it's beyond understanding," Autumn managed to mumble before an insistent hand attempted to raise his boyfriend's rear. "Go on up now, before you inhale too many fumes."

Reluctantly, Gale complied, glancing back once more before fully ascending. While he and the others idled outside, it took Autumn a little while longer to join them. He didn't seem better but his smile was somewhat less forced, like he'd found some little relief. Whether that was done in silent contemplation alone or aided by the sickly sweet stench of gore and death around him, Gale didn't know. If either helped, he didn't much care what had to be done.

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

Okay, I was going to do this post with individual songs for each Dorf, but I haven't found all of the ones that really resonate with the messages I think that each one needs. So, for the most, I'll just do this one that I've been lookin’ forward to.

A lady SO with Wake, singing this song:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=wQlYqzn_N6o&pp=ygUTY2FuZGxlIG9uIHRoZSB3YXRlcg%3D%3D

Like, you NEED to listen to it to get the full effect.

But, he finds her on the balcony at the top of the Forbidden Fortress, singing beneath the full moon.

And, she's wearing this dress:

Let me tell you, I had one at one point &, wearing it, you just yearn for a balcony with some wind because the skirt is so long & flowy that it makes you feel like a scene from an old movie. You FEEL beautiful & elegant & irresistible in it & it's, honestly, a part of why I wanna lose a bit more weight.

I want that moment. That moment of my hair & skirt blowing behind me in the wind like something outta one of those cheesy old romance novels as I breathe in the salty sea mist.

Basically, this is what he sees:

But the nightgown up there, under the full moon, holding the railing as she just belts it out into the night air.

Like, it would just be so freaking aesthetic & I WANT IT!!

So, I am living vicariously!

But, yeah. How does he react to the image & the song? Thoughts, feelings? Does he wait & listen to the whole thing? How does he make his presence known?

Just, UUUUURGH!!! I WANT IT SO BAD!!! XD

It's such a softly romantic scene you paint! <3 Added the song, Candle on the Water, to my playlists to listen to again in the future.

************************************************************************

Wind Waker Ganondorf is not the kind of man to be easily moved, but there is something about this moment that captivates him. The image of his lover in a navy blue dress, the moonlight casting a silver glow across the water, and the haunting beauty of the song she sings—“Candle on the Water”—hits him in a way he is not prepared for. The sight of her holding onto the railing, singing her heart out into the night air, creates a contrast between her vulnerability and his hardened, relentless nature.

For a moment, he simply watches. The song, filled with hope, love, and a promise of guidance through dark times, stirs something deep within him. It’s a song of unwavering devotion, something he hasn't experienced in his long life of war, conquest, and isolation. Her voice rises and falls with the waves, her emotions clear in every note.

As he watches, emotions he has long buried start to surface. Regret for what he’s lost, anger for the fate that has trapped him, and perhaps the most unexpected of all—an unfamiliar yearning for the kind of love and peace her song speaks of. For a moment, the ocean itself seems to quiet, as if listening to her, too.

He doesn’t interrupt. Ganondorf stands in the shadows, letting her finish. He allows her voice to wash over him, feeling its power. Despite his ambitions and the ruthless path he has walked, he can appreciate strength in all its forms—and her voice, filled with hope and tenderness, is a different kind of strength.

As the final notes of the song drift off into the night, he makes his presence known. He steps forward quietly, his boots making the faintest sound on the deck. He waits for her to notice him rather than speaking immediately, letting the tension of the moment linger. When her eyes meet his, there is a flicker of something softer in his gaze.

“You sing as if you carry the weight of the world,” he says, his voice low but not unkind. "Does the night call to you as it does to me?"

He approaches slowly, his expression difficult to read, but there is a gentleness to his movement that is rare for him. The moonlight illuminates his face, and for a brief moment, he looks less like the warlord and more like a man, haunted by the same things that haunt her.

Ganondorf, with all his pride and ambition, is not one to express sentiment easily. But in this moment, as the moon shines down on them and the night feels vast and eternal, he takes her hand and, in a quiet voice, says, "The world is filled with darkness, but your song… it makes even the shadows seem less suffocating."

Though he doesn’t say more, his presence by her side speaks volumes. He doesn't dismiss her vulnerability, nor does he mock it. Instead, he stands there, allowing her song and her strength to fill the space between them, an unspoken acknowledgment of the solace she has brought him—even if just for this moment.

[pitrsattabhaadmeinjaa]

who wants to read a descriptive writing assignment i got in 9th grade where i started a whole story

disclaimer: author was 14 yrs old at time of writing

I could taste the ash.

Standing in front of the great iron gate, one half open, one half seemingly...melted, I could see the last of the fire last night was finally starting to go out, and the sun was coming up. A few stray flames were all that were left of the ferocious explosion that turned Morgenstern Manor into the sight in front of me.

The long rays of dawn swept over the ruined roof, hitting the glass chandelier almost falling out of the front balcony. The reflected light made me lift my arm and cover my eyes, taking a step into the estate, boots crunching on fallen leaves. I spotted a lone crow sitting on top of the mansion, eyes boring into me. The soft rain ash had no effect on it, nor me. I’d like to imagine it was here for the same thing as me, to grieve for people who perished here. The surrounding trees were charred, bird corpses visible.

The explosion was faster than their wings.

Dragging my eyes away, I took a flower out of my bouquet, a cluster or black flowers lined with silver and blue. I grabbed the lot of them from the nursery on the way here. I put it down in front of one of the burned trees and could’ve sworn the crow nodded at me.

I started walking to the manor entrance, going around an almost pristine fountain displaying the goddess Nyx, thriving in the ash. Strangely, I could still smell the faint jasmine from it.

The tiny stones were crunching against my feet as I made my way to the door, opening it, hearing the creak it always made. I was thankful for the sound, deafening in the quiet around me. The door handle felt smooth under my palm, a contrast to the rough hardness of the hand-carved doors.

The floors inside were made of light shades of marble, and the high ceiling of the entryway used to boast the grand chandelier now blinding visitors outside. The table with the key bowl in front of me had a leg broken, blood dripping down its sides. There was a blob next to it on the floor that vaguely looked like a head with short hair, but for my sanity, and appetite, we’ll deem it a fur bag.

I continued into the first sitting room on the right side and felt more than saw all the flies. One was swatted away from my face and the second one thankfully realized I wasn’t its target. I was willing to bet I knew exactly what it was, but for points mentioned prior, I turned back out into the side hallway, even though I wanted to see what had become of my great aunt’s piano and portrait.

Horrific doesn’t even begin to describe the scene in front of me.

There was debris everywhere and blood was dripping down the walls like a tacky horror movie. Broken glasses, spilled wine and food starting to rot littered the floor. Bile was crawling its way up my throat and I was extremely thankful for my boots, because to get to the first floor so I could successfully ignore all this, I had to cross the hallway to stairway on the other side.

Fortunately for me, the corridor wasn’t too long. I crossed it in no time, passing the grumpy portraits of my family matriarchs. I’m sure I could figure out a curve equation from my great-grandmother’s frown.

Hopping over an abandoned purse, I reached the marble stairs, almost slipping on champagne. Heading upstairs, I reached the east wing, full of my family’s bedrooms. I went into my room, ready for a familiar sight.

What greeted me was so—different, not even the most shadowed corners of my memory could drudge it up.

It was no less than a haunted house.

One of the walls had apparently decided to run away, with one of poles of my four-poster bed it seemed. While they celebrated their freedom, I surveyed the damage.

The vanity mirror was cracked, showing six versions of me and my terror of a room in the background. The wooden doors to the walk-in closet/secret room I had discovered were hanging off their hinges, and the bedsheets were ripped. The only thing still standing was my rifle on the wall, a present from grandma.

The sorrow threatened to choke me, seeing my childhood home like this, but I clutched the bouquet and forced the lump in my throat down. The floor had splintered wood from the furniture, and I once again thanked the gods for my boots.

I clutched my bag to my body, stepped inside the closet, went into the portal that had opened while I was grieving for an old life in my room, and disappeared, never to be seen on Earth again.

I had a sister to raise from the dead.

AN: i dug this up from somewhere. damn this is all over the place. you can give advice/constructive crit. please.

[zaynes-ocs]

Messy little OC drabble of Grimborne!!!!

This is mostly just character experimentation through writing and is very much a messy, late night drabble so pov and pacing might be all over the place but i wanted to put him in a scene ive been thinking about!!!!!!!

⚠️ warnings for this are Canon Character death and (decently) graphic character death involving high heat and melting scales ⚠️

The sharp, clear sound of talons clicking against stone announced his presence, and as an assasin, Grim could have just as easily hidden the sound entirely, though he wanted this dragon in particular to see him before his demise. They were in the cold, smoggy interior of the Nightwing fortress, in an old, abandoned wing where nothing but harsh memories were held from before the volcano claimed this part of the walls.

The dragon he had cornered was as massive as he remembered, dim flickers of silver twinkling in the low glow of the coals as he turned to glower at the young dragon who’s silhouette clouded the doorway.

“Grimborne.” Snarled the larger dragon, hardly a polite greeting as smoke curled from his nostrils in displeasure. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a mission to the mainland?”

“I am.” The hybrid spoke calmly, raising his too-long neck up to meet the nightwing’s level. “It just so happened my prey led me here tonight.”

“Oh? And where is this prey of yours? Morrowseer scoffed, spreading his wings to gesture at the empty room. “Certainly you wouldn’t be hunting me of all dragons.”

“Oh Morrowseer.” Grim clicked, his ebony tongue snaking out between his teeth as he took a threatening step forwards. “How surprisingly Naieve of you to think you’re safe. You failed, and you know it. We both know why I’m here.”

Morrowseer tried to back up as the cursed dragon continued forward, stopping when he found only the cool stone against his scales. The dragon before him looked more like his skywing heritage than any nightwing with the ferocity in his hauntingly blue eyes, like gleaming sapphires that reflected flames of vengance while the would-be-silver glowed a sickening green from the copper-fed flames within him.

“I did not fail.” Morrowseer hissed, raising himself to appear even larger, though it didn’t seem to sway the advancing assasin, leaving a haunting itch in the burns across the older dragon’s claws, memories from their time together when Grim was merely a dragonet.

“The world knows your prophecy was a lie.” Grimborne hummed, tilting his head to the side as if considering something far off in his mind, a mind which Morrowseer could not read, nor could any nightwing. “And Queen Battlewinner considers that quite a failure on your part, so, it’s finally time for me to do my part.”

“Your part?” Morrowseer spat. “You are nothing but a corrupted, hybridized pest that should never have existed to begin with!”

“I,” Began Grimborne, his neck raising to his full skywing height as his mouth curled into a snarl, emerald flames glowing at the back of his throat uncontrollably, filling the air between them with harsh dragon-smoke. “Have become more than you ever said I would, false prophet. I am more powerful than any assasin on this island. I live so that I may spite your very words and I serve to end lives who have betrayed our tribe. And finally finally you are one of those dragons. I have waited for this day for years Morrowseer, waited for the day that I could finally snuff out your flame with my own.”

“Then do it.” Morrowseer tempted, glaring down at his once-protoge. “Make it quick then, unless you’re too much a coward to live up to your own name.”

“Oh no,” Sighed Grim, blowing calm wisps of smoke into Morrowseer’s lungs as they now stood merely inches apart, the heat radiating from Grim’s scales far too much for the old dragon to bear as he winced away, terror creeping into the corners of his eyes. “No, I am going to do this slowly, and perfectly. I’m going to take my time giving you all the punishments you wished to give to me, only my talons are a lot warmer than yours.”

As if to prove his point, Grim’s claws surged forward like a striking viper, tighting around the nightwing’s snout and muffling the scream that bubbled from his throat as the sickening scent of burned scales filled the room, a soft, sizzling and crackling sound coming from beneath Grim’s claws as Morrowseer’s blood boiled and popped beneath his flesh like rolling bubbles of lava snapping free amongst ebony rocks.

Morrowseer thrashed and flailed beneath his pupil’s strong, trained grip as searingly hot wings flung out, the auroura painted across the underneath glowing green with fire as they were pressed against Morrowseer’s like boiling blankets of magma and Grim’s body leaned forward, smothering the nightwing with unbearable heat.

It was personal, so much more personal and slower than any assasination should be, and from the sneer across Grim’s face, Morrowseer knew exactly why.

It was his fault the dragonet had grown up like this, his fault that this was his untimely fate, and as scales melted and boiled holes into the nightwings very insides, as he felt life fading from his very eyes, Morrowseer felt nothing but sheer, unbelievable horror.

[shaydystheshadowqueen]

As you wish!

So this is a pretty basic layout of the haunt, looking at about 24 actors, 7 actor doors/emergency doors and 3 sentinals (the red x). Most of the actors will be basic Oompa Loompa actors portraying grumpy retail service workers this close to snapping and killing everyone. I have also adjusted this haunt to be wheel-chair accesible*.

Quick rundown of the haunt (follow the arrow path)

Room 1: Gold foil curtains lead to what I can best describe as "that one scene in the Depp remake" without the throne singing a dememted song about chocolate. One to two Oompa Loompa actors are in this room.

Room 2: a simple coridoor with silver hands coming out of the walls. Among these fake hands will be two sets of silver gloves controlled by actors that will move to scare guests

Room 3: This room resembles the room where the kids sign the contract in the Wilder original. The contract will be about the same look, but with several red signatures in the signature box. Wonka stands behind a fence surrounding the contract inviting guests in but shouting not to break the rules. An Oompa Loompa may be in here too.

Room 4: After going through a coridoor, guests enter a large room resembling the Candy Wonderland. Various candy props are scattered around here, some with clear bitemarks. Guests follow a path over a bridge, said bridge goes over a "chocolate river" filled with face-down bodies of children (ideally this would be a simple brown trail with prop bodies designed to look submerged). An actor hidden in brown (perhaps a drowned kid or just a brown-cloaked figure) will hide under or near the bridge and pop up to scare guests, along with one to two Oompa Loompas. At the end of the path, a plastic sheet gate leads to the next room

Room 5: This room is filled with science inventions and gadgets, as well as 3 actors playing kids who have been mutated by the experiments (perhaps some Oompa Loompas here too?). One mutant kid can hide in a large bucket.

Room 6: This room has most of it's detail on the ceiling, where dummy gore pieces are jamming an anmatronic fan that may squirt blood. I haven't made up my mind for the center of the room, something bubble-themed, but several bottles can be found around the room as well as one to two Oompa Loompas

Room 7: This room is littered with piles of garbage. On one pile a rotting corpse getting nibbled on by rats or squirels. In a corner, we can see a very large incinerator. Couple of ideas for the incinerator: 1. Live actor screaming to be let out 2. Video animatronic with smoke (very cool but very expensive) 3. just smoke and lights w some screaming sound effects in the incinerator. Two Oompa Loompas might be here.

Room 8: This room is entirely white. 3 TV's stand on large stand boxes, but they're actually fitted with grey stretch fabric that can be stretched by hidden actors inside the stand box TV. Also in the room are two actors in full white morph suits that blend into the white of the room.

Room 9: Wonka's Office, which looks half wrecked and half tidy resembling the office in the Wilder version. Behind the desk we see Wonka, but we also see The Unknown seemingly puppetering him. He screams that we broke the rules and directs us to the final room

Room 10: Clear walls with writing all over them form a maze to the exit. The writing ranges from ingredients for sweets and locations in the factory, to pleas for help and various "GET OUT" and "YOU LOSE". Within or outside the walls are three Unknowns taunting and screaming at the guest. *there are certain paths in this maze that are wider for wheelchairs.

From the AI generated Willy Wonka Experience in Glasgow, this is the Unknown, an evil chocolate maker who lives in the walls, a byproduct of the scripts these poor actors had to read also being randomly generated.

[little-superstar-penny]

published in an August issue of Vanity Fair, full text below the cut.

STORMY NO MORE: PENNY FORRESTER ON HER CLEAR SKIES AND NEW BEGINNINGS AWAY FROM THE SPOTLIGHT

Nestled in an enchanted forest, Swynlake is worlds away from busy Sidney Studios in Glendale, California or the old streets of Los Feliz, where Penny Forrester used to call home. The town has it's own movie magic though, found in the nooks and crannies of its idiosyncratic businesses: one beloved tea shop with cups that keep themselves warm; one cozy and cramped bookstore, said to be haunted by ghosts; and a classic English-style pub near a peaceful lake where the town's very own sea monster lives. Most of Swynlake's original buildings have stood the test of time, its crooked skyline whispering of greater mythologies than the chatter that lines the streets. Is it any wonder that Hollywood fell in love with the town for the set of an upcoming World War II movie? Is it any wonder that Penny Forrester wants to stay?

"It sounds like I'm making it up, but I really did feel at home in Swynlake immediately," says Forrester at her new (to her) cherry wood table, a piece she picked up from Swynlake's own antiques store, Whosits and Whatsits. The former Stormy and Bolt star initially refused to do any press following the announcement of her retirement. Now, we conduct the interview on her terms - no set dressing, minimal make-up, and a strict time limit with pre-approved questions. With these rules in mind, I went into the interview expecting Forrester to be tight-lipped, but she's anything but.

"What people don't realize is being a Magick in Hollywood is more isolating than anyone is allowed to say. We have to exist based on specific rules. We only have our union looking out for us. We're a small community. But in Swynlake, all of that fell away."

It was precisely Swynlake's unconventional embrace of magic that provided Forrester with her first glimpse of a life outside of Hollywood. Starring in Bolt at only 8 years old, most of her life can be traced scene-by-scene on the silver screen. Forrester later worked in two Sidney Channel series, several TV movies, and launched her own musical alter ego, Penny&thevibe, all before turning 18.

But great success often comes with great cost. Many child actors before Forrester have had similar trajectories, only to crash and burn very publicly. For many, it's drugs and alcohol. For Forrester, trouble began as soon as filming started. An early incident involving one of Swynlake's business managers, an out half-succubus woman, led to Forrester shutting production down. She made a public statement on her Twitter, the reception of which was mixed.

"I mean, for a long time, I was scared of what everyone would think of me. But I thought about my fans who write me these letters about how Stormy's bravery makes them brave. I thought, 'What am I doing? I'm being a hypocrite, living a life I don't believe in. I don't want to do this anymore.'"

Things came to a head during the final days of shooting Olive Bright. Allegedly, an animal was endangered on

the set of the Daffodil Dance, which led to Forrester quitting on the spot. Reports also say that Forrester bit the executive producer on set. If true, Forrester's Icarian fall had come.

At the mention of the incident, Forrester looks directly at me. She had been fiddling before this; many reporters before me have written about her preference for interviews on-the-go. But now, she stills, as if she is on the red carpet, preparing to give her audience the perfect shot - or to give me, in this case, the answer she has rehearsed.

"That day, I acted in the way I felt truest to myself and how I grew up," she said. "I was raised to stand up to bullies. I have always tried to be an advocate for those without a voice, especially animals. But I also failed, in a lot of ways. I learned that I don't have the tools I need to be that advocate. And that's the moment I knew I had to change that."

What could have turned into scandal was instead a personal reckoning. It didn't take long for Forrester to decide to study law, and even less time to choose Pride University. Come fall, she'll have shed the punny gadgets of Stormy and Bolt for textbooks and laptops. But she's not completely out of the spotlight.

"I need time away," said Forrester. "But I still want to express myself. It's not going to be radio silence because I suck at that. I just hope that my fans are okay with me telling my story in my way, whether that's on Instagram or in my music. I'm still figuring it out."

Before I go, Forrester insists that we go to a Swynlake staple: Hatter's Tea Shoppe. There, I order a coffee in one of their magical mugs that keep my drink at the perfect temperature. We sit and feed the birds, and someone waves hello to Penny, as if she's one of the locals. She smiles and waves back, looking perfectly at home -finally in the role she was born to play.

[kharmii]

People keep saying 'you ship twins' then they block my ass, so here I am doing a post putting it out there I like other shit. Someone did a Giratina X Volo doujin full of lots and lots of ghost tentacle action, but there's also a touching 'how I met your mother' story. The Pixiv link to the entire doujin is in the first Twitter link.

(Under a cut for disturbing content, but nothing explicit)

I translated almost the entire thing with Google lens. It starts out something like, "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful child with blonde hair, white skin and big silver eyes, but he was all alone. He was given as a scapegoat to a raging god who was once considered an equal to Arceus. His pendant was taken away, and he was thrown into Turnback cave. Giratina had no interest in the world of life, but they kept the child who grew up into a happy young man who enjoyed reading about myths and legends."

As Volo grows to adulthood, he starts getting urges. Giratina leaves him alone quite a lot. One day, Giratina catches him touching himself as he bathes. Giratina asks if Volo bathed himself for them? Volo replies that before he arrived, he learned various things from God so that he wouldn't have any troubles. He bathes every day; it makes him feel better.

They claim ownership and say that only they are allowed to touch Volo from now on. Giratina tells Volo that once long ago, humans and pokemon used to have congress with each other, and it was considered natural to have the same offspring. I thought....yeah right. Giratina is just saying that to get Volo into bed. Obviously, there was never a point in time when humans were getting it on with something that looks vaguely like a giant centipede with ghost tentacles coming out its back. Anyway, Volo is a himbo, and he falls for it. He does express hesitation saying that Giratina is a God and shouldn't go that far. Giratina replies that this is their spiritual world, and that they want to love this messy and beautiful young man. There are several ghost tentacle scenes and a part that sounded almost like implied m-preg. Volo gets branded below his belly button.

Then the drama comes. Volo expresses being curious about the world of life, but something is said about 'what belongs to God must stay in God's world'. His curiosity cannot be contained, and he goes to the natural world anyway. He is only able to see the temple devoted to Arceus and offspring before he starts disintegrating, starting with his left leg. It's really vague, and I wonder if something was lost in translation. There's no info given on why this happened, and Volo appeared to enter the world climbing down from a vine. Distraught, Giratina goes on a rampage destroying the temple. When their anger is spent, Volo is reduced to ash, and the people are destroying the Giratina statue showed in the Celestica ruins in PLA.

Giratina is forever pining and is shown haunting ruins and graveyards where young men sleep. Then one day, Volo is reborn into a petulant and free-spirited human form who is able to exist in the world of the living. They reconnect, and Giratina gives him back his pendant and also bestows the spooky plate upon him. Giratina tells him that the time may come when Volo may no longer need them, and that they might not always be by his side, but if he's happy it will all be fine. It ends with Giratina saying they will always love Volo.

[ukdamo]

Pendle Hill (excerpt)

William Billington

Great Pendle Hill and Penyghent,

   And lofty Ingleborough,

Ye will not find three grander hills

   And trace old England thorough.

OLD RHYME.

.... A road that reached up to the constellations; A pile of earth, that propped the firmament; A landmark, for the sea-traversing nations; A universe-o'erlooking battlement; A fragment, which from heaven had been rent In god-strife, or the germ of some new world, Which, in almighty anger, had been sent,

On Titans bold with flags against the skies unfurled,

Did Pendle seem to us, a few miles from it; But, when arrived at the gigantic base Of that dread mount, from what had seemed the summit, A loftier hill its dome-like head did raise Through the blue heavens; then, with blank amaze— With speechless wonder—we beheld the scene! E'en cattle stood contemplative to gaze, As though endowed with reason they had been,

Where height had chanted the hill to blue from brightest green.

We breasted her steep brow, close by the side Of one huge wall, which to the hill-top led; We followed in the footsteps of our guide, And by a well sat down to share our bread; The cows, for coolness, to the rivers fled, And, with their tails, lashed off the angry flies; The sheep lay panting on their grassy bed, Half roasted, and complained with bleating cries,

While liquid lightning rained down from the molten skies.

And as we sat upon that skyey mountain, Though we few dainties had, we ate our fill, And drank fresh water, from as pure a fountain As ever was the parent of a rill; While Fancy formed a bridge, from hill to hill, And thought of the tremendous depths below, Whose awful image haunts my memory still, And still my mind its self its self doth overawe

By brooding o'er such thoughts, as none but poets know.

Then gathering up the fragments of our feast, Where maps and scraps, lay scattered on the ground, Like giants with new wine, our strength increased, Broad swamps and dykes were covered at a bound; We ranged the heights of lofty Pendle round Where, gleaming through the dim-blue atmosphere, We saw a cirque of hills, whose heads were crowned With cloudy diadems, and some did peer

Above the clouds, and bask in sunbeams pure and clear.

With Blackstone Edge, and Cribden, and the Pike Of Rivington before us, full in view. Huge Hambledon heaved his broad back, which like Some Titan's form its giant shadow threw On village, and on valley; but the blue Of heaven, through the white clouds of the north, Was glinting glory down; where well we knew Old Skiddaw and Helvellyn, glooming forth,

With Scawfell Pike, appeared the boundary of the earth.

The Ribble, like a silver serpent, wound Her gleaming course down to the estuary By rock and scar, her devious way she found; Through holme and dingle, clough and rugged quarry— Among the meads mid cornfields seemed to tarry, As loth to leave their fair and flowery nooks, And lingering long, as though she meant to marry Those offspring of the hills, the bounding brooks,

In such romantic wise as rhymed in poets' books.

We stood tiptoe on Pendle's highest point And gazed around, until the scanty breast Could scarce contain the heart, that fluttered, buoy'nt, And bounding seemed to fly, as though 't would nest In heaven; then, converging toward the west; And, quite fatigued - bathed in a hot deluge Of sunbeams - soon, the rest sat down to rest, I laid me down and gave my face refuge

Beneath my hat, and slept; and lo! broad, black and huge,

I, dreaming, saw a pyramid arise Spontaneous from the earth; its spire did make A rent in the heaven's blue; and through the skies The top gleamed like a tower through a lake; Its weight did make the mighty Hill to shake, And, trembling, rattle all her rocky bones; Then, falling with the sound of an earthquake, Or, like the rumbling of Jove's thunderstones,

Drew from the stars harsh echoes, loud as Titan's groans!

With that I started up in haste and heat, And saw, ye gods! not Pendle Hill crushed flat! Nor yet an earthquake gaping at my feet, But horror seized my soul, my Sunday hat Was running down the hill with swiftness that Outsped the winds; yet I stood still and staunch— My luckless luck the rest were laughing at— Like some tall tree robbed of its topmost branch,

And saw my "bran-new" hat turned to an avalanche!

As soon as I'd recalled my wandering senses, That is to say when I came to myself, Despairing, I said to myself, "Ah! whence is This calamity?   Some mountain elf, Whose bower I've profaned—perhaps that delf Was haunted by the ghost of ancient Ocean, That guards it as a miser guards his pelf, And, since I of its rights had got no notion,

Has thus endowed my hat with powers of locomotion."

"However, 'tis a marvellous affair! My hat is gone, and, lest my head go next, I'll follow altogether—say some prayer, Or mutter to my God some holy text, To keep at bay the spirit I have vexed— The Queen of Pendle's witches, old and grim, By whose dread power I may be unsexed, Or, like a traitor vile, torn limb from limb,

Except, through supplication, I protected am by Him."

I called to my companions, one by one, Besought their aid, for ills came on me thick; I told them how my wretched tile had gone— My hat, bewitched, had fairly "cut its stick;" Some ran, but I crept cautious down the Nick Of Pendle, and, when meeting at the foot, Two things were there, that touched Mirth to the quick, And shook the Tree of Laughter to its to root,

My locomotive hat, and Hindle's rock-rent boot....

[trashcanalienist]

Vampyr (1932) dir. Carl Theodor Dreyer