#his antlers can and do occasionally break off

[nolassolace]

Another oc drop!

This is my lil homebrew tiefling dryad forest guardian.

He's a cocktail of wall•e and the avatar from atla.

He collects enchanted items and what not that he finds on his little patrols, he doesn't realize they're important so he'll pocket them and just toss them in a pile when he gets back to his shelter. He doesn't care about those trinkets as much as he cares about the literally garbage and rocks he finds which he puts on shelves and spends maybe a bit too long admiring them.

He does have speak with animals but he doesn't realize that the animals can understand him so he usually leaves or changes topic before the creature can respond.

He named himself twig and his leaves/ hair change color with the seasons

Thanks for coming to my Ted talk.

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

What Attracts Them [1]

Alastor

Vulnerability. If there is any weakness or fault in your self-concept, Alastor will pick up on it and try to exploit it to garner a connection with you. He’s not particularly fond of approaching someone without an ulterior motive in mind or solely because he finds you mildly interesting -among other sinners, that is. He needs leverage and uses whatever he can pry or observe about you to his advantage. Need protection? He’ll offer to guard you. Need financial support. He’ll hand over any amount you desire. As long as you either sell your soul or initiate loyalty to him, Alastor will proudly proclaim you his (property).

Alastor is wildly addicted to dual-sided sinners. The pure joy he gets from seeing you go from being sweet, shy, and agreeable to bloodthirsty, witty, and downright stubborn gets him going. You don’t often get that way unless it’s to put someone in their place or to show how protective you are of him -even if he’s far more powerful than you in every way. Still, when you do, his grin stretches wider than usual, and he’ll constantly try to encourage your violent behavior out into the open after the fact.

He’s got a massive thing for motherly types. Partly because he is a momma’s boy but mostly because he is very prone to being taken care of, as much as he’ll deny needing anyone’s help. What overlord would willingly say they like having their ears petted, antlers touched, or hair messed with by the one they love? None. And he won't be the first. You can always do the simplest things too: helping Charlie around the hotel, giving angel advice (even if he doesn’t use it), or running around with Nifty trying to help her catch bugs strikes a nerve in the stag he can't ignore. Seeing you tend to others makes him incredibly hot-blooded. It gives him more motive and excuses to breed you later on.

Dancing. He loves to trot around his room late at night with you. Soft jazz or swing music playing from him keeps a smile on your face as he leads you through various steps, effortlessly twirling you around the room and addicted to hearing you giggle softly anytime he sweeps you off your feet. He was a phenomenal dancer while alive, and that fact hasn’t changed in death. You will either have to learn from him or already be light on your feet when Alastor decides to ask you for a dance.

Alastor doesn’t mind having a chaotic partner but values a higher level of ‘obedience’ from them. If you aren’t the type to make a deal with the stag and he can’t convince you to do so, he’ll settle for an almost toxic form of companionship. What he says goes, and if you put up a fight, he’s not above reinforcing his command. Physically or emotionally. No one has ever called the Radio Demon fair, and they’ll never have a chance to. He does enjoy your stubborn fits occasionally, though….they make it so much more fun for him when he has to break you into submission again.

Overprotectiveness. He’s got a bad habit of practically stalking you whenever you’re away from him, but you have quite a temper when he’s put in a vulnerable position. This doesn’t happen often, though. For instance, his brawl with Adam enraged you to want to skin the angel alive. Luckily, Nifty and Lucifer got to know him before you did. Alastor adores it when you hiss at sinners who stare at him a little too long and can’t help but smile wider when you flash him an innocent look right after. You’re smaller and much more prone to be hurt, but you’ll still claw someone’s eyes out for him…yeah he’s never going to let you go.

Alastor isn’t very touchy but delights in invading others' personal space, so having an overly clingy partner would annoy him. You learn he appreciates acts of service more than anything else and is pleased to see what you do for him—keeping his room and Radio Tower tidy even if they’re usually clean and straightening out his bow tie if it’s crooked, bringing him raw meat after a long day of running errands, or even slipping into his room at night to sleep even if he’s wide awake himself just because you ‘miss him.’ It's all so trivial, small things you get used to doing, but meaningful to him nonetheless. He returns the favor in the best ways he can think of. Praise, gifts, making you cum until you can't think straight… You're such a sweetheart, and he can't help showing you bits of gratitude.

Lucifer

A sucker for the cliche type of love. Running into you while on a stroll, seeing how clumsy you can be right off the bat, and feeling obligated to help poor little you make Lucifer giddy. You don’t mainly get why he’s so infatuated with you at first sight, but having the attention of Hell's King is flattering. Your friendliness is what pulls the devil in like a magnet at first. He wonders how you ended up in Hell even though you’re lovely and genuine. He finds kinship with those out of place because he fell from heaven for the same reason. In his opinion, you stand out amongst other sinners by being less of one.

Confidence. Whatever vanity you have, Lucifer drowns in it. Your looks, talents, and impression on others…if it’s all done with a sense of pride, he can’t get enough of it. His drug is seeing the smug look on your face when you make him beg for attention. When you want something from him and know you’ll get it if you ask, that glint in your eye sends the devil spiraling to his knees. You don’t have to be obnoxious about it either; quiet as a mouse hanging onto his arm as he walks about, he’ll, with a slight smirk of delight on your face when people stare at you, stroke his ego more than anything else could. You’re his prize, and he’s glad you’re proud.

Curiosity. You are asking him questions, getting him to talk, or even rambling about what’s on your mind, which comforts Lucifer. It reminds him of his time in heaven, being able to express his thoughts to those who’d listen, and you tend to do the same, which excites the fallen angel. He enjoys explaining things to you, deconstructing complex concepts to see your bright eyes light up with wonder, and the oh-so-sweet smile you give him during long, in-depth conversations eases his heart. The pure excitement on your face when he shows or explains something new to you is contagious. You’re too cut to be left clueless.

Touchiness. Lucifer is very prone to clingy behavior and sees nothing wrong with that. He likes your attention on him. Physical touch is his favored love language, and sharing it with you comes naturally. You often sit in his lap, play with his hair, pet his wings, and cuddle. He can’t get enough of it. He shudders when you’re all over him, pining for a kiss he can’t resist giving to you and whining for another right after he gives in. His hands never wholly leave you, and yours always find a way to bring him in close again.

Creativity. He’s drawn in by those who have an eye for the arts. It doesn’t matter what your interest maybe if it’s a form of expression for you; Lucifer tends to admire it. He’ll go as far as researching facts about the subject/hobbies to impress you with his knowledge and actively participate in the activity. You don’t mind him joining in, happily spending time with him more often, and appreciative that he puts so much effort into learning about something you love to do.

Reliance. Not in the sense that you’re utterly helpless without him but more so that he likes to be needed even for the most minor things. Being unable to help or fulfill another’s wishes irks Lucifer. He embodies pride, and feeling useless damages him a lot more than other things. He’s very attentive and soft-spoken even when agitated with you, and he genuinely does his best to do anything you ask of him. Once you become his, the world (alive or dead) is yours for the taking. He hates it when you brush him off to do something on your own, so you’re bound to let him tag along with whatever you do to keep him busy. He doesn't intrude if it's too severe of a boundary for you, but he can't help but want to take care of you with the utmost diligence.

Brattiness/Sassiness. Lucifer can't understand why he's attracted to a sharp tongue and an even colder attitude (which only occurs when you're upset with him), but he loves every second of it. Sometimes hell does or says things on purpose to piss you off and get your focus back on him. Other times, if you're already in a sour mood, he’ll suggest you take that anger out on him. He's noticed a pattern of you using stress as an excuse for him to fuck your brains out, and he's not mad about it. If making you break down into tears underneath, thanking him for fucking the bitchiness right of you after the edge of another high slowly wears off helps you in any way….Lucifer won't hesitate to participate. He wants to see you happy, but he loves the minor spats of aggression you have, like every other sinner in his domain. Though, you don't get very cutthroat as much as the majority does.

New filler posts because sometimes I have random ideas and need a break from writing a series. ❤️

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic april 1 - spring - 1340 words (of domestic bliss with little harry)

Sundays are slow in the Potter household.

One would think James doesn’t like the pace of it, always having to do something usually, always active, moving around or talking, tugging at his loved ones or caressing their skin, but he does. It hasn’t always been this way but with getting older and especially since they’ve become parents James had noticed how his body and mind welcomed the one break in the week to just shut off and recharge.

They’ve fought their way through a cloudy March and with the arrival of April, spring is finally here. 

James loves spring. People always assume it’s summer—and credit to them, because he does—but there’s just something about the rebirth of everything that comes after the long gloomy fall and icey winter period. The birds chirp with their return and in search for a mate, insects buzz lively and everything brightens with colour. 

Like clockwork, Harry appears in the threshold of the master bedroom at around 7 am, deer plushie in a tight grip by the antlers, his dark mob of hair messy as anything. He drowsily rubs the sleep from his eyes, face squished and James sometimes thinks he might die from how adorable their four year old is.

He grabs his glasses, pushes back the sheets and plants a gentle kiss on Regulus’ cheek where he’s still knocked out like the dead and smushed into his pillow.

Harry pads wordlessly into the living room, James hot on his trail. Though while Harry goes in search of a children’s book for James to read to him, James makes a detour to the kitchen. He fills them two bottles with the tea they let out on the counter overnight, preparing one for Regulus as well for when he wakes up. He cuts up some fruit and vegetables and grabs the packets of rice cakes and crackers from the pantry, loading it all on a tray before he sets on to the living room.

Harry is already curled under the big fleece blanket they keep there, grinning when James rounds the corner with their pre-breakfast.

“Morning, dada,” he greets, sweetly.

James’ chest swells. “Morning, pumpkin,” he returns, pressing a kiss into Harry’s hair, setting down the tray. Before he takes his place next to his son he walks over to open the big terrasse glass doors. 

“How’d you sleep?” James asks, plopping down next to Harry who immediately snuggles closer, plushie still in hand.

“Good,” Harry sighs contently and James can’t help himself when he brushes some of his hair back from his forehead and kisses him again. “Can you read to me?”

It’s a hidden object book but James knows what he means. He grins, “’Course, Hazza.”

They do just that for a bit, James describing what’s going on on the pages, creating a story for recurring characters. Skipping back and forth with Harry randomly pointing out another happening of the drawing while he’s munching away on his rice cakes and cucumbers and the occasional grape. 

It’s still mildly cool, especially when a faint breeze picks up, moving the grass outside and swishing inside but Harry’s still wearing long pyjamas and James knows he’ll tell him if he’s too cold. He simply burrows further under the blanket and into his father’s side. James runs hot anyways.

When Harry decides they’re done with books James puts on a nature documentary for them.

They’re teaching about the strength of some rainforest ant species when Regulus shuffles into the room, arms wrapped around himself and eyes nearly closed.

“Morning, Papa,” Harry whispers excitedly, already wiggling out of James’ embrace even though he knows Regulus will join them there in just a moment.

A smile tugs at Regulus’ lips as he blinks his eyes open, dark lashes fluttering agonisingly beautifully and giving way to soft grey. James swears they get a little more blue every time right around his birthday, like Regulus is just another subject to the changes of spring.

“Mornin’,” Regulus sighs happily when he squeezes Harry against his chest, peppering the side of his head with kisses until he pulls away, tugging Regulus along to James.

His eyes are already closed again when Regulus nuzzles into the crook of James’ neck, pressing a kiss there before he gets comfortable.

“Morning, love,” James murmurs, voice thick with adoration, audible even to himself, and he strokes Regulus’ exposed arm softly.

The spell of Sunday is thick in the air, heavy in their bones. 

Harry, usually the most lively child, always animatedly talking about something or the other, giggling, making jokes or doing mischief, is quiet now too. It’s routine, the way he grabs for Regulus’ arm and squeezes between his two dads, waiting for James to absently card his fingers through their hair and send them back to their slumbers.

It doesn’t take longer than five minutes before Harry’s breaths are deepening and it’s marvellous. Magical in the way that Regulus’ presence seems to calm him so much it pulls him back into another nap.

James smiles so wide, looking down at them like that for so long that his cheeks start straining.

He watches a bit more of the documentary, snaps a few obligatory pictures of them on his phone and sends them into their family group chat. Monty sends back a pixelated picture of a zoomed in shot of Effie in the garden, Sirius replies with a shaky snapshot of him running with the dogs and Remus answers with an aesthetically pleasing picture of what seems to be the breakfast he’s preparing for the two of them.

James’ belly growls hungrily at the reminder and when his gaze falls on the lone grape sitting in the bowl on the tray he decides it’s time for breakfast. 

It’s nothing short of artful the way he extracts himself from besides Harry and Regulus without rousing them before he heads for the kitchen.

He grabs flour and sugar, eggs and milk for pancakes, as well as the bacon, bagles and cream cheese. It’s meditative to put together all the ingredients, set the table and assemble syrup and blueberries and chocolate chips. Halfway through James remembers the leftover quinoa in the fridge and between placing patches of batter in a sizzling pan he whips them up a quick salad as well. 

The smell in the kitchen is divine and James has already made acquaintances with the joyful bluetit in the tree by the window by the time Regulus comes into the kitchen with Harry on his hip. He’s babbling now, talking Regulus’ ear off by the looks of it and Regulus hums and nods and gasps at all the right places, looking ridiculously endearing with his curls mussed and an imprint of the couch cushion lining his cheek.

“Morning, champ,” James teases, smacking a loud kiss over the line in Regulus’ cheek.

Regulus growls quietly, grinning despite himself, “You’re lucky I love your cooking so much.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky,” Harry parrots, grinning widely.

James tuts with faux affront, “What kind of sentiments are you teaching our poor child, Regulus. I’ve been standing in this kitchen for hours now. How about a ‘Thank you, daddy’?”

“Thank you, daddy,” they both reply in unison though Regulus’ has a decidedly different tone to it that makes James point the spatula at him in warning.

Regulus just smirks before he leans heavily into James’ side and rips a piece of pancake off of the ones already on a plate, blowing on it before dividing it in half and feeding it to Harry and himself.

James tasks them with setting out glasses of water and orange juice, mugs for tea. On Sundays coffee is banned in the Potter house. Regulus thinks he can wind himself out of his caffeine addiction that way.

When everyone is done and everything is in place they all sit down together, legs tangled under the table, smiling warmly at each other over their plates of delicious food, the spring breeze ruffling their hair and clothes pleasantly as it drifts through the open window.

[gimme-noodles-please]

cw: kinda angst?, third realm spoiler alert, first person pov

author’s note: i was eating while i had this idea djwkdjw i just finished alkaid’s route and i was so sad 😭 my parents were arguing and my father was ranting at me while i was writing this so it is a little scuffed

————————-•••—————————

i woke up with a jolt, finding myself in the now familiar vine hammock in the depths of the forest. the sound of crickets and occasional hooting of owls managed to calm the fast beating of my heart. it’s okay, everything is safe. nothing bad will happen. i try to reassure myself.

ever since the end of the fourth era, all Asars have been living together in peace, flora and fauna has returned to the Spirit World once more, including the areas affected by the corrosion. under the guidance of the remaining three Spirit Leaders, all was well. there was no more threat of the corrosion, no more threat of a so-called “god” from somewhere out of this world.

yet, it feels empty

i let out a loud sigh, though it was in the middle of the night, i just couldn’t seem to fall asleep. eventually i dragged myself off the make-shift hammock and find myself back at the familiar tree; the tree that once was the only way to go up to the Sky Fortress. i slowly sat myself down, leaning against the trunk of the huge tree. why was i here? i don’t know. perhaps i just wanted to find remnants of him, anything, to at least momentarily convince myself he is still in this world, somewhere, so at least i can have a restful sleep.

once again i find myself quickly drifting back to sleep. it was the same dream as always; we were at the Sky Fortress, his larger hands holding mine so gently, it was almost as if he was afraid he would break me. “bend down a bit.” i instructed him, noticing his slightly confused look before nodding and tilting his head down. i grinned as i lifted the wreath of flowers in my hands to place onto his head, however was quickly encountered with the problem of his antlers. i breathed in deeply, ideas running through my head to counter this problem, instead settling to pluck a flower from the wreath to tie onto one of his antlers, sheepishly holding the wreath against my chest. “i tried.” i laughed slightly, embarrassed by my attempt. he smiles softly and shakes his head, “no, it’s pretty.” i found my eyes searching his, only to find nothing but love and admiration. i wished this moment could last longer

the next thing i knew was the tower, the altar. alkaid’s smile. his soft voice. it is okay, he reassured me with a pained smile. i couldn’t help the tears from falling down my cheeks as i hugged him close. “please, please don’t do this. there must be some other way!” i pleaded, hugging him tighter as if it could make him stay. but he has already made up his mind. “it is my greatest desire to do this. for my people, for the safety of our world… and for you.” i shake my head, holding his face between my hands such that he would be facing me. his eyes, his sad eyes betrayed the smile he had put on to try comfort me, it just broke my heart even more.

“don’t cry. i’m sorry.” he murmured, his hand reaching up to brush my tears away. i tilt my face towards the warmth of his hand, snuggling against it. “please, don’t leave.” i begged, my voice cracking with emotion, perhaps by whatever miracle he would change his mind. but his mind was already set.

“goodbye y/n”

.

.

.

i woke up once again, the morning sunlight was thankfully shielded by the thick leaves and branches of the tree.

i regretted it. i regretted so many things. there was so much i didn’t manage to say to him. i closed my eyes, leaning against the tree.

i didn’t manage to tell him

“i love you”

[honeydewsystem]

Hey, thank you for offering translations!

I was wondering...could you please translate this comic? The images tell a clear story alone, but I'd love to know what they're saying! https://twitter.com/hg_njm/status/1631993382292836360?s=20

Thank you again, and have a lovely day!

This one was pretty tough. I had to do quite a bit of research and googling to finally get a handle on some of these lines.

Also, keep in mind I am not a native speaker, so it is possible I got some of these lines wrong. Please feel free to correct me.

Its a long post so I added a keep reading thingy...

First page:

(One day, at Rhodes Island…)

Ebenholz: Mm? That sound…

Ebenholz: Has that outstanding musician[1] ended up composing music and falling over again?[2]

Ebenholz: Hey Czerny, what the heck was the point of coming to Rhodes Island?

Ebenholz: I never thought you'd come here just to stay up all night and confine yourself to your work like it were some kind of boarding school--

(!!!?)

[1] Ebenholz is speaking with reverence for Czerny, which I assume is either sarcasm or just how Ebenholz talks to and about Czerny (I'm not familiar with their relationship oops).

[2] Perhaps a reference to Lingering Echoes?

Second page:

Ebenholz: Hibiscus?

Ebenholz: In the end, the brazenly, immensely hateful Czerny has only so much patience for such acts of barbarism, like breaking his antler off…

Hibiscus: Breaking his antler?

Hibiscus: That's not it, Ebenholz…

Czerny: "The brazenly, immensely hateful"…?

Hibiscus: Elafia horns occasionally break off like this and get replaced with new growth.

Hibiscus: It just happened to fall on top of the piano.

Ebenholz: Well, its an easy thing to mistake. [as in, it was easy to mistake the situation for hibiscus breaking off Czerny's antler]

Hibiscus: Here, Czerny.

Czerny: Thank you.

(Czerny drops the antler into a bin labelled "trash")

Hibiscus: Did you just throw it away like an empty bottle?

Hibiscus: Deer antlers can be medicinal ingredients!

(Principally, medicine that is embarrassing to say)[1]

Ebenholz: That's right, aren't you always impoverished?

Ebenholz: Why don't you sell your antler to a collector, or process it as a souvenir and sell it?

Czerny: What are you two thinking about? It's a human's horn!

[1] I think the author is referring to deer antler supplements that are said to, among other things, improve fertility.

Third page

Czerny: …But… That's right…

Czerny: Setting aside medicine and souvenirs, this horn is "outside of bad" [I'm not sure what he's saying here]. There was an incident where I stood and threw it.

(That is when I was just beginning to be recognized in Leithanien.)

(I participated in a historically significant national music competition and won a renowned prize.)

(But, that noble musician's envy and resentment…)

Hooded person: Wait! That lowborn commoner!

Hooded person: Infected bastards like you aren't even qualified to receive the primary award!

Hooded person: Social outcasts unaware of your place in society, we will stop you from leaving the shadows!

Czerny: A blade! This isn't good…

(In an instant, I grabbed my re-growing antler)

Fourth page

(I broke it and then hit them with it)

Hibiscus: You broke it and hit them…??

(And I threw it at them)

Ebenholz: You threw it at them!?

Czerny: Because I didn't want to let them hurt my hand.

Ebenholz: Now I understand how Czerny became an operator…

[daymeeawn]

A Day In The Life Of Gerine

she awakens.

Her stomach is crying out for sustenance. But that isn't what woke her. The crisscrossing beams of sunlight shining from the airholes situated in the walls and ceilings of her burrow are responsible for that. She sits up, yawns, looks across at her father, still asleep. His bed of dirt is sagging again, she'll have to remove him soon to build it back up, taking care to keep the discretionary blanket placed over his lap.

That can wait until later. Now she needs to hunt.

Giving her paternal figure a quick kiss goodbye, she collects her the holster containing her choice weapons crawls up the dome of dirt toward the largest light source and pokes her head out into the luscious Lianhua morning.

This is the best part of the day; before the savage sun brings the bogs to a boil, filling the forests with a foul smell. For now, the sweet scent of morning dew dominated. And her fellow foragers were also coming out to catch a whiff.

She recognizes the playful patterns of neon green markings on the band of well-built bodies crawling over the dirt wall protecting their colony as her regular crew of hunters and rushes to meet them at the precipice. They carry on noiselessly into the nearby woods, where they split up in different directions. She chooses to stand by and wait for the others to discuss strategy in their wordless language before making her own plans. Whatever region of the woods they leave unexplored will be her jurisdiction for today. No passing prey would go unseen by the eyes of the mighty huntress Gerine.

Time passes. Gerine occasionally shifts her position, from poised behind the trunk of a makabout tree to crouching up in its crown, scrutinously scanning the ground below for any hint of movement. Her stomach growls again. She reaches up without looking, grabs hold of a makabout fruit from the branch above. She cradles the black ball in her palm, turns it around, searching for the tell-tale incisions left by slitworms, finally takes a bite. This is insubstantial to her hunger. Or at least, it ought to be. Her tribe sees no value in these pathetic planets. They don't provide the proper nutrition provided by raw meat. Most hunters wouldn't even bother picking them out of shear curiosity. And yet Gerine honestly enjoys them. She would feed on them almost exclusively if she could. But she can't. She needs to hunt. It's her responsibility. It's her very essence. It's all she has. All she is.

A leaf shakes. Gerine draws her spear, throws it in the same second. A dull thud. The sight of skinny leg sticking out from behind the bush. Gerine clambers down, brushes aside the foliage, stares down at the impaled anterloper, twitching feebly, its hollow eyes staring up into hers, blood and bile pouring from its pierced stomach sack. It dies after a few seconds. A few seconds of indescribable fear and suffering, but a few seconds none the less.

Gerine pulls out the sunken spear, wipes the remaining residue off onto the grass, holsters her weapon. A knife is what she needs now. Pulling her blade from a pocket at the bottom of the same holster, she kneels down and begins cutting at the vines the buck had become tangled in, thanking her fortunes all the while that it had been an anterloper and not another teammate. Now to do the whole thing over again.

Breaks are few and far between. She stops only to quench her thirst from the closest running river, to relieve herself, and once in a while, to stare wonderingly at the sunny sky. She catches one more anterloper, a doe, and after that the forest is quiet for the remaining daylight hours. As dusk falls, Gerine returns to her colony, dragging the doe by the scruff of her neck and the buck by an antler. She basks in the admiring gazes from her grateful tribespeople as she carries the corpses to the pit at the center of the community. She sees three bucks and four does have already been deposited, and now lay sprawled atop one another at the bottom of the bone-filled bowl. Not a bad haul.

She sits in a circle with the others hunters and waits quietly. Soon, a rumbling fills the air, and from the bottomless burrow-hole beside the carcass pit arises the Grand Chief, drawn by the scent of a hearty meal. A mighty presence, imposing a stunned silence on the crowd regardless of how many times they've witnessed it. To see a fellow forager like themselves, distorted by decades of unobjected power and mindless feeding, towering above all, yet wavering drunkenly from a lack of spinal support, granting him a more wormlike appearance than what should be possible for vertebrates like them, it makes Gerine sick.

The Grand Chief's beastly body leans over, allowing his massive mandibles to bite into the body he likes best, then retreats into the abyss, leaving the rest for his awestruck audience.

Each tribe member crawls toward the precipice of the pit, reaches in, gnaws off an appropriately sized piece of flesh, returns to their own abodes to feast in peace. Gerine herself takes an exceptionally larger piece, but faces no backlash from her peers. Even without ever being told, they understand she has another mouth to feed.

She climbs back into burrow to find her father wide awake. There's no telling how long he's been up, practically suffocating in this hot, dry burrow. She wishes she could ask him. It seems like the polite thing to do. But how to do it escapes her mind. Instead, she carefully cuts into the pound of flesh she retrieved, sets aside half for herself, and feeds her father the other. Despite only being paralyzed from the waist down, he seems insistent that she hold his food while he eats, resulting in an occasionally tickle on her hand when his mandibles miss the meat. It reminds Gerine eerily of a kiss, which she knows her father is incapable of giving. He doesn't have lips like her. But there's more to it than that. It isn't just physically. Psychologically, there's something separating her from her father, from all her peers. They don't think the way she does. They don't feel in the ways she does. And deep down, she knows, her father doesn't love her like she loves him.

Or maybe she just doesn't understand the way his love manifests. Maybe he makes her feed him everyday as a way to covertly plant those imitation kisses, something he wishes to do, but which escapes him. Gerine likes to think so. But she doesn't know. And that scares her.

The differing paths of the twin moons cast conflicting shadows across the land. Gerine sits and admires the sight through an aerial opening for a few minutes, letting the quiet calm her to sleep. In her last waking moments, more thoughts come to her. Thoughts. Inconvenient things to have. Only serving to put her own edge. But they can't be ignored. Because in moments like these, what else is there to fill the silent space in her brain?

Am I happy? Is this what I want to be doing? Is this all I want out of life? How will I know when its time for things to change? Will somebody tell me? I sure hope so, otherwise, how else would I figure it out?

She worries, she wonders, she falls asleep, and the next day

[yanderes-galore]

could i request male!reku and hyde with a darling who happens to be an domesticated cat hybrid with an owner if possible? :"0 sending love ♡♡♡♡

I can see what I can do! Thank you for the love 💜 These may be short due to it being two characters, hope you don't mind.

I call Reku a himbo in this and I think it's funny because, in reality, Male! Reku gives off himbo lumberjack vibes to me. May just be me, though.

Yandere! Male! Reku + Hyde with Domestic Cat! Darling

Short Concepts

Possible Trigger Warnings: Yandere behavior, Stalking, Manipulation, Implied abduction, Murder.

Male! Reku

- Reku most likely watched you from the woods surrounding your home.

- You are a well groomed cat hybrid who sits on the porch frequently, your owner usually in the house.

- You're always a pretty sight to the stag.

- Who knew he'd catch feelings so quickly?

- Reku was always a hopeless romantic....

- His heart beating quickly whenever he saw the fur of your ears and tail catch the sun.

- He just hoped his antlers looked good today!

- Occasionally Reku would get brave enough to strut into your yard.

- The deer hybrid wearing a goofy grin when seeing you gaze at him from your porch.

- You didn't really mind him.

- Even coming up to him to chat sometimes.

- Luckily there wasn't much of a language barrier as you lived in the same area.

- Reku's biggest threat to his obsession is probably your owner.

- Who often sees him in the yard and scares him off.

- Like he's just some pest strolling about their yard....

- It's clear Reku, the himbo-like stag, doesn't enjoy your owner's presence.

- While you may love your owner very much...

- The stag feels they're in the way.

- If Reku wants to obtain your heart, some competition should be in order.

- The stag wishes to win your affections to satisfy his obsession over you.

- He'll challenge this owner of yours, even if it results in their death.

- Then you two can live in his cabin within the woods happily!

- Just like in his fantasies....

- "Don't you worry, we'll be together in the end, my dear!"

Hyde

- Oh, everyone knows the stories between canines and felines.

- How they never seem to get along?

- Hyde knows this well, honestly, it's fun to tease you with such facts!

- While the wolf is surprised someone such as himself would fall for a cat hybrid, he finds it an exhilarating experience.

- While you may like Reku because he's so nice to be around...

- You most likely don't like Hyde due to how much he loves to antagonize his cat beloved.

- It's 'all out of love' according to him!

- Unlike with Reku where your relationship is somewhat mutual, it's clear you and Hyde have angst if you're a cat hybrid.

- That does not mean Hyde is not interested, however.

- He'll make it clear in his body language that he has other intentions with you.

- Then, of course, there's that owner of yours.

- A very protective owner who sees their cute cat hybrid getting harassed by a wolf hybrid...

- Fighting Hyde off with a makeshift weapon like he's just a feral dog.

- How insulting....

- Hyde knows fairly well how much you care about this owner, too.

- He can't have that.

- Hyde hates to share and never plays fair.

- If he has to break into your home and maul your owner to have you then he won't hesitate.

- For a cat, you make this wolf go absolutely feral.

- "Come here, kitty kitty~ Why don't you face this big bad wolf!"

[sergeantnarwhalwrites]

MC Prior Relationship Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @ezestreet! Kinda late to the party it's been a hellish week.

Rules: "Basically the idea is to briefly (or not) describe what kinds of intimate relationships (plantonic, romantic, sexual, otherwise) your MC's have had prior to the book starting. Have they had their hearts ripped out before jumping into your fluffy romance? Are they aro/ace and have never been in a long term relationship before. I wanna know GDI." (by @mjjune)

I tag @the-void-writes @magefaery @fearofahumanplanet @jezifster @papisnickle @writingpotato07 @leighvalentin (only if you want! I also leave it open)

Saz (Fucked at Five)

Elliot: Best friend. Didn't know he was a fighter beneath the elder morphers though. Always smuggled things in or out for him.

Unnamed unavailable doctor: Has been helping her get pass the five year examinations for morpher genes. They don't know each other well, but the doctor has been lying to protect morphers for years.

Mason: A fellow smuggler not mentioned often. They do more people smuggling than anything. Usually more of an awkward conversation and go. Or awkward conversation and regretful fuck.

Elliot (Fucked at Five)

Ian: The guy everyone always compares him too. Kinda loathes Ian especially at first, he'll warm up later though. They do fight each other. Kissed him drunk off his mind at campsite.

Julie: Sort of a friend sort of isn't. They know each other too well to be acquaintances. Elliot occasionally takes missions with Julie. He likes to pick with her.

Saz: His best friend! Has Saz sneak him into human civilization all the time, especially when his antlers break. They hang out a lot even though the elder morphers give him so many missions.

Giselle: Someone he's had his eyes on for awhile. Catches Ian flirting with her and loses the confidence. Finds out later that she just isn't into men. Talks sadly to Saz about it, because he never had a chance.

Ian

Julie: They're best friends. Bonded over a mutual disliking of Elliot.

Elliot: Doesn't really like him. Thinks he can be really deflective instead of honest. Baffled when Elliot drunkingly kissed him. He didn't know if he should dig into it or not.

Giselle: They flirt back and forth because they think it's hilarious. They dated previously but it got toxic fast so they both decided to break it off.

Julie

Ian: They're best friends. They both dislike Elliot. Both extremely comfortable with one another. Will tell each other their dreams and fantasies then go stab some people.

Elliot: Thinks he's an idiot with to high a role. Has fought the urge to throw him down a flight of stairs.

Nice person (I never named them XD): Makes Julie a prosthetic eye seeing she has a bandage over it most of the time. They encourage her to do as she pleases with it and rise in the ranks so she can brag that someone she helped made it big.

[scribbling-dragon]

Notes on the wither rose siblings in your au?

i have quite a few! though not as many as i do for other characters

pearl:

She’s a part of the netball team at school, and plays as goal attack. She’s the tallest girl on her team.

She used to do karate when she was younger, but quit because “the other kids are pussies and they won't fight me” - eleven-year-old Pearl.

She gives really good hugs, and all of her siblings come to her for advice and hugs when needed. She’s almost constantly warm, and she’s strong enough to give them a nice hug

She has a very large collection of plants, and walking into her room is like walking into a jungle. They're on the floor, on the walls, on the ceiling. They're everywhere.

She’s the oldest of the four Rose siblings.

Most of the kids at school are absolutely terrified of her, and as a result none of her siblings have ever been bullied. The one child that attempted it ended up in A&E, and Pearl had to write an apology letter.

gem:

She's very smart, and all of her teachers love her because of how ‘hard-working’ she is. In reality she puts in minimum effort, but her teachers love her anyway because she’s mostly good.

She corrects teachers when they're wrong. Which irritates the rest of her class to no end, but they don't say anything because Pearl’s her sister.

She has larger antlers than fWhip does, and enjoys decorating them with different items she finds, or others that fWhip makes for her. Once, she went around for a whole week with a piece of metal hanging off her head.

The Purple Mage has a massive hat, and it’s mainly there to cover up her antlers/hide them from view, because they're a target due to how large they are and also how easily they would break.

She doesn't wear shoes - there's no point when you've got hooves.

She does, however, wear mufflers on the underside of her hooves, as she despises the loud sound they make when she’s walking. It announces her presence to everyone else when she’d rather just remain in the background.

She wears glasses.

sausage (some of them were already posted so i didnt include them here):

The Blood King is widely hated by the public because his power is considered ‘evil’. He knows it isn't, but it still hurts a little when they praise his siblings and not him, especially when he was helping them.

He met Joey when they were both hanging out, and he ran into Joey following the Fire Prince. They both decided to mess with the Ice Prince a little bit in that moment, and made a nuisance of themselves by distracting him.

fwhip (some of these were also already posted):

His favourite gadget is a long pole he’s made. It’s his main weapon, and is simply a long staff of dark silver. It’s largely underestimated whenever it’s first seen (mainly because people do not realise the capabilities of it), and it can extend to over three times its original length. He also has several different ends for it that he occasionally swaps out.

He has a toolbelt that he almost constantly wears, which, other students find it a little weird but don't comment on it, and he’s normally fidgeting with something he’s building, or simply trying to sort through his constantly messy pockets.

He used to share a room with Gem, but she got sick and tired of his mess, so she converted their spare room into a bedroom for herself. He got to keep the bigger room and her desk, as it was too large to fit in the spare room comfortably.

He has a pair of goggles that he is incredibly fond of, and they have several different lenses he can use to magnify whatever he’s looking at. They've had several improvements over the years as his powers improved/strengthened.

[flourgirl]

Sick of Losing Soulmates

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Months after you and Peter have broken up, you run into each other at Harry’s Christmas party.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Both fluffy and angsty. Mentions of alcohol and sex. A mild amount of curse words.

A/N: I’m ALIVE! I hope you all are having a wonderful holiday season, and Merry Christmas to everybody that celebrates it! I am so happy to be able to share my work with all of you! Enjoy <3

“And maybe we got lost in translation Maybe I asked for too much But maybe this thing was a masterpiece Till you tore it all up” -All Too Well, Taylor Swift

He wasn’t supposed to be here. Harry had promised you that his roommate would be spending the holidays with May back in Queens. But here he was, wearing the sweater that you had given him last year with his arm snaked around another girl’s waist.

“Hey!” Betty grinned, throwing her arms around you. She had a half-empty glass of mulled wine that you could tell was doing a good job of getting her tipsy. “I’ve missed you so much, Y/N. We never see each other anymore.”

She pouted, a pair of reindeer antlers where her signature black headband usually sat. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” you assured her, still staring at Peter effortlessly carrying the conversation with a bunch of people you didn’t recognize. “Uh, who’s the girl with Peter?”

“Gwen Stacy,” she muttered, obviously not a very big fan. You figured it was because there was only room for one preppy blonde girl, and Betty didn’t feel like sharing that position with anybody else. “Don’t worry though! It’s nothing serious. Peter actually hasn’t really dated anybody ever since the two of you…”

Her voice trailed off as you locked eyes with her, silently communicating for her to drop the subject. It was a relief to know that he hadn’t moved on, but the fact that he was wrapped up in a fling with somebody else still made your heart hurt.

“Come on, Y/N. I’m sure MJ and Ned would love to see you! They’re over in the kitchen.” She reached for your hand, dragging you along through Harry’s expertly decorated apartment. 

You dropped the box of cookies that you had baked on the counter before tapping MJ on the shoulder. She was turned away from you, lecturing Ned on why his secondhand Beyblades were not acceptable Christmas presents.

“Who the hell is touching me?” she snapped, turning around with a look on her face that told you she was ready to throw hands. “Holy fuck. Y/N! How long have you been here?”

MJ’s frown faded into a smile as she pulled you into a side-hug, her other hand busy nursing a glass of Harry’s infamously terrible eggnog. “Only a few minutes,” you laughed, your face smushed into her torso. 

“Hi,” Ned piped up, offering a small wave. You could tell he didn’t really know where he stood ever since his best friend basically ripped your heart out and threw it on the floor. Well, it wasn’t actually that dramatic, but he had a flair for exaggerating stories. “Remember me?”

“Of course, stupid,” you grinned, offering a fist bump that he happily accepted. “How could I forget those iconic fits of yours?”

“True,” he said, popping his collar and doing a little twirl that made Betty and MJ roll their eyes. “You look pretty fly too, though.”

“Thanks,” you replied, holding the edge of your dress as you curtsied, something you and Ned had made a habit of doing as the so-called best dressed members of the group.

“You two are just as ridiculous as ever,” Betty mused, happy to see you still fit in just as perfectly as when you were Peter’s girlfriend, even if you weren’t around as much.

The reunion was interrupted by the loud chatter of a certain couple, and your heart sank as you watched a very drunk Peter and Gwen stumble towards the kitchen, a giggling mess. They situated themselves under the archway that separated the two rooms, a piece of mistletoe conveniently hanging above them. 

You could tell that MJ was ready to put a stop to her friend’s embarrassing behavior, and the looks on Ned and Betty’s faces told you that they had no intentions of holding her back. 

“They’re so gross,” MJ complained, setting down her untouched cup before excusing herself to drag Peter out of his drunken makeout session. “I can’t believe he’d do that when you’re right here!”

“Wait, MJ,” you blurted, grabbing onto her wrist to stop her. She turned to face you, her eyebrows furrowed. “It’s okay. I don’t care about it. I’m just going to head to the bathroom, alright? I’ll be right back.”

You did your best to stop yourself from tearing up, although you realized you had made the utter mistake of forgetting that the very arch that Peter and Gwen were sucking each other’s faces under was the only way out of the kitchen.

Not even a few moments of you awkwardly standing next to them, occasionally clearing your throat, made them notice you. Eventually, the discomfort grew too heavy, and you tapped Peter on the shoulder. He finally pulled away from Gwen, her lipstick smudged across his mouth and a dazed look on his face.

Gwen whimpered at the loss of his kiss, obviously annoyed at the random girl that had just interrupted them. As soon as Peter recognized that it was you, he stepped away from her, wiping his mouth and fixing the hair she had been running her hands through, just like you used to.

“Y/N. I didn’t know that you’d be here,” he reasoned, a blush spreading across his face as a sense of regret settled into his stomach. 

“Obviously,” you sighed. This wasn’t the Peter you knew—the sweet, shy one that you had fallen in love with. “You guys are blocking the hallway, by the way.”

“Shit, sorry,” he stammered, stepping aside to allow you to pass in between them. He followed you, leaving Gwen irritated and confused as to who you were. “Y/N. Can we talk later?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Nice sweater, though,” you quipped, not even turning back to meet his gaze before climbing the stairs towards the guest bathroom. Everything felt all too familiar, memories of you and Peter stumbling up the same steps after a date flooding your brain.

The first time Peter had kissed you was after MJ’s birthday party. Neither of you had been drinking, since you hated alcohol and Peter refused to touch any before he turned 21. This meant that you got to spend the whole night laughing at everybody else’s drunken mischief. 

In the middle of his performance of some Nicki Minaj song, Ned managed to spill a whole can of beer on you and Peter, which resulted in many cheers as the two of you ran to his room to grab a change of clothes. Shirts came off, confessions were made, and the party went on without you guys.

You took a deep breath, shutting the bathroom door behind you and sitting on the edge of the bathtub. If you had known Peter would end up being here, you would have never accepted Harry’s invitation. There were so many old wounds being opened up that you had spent months trying to heal, and you weren’t sure some stupid Christmas party was worth it. 

But you didn’t want to leave. It wasn’t fair how much the break up had stolen from you. All of your friends were here and you were tired of shying away from going out with them anymore because you were too scared to see Peter. Too scared that you would never be able to stop being in love with him.

By the time you rejoined the rest of your friends, Harry was announcing that it was time to start the game of White Elephant. You bit the edges of your fingernails as the party guests filed into Harry’s living room, hoping that Peter wouldn’t somehow pick your present.

“What’d you bring?” you asked Betty, squishing in next to her on the couch. 

“Gift card to In-N-Out,” she giggled, satisfied that her present could only be used on the other side of the country. “But Harry’s rich friends might not have any trouble flying their private jets to California, so maybe I’m not as clever as I thought.”

“Heard that,” Harry said, leaning behind you on the edge of the couch. He placed a quick kiss on your cheek, something the two of you had always done as friends but stopped once you started dating Peter. “Hey, Y/N. Glad you could make it.”

“Hey, you,” you replied, smiling back at him, your leg bouncing impatiently. “We doing this thing or what?”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a minute,” he laughed, running out of the room. Moments later, he came back wearing a fake beard and a Santa hat, complete with a miniature sack of toys. 

“Alright, boys and girls. Let’s get this game started! Hopefully you all know the rules, but I’ll repeat them anyway. I draw a name out of the sack, you pick a random present and open it up for everybody to see. The next person that goes can either steal your gift or pick a new one. If your gift gets stolen, you get to do the same. No stealing twice!”

The first couple of people you didn’t really know, and they had all pulled presents that were relatively uninteresting. A scented candle, toilet paper, a pair of socks. Nothing you really considered worth stealing, although Ned ended up taking a framed, autographed photo of Harry from MJ, which resulted in her stealing Gwen’s mini waffle iron.

By the time it was your turn, there weren’t many gifts left. Going with your gut, you grabbed the bag covered in glittering polar bears. Reaching past all of the tissue paper stuffed inside, you pulled out a red sweatshirt that you unfolded to see had a large graphic of Spider-Man printed on it. 

“Oh,” you said, a little confused. The only people you knew that wore stuff with the Avengers on it were little kids, but you figured that was part of the joke. “I mean, I prefer Captain America, but thanks, whoever this is from!”

Peter’s face blushed to a shade of red, amazed that out of all the presents, you picked his. The only issue was that you didn’t know that he was actually the guy on the front of it. Nobody except Ned knew, although he was sure that MJ and Harry had caught on to his secret identity by now.

“Okay, two people left. Jake, you’re up next, buddy,” Harry called out, happily bouncing around the room, his Santa hat now replaced with a baseball cap that had “I Love Ned!” embroidered on it. You watched nervously as he walked around the room, eyeing up all of the presents before settling on the tiny, golden box that you had placed under the tree when you first arrived.

“Let’s see what we’re working with,” he smirked. Your thoughts raced, immediately feeling a sense of regret over the gift you had picked. “Oh, shit. Sweet! I’ve got a date with Y/N!”

“Sup, baby,” Jake continued, his words slightly slurred. He pointed at you and winked, and you offered him a polite smile in return. “We’re gonna have a good time. Just name the time and place and I got you.”

“Awesome, congrats, man,” Harry said, obviously ready for the game to be over. It had been going for way longer than any of you had expected, mostly due to the fact that two girls wouldn’t stop arguing over a piece of rose quartz. “Okay, we’re nearly finished, guys. Peter, you’re up. Pick any of the gifts that haven’t been stolen yet, or the last one under the tree.”

You locked eyes with him, a familiar scowl on his face that told you he was thinking really hard about which gift to pick. His spidey-senses felt your heartbeat pick up as he walked around the room before stopping in front of Jake, who was busy gloating to his friend about how “hot” you were. Your face heated up as you watched Peter take the little note that you had written out of Jake’s hands, smugly gesturing for him to pick up the present under the tree.

He waved sheepishly at you, and you felt both relieved and angry at his decision. Did you want to go on that date with Jake? No. Were you still mad that, technically, you now had to go out with your ex-boyfriend? Yes.

The game ended and the party-goers dispersed throughout the apartment. You lingered in your spot on the couch, your arms crossed and heart full of mixed emotions. Peter, whose gaze never strayed from you, walked over to where you were sitting.

“We don’t actually have to go out,” he whispered, hoping that you’d actually look at him this time. “I just didn’t think you wanted to go out with that guy. He seemed like kind of an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, it would have been nice if you let me decide that. You’re not my boyfriend, anymore Peter. We aren’t even friends. You don’t get a say in who I go out on dates with,” you grumbled, your eyes focusing on everything in the room except for him.

Before you could say anything else, Peter had already grabbed you by the hand, dragging you away from the rest of the party. Strangely enough, you went along with it, a little curious to hear him out.

You started to remember your first date, and it was almost like you could hear his excited laughter after you finally managed to knock a pin down. It became a tradition that whenever you had something to celebrate, Peter would pick you up and twirl you around until you had to beg him to stop.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Peter slamming the door behind him and cornering you against it, his heartbeat racing. He had pulled you into the laundry room. “I can’t stand seeing you with anybody else,” he panted, eyes flickering down towards your mouth.

His hand pushed a piece of your hair behind your ear, and your breath hitched as you felt his rough fingertips against your skin. But before he could lean in to kiss you, you were ducking underneath his arm and backing away.

“Peter, we really shouldn’t,” you whispered, watching the disappointment wash over his face. No matter how much you wanted to kiss him, you just couldn't forget how he had broken your heart months ago. “It’s over, okay?”

“Y/N, please. I—”

“You what? You love me? Because last time we were together, I told you how much I loved you and you said that we should break up. Remember?” you cried, embarrassed at how you couldn’t control your emotions anymore. “You’re just… you’re too late.”

You fumbled with the door, slipping through the opening before rushing towards the balcony. As soon as the cold air hit you, a wave of relief washed over your body, and you laid your head against the metal railing. Your breathing slowed and time seemed to stand still as you watched the snowflakes flutter through the wind.

“Peter’s an idiot,” you heard a voice call out from behind you. You turned to see Harry holding an extra coat in his arms, and you started to wonder just how long you had been standing out there. He draped it over your shoulders before leaning next to you against the balcony’s edge.

“Huh?” you asked, wondering if he knew what had just happened. You looked at him, the multicolored Christmas lights reflecting off his shiny hair. “What do you mean?”

“He’s stupid for ever letting you go,” he remarked. He had a look in his eyes that made you unsure of what he actually meant. “I mean, look at you. You’re so beautiful, and smart, and funny. And if he was dumb enough to throw all of that away, then yeah, Peter’s an idiot.”

“Oh, thanks, I guess,” you shrugged, your voice faint under the music that was still playing inside. You looked at him, his cheeks a rosy hue, which you couldn’t tell was from the cold or whatever he was trying to tell you.

“You know, I used to have the biggest crush on you,” Harry admitted, laughing a little bit at how nervous he was. Everybody knew that he was a player, so being flustered over a girl was uncharted territory for him. “I never told you this, but you were my first kiss.”

“Wait, really?” you asked, a little shocked at his confession. “But I thought you kissed Sarah Emerson on the playground in the fifth grade?”

“Nope. I was just a liar,” he grinned, running a hand through his hair. “It was right before our eighth grade formal, when you asked me to teach you how to kiss because you were scared that Jeremy Pellegrino was going to try and french you.

“Oh! I forgot all about that,” you laughed, suddenly remembering just how long you and Harry had been friends. “Hold on a second... You gave me kissing lessons without knowing how to kiss!?”

“Guilty,” Harry chuckled as you punched him on the arm. “Ow! Damn, Y/N. When did you get so strong?”

“I have a lot of rage,” you mumbled before the two of you burst out into laughter, which slowly faded into a comfortable silence. 

“You don’t feel that way anymore, right?” you wondered out loud. Harry looked at you, smiling softly.

“No, not anymore,” he affirmed, and you let out a sigh of relief. You knew what it felt like to love someone and not be loved back. “I think what really helped me get over it was seeing how happy you and Parker were when you were dating.” 

“He misses you a lot,” Harry continued, his tone more serious than before. “He keeps this scarf that you left behind under his pillow because it still smells like you. I found out because he was having a pretty bad dream one night and I had to try really hard to calm him back down. And we both thought Gwen would help him move on and get his mind off of you, but I think she only made him realize just how much he still loves you—”

“Harry,” you interrupted, cutting his rambles short. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because you and Peter should be together.”

“You think so?” you asked him, pulling the jacket tighter to keep you warm.

“Yeah. We all do.” It took only seconds for Harry to realize his fumble, accidentally admitting that the whole thing had been planned by him and your friends.

“We?” Your frowned, all of the coincidences from tonight suddenly making much more sense. “Wait, did you know that Peter was going to be here tonight all along?”

“Uh… yeah, about that. MJ, Ned, and I have kind of been pulling a Parent Trap on you guys.”

“HARRY!” You glared inside to see them not-so-secretly watching the entire exchange from behind the Christmas tree. Ned did some awkward finger guns, which MJ immediately swatted down. “I am so going to get you guys!”

You marched inside to where your friends were attempting to hide, the rest of the party guests too drunk and oblivious to notice what was happening. 

“The eagle has left the nest. I repeat, The eagle has left the nest!” Ned yelled, ducking behind MJ, who was already shielding herself with a throw pillow.

“What’s going on?” Betty whined, half-asleep on the couch. “Is this that stupid plan about Peter and Y/N?”

“It’s not stupid!” Harry grumbled, his voice cracking a little bit. You could hear MJ snorting about it from her hiding spot. “Whatever, Michelle.”

“Shut up!” she shouted back.

“No, you!” he said, crossing his arms and standing his ground.

“Make me,” MJ said, narrowing her eyes and shooting daggers at him.

“Uh, guys. This isn’t about you two,” Ned interrupted, snapping them out of their mini argument. There was a weird tension between them that you just knew you would have to address some time in the future.

“Right,” MJ continued, sticking a middle finger up at Harry before turning to you. “Y/N. You should go talk to Peter.”

You nodded, exchanging hopeful looks with each of your friends before walking away. They might be dramatic goofballs, but you loved them so much that you didn’t really care.

Wandering around the party, you spotted Peter trapped in a conversation with Brad Davis, who was explaining his conspiracy theories about the Denver Airport and its demonic horse statue.

“So, all I’m saying is that they’re totally planning the end of the world over there. I mean, the Freemasons built an entire bunker for when they activate the nukes!” he rambled, Peter politely nodding along to his nonsense.

“Hey,” you said, tapping Brad on the shoulder and batting your eyelashes at him. “Can I borrow Peter?”

“Uh, yeah, totally, Y/N,” he stuttered, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards into a smirk. You could smell the peppermint Schnapps on his breath.

“Great. Thanks, Brad!” you smiled, grabbing Peter’s hand and pulling him towards the staircase. By the time you made it to his bedroom, he had already asked what was going on about ten times.

“Why’d you dump me?” you asked, the two of you sitting together on the edge of his bed, your knee brushing against his. He could tell you were wasting no time in getting to the point. “Be honest.”

He stared at the floor, unsure of how to answer your question. You reached for his hand, running your thumb across his knuckles until he looked up to see you smiling at him. His eyes were starting to water. “Just tell me, Peter. It’s okay.”

“I was scared,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I was scared of how much I love you. I mean, Liz was just a crush, and Gwen was a hookup. I’ve only ever loved you, Y/N. Before we met, I had to watch May’s heart break day after day when we lost Uncle Ben, and when I realized how much I loved you... I just wasn’t sure if I could handle ever losing you like that. And so I felt like I needed to protect you from all of the people who would want to hurt you.”

“Hey, Peter. Calm down. I’m right here,” you whispered, wiping a tear from his face. You watched as his breathing slowed, eventually evening out. “Why would anybody want to hurt me?”

“Because…” he started, hesitating a little bit. “Because I’m Spider-Man.”

Your eyes grew big as you mulled over what he had just said. “Are you being serious right now?”

He nodded, feeling a weight lift from his chest. Your eyes followed him as he walked over to his closet, digging around through piles of clothes before he found what he was looking for.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out. Peter was holding up Spider-Man’s suit. His suit. The sweatshirt from earlier made a lot more sense now.

“I would never lie to you,” he said, folding it up and sitting back down. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I thought I was doing the right thing—that you’d be safe—but I was so stupid. I, uh, I think about you all the time. I worry whether you’ve gotten home alright and how your little brother’s doing and if your mom got the promotion that she wanted and—”

You cut him off with a kiss, something you had been dying to do ever since you shut his bedroom door. “I forgive you,” you sighed, gently playing with his hair.

Peter stared back at you, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “Does this mean that we’re back together?”

“Yep,” you confirmed, before leaning into another kiss. And another. And another.

“Wait,” Peter said, breaking away from you. “I have a present for you. It’s actually from when we first started dating, but I was waiting until Christmas to give it to you.”

He moved to his desk, digging through one of the drawers before pulling out a flash drive. “Here it is,” he smiled, dropping it into your hand. It had your name scribbled on it next to a cat sticker. “It’s a playlist. Of all the songs that make me think of you. I think it’s got around a hundred on there?”

“Wow,” you beamed, marveling at the little piece of plastic in your hand. “You’re making me look bad. I didn’t get you anything.”

“Not true. You owe me a date, remember?” he reminded you, wiggling his eyebrows and pulling you into his lap.

“You’re right. Let me think,” you hummed, running through all the ideas of what the two of you could do. “Oh! I got it. The Central Park Squirrel Census for this year just got released. What if we analyzed the data? You could do the wrangling and I could do the visualizations!”

“I love you so much,” he laughed, pressing a kiss onto the tip of your nose. You giggled as Peter buried his face into your shoulder, his grip around your waist tightening. “But you are such a nerd.”

“I’m your nerd, Parker,” you agreed, leaning further into his embrace. “Always have been and always will be.”

—————-

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P.S.: Please shoot me an ask or a reply if you’d like to be added to (or removed from) the taglist!

[calling-for-kins]

Philza minecraft, from the dream AND origins smp!

I was at least a few hundred? Thousand? Years old, i had deer/satyr like legs and antlers that fell off for a few months of the year, usually when they were gone id wear a big had 2 cover the nubs lol. I was from a civilization that had long since died out by the time dsmp came into being - BUT wilbur was also a deer! The goddess of death created him for me to have a connection to my old home. We found technoblade when he was 10-13? After a war involving his home left him orphaned, he was a a few years older than wil but not by much. I think we just found tommy as like a 5 yr old on the side of the street??? No fucking clue where that kids from.

Some additional info is that when techno was 18-21? We both went on a journey to get him patroned to the god of war, like me was kind of a patron-spirit of a god rather than a god himself. The voices i believe were dead spirits of those lost in battle.

Death herself was breaking rules by visiting my village. We flirted and had a thing going but she broke out the nooo i can't date you... I musnt entrap a mortal... And i went "bullshit." And spent like 2 years researching how to be a god lol. After doing some trails or whathaveyou (something involving the end?) I was worthy of becoming her patron angel. I grew my wings the second we got married :). Also, i wasn't supposed to call her her name but i always did lol. Though, now i can't quite remember if it was kristen or trixten, or something else entirely!

My name wasn't actually Philza Minecraft or even phillip. "Za" is a family additive. Philza. It's very possible wilburs name was actually ***Wilza.*** since i almost always call him just wil in my mind. Wilburza? Who knows.

When wilbur was about 16, i left him to travel with techno. Tommy wouldve been around 8? I thought "he can take care of himself and tommy!" This was stupid and awful and i feel bad about it but its important and it happened. We saw eachother briefly between then and DSMP but I don't believe often.

Tech was too much of a dork to call me dad, he believed he 'raised himself' because i found him when he was older, and that we were just friends. We both knew.

And the DOOZY of memories. Uhm. Hard to talk about but... I outlived most everyone in the DSMP. Barring techno, who was also immortal. For a long time it was just me and him, occasionally together, occasionally apart. Until one day i found a small village of folks, all unique creatures, who had been abandoned and stumbles to live together. Among them, the ghost of my first born, and the reincarnation of my second. I'm not sure if wilbur retained his memories, or if he was a reincarnation as well, and just had ghost like features. But i stayed with them. To me it was a "second chance." Even though i myself wasn't a hybrid like them - I taught tommy how to fly :)). I saw it as my "second chance" for the fact i was a bit of an awful father the first time around.

Anyway all of this is to say SBI (dsmp or osmp!) or kristen PLEAAASEEE interact if any of this rings any bells. I have more impactful memories im willing to share. Once techno saw me die? I got better. Once i convinced kristen to let me get better. Hell anyone from the dsmp/osmp who remembers a deerza PLEASE. I miss all of yall so hard. Reply/RB this post n I'll dm you. I just want to see my family again man,

🌌

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Don’t Look! [Part 4]

<- Part 3 | Part 5 ->

Frederick Chilton x Reader

@we-are-all-just-a-bit-crazy’s lovecraftian horror AU, with a bit of my own twist on the origin story. Emotional hurt/comfort. Body horror. Hugging your body-horror monster boyfriend. 

3,386 words

Once upon a time, there lived a man who had everything: great wealth (built on the backs of exploited workers), a grand estate, a beautiful wife, and many mistresses waiting in the wings. Yet after years of trying, he failed to produce an heir. Determined that his money could buy anything, the man scoured the world, searching for a solution. One day, his extensive resources brought him to an ancient castle in Lithuania, where the last descendants of a noble bloodline offered him a devil’s bargain—a book, a summoning ritual. He did not ask questions. His wife was finally with child.

The Chilton legacy was secure.

The moment Frederick was born, the life was sucked from his mother—a human sacrifice for his soul crossing into this world. That was what his father told him, at least. Frederick had no memory of clawing his way through the veil between worlds, of being anything other than an ordinary child with a distant father, a young, blonde stepmother, and nannies instead of friends. Until the changes began. Allison (or was it Kayla at the time?) fainted in the living room when he staggered in, screaming as smoke boiled from his skin, begging for help. His father only wrinkled his nose with disgust and calmly explained what he was.

“You must learn to hide this, Frederick. Never let anyone see you this way, or it will destroy the family name.”

And so, he learned the transformation’s schedule. Prepared for it. Knew how to hide it away and never let anyone get close enough to see the real him. But it wasn’t good enough. Try as he might, nothing Frederick ever did met his father’s expectations for the perfect son he had gone through so much trouble to produce.

Frederick grew into a bitter and lonely man with no one to care about, or who cared about him. He kept the world at a distance, hiding his shame behind expensive suits and lavish decoration.

Never once did he consider that he was not alone in this world at all.

 ***

I see him as one of those pitiful things sometimes born in hospitals. They feed it, keep it warm, but they don’t put it on the machines. They let it die. But he doesn’t die. He looks normal. Nobody can tell what he is.

This is how Will Graham describes the Chesapeake Ripper.

Every therapy session with Graham, every conversation overhead, the puzzle became clearer. At first, Chilton merely believed that Dr. Lecter was guilty of unethical practices—manipulating Mr. Graham in the same way he had manipulated Gideon. He felt such kinship with Hannibal. Learning a bit of dirt on him brought the ever-so-superior doctor down to his level, gave him something to lord over him—a little implied blackmail to strengthen their friendship.

They both had secrets to hide.

Dr. Chilton never would have guessed the final puzzle piece to convince him fully that Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper would be the one everyone else laughed at.

“I brought you here to bear witness,” Graham said to Gideon through their adjoining cells.

“To tell Jack Crawford that I sat in Hannibal Lecter’s cobalt blue dining room? An ostentatious herb garden, Leda and the Swan over the fireplace. And you, having a fit in the corner.”

Chilton perked up and quickly shared the audio feed to one of the junior therapists assisting him. You were reliable at editing his audio files, clipping and exporting segments he wanted to keep, but he was avoiding you at the moment. This was proof—irrefutable proof that Gideon had met Hannibal Lecter the night he went searching for the Ripper.

After his conversation with Graham concluded, an assistant was sent down to coax more information from him while Chilton’s research team listened in, keenly taking notes.

Gideon was not finished dropping bombshells.

With a casual lilt to his voice as if talking to a friend over dinner, he began to describe the Chesapeake Ripper. Skin like volcanic ash, reflecting no light. A red glow to his eyes. Black claws as long as steak knives. Antlers breaking through the inside of his skull, punching through the skin. All black as night—a form that shifted in the shadows, ever tricking the eye, unwilling to be known.

He’s the Devil, Mr. Graham. He’s smoke.

“Great. Gideon is delusional,” one therapist snorted. “On the bright side, this completely undercuts his malpractice case against you.” She patted Chilton’s shoulder. Chilton flinched.

“We should start him on antipsychotics. What do you think? Doctor?”

Chilton’s face turned ashen white. “Y-yes, certainly,” he muttered, staggering to his feet.

He moved for the door, but crumbled halfway there, pain ripping through his leg as sharp thorns grew beneath the skin. It was daylight. No. No! The transformation should not be starting for hours—he had plenty of time! He gasped out as another shock tore through him, barely containing a cry. His body convulsed.

“Doctor!” A therapist and a guard rushed in to help him to his feet. “Where does it hurt? If this is a complication from your surgery, we need to get you into intensive care right away.”

“No,” he brushed them off. “Only… psychosomatic. I need to— ah!” He gritted his teeth, mind racing to the one person he did not want to turn to, but the only one he could, and barked, “Get my secretary!”

 ***

Smoke was rising off of his burning skin by the time you rushed into Chilton’s vacated office. His eyes were wide with panic, but greeted you when you entered with—not relief, perhaps, because he was every bit as terrified as before, but with the anticipation of being rescued. His eyes pleaded.

“H-help. I cannot make it stop.”

You managed to get him into your car. The sun’s orange rays seemed to chase the beast away, clearing his skin and stopping his wracking convulsions long enough to cross the employee parking lot without drawing stares. He insisted on taking the back seat so he could hide—and to put more distance between you in case he lost control.

His chest rose and fell like a rabbit in a cat’s mouth.

“The way he described Dr. Lecter—anyone would think it was a metaphor! That he was crazy!” Chilton’s breath was raspy as you drove, glancing back at him through the rearview mirror. He kept trembling, small patches of scaly skin appearing at random then swirling back inside. One pupil was a pinprick. His tongue occasionally became serpentine and got in the way as he frantically spoke. “But it was too specific, the details. Familiar. I always knew there was a connection between Dr. Lecter and me—a reason we were friends. It all makes sense now!”

“Hey, it’s OK,” you said, trying to sound soothing, though you had no idea what he was talking about.

“Don’t you understand? Lecter is like me!”

“That’s good, isn’t it? That means you’re not alone.”

“Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper!” he shouted, and a spine tore through a seat cushion. “A cannibal, if Will Graham is to be believed, and loathe as I am to admit it, Graham is an excellent profiler. If the Ripper and I are the same… then that means I—”

“You are nothing like that!” Forgetting the damage his demonic tantrum was doing to your faux-leather interior, you had faith in him. He was a little withdrawn and more than a little vain, and it had garnered him an icy reputation around the hospital, but now you understood why. He wasn’t evil or malicious. He was frightened.

“God help me,” he murmured.

 ***

As soon as the garage door closed behind you, he scrambled from the car (scratching the handle), and retreated inside. He didn’t invite you to follow him home. But he didn’t forbid it, either, and you wanted to be there. All you had were panic-scrambled memories from the first time that made his transformation worse in hindsight than it was. Or maybe better. You didn’t know, and you wouldn’t know until you saw it again with clear eyes.

The electric kettle rumbled on its stand, hissing steam as you searched through Frederick Chilton’s surprisingly extensive tea collection for something herbal and soothing. Chamomile, you thought. With honey. Surely that must be good for demon-monster-werewolf things?

The sun was about to set and he was still reeling over Hannibal, and just as much from the premature transformation the revelation had triggered. And every time he cried, “This is not possible. How can this be possible?” the next convulsion was more intense.

He would probably just burn himself on tea.

A painful whimper came from somewhere in the house, and you followed it to a tiny panic room that opened behind a bookshelf. It was only about seven by nine feet with concrete walls and floors, bare except for deep scratches of varying age, like an animal trying to escape. The few chairs inside were metal. Difficult to break. Frederick faced away from you, staring at a hand that was too large for the rest of his body, capped with long black claws.

“Oh no, this will not do at all,” you tutted, shaking your head at the barren space. “How about I bring in some blankets? Let’s get you comfortable.”

His whole body shook. “You should go.”

“No. No way, not after seeing this prison cell. I am not leaving you like this.”

“I do not want to hurt you.” His shoulder jerked. A spike tore through his shirt.

“You won’t.”

“Seeing it again… will not be therapeutic for you,” he hissed, another spike breaking through. “Go before it is too late.”

“No!”

“Damn it! I am a monster—there is proof of that now! The FBI has no idea what it is dealing with!” Chilton began to pace the small cell, thoughts racing, features morphing into something grotesque and alien. “Does Hannibal know about me? Can he sense it? Is that why he confided in me? I always thought it was professional respect—hah! God, what if he…” A painful convulsion halted his pacing and brought him to one knee, gripping his side. His attention snapped back to you. “This is… dangerous,” he warned, then hacked violently. Fleshy, snake-like projections spewed from his mouth, and he quickly turned away again, hiding his face. “You should… you should be nowhere near all of this! You should not be here! Why did I let you inside?!”

A roar of anguish ripped through the air with enough force to push you back through the panic room door, just in time to avoid being impaled on half a dozen spines as they shot from Chilton’s body like lances. Chips of concrete clattered to the ground as they penetrated the walls. He screamed again, writhing to get free, but found himself trapped by his own violent transformation. Like an animal, he struggled and clawed at himself as if his rational mind had been overtaken by raw, volatile emotion.

“Take it easy. You’re going to hurt yourself,” you tried to calm him, but you couldn’t stop your voice from shaking.

This was worse than last time. You were sure his spines weren’t half as long when you saw him in his office—even Chilton seemed surprised to be pinned.

You lifted your hands, palms toward him in a steadying gesture, and took a step back into the concrete room.

“Stay back!” he howled, thrashing. “Get away!”

It was tempting. Every muscle in your body wanted to follow his advice and run far away from the indescribable horror before you. But his eyes were still green. Were still terrified. And you had an inkling of why it was worse this time. Maybe he would hate you later for imposing, but it seemed more important right now not to leave him feeling… like a monster.

“It’s OK.” You took another step closer.

“No!”

“You’re not going to hurt me. I trust you. Shh, shh… I’m not afraid, see?”

Rigid spines sprayed from his back and shoulders in a 180-degree arc, leaving only his front accessible. You ducked under one and followed its trajectory to where it met the wall. It wasn’t just pinned by pressure—it had struck the wall with enough force to dig into it like an iron rod. Sawing through might be the only option for getting him unstuck. You wondered if that would hurt. Were there nerves in his spines? You stepped over the next one as you drew nearer.

“You should be afraid! I am just like him!” Chilton tried to turn his head away as you traversed his network of thorns and stood in front of him.

His face was almost entirely inhuman. Tentacles cascaded down from where a nose should have been, and when he opened his mouth in a snarl, they parted like wriggling eels—each with a life of its own—to reveal a jaw that split his face open vertically, crowded with rows of sharp white teeth. The more agitated Chilton became, the more dramatic the effect. Each time he spoke, you caught a flash of teeth that sent shivers racing down your spine. But you continued to move closer anyway, within snapping range.

“Hannibal and I… we are the same. Please—I do not want to become him. Do not let me hurt you!”

“You are not the same. You’re not a killer.”

Chilton let out a choking cry that was all too human. “I killed that nurse,” he said. Concrete groaned as his spines grew longer. A crooked horn sprouted from his head. “I killed Elizabeth Shell.”

“You… you didn’t kill her.”

His breath quickened again. Tentacles sprouted and died and resprouted from his face in a constant fevered motion. “I knew Gideon would kill! I lowered security! I knew what would happen—what I needed to happen to prove that he was the Ripper! I may as well have plucked her eyes out with my own hands and… and feasted on her organs. God… I am the Ripper,” he wailed.

“No…” It never occurred to you that Dr. Chilton would have done such a thing knowingly. Maybe there was something dark inside him that this creature was reflecting. It hurt to acknowledge, and yet maybe you both needed to. “You made a mistake. You did a bad thing, but… Gideon was already a killer. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I drove him to it, manipulated him… I am just as responsible as he is. I am a monster.”

“A monster wouldn’t feel this guilty! You made a mistake, but you won’t make it again, will you?”

Tentacles and spines stopped sprouting. His form stabilized as his wet eyes looked off thoughtfully. He seemed so pathetic… so innocent, almost. Despite the intimating spines and claws that added danger and height to his appearance, his body had the same mass—leaving his frame gaunt and frail, with ribs sticking out prominently. Hollow.

You wanted to protect him.

You knew that was your job at BSHCI. You knew that was why Dr. Chilton suddenly needed a personal secretary when he never had before. Someone to sit outside his door, take his calls, and warn him when visitors wanted to see him. You’d never met the doctor before he was attacked by one of his patients, but you recognized the signs of trauma—the way he flinched easily, avoided contact at first, then the way he clung to you when you earned his trust. The awkward little smiles. The way his cheeks turned bright red when his fingers brushed yours as you delivered his coffee. You couldn’t help feeling protective. Falling in love, even.

Though it was closed for the moment, his mouth was a dangerous black hole with alien arms ready to pull prey inside. It seemed impossible to get close without being dragged into its teeth by instinct. You couldn’t imagine putting your face anywhere near it.

Another step, and your forehead touched his.

“I... I do not want to hurt you,” he pleaded.

“You won’t.”

You leaned into his arms, a hand reaching up to stroke the side of his face. It was covered in fine scales that glistened as if they should be slimy, but were smooth to the touch, like a snake. Sharper thorns sprouting from his skin seemed to retreat before your caress.

He trembled with inner turmoil, hot breath puffing against your chin. Your eyes darted toward the motion of one of his claws rising behind you, and all you could focus on were the way each sharp talon caught the light. You couldn’t be sure what he was thinking—if he was going to return your embrace, or prove to you that he was a monster. Would he slash you just to drive you away?

“I smell your fear,” his voice hissed accusingly.

For some reason, of all the reactions you could have had, you started to laugh. It was nervous and tight at first, but then building in confidence at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“You’ve got giant claws! Of course I’m afraid! But I’m not running, am I?”

You slid your hand from his cheek and trailed it over his bony neck and the ridges and spines of his shoulders, finding a path for your arms to twine around him. Cuddling closer, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, hardly bothered by the writhing tentacles that draped down over you.

“I know you would never hurt me. You’re just going to have to keep showing me there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Shuddering, he breathed in your scent. All his senses were heightened by this form, and he was surrounded by you—your pheromones, your electric field, the radiant heat of your skin. It was like sinking into a warm bath with a glass of fine wine in his hand. He opened his palm and let his predator’s hand sweep harmlessly down your back, holding you close. He could sense the fluttering of your heart in his embrace. It was slower than a creature in terror—slowing the longer he held you. You were not afraid. And he could not imagine hurting you. Whatever he had been worried might happen, whatever awful things he might be capable of, he could never imagine hurting you. You were right. You didn’t have anything to fear.

He exhaled a long, steady breath of surrender. The long spines retracted, pulling out of the walls as they returned to their usual size. He could move again, but didn’t. Not for a long time.

“It’s OK. It’s OK,” you sighed. The scent of your hair was intoxicating.

Eventually, you had to part. Chilton’s eyes darted away as you did—the inky scales on his face emitted a soft bluish starlight, which you were certain was blushing. You could not coax him to leave his concrete prison cell, but he told you where to find some blankets he could live with damaging—linen closet, second floor, third door on the right—and let you make a cozy nest on the bare floors. You made tea, and only cringed a little at his attempts to drink it. It was late, then. You were sleepy, and he was exhausted. Emotionally drained. His mind still raced over everything, still not certain of your presence and inexplicable kindness. You sat in the pile of blankets and had him rest his head in your lap.

“Give me your hand,” you asked, extending yours.

A clawed, scaly hand slid tentatively along the floor. You took it. Held it gently, first observing the long talons protruding like daggers from each finger before slotting yours between them—nothing sharp there. You let out a long sigh and leaned back against the concrete wall. His breath hitched.

He’d never had his hand held in this form, you assumed.

He’d never had his hand held at all, in fact. Not in many years.

It had to be a trap, he thought. No one had ever loved him before. No one could—not like this. Yet, as he fell asleep to your fingers massaging his temple and the soft murmuring of your voice, he let himself believe it. You were always there, protecting him. Smiling at him in the morning.

When you woke up, Frederick was human again, still fast asleep in your arms.

[melanielocke]

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 34

AO3

Taglist: @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised

Previous Chapter: Chapter 33

Next Chapter: To be posted

Magic was everywhere in the land of the thief of souls. It was different than the land in between. The land in between was weaker, but wilder. Magic floated into its own direction, taking the shape it desired and bending to Lucie’s will with relative ease.

Magic in the realm of the thief was gripped by a firm hand, forced into subjugation by a powerful force, the thief itself. But walking through this land, Lucie had learnt a secret. Just like Lucie herself, magic didn’t like to be controlled. It liked to roam free, it liked chaos.

She could sense the thief. He kept all magic in an iron grip. But he did not belong here, he never had, and although he’d subjugated the magic, it didn’t love him and didn’t want him. Lucie could use that to her advantage. If she lost, the magic would continue to be kept under his grip. If she won, it would be free again. The magic favored her. The thief must have found this place a long time ago and made his home here, collecting souls for his growth and his power, but he did not belong here.

‘He was here when I saw him,’ Alastair said, pointing at one of the corridors.

Lucie shook her head. ‘No, I can feel him. He’s somewhere in that direction.’

Lucie followed her senses until they made it into the courtyard, where a man was sitting on a bench, in conversation with a soul. She guessed she should have expected a soul would be there too, but it would be alright. None of them really wanted to be here, did they? Even if they collaborated with him, or sought to improve their own fate. She wondered how many she could turn against him.

He was wearing his antlers right now, looked a lot like the monster from her dreams, but his eyes were normal and if it weren’t for the antlers he might have looked like an ordinary mortal man. Someone who’d come here because he wanted to never die and gain immeasurable power, yes, but mortal.

‘I was wondering when you’d come here to challenge me, Lucie,’ the thief said with a grin. ‘Just like your mother. You need not worry, I’m still sealed. But this is my realm, and I have the power here.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Lucie hissed.

Cordelia drew her sword, Alastair had his dagger gripped tightly, ready to attack. Thomas didn’t have any weapons, and Lucie still wondered if they should have left him outside.

‘Alastair, I didn’t think I’d be seeing you here so soon,’ the thief added. ‘You have found your love, and not much time left to save him. So much for loyalty, I guess.’

‘Why set him free and die, when killing you would set us both free?’ Alastair asked, with that wicked smile Lucie remembered from school.

‘We made a deal, Alastair. You promised me your soul.’

‘I promised you my soul, yes. But not my loyalty. Our deal doesn’t hold if you’re dead. None of them do.’

The thief was caught off guard by Alastair’s betrayal and Cordelia took the opportunity to run at him with her sword.

‘Stop her!’ the thief yelled at the female soul.

The soul jumped up, putting herself in front of Cordelia. She didn’t carry any weapons, and Cordelia easily slashed her down. She didn’t appear hurt, there was no blood, nothing, yet she fell to the floor.

‘Get back up!’ the thief yelled at her and she did.

Lucie got a sense of how this worked. The souls couldn’t die, they were already dead, but cortana did weaken them and push them out of the way. The thief had to command them to give them new energy, and it was Lucie’s turn to command the souls, to grip at his source of power and take it away. She opened her bag and snatched a piece of dextrose from her bag, shoving it into her mouth. She would need every bit of energy she could get.

‘I command you to stand down,’ she yelled at the ghost.

The soul obeyed, standing awkwardly, unable to move. She wasn’t sure how long she could on, but it seemed like the thief had given up on this soul. Instead, he jumped out of the way from Cordelia’s attack and held up his arms in the sky.

Souls came barging in, so many of them. They all moved in Cordelia’s direction.

‘Stop that!’ Lucie yelled. ‘Do not attack Cordelia.’

‘I am your master!’ the thief yelled back.

Lucie could feel his power, and fought against it. He was strong, but she had the will of the souls on her side. She could promise them freedom. She guessed at this point some of them did not understand what that would mean. Lucie didn’t either, but she was certain it would be better than this. Perhaps they would be reunited with loved ones who had died a long time ago, perhaps they would get another chance at life. To many of them, it didn’t matter. Lucie offered hope for something better, and that gave her the upper hand when trying to control the ghosts.

It was draining, more than Lucie could imagine, and she began to understand why her mother had slept for a 130 years after sealing the thief. She reached for another piece of dextrose. It worked, if only a little. It was so tempting to just let go, to give up and acknowledge there was only so much she could do, but as long as she held back the souls, Cordelia stood a chance. Watching him jump out of Cordelia’s reach, using the occasional soul as a human shield made Lucie suspect that while his magic was extra ordinary, he was not trained in combat.

Would he be able to disappear, could he travel across his realm? She’d thought she’d seen Tatiana teleport, but really she just traveled between the different realms. If she traveled someplace else it looked like she disappeared, but she couldn’t travel to different spots on the same plane. Could the thief? Lucie suspected he could, that if he lost this fight he would run before Cordelia could deliver the killing blow.

Lucie wouldn’t let that happen. She opened her bottle of too sweet lemonade and drank half of it before picturing a wall of power, trapping them all in the courtyard. She didn’t doubt the thief would be able to break it down eventually, but if he tried then he would give up on the ghosts and Cordelia could kill him. Lucie had to let go of them for a moment, to build her magic wall. No one would enter, no one would leave, at least as long as her wall lasted. The ghosts were back under the thief’s control and attacked Cordelia with skill and vehemence the thief himself did not possess.

Thomas and Alastair were fighting too, but from this distance Lucie couldn’t be sure they were helping Cordelia, or being controlled themselves. Would it make a difference that Alastair wasn’t his yet? Lucie couldn’t be sure, she didn’t know what was happening exactly. Instead, she focused on her wall, finishing it so the thief would not break it down in time, so Cordelia could kill him.

Cordelia was fighting the souls, striking them back, but there were too many of them. It left her no opening to go for the thief. Lucie would have to win those souls back soon.

***

Cordelia didn’t know why Lucie had lost control of the ghosts. She assumed she must have lost control, which meant there was no time to lose. Alastair was fighting her too, but she could tell he was holding back. He had not drawn his dagger against her.

‘He can control me,’ Alastair fought to say. ‘Didn’t realize that would happen so soon.’

The thief laughed. ‘You fool. You’re mine. You were mine the moment you made that deal. You never would have found your way out, and now you won’t save your loved one either.’

Cordelia couldn’t reach the thief protected by too many souls. That was the problem, all of the souls were decent fighters, and Cordelia had to fight with all she had to hold them off. They didn’t stay down long. The thief had to revive them, but he could. They were dead, of course. You couldn’t kill something that was already dead. She could see her brother fighting to restrain himself, a sight that filled her with rage.

‘He’s not yours!’ she yelled at the thief. ‘He’s mine! He’s mine!’

The thief only laughed. ‘He gave himself to me. He chose his fate, now it’s time I sealed yours.’

The souls slowed their pace, many gave up the battle, no longer under his control. Cordelia could fight the remaining few off. Lucie was back at it, with a newfound determination to keep the souls away from her. The thief was straining against her, and the circle of souls protecting him was still there, but many of the souls stood still, aimless. Alastair grinned, dagger in hand, as he attacked the souls protecting the thief. He wasn’t fast enough on his own, the souls regained their position faster than he could cut them down, but if Cordelia helped him they could win.

She ran to Alastair, to the circle of souls he could not keep up with, and started slashing at the souls, paving a way for Alastair to run through, lashing out at the thief of souls with all he had. One of the souls grabbed Alastair, pulling him back, but Cordelia slashed at the being until it was forced to let go, dragging Alastair’s dagger along with it.

Her brother didn’t have the time to pick it back up, instead he attacked the thief himself, experienced in hand to hand combat as well. He wouldn’t kill the thief this way, but Cordelia understood what he was trying to do. She had the sword, she could kill him.

Something odd happened. Cordelia couldn’t be sure what it was. He disappeared for a second before appearing right in the same spot, a distraught expression on his face. What was he trying to do? He had failed at something, hadn’t he?

Cordelia moved forward, this was her chance. Alastair pushed him onto the ground. The thief struggled against him, and then he changed. A moment later she was faced with two Alastairs, fighting each other, rolling on the ground. The thief not only looked like Alastair, he fought like him too, and it didn’t take long for Cordelia to lose track of which was which.

‘Kill him, Cordelia!’ one of the two called to her.

It was Alastair’s voice, it sounded like him. But could she be sure?

‘No, kill the other one. That’s not me!’ the other Alastair called at her.

She couldn’t go by voice then, it was the same. He mimicked Alastair so well… A question, she needed to ask him a question only the real Alastair could answer. The thief couldn’t know his secrets, could he?

‘Hurry up, Layla!’ one of the two Alastairs yelled.

Layla… Would the thief know? Alastair called her that often, theoretically he could know… One of the two was holding the dagger, the second holding it off where everything he had. One had picked it up from the ground then, but was it Alastair or the thief.

‘How can I tell which one is real?’ Cordelia yelled, sword ready to attack when she realized which one she’d have to kill. Knowing that if she chose wrong, she might kill her own brother. She didn’t know what would happen, it was his soul but not his body, but it was not a risk she was willing to take.

‘The thief wouldn’t know about my calling you Layla,’ the one holding the dagger yelled.

‘Of course he does,’ the one lying on the ground, fighting him off yelled. He tried to wrestle the dagger away from the other one, but they seemed so evenly matched. It was as if the thief hadn’t just shifted into Alastair, he had become him. ‘Mãmãn gave you that nickname. When you were five, you were sick with pneumonia and had to stay in the hospital. Mâmân and I stayed with you, and we read you from Layla and Majnun. You loved it so much…’ Alastair hit the other one in the face in an attempt to stop the attack from the one pinning him to the ground.

The other Alastair continued the story. ‘You wanted to be Layla then. So we called you that, and we have for years. Well, mâmân saves it for special occasions, but for me it became a habit to call you Layla.’

This wasn’t working. The thief somehow had found a way into Alastair’s mind, and whatever she asked, they would both give her the same answer.

‘He didn’t shift. He became me!’ the Alastair underneath called. ‘Kill him now, Layla!’

Cordelia hesitated. ‘Lucie, Thomas! What do I do? Who do I kill?’

‘Can’t help you, Daisy!’ Lucie yelled. ‘And I can’t hold off the souls much longer. They’re too close together to follow the energy, I can’t tell which one is the thief. You have to make a decision.’

Thomas came to stand beside her. ‘They’re not the same exactly. Almost, but not quite. Like with old movies where you can see the lines of the special effects.’

Cordelia shook her head. ‘I don’t see a thing.’

‘I could see through illusions before. This is not an illusion exactly, but there are traces of the original thief there. I think it’s my sight. The real Alastair is the one being pinned down right now, the one who doesn’t have the dagger. The one holding him down is the thief.’

Cordelia hesitated. ‘Thomas, I need you to be absolutely sure.’

‘He’s a good shapeshifter, but not good enough. There’s a shadow of his antlers. Trust me.’

‘How do I know he’s not making you say that?’ Cordelia asked.

‘Listen to him, Daisy!’ Lucie shouted. ‘Thomas is under my control. And hurry, I’m all out of sweets and I cannot hold on.’

Cordelia didn’t hesitate anymore, she ran to her brother and pushed the thief off of him. He shifted back into his own shape, a man with antlers and glowing red eyes.

‘I always did underestimate the sight,’ he hissed. ‘Oh well. I know your secrets now, Layla.’

The way he called her Layla made Cordelia’s stomach twist. He had no right.

‘It’s a dark place, your brother’s mind. I quite like it. And I know how you fight now.’

Cordelia swung cortana at him, but he jumped out of the way in a move she and Alastair had often practiced together. Being her brother, even if only temporary, had taught him something about how she fought, and how to fight himself.

One of the souls attacked her from behind. Cordelia only realized when Alastair stabbed it with his dagger. He’d gotten it back just in time. The thief was unarmed now, but Lucie’s control was slipping. Now or never.

Cordelia trusted Alastair to keep any remaining souls out of her way and she ran for him. He wouldn’t escape this time, he wouldn’t jump out of the way. She knew what Alastair would have done, and was prepared for the thief to do the same. She didn’t let him, cutting off his escape route and changing the direction of her sword at the last minute, slashing the sword through his arm and then his chest.

He looked surprisingly human as he fell, red blood gushing out, but not for long. Not all monsters were like that. Her father had told her stories of black blood, or pale, watery blood. The thief had been mortal once. This place had changed him, sustained him for much longer than should have been possible. It ended so easily.

He was dead before he hit the ground. As he fell, something changed in the air. Cordelia couldn’t put her finger on it, but the realm had changed. She turned around, walked to Lucie, Alastair and Thomas. Lucie was breathing hard, leaning against the wall.

‘You did it. He’s dead, and the realm is free.’

Cordelia frowned. ‘The souls are still here. How do we let them go?’

‘That is not for you to worry about.’

Cordelia did not recognize the voice behind her. It rose from underneath the ground, chains shattering as it formed. A man, wearing dark robes, face obscured by a hood, and carrying a scythe.

‘A reaper,’ Alastair whispered. ‘He kept a reaper here.’

‘When so many souls did not return from here, I went to investigate. He caught me by surprise, and my imprisonment allowed him to keep collecting souls unbothered. Now that he’s dead, I am free and I can bring these souls over.’

‘To the other side?’ Lucie asked.

‘You may control the dead on this side, no mortal can know what lies beyond,’ the reaper said. ‘That is a secret kept by my kind. You will all learn when your times come, but none of you are among the dead. Although two of you are close.’

‘What is this place?’ Thomas asked. ‘It wasn’t always his world, was it?’

‘It is a place to forget,’ the reaper said. ‘Souls who struggle to move on may remain on earth, and many do for some time, but many come here. This place helps them forget, to adapt to what they need to be. The living make their way here every once in a while. That is rare, but normal. They return with power, forever changed. Your power will grow from this experience, Lucie. And it is quite magnificent already. As for the rest of you, I cannot tell what this realm will do to you. For too long the man you knew as the thief of souls kept this land’s magic in an iron grip, distributing it as he saw fit. Now it roams free. All of you will be able to return here when you wish. But be careful with how long you stay. It can be that years pass while you are here, time is always difficult.’

‘That’s how the thief became immortal, wasn’t it? He just stayed here,’ Lucie said.

‘He became one with the magic of this place, keeping it all in his control. It wasn’t meant to be that way. Now that I am free, it won’t be controlled like that again. You must return home. Two of you are here with their soul only while the body lives, but its state is fragile. You might still die. Thank you for freeing me, the reapers will recognize you all as heroes.’

‘What of the creatures of this realm?’ Lucie asked. ‘They have attacked us in the past.’

‘They were under his control. Now they’re not. They are wild creatures, and can be dangerous, but they will not spill into your world as easily. You should be safe.’

‘So the world won’t need a hero anymore?’ Cordelia asked.

The reaper’s face was grim. ‘The world will always have use for a hero. This is not the only evil, nor the only place where dangerous creatures come from. Now go home, before it is too late.’

[solaneceae]

for @inspiredrawaw because their ocs live in my brain rent-free

emo deer and shy dragon boi have a heccin snuggle. thats it, thats the tweet.

----------------------------------------

Waking up was a... difficult process. Slow, sluggish and almost sticky, like being pulled out of a particularly deep quagmire. Darkness was clinging to his body and mind, keeping his eyelids stubbornly closed, a sensation of numbness and weightlessness planting the seeds of doubts. Was this real? Was he dreaming?

Normally, this wouldn’t be an issue… except he couldn’t remember falling asleep. Nor could he remember… much of anything, really.

He was stuck in this state of hazy confusion for what felt like hours, with no sensory hint as to where he was, head and ears filled with cotton, too stiff and tired to move an inch or open his eyes. He wondered, however briefly, if this was what death was. Maybe he’d fallen off the boat and drowned. Maybe a monster got him, and he just couldn’t remember it.

Mh. If that was truly the After, then it was a tad underwhelming, wasn’t it.

“...’en? Drakken? Are you with me?”

Recognition sparked in his slowly waking mind, followed by fondness. That voice. Omen’s voice. That formal inflexion, that little scratchiness Drakken had come to love. He could now feel a pressure on his upper back and shoulders, his arms, his chest… like he was being held.

Was his partner taking him through the gates themselves? In a way, the prospect was reassuring. The young dragon wouldn’t have it any other way.

But then he thought of Amber, and how devastated she’d be. Oh Gods, what had he done? Curse the Morrígan! Them, and all of this starfallen, cussing pile of moonrocks!

“Wake up you sod, you’re not dead just yet.”

...Oh.

That made more sense in retrospect. It took effort, but opening his eyes confirmed that he was, indeed, very much alive, and not being carried off to the After following an untimely demise. Merely laying down on his cot inside the boat, his back supported by what seemed to be his favorite deer, swaddled in a thick fleece blanket with a wool beanie on his head. And something was breathing against his neck.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his jaw felt so stiff, his tongue swollen and hard to move… “Mmm’n?”

“Shh. Don’t move yet. You fell asleep outside.”

He had? Oh, cuss. Drakken knew he didn’t do well in the cold at all, but it had been pleasantly warm today and he hadn’t expected the temperature to drop so much once night fell. He’d just been so fascinated with the blinking stars, trying to find his favorite constellations… he hadn’t realized how cold it had gotten until it was too late, it seemed.

Omen shifted, reaching for one of his frigid hands. “Can you move your fingers? Here, try to squeeze my hand.”

The dragon complied, wincing as his digits twitched and flared up with a dull, but pulsing pain. “H’rrts,” he managed to slur out, loosely grasping Omen’s warm, furry paw for a short moment before letting go. Something was changing- he actually felt the cold now, his body breaking into little shudders and spasms, his teeth starting to chatter. Wasn’t he supposed to be warming up? There was something radiating warmth against his chest… a hot water bottle?

“C-Cold,” the dragon slurred, now full-on trembling. He heard Omen hum, felt their hands rub up and down his arms through the blanket, their nose press against his jugular. “It’s alright, sunflower. Your body’s just starting to work properly again,” they assured him. “It’s a good sign.”

Was it? Drakken didn’t know, as mustering complex thoughts was a little difficult at the moment. He tried to move his arms to lay his hands on the hot bottle, but Omen quickly stopped him. “No, Drace, love- don’t, please. Your hands will just hurt more if you do that, and it’ll send cold blood right to your heart. Let them warm up on their own.���

Drakken let out a quiet croak of complaint, but quickly gave up, too drained to fight it. Mrf.

Well, at least his chest and back felt warmer. Even Omen’s nose felt warm, and that was weird, because Omen’s nose always felt cool to him, and he knew this because the deer loved to sneakily press it in the crook of his neck to make him squeal and squirm, and he’d flush and mumble complains while the deer smirked at him, because they both knew he didn’t actually want them to stop.

Mmh. Omen was so mischievous. And their coat was always so soft, and warm like a baby chick, chick-chickadee. Drakken liked to press his nose to theirs, and laugh when they took an offended expression whenever he went in for a playful boop. They were so proud all the time. I come from a prestigious family of death omens! they’d say. Regal. So pretty.

Ah, he’d lost his train of thought. And Omen was looking at him weird. “You need to warm up more,” they said, gently maneuvering him to lay him down on his cot, adjusting the blanket and water bottle. Drakken complained with a quiet whine, which the deer stifled with a little hush. They’d make him tea, they said. They’d be back real soon, they promised.

Drakken watched his partner smile fondly at him, then walk out of the room, their hooves clicking on the wooden floor. Drakken sniffled, shivering in his blanket, numb tail twitching as it slowly wrapped itself around his waist in an attempt at self-soothing. Please don’t be long...

***

The fallow deer placed their hands against the table, taking a few deep breaths to calm down as the sound of boiling water filled the tiny kitchen.

They’d tried so hard to keep themselves from visibly panicking, when all they wanted to do was to scream and cry in the crook of his boyfriend’s scaly neck, and tell him how scared they’d been, how their blood had run cold when they’d found him, silent and still on the cold wood of the deck, his chest barely moving and lips so blue and no no nonono can’t lose him not him not him-

Hissssssssss

Their spiraling thoughts were drowned out by the distinct sound of the kettle whistling, snapping them out of it. They swore bitterly, rubbing their head and taking the kettle out of the fire- they couldn’t fall apart like this. They had to take care of Drakken first and foremost, make him feel safe. They weren’t the one being hurt here. Being outwardly worried would only make it worse.

They focused on stuffing Drakken’s preferred blend -black tea, ginger, clove, cinnamon- in a tea ball, pouring the hot water in a mug and leaving room for cold water. Infuse, get the honey, cool it down, too hot will hurt him, where’s the spoon, have to hurry...

***

“Here, I’m going to help you sit up, hang on. Up we go, c’mon… There, you’re doing great, good job love. Let me- no no, Drakken, keep your hands inside the blanket, alright? Let me give it to you. Your hands will hurt again if you try to hold it.”

Drakken gave Omen an affronted look -which made them smile a little bit- but complied. Now that the dragon was upright, Omen proceeded to hold his head up, gently pushing the mug to his lips and tilting it, letting him take a few tiny, cautious gulps.

He looked better- the frost had completely left his scales, and even though he was shivering still, he no longer seemed incoherent. He choked a little on the last gulp, and Omen gently rubbed his back until his coughing fit had subsided and he laid bonelessly against their side, but his breathing was steady, and so was his heart… “Feeling better?” they asked quietly, hand gliding up and down their boyfriend’s back. Drakken hummed tiredly, his cheek slightly smushed against Omen’s shoulder. “Y-Yeah… thank you…”

Silence reigned for a few minutes, punctuated by each other’s breathing and the occasional shaky whimper from the cold-blooded dragon. Before he spoke again. “ ‘m sorry…”

Omen tilted their head, antlers bumping against the wall. “What for?”

“Should’ve paid attention… been more careful. Made you worry.”

The child of Death frowned at that. “Do not concern yourself with that. It is fine. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“S’not though…”

The deer blinked when a cool hand grasped theirs- Drakken was shifting against them to look into their eyes, squeezing their fingers in a firmer grip than before. “You’re always- so careful, always thinking about protecting us. You always r-remind me to be careful when it’s cold, and I wasn’t careful enough, and I’m-made you worry and I’m sorry…”

Omen was stunned- Drakken had just experienced dangerous levels of hypothermia, yet he was concerned about how they felt?

Had they failed to conceal their fear so badly that even Drakken, out of it as he was, had been able to pick up on it?

They let out a shuddering breath, letting their head rest against the other’s, eyes clenched shut. Drakken knew them way too well. Their emotions, now bursting through the damn, making them feel like the lost, scared little kid they had been once. They said nothing, letting their boyfriend cup their face and brush over their fur knowingly. In this moment… there was no need for words.

His claws were sharp- dangerous. Yet he always touched them so gently, so carefully. Even now as his arms left his cocoon of blankets to wrap around Omen, pulling them down into a comforting hug.

“ ‘ey.”

“...Yes?”

“ ‘luv you, treasure.”

The deer felt a surge of affection swelling in their chest. “I love you too, sunflower,” they breathed out, voice a little bit shaky as they returned the dragon’s embrace.

And when Drakken squeaked when they pressed their nose in his neck, Omen knew he was going to be okay.

[fuck-you-i-am-spiderman]

jayvie pls ❤️

@daggery My loves!!! They’re who my mind goes to when I think about being domestic, they give off such married vibes and it makes me so soft 🥺 (side note: I want to write something that is more of a focus on Jayvie. I wrote my one with Carvie at the forefront, my one with Jal finding chicken nuggets and I feel like my Marlos energy just radiates in most of my works so if we have any Jayvie ideas I'm all ears 😉)

Who buys flowers for the other

Jay buys Evie flowers and other gifts a lot. They're not always expensive, just something to make Evie feel special. Jay's kind of like magpie, he collects things that make him think of the people closest to him. Evie really likes romantic gestures and Jay loves doing them, so it's kind of perfect for them. Jay goes for these rare beautiful flowers on days Evie is stressed and when she goes to her locker there's a small bouquet or a single flower with a hand-written note. Sometimes it's Evie's favourite candy or surprising her with a pastry in the morning. He's very into surprising Evie because she loves the gestures and it's his way of making her feel special and showing his love.

Who makes the other coffee/tea

They alternate making the coffee. They go to coffee shops a lot, Jay likes trying new drinks or turning up to give Evie an iced coffee during her break between classes. He writes little message on her cup, usually really cheesy pick-up lines to make her smile. Evie indulges Jay with making him fancier drinks, she's naturally good at preportions and has a really good knack for picking the right flavours to try. And Jay likes to make Evie coffee when she's busy working, he'll come in with fresh fruit and her favourite coffee.

They're both on similar schedules, Jay is up for his morning run and Evie is already getting ready so they make one another smoothies. Evie is the only one who's willing to try Jay's protein shakes. They're very domestic in the mornings, their routines work well together. Whilst one is getting ready, the other is preparing their drinks.

However, when Evie is annoyed at Jay being a nuisance she'll bring him a cup of hot water and hide the teabags, or switch the sugar in his coffee for salt.

Who eats the most candy on Halloween

Carlos 😂 Evie likes sour candies but she definitely stops Jay from eating a bunch all in one go. They have Halloween candy until the summer because Evie rations it and because Jay has a dragon's hoard of candy he doesn't mind so much. He can ration if it means getting to flirt with Evie by offering her Hersheys kisses randomly.

But jokes on both of them, Carlos knows where they "hide" it, so of course Carlos (and his all too willing partner in crime Mal) give the candy a new home...in their bellies.

Who genuinely likes pineapple on pizza

Evie. Jay is still so confused about Evie's taste in pizza and he's constantly teasing her about it.

Jay (dramatically feeling Evie's forehead): usually your judgement is perfect Princess...but...are you sure you're feeling okay? Maybe I should take you to the doctor

Evie (rolls her eyes flicks pieces of pineapple at him): you're just jealous you've got a boring palette"

Evie pouts and flutters her eyelashes until Jay tries her pizza and she's forever smug because Jay admits 'it's not terrible' - which is Jay-speak for he likes it but is too stubborn to admit he was wrong.

Who wears hats on special occasions

Neither, their hair is too good to be hidden. Occasionally they'll wear hats, like when they go to the beach and Jay tries on Evie's sunhat and Evie steals Jay's snapback and they all proceed to lose their shit over how good she looks in it. Jay can easily be convinced to wear silly headwear for festivities such as an antler headband or a Santa's hat. But neither are big into hats unless it's Jay's beanie, and Evie will confiscate it so he doesn't try to wear it to fancy events. If she can get Jay to sit still for 2 seconds she will braid his hair for events.

Who buys wacky picture frames

Jay buys wacky frames and it drives Evie absolutely insane. She hates it and it's a constant competition of how many times Evie will put them in the trash, and then Jay will have them back up in 10 minutes. Jay really likes taking photos, he loves taking candid ones and super silly ones (like the one of Carlos with his cheeks puffed like a hamster). Evie is the best model so her and Jay are always posing together and their walls are clustered with photos of them looking like they're on Auradon's red carpet.

[foreficfandom]

The Arcana - Cooking For MC (Headcanons)

-- Asra -- 

Life as a street orphan makes cooks of us all. If he wasn’t a child desperately stealing fruit, he was a teenage magician earning coppers to buy scraps from the butcher and bartering for old, bruised squash. He quickly had to learn how to stretch his meager rations as far as he could, and cooking was the way to do it.

He’s come a long way from the one single pot he and Muriel would squat over while hiding away in the docks. Now, he and you happily enjoy a consistent diet of fresh groceries, sometimes he cooks and sometimes you do. 

All his cookery he learned in Vesuvia - pasta, lentils, chickpeas, tomatoes, cumin, basil, ocean seafood. The both of you don’t quite earn enough to splurge on the good cuts of beef, but you never have to worry about going hungry. 

And you don’t have to worry about bland, burnt food, either. Asra can reliably hold his own in the kitchen. He doesn’t exactly follow recipes, just tosses together stuff according to what feels right in his heart. A holdover from the days where he had to improvise all his food. 

There’s more holdovers; he hates tossing away uneaten food, or groceries that have gone bad. He’ll keep the chicken bones to make into a broth for tomorrow. He never peel potatoes or fruit ‘cause the skins contain valuable nutrients. He cringes at people who throw away the heads of fish. The leftover fat in the pan is made into gravy, or pastry frosting, or soap. Occasionally, he and you give away your leftovers to the urchins that hang around the neighborhood. 

When it’s his turn to cook, expect traditional Vesuvian cuisine like flatbreads, hummus, and vegetable soup. Herbs used in the shop are sometimes thrown into the dish, like thyme or myrtle leaves. Asra’s cooking regularly gets to grace your stomach, and it’s very lovely and nice uwu

-- Julian -- 

Everybody who knows Julian holds vehemently that he can’t cook worth a damn. He’s not gonna poison you, but it’s true that he can’t do more than toss various things into a pot and pray that it comes out edible. 

So when he’s forced to cook, everything ends up tasting like the same sort of bland, unspiced mush. And it’s almost always boiled, never roasted or fried. He just seems incapable of not burning anything, so he avoids pancooking ingredients if he can avoid it. And even his soups tend to have burnt residue at the bottom.

Not only that, but traditional Nevevion cuisine ... can be an acquired taste in itself. Like pickled herring covered with beet mayonnaise, cold aspic on toast, and really, really salty fish roe. He grew up eating actually good food cooked by his adopted family, but it’s unfortunately easy to turn a cabbage and potato recipe into nasty gross mush, especially under Julian’s hands. 

He knows he’s shit at cooking, but sometimes it can’t be avoided. Ready-made takeout isn’t always available in their world, so if someone needs to eat, they usually gotta cook. Cue boiled chicken and carrots a-la Julian. At least he added some salt, this time. He blames his Nevevion heritage for lacking an affinity for spices.

With shitty cooking skills come an ability to eat anything. Julian doesn’t turn down a dish if he’s hungry, even if it’s some bullshit. Except for spicy stuff - it’s like the only pain he doesn’t get off on. Just a little jalapeno in his rice will turn his entire face red and give him hiccups.

So say you don’t have time to cook dinner for the both of them tonight, he’d much rather the two of you go eat at an inn than force your divine tongue to be sullied by his dreadful meals. However, he can be taught to cook if you two can find the time, and will eventually get the hang of it. You and Julian in the kitchen, warm and cozy, teaching him how to make a good macaroni? Now that’s an afternoon date in the making.

-- Nadia -- 

Growing up royal meant Nadia never had to cook for herself. To some, it’d be very improper for someone of Nadia’s standing to ever cook, especially in the same kitchen as the servants. But in-between her piano lessons and fencing training and literacy/history/mathematic/public speaking tutoring, she also devoted some personal time in reading up on skills she wouldn’t have been taught - like gardening, jewelry craft, and also cooking and baking.

She had this stint of candy-making when she was a teen, after seeing sugarspun candies in the market that were shaped into different, multi-colored animals and flowers. She would sneak into the kitchen and, with the help of particular cook friend, make candied nuts, meringues, taffies, marzipan. And with the skills she learned making candies, she also learned how to bake and cook various things.

Rarely did she ever get to exercise her cooking skills beyond a mere pastime. She had no one to cook for, nor enough spare time. So very few people knew she bakes a mean butter cashew cake.

One day, she just kinda absentmindedly mentions that she knows how to cook a few things, so you insist she show you, which kinda takes her off-guard and she’s a little nervous, because it’s been a long time since she busted out the ol’ apron, and what if you don’t like what she makes??

She goes to the kitchens and almost bails out, even briefly entertains the thought of passing off the chef’s cooking for her own, but chases that thought from her mind. The palace servants gets to witness the Countess roll up her sleeves with a determined grunt and go ham on some pistachios. 

You wait patiently in the solar (as she instructed), and Nadia brings up a beautiful tray of brightly colored nut-flour sweets with tea. Nadia herself is a little worse for wear, with a dusty face and tangled hair. But she’s thrilled to see you enjoy her cakes. They taste wonderful, doubly so because of the love she put into them.        

-- Muriel -- 

He almost always cooks for himself, ever since his street urchin childhood, and his skills have only improved while living in the woods. He’s no longer scraping mussels off of dock beams to boil in a thin cauldron, he’s hunting 8-feet-tall elk and using every inch of the animal, from boiling the hooves for aspic, to making sausages out of the intestines (the antlers are powdered for their magical properties).

It’s rarer that he ever wants for something he can’t produce himself. He boils his own sea salt, curdles his own cheese, presses his own oil. The problem is that he doesn’t make an effort to make delicious-tasting food. Unlike Julian, who cooks like shit but still enjoys the finer things in life, Muriel has access to super fresh and good-quality ingredients but is ruled by his practicality.

Living in the woods is tough. If the harvest was bad and all Muriel has is last autumn’s rice harvest, then its porridge for the next month. There’s nothing for it; hunting is unreliable even in an expert’s hands, fishing only a tad less so, and a simple wet season or early frost can ruin a garden quicker than a plague. 

Muriel may have said he didn’t need your help around the hut, but your help truly did make a difference when it came to food security. An extra set of hands made for less time and lighter work. Your influence also shined through his cooking; now, he actually does care if something tastes good, because you were eating it with him. Muriel could survive just fine on perpetual pottages, but you deserved better.

Hence, roasts that are actually seasoned, bread with jam and butter, and salt not just for preserving purposes. 

Cooking stopped becoming just a means, but a creative outlet for Muriel. He wanted to treat you, and in turn it became something special for himself, too. 

-- Portia --

The Devorak siblings have one collective braincell, and Portia’s got dibs on it. So she’s got the cooking skills that seemed to have eluded Julian, and she’s very good; the best out of the six. 

As a hand-maiden, cooking isn’t part of her duties, but to even get hired she had to prove she could hold her own in the kitchen on par with royal cuisine. It’s beyond simply being able to replicate a recipe, she knows how to carve game into the right cuts, memorize the seasonal harvests, estimate temperatures by touch, and other complicated kitchen sciences. 

Portia spent her life traveling on ships, so she’s witness many a worldly cuisine and it’s influenced her skills. Nothing impresses a table more than introducing some ‘exotic’ spice and using it right. Her own personal favorites are from all corners of the land. Her dinner spread can consist of Hjalle shrimp pancakes, Galbradian green bean broth, Prakran flatbread, and lamb roasted in an underground oven like they do in Firent.  

Once she has the opportunity to cook (or bake) for you, be prepared for a storm. You’re never gonna have to want for good cuisine again, not if Portia has anything to say about it. Even the little things she makes, like her strawberry jam or workhouse-style bread, taste great. You ask her why she doesn’t pursue a career in cuisine, and she replies that cooking is an outlet for her, not a job. Plus, she’s far from a ‘truly skilled cook’, according to her. That honor’d go to Mazelinka. 

A lot of her budget she’ll happily relinquish to cooking, such as imported spices or the expensive cuts of game. She knows that the smallest difference in quality - such as in the salt, or vinegar, used - can make or break a dish. Her kitchen is always fully stocked with groceries and ingredients. One of her big splurges was investing in an icebox, and before she had you, a magician, in the picture, she was indeed buying ice to keep her meats fresh.

Whether its a wrapped lunch or weekend roast dinner, Portia will always want to spoil you in the best way she knows how; through your stomach. Your waistline might be less happy, but like heck Portia’d take pudge as a negative.

-- Lucio --

He’s been Count for over two decades, but before that he was a rough-and-tumble mercenary. And before that, he grew up in the infamous Scourge Lands, where etching out a living was always a matter that teetered on the brink of a knife.

He had to learn how to live tough. The Scourge Lands are no lush forest like Muriel’s backyard, it’s a flat tundra with limited vegetation and even lesser animals that aren’t more likely to kill you before you kill them. The entire clan’s been living off of bitter turnips for weeks, but finally a family of boars are scouted. Now you just have to take down a bear-sized boar while circling around five others who all want to gore you. 

Even cooking can be a struggle. Life as a mercenary meant trying to strike fires on cold, damp wood in a freezing drizzle, and keeping it lit long enough to roast the skinny fish you managed to spear. It meant knowing which plants were edible and which caused three nights of stomach pains, and also being willing to resort to digging up grubs when you’re really on the brink of starvation.

So does he know how to cook? Yeah, he can roast meat over a fire and know when its safe from pathogens, but other than that he’s lost. He was so happy to finally have cooks and servants to serve him entire banquets. Never did he learn (nor want to learn) how to bake bread, or fry potatoes, nevermind suckling pig or creme brulee. 

If come a time where you and Lucio are away from the precious palace kitchens, he’ll rely on his wallet to buy the two of you a nice meal. If the two of you are lost in the wilderness, don’t worry, Lucio to the rescue and you can trust him to forage something, and grill it on a hot rock. No salt, though. Not even water to wash it down, if you’re really unlucky.

Still, it’s kinda a surprise to eat Lucio’s emergency field cooking, because it’s not awful. The best anyone can do in the circumstance, even. Make sure to tell him that, he’s always fishing for compliments.