#i MUST be surrounded by whimsy!!

[arc-tu-rus]

Following @crownedinmarigolds in posting workspaces!! I am proud of this decor so I must admit I love any opportunities to show it off (ꈍᴗꈍ✿)

I do wish I could hide the pc cables better, and I wish it existed more "visuals" of peripherals instead of only variations of LED (imagine the pc with vintage-y looks!!), but alas...

Side shelf cropped because it's a mess rn, but here it is :D

[whimsyprinx]

do y’all think stars are happy

[trinketstar]

The Amazing Toybox Circus!

A storybook - Part 1

Once upon a time, there was a very old toy shop.

An unremarkable sort of place with very few visitors. The shelves were lined with antique curiosities which had collected dust over the years.

Among these, atop a colorful wooden toy chest, was a simple kaleidoscope. It was inscribed with a strange design of teeth and eyes, and a poem about a magical circus.

...

Now, one might imagine the type of person would walk into such a place. Perhaps someone who has worked far too hard. Someone who feels unsatisfied with the tedium of every day life, and who longs for an escape into the fantastical world of imagination that playthings can inspire. This sort of person might look through a kaleidoscope and dream, just for a moment, of a new life filled with bright color, of fun and adventure.

This was the sort of person who suddenly woke up on the floor, surrounded by darkness and extremely confused.

Feeling dizzy and thoughts hazy, she righted herself and began to wander. A soft jingling noise followed her with every step, though she paid it no mind. There were more pressing issues at the moment.

She strained her mind trying to remember how she could have possibly ended up here. She clearly remembered entering a toy shop, but her thoughts beyond this were blank besides a vivid image of swirling colors. Red and blue spirals. All she knew at the moment was that she felt terribly afraid, and very very small.

Timidly, she called out-

"HELLO, MY NEWEST SUPERSTAR!"

An enormous wooden ventriloquist dummy suddenly burst from the shadows. His painted eyes gleamed, one blue, one green. His wooden teeth chattered as he loomed overhead. He pulled a white balloon on a string, which sported an equally large toothy grin.

The sight was positively terrifying.

"Welcome to the amazing toybox circus!"

"The ... the toybox what?" She squeaked in response.

"Why, the toybox circus of course! You're sure to have a grand time, my dear! " She was suddenly lifted up to meet his unsettling wooden gaze.

"My name is Caine! I'm your ringmaster," he continued at an unnecessarily loud volume.

"My dear, you've entered a wonderful world of whimsy and adventure, where anything can happen! Soon you'll meet your new friends and we shall put on a show!"

He spun her around before setting her down on the floor again.

The girl was speechless. Be part of a circus? Led by a talking puppet? Surely this was all a strange dream!

"I'm sorry, sir," she eventually said, somehow managing to speak politely considering the circumstances. "But I really must be getting home! If you'd kindly show me the way-"

"Oh but you simply must stay for the performance, my dear! I've prepared all sorts of activities that are sure to delight! Oh the audience will love you! You shall be the star attraction!"

The puppet was very insistent. At a loss, the girl considered her options were either to continue wandering the darkness or to trust this "ringmaster". Now she was an intelligent young lady, but she was also a curious sort. After all, curiosity was what brought her here in the first place, and curiosity compelled her to see what would happen next...

So despite better judgement, she finally said -

Hesitant but hopeful. Perhaps this would be interesting? At the very least, she could play along until finding a way out of this strange place, out of the toyshop and back home. Or until she woke up, as this was likely a dream after all.

"At any rate, this may be fun," she hoped out loud.

Something cackled from atop a large shelf. The silhouette was that of a rabbit, but with a wide yellow grin.

"Heh HEH! You'll soon see, little clown," he said, before hopping out of sight.

What an odd place this was...

----part 2 coming soon!

[thepaperpanda]

The hot springs || Douma x fem!reader x Akaza

Summary: You suggested a hot spring visit to ease the tension between Akaza and Douma 😈

Warnings: none, but the reader is one of the Upper Moons

Word count: 4,5k

Authors: Cass & Rouge

As one of the Upper Moons, you were esteemed among your fellow demons and counted Douma and Akaza as close acquaintances. Over the centuries, you had forged a relationship with both of them that was both complex and, at times, tiring.

Douma, with his impeccable taste and artistic flair, had always been a fascinating figure to you. He was cunning and manipulative, but also prone to bouts of whimsy and erratic behavior. Despite his charm and wit, you could not help but feel a sense of irritation at times, especially when he became overly self-indulgent or cruel to those around him.

Akaza, on the other hand, was a force of nature. His raw power and determination were awe-inspiring, and you had often marveled at his ferocity in battle. However, his uncompromising attitude and stubborn nature could also be grating, and you found yourself growing increasingly weary of his constant need for challenge and conflict.

You loathed witnessing the incessant conflicts that would ensue between Akaza and Douma, often without any clear objective or motive. The clashes were nothing more than an exercise in brutality and bloodshed, fueled by an insatiable appetite for violence that seemed to consume both demons. The ferocity of their battles was matched only by the callousness of their words, as they hurled insults and taunts at each other with the same merciless vigor as their physical assaults. Each encounter was a brutal display of power and dominance, leaving you with a sense of unease and discomfort that lingered long after the dust had settled. It seemed that their mutual animosity had no end, and no purpose beyond the perpetuation of their own pride and arrogance.

As you pondered over the problem at hand, you began to develop an idea on how to reconcile the two opposing sides. With your advanced critical thinking skills and innovative approach to problem-solving, you meticulously crafted a plan that would bridge the gap between Douma and Akaza.

The idea was a risky one, as it would involve keeping each demon unaware of the other's presence, but you felt that the potential benefits outweighed the potential drawbacks.

You spent weeks meticulously planning the excursion, choosing the perfect location and ensuring that everything was in order. You sent separate invitations to each demon, making sure to provide detailed instructions on how to reach the hot springs without crossing paths with the other.

Finally, the night of the event arrived.

Akaza was the first one to arrive at the hot springs. He held a great liking towards you, a young demon who had proven to be loyal and disciplined, traits which he deeply admired.

Although the hot springs were unconventional, Akaza was not about to decline the offer. In fact, he was surprised that you had found such a secluded location, away from humans and in the heart of nature.

As he approached you, Akaza offered a warm greeting and willingly followed your lead. However, he couldn't help but express his suspicions about the sudden invitation. "I must say, you inviting me here so abruptly... it does raise some suspicion," he remarked.

"Well, I guess I just thought it would be nice to catch up."

As you walked towards the hot springs, you couldn't help but feel a little proud of yourself. It wasn't every day that you managed to outsmart a demon like Akaza.

The warm, mineral-rich waters were known for their healing properties, and the opportunity to soak in their embrace was a rare treat. The sound of the rushing water and the lush greenery surrounding the place filled you with a sense of calm and tranquility.

"You could have just said so, and I would have come to see you earlier," he summed up. Akaza let out a contented sigh as he settled into the hot spring after taking his buggy pants off. It was the perfect place to unwind and relax. As he leaned back, he couldn't help but think that you had chosen an excellent spot. He felt grateful to have such a loyal and devoted companion like you.

You pulled off your shirt, feeling the fabric slide off your skin, revealing your naked chest. Then, you unbuttoned your pants, and let them drop to the ground. 

Despite your initial hesitation, you couldn't resist the call of the water, and soon you found yourself joining Akaza. The sensation of the water surrounding you was almost overwhelming, the weightlessness and the gentle currents carrying you along on their own journey. "Akaza?" You swam to him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

His arm gently wrapped around your waist, drawing you closer to him. He hummed softly and opened his eyes to gaze at you intently. "What is it?”

"We won't be alone, handsome. I invited one more person."

Akaza's expression immediately soured. "Who else did you invite?"

"Akaza-dono! Y/N!" Douma's exuberant voice echoed across the hot springs, causing Akaza to stiffen. Of all the beings Akaza could have gone without seeing, Douma was at the top of his list. All he wanted was to spend some peaceful time with you, without any interruptions.

"Aww... did I arrive too late? I hope I didn't miss out on anything exciting," Douma grinned as he undressed and joined the two of you in the water. "Only Y/N could have come up with such a delightful plan!"

"Good evening, Douma-sama!" You greeted him, letting go of Akaza and swimming to the other demon to place a kiss to his jaw. "I was afraid you won't come."

"How could I refuse you, my dear?" Douma chuckled, nuzzling your cheek before planting a soft kiss on it. "Besides, it has been ages since I last soaked in a hot spring!"

"Guys, I brought the two of you here for a reason," you said, your eyes locking onto theirs. "I'm tired of your constant fighting and bickering. It's time to put an end to this feud. That's all I ask. I don't expect you to become best friends overnight, but I do expect you to try to get along."

Akaza let out an audible scoff, clearly not amused by the suggestion. He had no intention of following through with such a foolish idea.

"Feud?" Douma questioned, his head tilted to the side. "Don't be silly, Y/N. There's no feud between us. Where on earth did you get that idea from?"

You leaned forward, your voice gentle but firm. "I understand that, but you can't let those disagreements fester. You need to sit down and have an honest conversation about what's been bothering you. And most importantly, you need to listen to each other."

"I don't care about his reasons for being bothered. I came here to spend time with you and relax. Alone," Akaza grumbled.

Douma rested his chin on your shoulder and let out a sigh of his own. "I truly don't see what the issue is, my dear. I have no ill feelings towards Akaza-dono. We simply enjoy teasing each other, nothing more."

You slipped your sharp nails into Douma's hair, scratching his scalp lazily while giving a glance to Akaza. "Come here, handsome," you asked him, making the best doe-eyes.

Douma's smile widened as he leaned into your hand, closing his rainbow-coloured eyes, enjoying the affection.  Akaza couldn't deny the comfort of having you close, even if it meant being near Douma. He let out a deep sigh and moved closer to you after cutting the distance, his arm wrapping around your waist from behind.

"Can you at least consider my words, Akaza?" You asked, leaning into his strong hand on your waist.

"Please don't expect me to perform miracles," Akaza shook his head, trying to focus on your scent instead looking at Douma who was way too close to you, as for Akaza’s liking.

Douma let out a contented sound, his smile still intact. "See? We don't fight all the time, as you put it, darling."

"Excuse me, Douma," you began, your voice carefully measured. "I can't help but be reminded of Akaza when I saw the way he carried you with the strong blow aimed at your jaw during the last meeting we all attended.”

Douma maintained his grin, directing it towards you. "Oh, dear Y/N, don't be so dramatic. It's merely a harmless horseplay. Do I appear to be bothered by it?"

"Excuse me, but I have to say something. I understand that you two may not consider your behavior harmful, but I do. And I think it's time you changed the way you speak and act towards each other. And I won't let you go until you both apologize to each other and shake your hands," you folded your arms over your chest, tilting your head to the side. "And I have plenty of time."

"You're being dramatic, Y/N," Akaza said with an eye roll. "I won't even touch him."

Douma let out a soft whine in response. "Ah, what a shame, Akaza-dono! I was looking forward to some fun," he shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, I suppose we have more time to relax now."

"Boys!" You whined sadly. "Please? For me?"

Douma pouted and wrapped his arms tightly around you. "But I'm a good boy, I didn't do anything wrong," he protested.

Akaza shook his head and swam away, clearly annoyed by Douma's antics.

Meanwhile, the rainbow-eyed demon sighed and made himself comfortable, pulling you onto his lap. "Don't worry about him. He's just being moody," he said reassuringly.

"Akaza-dono!" You moaned after the other demon and rolled your eyes, rubbing your temples. "Honey, wait here a little, I need to speak with him," you kissed Douma's jaw and swam to Akaza.

Ignoring you until you sat on his lap, Akaza eventually relented and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer against his toned chest.

"You're mad at me, aren't you?"

Akaza didn't bother to look at you as he muttered, "Yes, you brought him here. I don't understand why you would want to be involved with him in any way, but I allow it nevertheless. Just you need to know that I have absolutely no plans to get near this bastard any more than necessary."

You studied Akaza's face carefully, taking in the tension in his features as he spoke of his concerns. His words were measured, but the worry in his voice was palpable. "Are you worried about leaving me by Douma's side?" You asked gently, your eyes never leaving his face. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you knew would be a difficult conversation. "I appreciate your concern, Akaza. But I need you to understand that all I want is for the two of you to get on good terms. I'm tired of the constant fighting and tension between you. And truly, it affects not only me but other Upper Moons as well."

Akaza expressed his disapproval with a sigh. "I have no intention of being on good terms with that annoying, woman-eating creature," he said. "Douma is a poor excuse for a demon, and don't try to manipulate my emotions. It only affects you, not anyone else. I'm perfectly fine with keeping my distance from him."

"For me? Pretty please?" You rested your forehead against the crook of his neck..

With a deep sigh, Akaza rolled his eyes and asked, "What do I get out of it, little one?"

You blinked; you didn't expect him to have any conditions or stuff like that. "What would you like to get?" You asked, playfully tugging on his hair.

"Well, I’m asking you about that. Since you try to force me into interacting with him," Akaza pointed at Douma who just smiled and waved at the two of you. "I am getting lonely here, Y/N-chan!” He sang, showing his perfect fangs in a wide grin.

Before you managed, you laughed involuntarily and waved back at Douma. "Well. Isn't my love enough?" You kissed Akaza’s cheek, slowly moving your hands down his nape, scratching where you knew he liked the most.

Akaza shrugged and kissed your cheek, "Sorry, but your love alone isn't enough to make me want to get closer to him."

You cupped his face in your palms and kissed him as deeply as you could, slipping your tongue past his lips. "Come on, Akaza, be a good boy. I know you are. And it would make me happy."

Akaza acquiesced with a low growl and nodded, releasing a deep sigh. "Very well. Let it be as you wish."

You let a happy squeak, tugging on his hair. "You're the best, you know?"

He pushed your hand away from his hair in annoyance. "If you stop pulling on my hair, I'll consider your pleas. So what exactly do you want me to do with him?"

"I like when you're growing angry," you told him, grasping his hand. "Since you agreed, you two will interact like the good boys you are. And you'll apologize to him, and he'll apologize to you. Come, handsome."

Akaza followed you while squeezing your hand.

Douma, who was sitting in the water looking visibly bored, immediately perked up and started beaming with happiness upon seeing the two of you approaching. "Oh Y/N, Akaza-dono! Finally! I was afraid you both forgot about me!"

"And tell me, how could I have forgotten about my charming lord?" You asked, tapping his shoulder, and giving a significant glance to Akaza.

Instead of giving in to his urge to punch Douma, Akaza took control of his emotions and forced a smile. He apologized for his previous behavior and said, "I'm sorry for being so mean to you, and for punching you, so many times."

"Please don't feel the need to apologize, Akaza-dono," Douma smirked, stretching his arms. "However, since you have, I accept your apology!"

Akaza found it difficult to control his anger and resist the urge to punch Douma's face, with that ugly smirk glued to the other demon's lips.

After their heated confrontation, it was a relief to see that Akaza was willing to swallow his pride and apologize. You knew that it wouldn't be an easy thing for him to do, but you also knew that it was the right thing.

Akaza's deliberate words caught your attention as you observed Douma's facial expressions closely. You noticed a sense of astonishment followed by a guarded sense of acceptance.

"Douma," you said softly, fixing him with a pointed look. "It's time for you, darling."

Douma blinked in surprise as he looked at you. Apologize? He, the nice one, had to say sorry? Nevertheless, he moved closer to the pink-haired demon and wrapped his arms around Akaza tightly, his voice filled with happiness as he said, glaring up at Upper Moon Three, "I'm sorry for ever annoying you! I never meant to do so. You’re my best friend in the end."

Akaza froze in place as Douma wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace. His muscles tensed up as he fought the urge to lash out and attack the cult leader.

You smiled, seeing them interacting. You settled into the hot spring, the warm water enveloping your body and easing the tension in your muscles. You closed your eyes, letting out a contented sigh. "I'm proud of both of you, and I want us to enjoy this moment together. Now come on, join me in the water. It's so relaxing, you won't regret it."

Finally, Akaza managed to extricate himself from Douma's embrace and made his way to your side, putting some distance between himself and the other demon.

Douma simply shrugged and casually took a seat on your other side.

You let out a contented sigh as you sank into the warm water of the hot springs, feeling the tension in your muscles start to melt away. But what made this moment truly special was the company of two of your closest friends, who had taken their places on either side of you. "It's like we're in our own little world up here."

You let your head fall back and close your eyes, letting the warm water wash over you. It was moments like these that made all the stresses and worries of daily life fade away.

Douma let out a deep sigh and silently concurred with you. He then linked his arm with yours and rested his head on your shoulder.

Meanwhile, Akaza reached for your hand underwater and grasped it tightly.

You started stroking Douma's head, and could feel the softness of his hair and the coolness of his skin beneath your fingertips. 

You also felt Akaza's fingers interlock with yours as you continued to stroke Douma's head. 

The three of you sat there in silence for a while, the only sound coming from the soft rustle of Douma's hair as you continued to stroke it.

"Yeah, yeah, that was lovely, but how about some one-on-one cuddles now?" Akaza suggested, gently lifting you onto his lap and away from Douma's embrace.

Douma looked at him incredulously. "Hey, that's not fair!"

You were caught off guard as Akaza suddenly pulled you onto his lap. Your body stiffened as you felt the weight of his muscular arms around you. "Baby," you whimpered, your voice betraying your shock as you offered him a glance. 

As he held you, you couldn't help but notice the feel of his powerful arms around you, and the warmth of his breath fanning your neck. You rested your forehead against his in the end.

Douma's arms were folded over his chest, his eyes narrowed as he glared at Akaza. "That's not fair. I want a turn too," he protested.

"Douma, darling..." You whispered, trying to smile at the silver-haired demon.

"What? We were supposed to share," Douma argued loudly, attempting to take you all to himself, pulling on your waist he grasped tightly on.

"Douma!" You whimpered after being pulled on the silver-haired demon's lap. "Akaza! Can you stop arguing, guys?!"

"Who are you to say that? You would probably just take her to your cult and imprison her," Akaza growled, forcefully pulling you back onto his lap.

"You're just jealous," Douma retorted, scowling at Akaza. "I wouldn't do that to her. She's free to make her own choices. And I know you're jealous of weaklings worshiping me."

Akaza tightened his grip around you protectively. "I don't trust you. You have a history of manipulating others for your own gain."

Douma rolled his eyes. "Oh please, don't act like you're any better. We're all demons here, remember?"

You shifted uncomfortably between them, feeling like a piece of property being fought over. "Guys, can't we just enjoy the moment and not argue?" You suggested weakly.

Douma let out a dark chuckle, his eyes glinting with malice as he gazed at Akaza. "I would love nothing more than to see you with your hands all over her though," he taunted, a twisted smirk spreading across his lips.

Akaza's grip on you tightened as he glared at Douma. "You're disgusting. Keep your twisted fantasies to yourself."

You blinked again and cleared your throat, trying to get their attention. "Boys! Stop it, like right now! I'm still here, if you didn't notice?!"

Douma's arms wrapped tightly around you, ensuring that Akaza wouldn't try to take you away again as he pulled you onto his lap. "We both know that, love, it's hard to ignore," he said with a sweet smile, causing Akaza to cringe in annoyance.

"So quit it! Right now!" You tried to wiggle yourself out of Douma's embrace.

He released you with reluctance, his hand giving your head a gentle pat before dropping back to his side.

You slowly rose from Douma's lap, not bothering to cover your nudity with your hands. You could feel both of their eyes on you, tracing every curve and contour of your body with an intensity that made your skin flush with heat.

Furthermore, you felt a surge of anger rise in your chest, and you clenched your fists at your sides. "How dare you," you seethed, your voice low and menacing. "I am not some plaything for you to ogle at! Show some respect!" 

The memories of their objectifying behavior haunted you, and before long, the brush slowed to a stop as tears began to trickle down your cheeks. As the tears continued to flow, you decided to get out of the water. 

When you were fully dressed, you simply left further in the woods.

They both observed you, taken aback by your sudden outburst. It was a rare occurrence for you to display such emotion.

As you stormed off, Akaza became concerned, but Douma simply let out a sigh and sank deeper into the water. "Women can be so dramatic, don't you think?"

Suddenly, Douma felt a sharp tug on his silver hair, pulling him underwater before being released a moment later. As he coughed out the water, Douma grinned and urged Akaza to do it harder next time.”Akaza-dono! I know you can go rougher next time!”

Akaza rolled his eyes and declared, "We're going to find her." He let go of Douma, got out of water, and began to dress himself.

Douma sighed but followed suit, carefully arranging his hair before getting dressed. "Alright, let's go find the drama queen before the sun rises," Douma said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

You sat under the shade of a large tree. The air was cool and crisp, the kind that carries the scent of autumn leaves and earth. You had found your favorite spot in the forest, a place of refuge from the demands of the world.

Sitting on your lap was a small Japanese macaque, its soft fur warm and comforting against your skin. The monkey seemed to sense your sadness and curled up closer, as if offering a soothing embrace. You stroked its fur absentmindedly, tears streaming down your cheeks.

The two male demons walked back in silence, the tension still thick in the air.

As they approached you, you turned around and gave them a cold stare. "What do you want?" You asked, your voice laced with bitterness.

Akaza took a step forward, concern etched on his face. "We want to talk to you. Please, come back with us."

Douma stepped up beside Akaza. "We're sorry for what we said earlier. We didn't mean to upset you."

"Just go away," you snapped at them, not even bothering yourself with looking at them.

The demon with rainbow eyes rolled his fan and used it to shoo away the animal from your lap. "Don't be childish, Y/N. Your sudden departure made us worry," he said with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Your eyes fixated on the retreating figure of the monkey as it darted through the forest. 

Normally, Akaza and Douma's presence would have caught your attention, but this time you chose to ignore them, pretending as if they weren't even there.

"Oh, don't push us away like that. It's hurtful," Douma remarked, taking a seat next to you. Akaza soon followed, sitting comfortably by your other side.

"You both had already given me a headache," you hissed, not looking at any of them. You shook your head, feeling the weight of their rivalry bearing down on you. "I don't like this, guys. It's not fair to me, and it's putting a strain on our relationships. I don't want to be the cause of this tension between you anymore. That's why I decided I won't talk to any of you ever again. I'm done with your bullshit."

"What if we promise to stop fighting?" Akaza asked, gently taking your hand. "For real this time."

"I appreciate your words, Akaza," you said, your tone neutral. "But forgive me if I don't fully believe in your promise to stay out of trouble with Douma."

"After giving it some more thought, he's right, my dear," Douma added, mimicking Akaza's action by taking your hand. "The last thing I want to do is distress the one I love."

"You both already did," your tone was nothing but a whisper carried by a cold, night wind.

"That's why we came after you, Y/N. We didn't follow you for no reason," Douma  explained.

"We're sorry for arguing and making you uncomfortable," Akaza added, his hand still holding yours.

"Do you forgive us?" Douma asked, looking at you with a hopeful expression.

You sat sandwiched between Douma and Akaza, your mind racing as you tried to process everything that had happened between the three of you. There had been a time when you trusted them implicitly, when you would have followed them anywhere. But that trust had been shattered when they had betrayed it by arguing all the time, leaving you to fend for yourself.

After a long moment of silence, you spoke, "I'm willing to trust you both again."

Both demons exchanged smiles before turning their attention back to you. 

Douma leaned in and planted a soft kiss on your cheek before trailing down to your neck. "My dear Y/N, we're so glad to hear that. We promise to make it up to you," he whispered.

Akaza hummed in agreement, nuzzling his face into your shoulder and placing a few more gentle kisses. "We'll do our best to be better, for you."

"And you really won't be fighting with each other?"

Douma chuckled. "Well, I'll behave, or at least I’ll try to."

Akaza smiled softly, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. "As will I. And we will work on our differences for your sake."

"I am the happiest demon when you both behave. I have certain feelings for both of you, and I can't imagine losing any of you,” you explained.

They both started to place sloppy kisses on your neck.

"Now that we're all on the same page…" Douma purred. "How about we go back to your cozy little lair and..."

"... continue our little celebration," Akaza finished for him, his hand caressing the curve of your waist.

As your partners leaned in to place soft, feather-light kisses along the sensitive skin of your neck, you couldn't help but blink in surprise. It was a small, unexpected gesture, but it sent shivers down your spine nonetheless. You purred quietly, relishing in the sensations that their touch evoked. It was a rare moment of pure intimacy, and you were grateful for every second of it. But as they continued to kiss your neck, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. Not for their touch, of course, but for the easy way they seemed to communicate with each other. "You two are so in sync," you murmured, your voice soft and wistful. "It's lovely how you can finish each other's sentences. I already love it. Maybe let's not waste time anymore. I'm in heat.”

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Dr. Freezegood

Debut: Super Mario World 2: Yoshi's Island

Dr. Freezegood is a snowman on skis, and is very cute! It would be a very generic snowman (which is still a lovely and cute thing to be) without the skis. And I think there's a reason you don't usually see snowmen on skis... their poor snow private parts grinding against the ground! This is why snowmen ride SNOWBOARDS!

But Dr. Freezegood doesn't care! It says "As a doctor, I am smarter than most snowmen, and I know that snowmen do not have genitals in the first place. If I do lose any of my snow body mass while skiing, it can be easily replaced, and being made of snow, I cannot feel pain." Oh! Yeah, it was weird of me to mention snow private parts, wasn't it? "Yes, it kind of was." Thank you for your honesty. But if you know all this about how your body works, do you know how you are alive in the first place? How you have eyes? "Yes! Magic and whimsy." Oh! Of course! I was a fool.

Dr Freezegood does not ONLY ski. It's not like some meddlesome old woman who does nothing but ski. Indeed, it is not a Ski Biddy. Anyway, you cannot ski without taking the Ski Lift, of course. It waits politely and excitedly for its turn to have winter fun! Going down a slope at high speeds is fun no matter how you do it, usually, assuming you are not, for example, in the basket of a shopping cart careening toward a busy street. But that's not something humans do! That's something a loaf of bread or a carrot or a store-cooked rotisserie chicken does.

There is sadly no standard official art of Dr. Freezegood, but there are a few drawn on an official Yoshi's Island jigsaw puzzle! Those things are so weirdly common! Choose a random Yoshi's Island enemy, and there is a good chance its gallery will include an appearance on a jigsaw puzzle. It's nice, really! I like jigsaw puzzles. One day I will be immortalized on one surrounded by funny critters... oh yeah, these Freezegoods have interesting colors! Instead of a red bucket and a green scarf, one has both red, and one has both green! Like Those Two Guys... it also appears that rather than skis, these ones are on toboggans. I think those are better for a snowman!

Dr. Feelgood is such a Yoshi's Island localization name. You just KNOW that's some kind of musical reference. And it is! It's the alias of a blues musician, the name of a pub band, the name of an album, and more! What a potent reference that is. With a name like that, Dr. Freezegood must be really good at freezing Yoshi! Well when it touches Yoshi he just bounces off a bit. Bye

[calliopesdiary]

hi i saw that you were taking requests and idk if this is a good one or too boring (never done this before) but you could always write smth kinda similar to where the reader is james sister and have her be remus or sirius's sister, with sirius you get all that black family drama.

have a nice day and love your writing!!

hi dear! sorry it took me so long to respond i was on vacation! i went with remus but with like a whimsy/luna lovegood esk reader!!

You and Me, Always Forever <3

synopsis; People have always seen and perceived you as a bit odd, a bit whimsy. and you were alright with that. but when your “friends” comment about you behind your back, you go to Remus and Sirius.

pairings: lupin!reader x bigbrother!remus, (platonic obviously ew 🤮), wolfstar

content: reader gets bullied lightly by her friends, remus is the best, sirius is like your older brother because he’s dating remus

“She’s just— so odd.” Lucy— your ravenclaw friend stated.

“Lucy, don’t say that. she’s just different.” Gracie scolded softly.

“She’s not wrong, Grace.” Taylor looked up from her nails.

“it’s just a bit weird how she goes around practically spewing nonsense out of her mouth, i’m surprised Remus doesn’t get tired of it.”

“I sure would if i were him, imagine having your sister being a complete loony!” Taylor ridiculed.

“Oh, Sirius! your Aura is oddly red today!” Lucy mocked, causing Gracie and Taylor to giggle along with her.

what they didn’t know was that you had heard all of that, and it wasn’t very funny to you.

but you had a feeling your aura was a bit blue.

you felt hot tears welling up into your eyes as you ran off from your hiding spot near the library.

why would they say those things? were they right? were you a loony? was remus tired of you?

you didn’t really know, but all you did know was that you needed to find Sirius.

before whispering the password into the portrait hole, you stepped carefully into the Gryffindor common room.

taking in your surroundings, you spotted Sirius. manspread across the couch as he perked up when he saw you.

“little star—!… are you alright?” his excitement faded once he saw your tear stained face, you never cried.

“n-no.” you answered truthfully, the nargles hated when people lied.

“what’s the matter, sunshine?”

he opened his arms just for you to fall into his chest, sobbing lightly as he stroked your scalp.

Sirius had always been like a big brother to you, always so sweet and kind ever since he started dating Remus.

it also helped that you were one of Regulus’ best friends, so you already felt a little connection with him.

“can you tell me what’s wrong, little star?” he lifted your head up gently by holding your cheek.

“m-my friends… s-said i was a loony.. and that Remus is tired of me a-and that i’m odd.” you struggled over your words, as he quietly shushed you.

“those aren’t your friends, sunshine. real friends wouldn’t say that to you.”

you knew deep down he was right, but it still hurt.

“and Remus could never be tired of you, nor could i, or Reggie, or.. Junior.” he wasn’t very fond of you being friends with Barty, but he knew that boy would move the heavens for you.

“he must be annoyed a little..” you added.

just as Sirius was about to protest, Remus walked in with a stack of books.

“star?” he asked quietly, setting his books down on the coffee table in front of the couches.

“Sirius, what’s happened?”

“some of her mean old friends called her some mean names, and she thinks your annoyed with her.” Sirius answered bluntly, yet still kind considering you were right there.

“oh.. star, how could i ever be annoyed with you?” he brushed a small strand of hair from your face.

“c-cause i’m a loony.” you looked up at him shamefully.

“but that’s a good thing, star. it means your different, but different is good.” Remus smiled sweetly.

“i’m a bit of a loony too, but so is Siri, and James, and Pete.”

“y-you are?” you asked nasally.

“of course, sunshine.” Sirius smiled, and you were happy to spend the rest of the day just like that. nuzzled happily into your actual brother and your bonus brother.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

What a great house for less than $400K. The 1898 home in Salisbury, MD has 4bds, 1.5ba, and is listed for $369,999.

The shingle style Victorian has the typical center hall with sitting rooms on either side, but it's widely spread out. I also see pocket doors.

Check out that fancy marble fireplace. I wonder if that brick surround is original, it doesn't seem like it would be.

In the room on the right, they made a dining room, but it's not a dining room. Someone redid the 2 fireplaces with brick. I think that I would paint it, so it didn't look so out of place.

It's not meant to be the dining room b/c it's not near the kitchen, and I suspect that they had those cabinets built.

Further down the hall is this huge room. It has 2 pianos!

What a lovely guest powder room. The embossed wallpaper and sink are gorgeous.

And, finally, we come to the kitchen. Yes, that front room is way too far from the kitchen.

Look at all the stuff. I would say that you can never go wrong with white cabinets when remodeling an older kitchen.

Off the kitchen there's a sun room. What if a buyer wanted to close in a month on this home? They wouldn't be able to pack all this stuff up in time.

There could be a table and chairs out here, b/c there's a serving window.

This is beautiful- a deck on the back of the ground floor. Love the trees.

Now, here we are on the 2nd floor.

Ah, a bit of whimsy- a skeleton in a rocking chair. It's a lovely bedroom.

Very large bedroom.

This must be the primary bedroom. All of the things! There are going to be a lot of holes in the walls.

Beautiful combination of new and vintage.

How do they keep that cage and the surrounding area clean? I had one half that size and couldn't keep up.

In the corner of this room there are lots of bookshelves, but they're not built-ins, so they may not convey.

The yard is very nice. It's interesting. There're nice porches and a deck. Is that a garage back there?

This is very nice. I love all the trees and greenery.

[yoomiwrites]

My boring love²

Summary: (Y/N), a reserved shop worker, catches Hawks' attention as he seeks distraction from his hero duties.

Note: Ah, maybe I should warn you, this story CAN contain spoilers. I finished mha and it will—mostly—take place before most of the heavy content of the manga. However, I want to inform you that it MIGHT spoil you in certain aspects (be it his missions, past, etc.) Oh and sorry that it's (Y/N) or Y/N – I get it mixed up sometimes and forget to correct it. Now I am too lazy, but I'll promise I do so later.

𓆩⚝𓆪

(Y/N) pulled her coat tighter around her as she stepped out of her apartment. The icy morning air bit at her cheeks, and she muttered under her breath about how late she was running. No time for breakfast—not that she had much in the fridge anyway. She locked the door and turned to leave, only to stop short when she saw the cat from the night before. It was sitting on the stoop, its orange fur ruffled by the wind. The animal stared at her, unblinking, as if waiting for something.

“You again?” she said, her voice flat.

It didn’t move, only flicked its tail lazily. She gave it a brief glance before walking past, her shoes clicking against the pavement.

“I don’t have time for this,” she muttered, her mind already on the day ahead.

The closer she got to her shop, the louder the noise became. A low murmur of voices, punctuated by sharp instructions over a megaphone. Her steps slowed as she approached and found a crowd gathered just outside Whimsy Wonders.

Police tape cordoned off the area, and uniformed officers moved purposefully through the scene. Y/N craned her neck, trying to see what was going on, but the press of bodies made it impossible to get a clear view.

“What happened?” she asked a passerby, but the person just shrugged and kept walking.

Frustrated, she tried to push through the crowd, murmuring polite apologies as she nudged her way forward. The voices around her blurred into an indistinct hum—snippets of speculation about a robbery or an arrest—but nothing concrete.

Suddenly, someone jostled her hard from the side, and she stumbled. Her hand shot out to steady herself, but the motion sent her glasses sliding off her nose.

“Damn it,” she hissed, dropping to her knees as the crowd continued to shift and push around her.

The ground was cold and rough beneath her fingers as she patted around, squinting against the blur of her surroundings. She heard more voices above her, sharp and urgent, but the words were muffled without her glasses.

“Move, please,” she called out, but her voice was lost in the din.

Her fingers brushed against something smooth, and she grasped it quickly. She sighed in relief as she slipped her glasses back on, blinking a few times to refocus.

Straightening up, she realized she was still far from the front of the crowd, and the police tape stood between her and her shop. Officers moved purposefully, escorting two handcuffed figures into a waiting patrol car.

“What on earth…” she murmured, taking a step back to assess the scene.

She didn’t recognize the people being arrested, but the sight left her uneasy. Something serious must have happened, and she had no idea how long it would be before she could get back to work—or if the shop had been affected.

The orange tabby from earlier padded into view, weaving between people’s legs with surprising ease. It stopped a few feet away, turning its head toward her as if it had followed her all this way.

Y/N stared at it for a moment, but before she could dwell on the cat, someone bumped into her again, nearly knocking her off balance.

“Guess I’ll have to wait this out,” she muttered, retreating to the edge of the crowd.

(Y/N) sat on the bench, the orange tabby sprawled across her lap, purring like it owned her. She absentmindedly scratched behind its ears, her eyes on the distant crowd outside her shop. The police tape, the officers milling about, and the occasional flash of a camera from onlookers made it clear that getting to work was out of the question for now.

Her thoughts wandered, a quiet hum of annoyance and worry in the back of her mind. Then, a familiar voice interrupted her.

“Not a bad look, you know. The cat suits you.”

She glanced up sharply, her eyes landing on a man standing a few feet away. He wasn’t exactly subtle. The tousled blond hair, sharp amber eyes, and the air of casual confidence immediately gave him away: Hawks, the Number Two Hero.

Her eyes flicked downward, and sure enough, his wings were gone—replaced by nothing but the slight ripple of his coat in the wind. She knew about his ability to detach and control his feathers, but it was strange to see him without the red plumage that usually made him so unmistakable.

“Morning,” he said, a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

(Y/N) blinked at him, then looked back down at the cat. “Morning,” she replied, her tone neutral.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, motioning to the empty spot beside her.

She shrugged. “Go ahead.”

He dropped onto the bench with a comfortable ease, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked out toward the crowd. “So,” he began, tilting his head slightly, “what’s a cat person like you doing out here instead of in the shop?”

She shot him a flat look. “First of all, I’m not a cat person. Second, there’s kind of a scene outside the shop. Hard to work when the police are arresting people right at your front door.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. You’re handling it pretty well, though. Most people would be freaking out.”

“What’s there to freak out about?” she replied, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “I can’t change anything, so I might as well wait until it’s over.”

“Practical,” he said, nodding. “I like that.”

She didn’t respond, her gaze drifting back to the crowd. Hawks, however, seemed content to sit in silence, his eyes scanning the scene with a practiced ease.

“You’re not exactly blending in,” she said after a moment, glancing sideways at him.

He smirked, leaning back against the bench. “Hm, no wings? Too subtle for you?”

“It’s a little weird,” she admitted. “But you’re not hiding who you are, so I guess it’s not my problem.”

“Why would I?” he said, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “You’re not the type to make a fuss, are you?”

She frowned, unsure whether to take that as a compliment or an observation. “Guess not.”

The cat shifted in her lap, stretching before curling up again. Hawks eyed it with mild amusement.

“You sure that’s not your cat?”

“For the last time, it’s not,” she said, a trace of exasperation in her voice.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, leaning back with a grin. “But hey, I’m not judging. If it makes you happy, why not?”

She stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what he wanted. He didn’t seem to be in a rush to leave, and his easy demeanor made it hard to pin down his intentions.

“So, are you just here to people-watch, or do you have some actual hero business?” she asked.

“Bit of both,” he replied easily. “Saw the commotion, thought I’d check it out. Turns out I found something more interesting.”

Her brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He waved her off, his grin widening. “Relax, it’s a compliment. Not every day you find someone who stays calm when life throws them a curveball.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that, so she stayed quiet, her hand idly stroking the cat’s fur. Hawks didn’t push further, content to sit there, his presence strangely unintrusive despite who he was.

The police scene outside the shop finally started to wind down, the crowd thinning as the officers wrapped things up.

“Well,” Hawks said, standing and stretching, “looks like your shop’s about to be back in business. Guess I’ll leave you to it.”

She nodded, watching as he turned to leave, his coat billowing slightly in the breeze. He glanced back once, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“By the way,” he called over his shoulder, “I think the cat likes you.”

Before she could respond, he was gone, slipping into the flow of the city like he’d never been there at all.

The warmth of the shop greeted (Y/N) as she stepped inside, a sharp contrast to the icy morning outside. Her glasses fogged immediately, obscuring her view, and she sighed in mild frustration, pulling them off to clean them with the hem of her sweater.

Her stomach growled loudly as the scent of candles and wood polish filled the air, reminding her she’d skipped breakfast. She rummaged through her bag, pulling out a slightly battered chocolate bar she’d stashed there weeks ago.

It wasn’t exactly good anymore, but food was food. Breaking off a piece, she popped it into her mouth and winced at the stale taste. “Could be worse,” she muttered, unwrapping another square and chewing thoughtfully.

The shop was quiet—no sign of the earlier chaos except for a faint buzz of conversation from passersby lingering near the storefront. She glanced out the window as she set her things down behind the counter.

The orange tabby was nowhere to be seen, though she wouldn’t have been surprised if it had decided to make itself comfortable on the doorstep.

“Probably found someone else to bother,” she muttered, tugging her apron over her head and tying it at the back.

With a quick glance around to ensure everything was in order, she flipped the sign on the door to OPEN and unlocked the door. Customers trickled in soon after—a middle-aged woman looking for candles, a teenager picking out birthday decorations, a businessman who browsed aimlessly before leaving without buying anything.

Her workday fell into its usual rhythm, and yet, a small nagging thought lingered in the back of her mind: Hawks.

She hadn’t expected to see him again, let alone two days in a row. The first time, she’d chalked up to a fluke—him wandering in out of curiosity, or maybe boredom. But this morning? That felt…different.

She shrugged to herself as she scanned a customer’s purchases. It wasn’t her business what heroes did in their spare time, even ones as high-profile as Hawks.

Still, it was strange.

“Thank you,” she said, handing a neatly wrapped bag to the customer. They left with a polite nod, the door jingling softly as it swung closed.

For a moment, the shop was empty, the quiet hum of the heater the only sound. She leaned against the counter, absently rubbing her temples.

“He’s probably just nosy,” she murmured, as if saying it aloud would make it true. The Number Two Hero had a reputation for being friendly, maybe even overly so. He was probably like that with everyone, and she’d just happened to cross his path twice.

Brushing the thought aside, she reached for the box of candles that needed restocking, focusing on her work instead of the confusing hero who had dropped into her life like a stray feather...

His pov., earlier.

Hawks slipped through the crowded streets with practiced ease, his hood low and his coat hiding the absence of his wings. His meeting with the League of Villains had gone about as expected—a tense dance of manipulation and careful words. He had left with his usual casual front intact, but the weight of the double agent role sat heavy on his shoulders.

He caught sight of the commotion outside the little knick-knack shop as he turned a corner. Police tape, curious onlookers, and the low hum of chatter reached his ears. His steps slowed.

What’s going on here? he thought, his sharp eyes scanning the scene.

His gaze drifted toward the shop. It was closed, the inside dark, and for a moment, an unfamiliar unease pricked at him. He’d become oddly accustomed to glancing out his office window and catching glimpses of her—the quiet shopkeeper who moved through her routine with a kind of calm simplicity he found oddly fascinating.

It wasn’t that he was worried about her, exactly. No, he told himself, it was more about his new…hobby. She’d become something of a distraction, a way to anchor himself when the demands of being a hero—and a spy—threatened to overwhelm him.

As his eyes swept the crowd, he spotted her, sitting on a bench a little way down the street. A orange tabby sprawled across her lap was an unexpected addition, and he felt a flicker of amusement at the sight.

“Guess she’s fine,” he murmured to himself, the tension in his chest easing.

Still, he found his feet moving toward her before he’d fully decided to approach. He wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe it was the pull of curiosity, or maybe he just wanted a break from everything else.

Either way, he wasn’t about to overthink it.

[tallestsilver]

50. “It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night.”

Okay, I don't know what it's not posting with the *whoops* 5 pages, but I will post it.

EDIT: I am thwarted by tumblr. Have these links: AO3

FFN

To infer that I am a haunted man is an understatement. I have a personality apt for obsession. To throw myself entirely into my passions with reckless disregard to my surroundings. At times such as these, my attention is consumed by, more often than not, composing. I may go days without moving from my post, neither sleeping nor eating; nothing of this earthly realm can deter me when I focus on the divinity of music.

That is, of course, until one Mademoiselle Christine Daae haphazardly entered my domain.

Nothing so pure with child-like whimsy and naivety has shaken me to my core as resolutely as one Mlle. Daae.

Initially, I could sweep her from my thoughts. She is a young woman with many prospects. No doubt, could easily find a patron that lurks in the corners of the ballet corps. Many other young women and girls have succumbed through desperation to those demanding aristocrats with too much time and money to spare, and plenty of disregard for the fairer sex.

Convincing myself it was just my carnal base desires leaching out from the pits of my own desperation could only go so far. Although the thought of hand to hand, flesh to flesh was undeniably enticing, it was the thought of domesticity with Mlle. Daae that plagued my every thought: how comforting the warm embrace of her arms must be. A petite sigh of boredom, deciding on what book to read. Slight quibbles on what to eat for the evening supper. Her jubilant enthusiasm for the next aria I undoubtedly would encourage her to sing.

Above all, the care and ritual that she would engage in for her own beauty. How rapturous it was, to gaze upon her as she gazed upon herself at her vanity. Vanity - the very word loathsome to me, suggesting as though men did not participate in gazing at women in the very same regard as a mirror.

These quick glances I so abashedly stole while she sat preening, unbeknownst to my very presence, were not lecherous albeit voyeuristic. No, the careful application of rouge upon her cheeks and lips entranced me. Fur-soft puffs laced with powder enhance her brilliance. Waxed perfume enticing all the senses upon her wrist and decolletage. And sin against sins, the way her bristled brush caressed through her golden tresses. That, truly, was my undoing.

The carefully laid witchcraft of feminine makeup was inspiring to me, for it could potentially do wonders for even the most macabre of faces into looking somewhat respectable. I had dabbled in the venture myself, using theatre techniques to adhere attributes to myself that were so sorely lacking.

But the spell Christine cast upon me while brushing her hair was my undoing. Alas! To be the silken ribbon tied behind her graceful neck to keep the mass of riotous curls at bay so she could study her scripts, movements, chords... To run my spindly claws through her hair...

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. I wanted nothing more than that domesticity, accumulating to be able to assist her in her womanly needs. To fetch the shade she needed for her next scene or to comb out the tangles of the divine. I wanted, nay, needed to be a house husband to her. Fawning over her every whim, cooking, cleaning, making sure my Nordic Goddess could never want. And then, hope upon hope, to stroll in a park on a Sunday.

After exposing myself as the fraudulent Ange de la Musique, we did settle into a somewhat harmonious existence. Not exactly to my fantasies, but surely we held each other in some regard.

Maddening silence was often my punishment if I did anything she deemed untoward. Granted, my violent outbursts were getting more and more frequent as she gained more notoriety, attracting the attention of other men. She was not mine, not truly, but I could see fit she was not theirs, either.

I found myself in one of those sullen moods of hers. Dark circles plagued my Angel's under eyes. She no longer cared for her rouge, perfumes, or trinkets. She was no longer amused by my antics of sleight of hand, stories, or even songs.

Christine slumped into a morbidity that I knew only too well. True, her boy did indeed leave for the Northern Pole, and we're slowly acclimating ourselves to a potential future, whatever that may be, but the disdain in her gaze strikes me as sharply as a knife. No, perhaps not disdain that she feels for me; resignation may be the proper term for the hollow look in her eyes.

I never considered myself a timid creature, but the thought of her unhappiness sends me spiraling in isolation, to shun myself from her presence.

It was in this meekness, that I carefully approached the creature of all my desires, as she stared numbly at her vanity.

"Good evening, Erik," she stated automatically, not bothering to turn to face me. My eyes gleamed yellow in the reflection. If she wanted to speak to me thusly, I would acquiesce and respond in kind.

"Good evening, Christine." My voice was low, not demanding, but certainly not The Voice. I had refrained from using The Voice on her in many months after she berated me that she did not like losing her faculties as such.

"Around me," was the unspoken phrase that she had not explicitly stated, but the implication was thus.

No matter, I did not want her to be hypnotized to tolerate me. This 'case of the morbs', my dearest had, was better than utter disdain or calmness against her will. My desires were simple, to enjoy each others' company, for a smiling bride awaiting her gruesome husband and to welcome me with kindness.

Reason dictated that I repair the contemptuous relationship we found ourselves in. But women are fickle creatures and any means of being contrite seemed to annoy her. Could I not read the emotions of other creatures well enough? Are humans not but animals with longings to be loved as well as any?

In my coveted ideal of domesticity, I found myself liking Christine to be a feral feline that one should be cautious to approach, lest she hiss and strike you with an open paw. But perhaps in providing for her needs, she might allow a gentle pet.

I stood behind her, my hands wringing, uncertain of how to broach the question that had plagued my mind.

She sighed heavily, her eyes closing in - annoyance? Trepidation? - before asking, "what is it, Erik?"

I nearly bristled at the directness of her question, but Christine had mentioned it is easier to get what you want with honey rather than brute force - whatever that is meant, I took a cautious step toward her.

The precious girl did not run away.

"Erik wanted to know-" I froze as her mouth deepened into a frown at my slip. She admonished me frequently for not speaking in the first person. "I wanted to know-" I quickly corrected, "if you require some assistance with brushing your hair?"

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at me through the mirror of her vanity quizzically. I took another step forward, rubbing my wrists in uncertainty. She once mentioned she liked my cuffs a little shorter, exposing my wrists, and I adjusted my entire wardrobe accordingly, but instances like this made me feel exposed all over.

"What?" Her hands automatically ran over the ends of her hair, indeed, finding a mass of tangles and knots. She looked down in an all-too familiar expression for me: shame at her appearance.

My hands dropped to my side, my body rigid in fear, that I caused the anguish that shadowed her beloved features. "What I mean to say- not that you require it- I thought it would- no, no you mustn't-" My thoughts were a jumbled mess as did my words, usually so mastercrafted, fell so flat into nonsense.

As I rambled, Christine turned in her seat, witnessing my awkwardness. She toyed with a stray lock of hair, plucking at some split ends, her usual proper posture hunched and withdrawn. She was quiet as I hurriedly decided to dismiss myself and wallow in my awkward misery into my own room, when her voice called in a meek, considering way, "all right."

"I shall see myself out because you certainly do not wish for me to-" I snapped to attention and whirled back around, "-all right?"

She nodded and retrieved her hair brush, silently reaching it toward me.

My mouth gaped open and shut like a gasping fish before moving toward her once again.

"All right," I responded in kind.

Reaching for her brush, our fingers touched, ever so slightly, and I held the gasp that threatened to escape my throat. I was touch-starved, this is true, but the demure sensation was a relief to one more step toward normalcy. I looked to her to see if she was offended that my skeletal hand should touch her radiance, but no screams were heard. She simply nodded and turned back to face the mirror as I stumbled to stand behind her. Heat blossomed across my masked face, my ears betraying my blush that she would allow me to touch her.

My hands trembled, unsure where to begin, unwilling to hurt the angel in front of me. This was a foolish endeavor, I know nothing about caring for long hair, particularly the mass of curls before me. I pressed the brush to bundle of tangles at the nape of her neck and tried to pull down. The bristles stopped dead in their tracks, but Christine's head went down with the motion with a gasp, "ow!"

I froze in terror, all feeling draining from my person. I had wounded my Christine. I hurt her unintentionally once again. "Apologies, my-m," I bit my tongue to prevent myself from saying out loud, "My Christine." I wanted to run, to flee, to have her never look upon me again and to give up this silly dream. But I also wanted to persevere, to be of use to her, to see that smile once again.

Christine sensed my hesitancy, and with the patience of a saint, she mimed how to start in the mirror. "From the bottom," she said quietly, just above a whisper. "Work your way up to the top. That will help with the tangles. I have not felt like myself, I can do it-" she reached for the brush and I snatched it away from her grasp.

"No!" I barked, too loud. She winced from the loud exclamation, but the poor dear did not run in terror. I cleared my throat and inhaled deeply to settle my nerves, "No," I stated more gently, but firmly. "Eri-I wish to do this for you." I looked at her earnestly. "Please."

She looked warily at me and I inwardly chided myself. My emotional outbursts were more and more infrequent, but they still bubbled to the surface now and again. She slowly nodded and repositioned herself in front of the mirror.

Cautiously, slowly, I started brushing her hair out. Her curls separated and poofed before me. I gripped a few locks and ran the brush through it, marveling how it shimmered in the candlelight. The tangles persisted, but as did this magnificent angel, nary a peep out of her lips. I moved through delicately, sections unraveling themselves and it became easier and easier to maneuver.

I restrained myself from burying my face in sunshine made tangible, to inhale her sweet perfume, but I shall admit it was a struggle. I did not want to cross the boundary of this tentative truce.

As I managed to make it all the way to the top of her scalp, the brush gliding through the rest of her tresses easily, Christine gave the sweetest feminine sigh and leaned back, against my frame. While I continued with my ministrations, my mind roiled in delight and fear. How do I navigate a situation like this? This was suddenly more intimate than I was prepared for and a quick excuse to leave became very appealing. I need to sleep? She would never believe that. Compose? Make some tea?

"I feel," her voice interrupted my frantic thoughts once again, "that if I were a cat," she paused, as if carefully examining her next words, "I might purr." She smiled - oh! How that angel blessed me with her smile- and looked at me once again.

Dumbfounded and skittish, I could only nod. The two of us fools, navigating dynamic we were naive to explore. I did not want to cease the brushing, but as her hair no longer needed attention, I was at a loss for what to do.

"Thank you, Erik." She reached back and separated the fluffy mane into three segments and deftly plaited her hair into a neat braid.

I took a step back from her, holding my hands, "You're welcome, Christine."

Silence enveloped us once again and I took that as a signal to leave.

"Will you tell me another story? It has been quite a long time since you read to me or told me of your travels."

She stood and offered her hand to me. Tentatively, I embraced it.

"Yes."

[cilil]

AN: Another one for @angbangweek!

⚡︎ Prompt(s): Shapeshifting & mountains ⚡︎ Synopsis: Melkor and Mairon play an elaborate game of chase in the depths of Utumno ⚡︎ Warnings: Dragon daddy Melkor ⚡︎ Short oneshot (~600 words) | AO3

The halls and caverns under the mountain were vast, greater than even the halls of Aulë, a kingdom of stone and shadow in the bosom of Arda.

And there was a monster lurking in its depths. 

Mairon's breath came in small puffs of frosty white, visible in the cold air that surrounded him like a foreign force reaching and grasping for his warmth. He could sense that he had been spotted; the creature from below was on its way. 

Attempting to avoid capture, he ran. The patter of his feet echoed through the grand subterranean halls, almost unnaturally loud. His fiery locks bounced and billowed behind him like a flickering flame. From far away, yet drawing ever closer, Mairon heard claws on stone, rustling wings, the low growl of a mighty being pursuing its prey. 

He ran faster. His hunter followed. He was swift, yet no matter where he went, the sounds came closer. 

There was no escape either. Even his sharp senses found neither wind nor daylight within this icy labyrinth. 

Alongside the creature, Mairon heard his own heartbeat. It was fast now, erratic; it alone would betray his presence. Louder still were his breath and his feet, aching from sharp rocks and difficult terrain. 

At last he made it to a particularly great and spacious hall, reminiscent of a throne room. Before Mairon could even make sense of his surroundings, something large, winged and scaly rushed in, its mere presence so mighty that he was knocked to the ground and unable to continue fleeing. 

A clawed paw settled on his chest. It alone was big enough to almost cover him entirely. 

He was caught. 

His hunter was what would in later ages be known as a dragon, a huge reptilian creature with horns and wings and shimmering black scales. Gleefully, it lowered its snout to sniff him, then opened its fanged mouth to reveal a long, pink forked tongue and began licking him. 

"I caught you."

"You did," Mairon conceded and fell limp in its grasp. "I have been caught by the mighty Father of Dragons and King of Arda." 

He was almost disappointed when his words prompted his hunter to shift forms, the dragon shrinking until the tall, humanoid form of a great and terrible lord stood before him. The horns and wings remained, as well as a few patches of scales adorning grey skin, and Melkor looked down at him with bright purple eyes. 

He licked his lips. "Indeed. And now you are mine." 

Crouching swiftly to seize Mairon once more, he picked him up and held him like a groom would carry his bride. His tongue, still unnaturally long and forked, darted out to lick wet stripes across his face and neck. 

"Whatever shall be done to me now, lord?" Mairon asked, batting his eyelashes in faux deference. 

"I shall take you to my lair," Melkor purred, "and then you shall be part of my hoard, my prettiest and most precious gem, made from the Flame Imperishable itself..." 

"Ah! Such a terrible fate!" Mairon exclaimed theatrically. "Will perhaps a hero from the West come and save me, lest I be taken by the Dark One?"

"Nay," Melkor laughed, and his dragon tail swished back and forth gleefully. "There is none who could save you from me. You must yield to me, precious little flame, and be claimed as mine." 

Mairon pretended to swoon as he was carried down into the depths under the mountains by his supposed captor, an entirely too excited monstrous Vala. But the truth was that he was thrilled as well, impatient to see how their little game would continue — and which sinful, illicit acts would be performed upon him. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @angbangbaby @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @destinyeternity1 @edensrose @elanna-elrondiel @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @melkors-big-tits @melkors-defense-attorney @saintstars @sauron-kraut @urwendii @wandererindreams

[sukimas]

As someone who is- at best- a Touhou secondary, can you offer any insight as to why there appears to be/is so much drama surrounding whether or not Merry is Yukari? “Seemingly Unrelated Character B grows up into/otherwise becomes Character A” is not an especially world-shattering story beat, and after reading your document it seems unbelievably obvious by 2005.

There's nothing that I can say is the overall reason as sadly I'm not a mind-reader, but I have some theories (some of which may be true in parallel, some of which may not be true at all):

A.) Touhou is a series that many fans believe is highly up to interpretation (due to the fact that they are otaku unused to literary elements such as the unreliable narrator; you can see this in, for example, responses to Umineko) so there's a degree of resistance to anything being "obviously intended".

B.) Many Touhou fans enjoy having opinions on things without reading the works that apply to these things; the music CDs in particular are a case where "fans of fans" are very common. This isn't necessarily a problem when discussing what people like, but it runs into issues when discussing, say, authorial intent.

C.) Youkai are kind of nasty, and Yukari is a particularly nasty variation. Many people don't like the idea of humans in Touhou becoming youkai in general.

D.) Due to B, as well as the obscurity of the two works that are written directly from Yukari's perspective, many people have an incorrect idea of Merry's personality, Yukari's personality, or both; this leads them to have an incorrect idea of the differences between the two. This is the "well, even if Yukari was Merry once, is there anything really left of her since she's so different?" objection.

E.) Many people see the idea of Merry ending up as a youkai as something tragic- they enjoy the idea of her and Renko going on adventures in their modern day forever. This is despite the fact that their sense of ennui in and disgust with the modern world is more apparent with each CD published.

F.) Also coming from E and B, people often have an interpretation of the club members as "innocent" and "childlike"; there's a general degree of belief in sweet, innocent, childish whimsy being what drives their actions in the CDs. Yukari being self-admittedly too tired to have stupid fun like the members of the Scarlet Devil Mansion going to the moon on their idiot rocket can seem like a contradiction in terms, and makes it seem "tragic".

G.) Also coming from E, many people seem to have the mistaken opinion that in order for Merry to have become a youkai, something terrible must have happened to Renko, and she's really torn up about it. Either that, or that she'll never see her again- this latter is common even in more level-headed interpretations, but makes little sense with, for example, the idea of Yuyuko Saigyouji existing. Anyway, people don't like to imagine the club being torn apart so rudely.

H.) An extension from G- people don't believe that Merry could ever be or become a youkai without harming Renko as they simply don't seem to have a strong metaphysical understanding of youkai from other Touhou works (and this idea is often played up for drama in popular fan media).

Generally speaking, it's mostly "she's so unlike this, so either this can't be true or if it was true it would be a terrible tragedy. and i can't stand terrible tragedies, so it can't be true" as large segments of the Hifuu fandom are a little bit immature about the idea of anything ever changing. In a sense, it's kind of treated like Class S yuri. Add to this a good helping of people not reading and not believing that anything not stated in so many words can be true, and you get a perfect storm of idiocy.

[mafufuu]

i compare childrens literature to pd pcs

!! spoiler for like, so many episodes of prime defenders god knows how many, but def s2 finale, if youre not done scroll away at rapid speeds !!

Childhood

    Peter Pan is a tale of growing up. Dakota Cole is someone who might have done that too fast. The story follows the Darling children, primarily Wendy and their adventures into Neverland. Wendy seemingly wants to stay a child forever, though when faced with Peter Pan, the embodiment of childishness, her mind is changed. Dakota can be considered childish, with his intellect, black and white sense of good and evil, and extremely kind heart. Yet, it might be that, as opposed to Wendy, he is clinging to whatever remains of his childhood.

     As a kid, Dakota was quite reckless, skipping school, climbing roofs, and whatnot. He’s like Peter Pan, filled with childish whimsy and a lack of care. He befriends a girl, who joins him in the shenanigans. It’s like the early bond of Wendy and Peter. But soon, the consequences of this immaturity become evident. Like how Wendy comes to see Neverland’s flaws. One day, when climbing a roof, the girl falls. Dakota tries to pull her back up, but soon his grip gives out and he goes down too. 

    Couple this with the death of his parents, and likely other factors, Dakota has gone through the kind of stuff that would kill off a childhood. But this is “his” fault, he wasn’t able to save her. Dakota wakes up after the fall, and he runs from wherever he was. He holds this notion that a hero, like the ones he sees in the media, saves everyone. A lofty childish ideal, but one worth admiring. Dakota has grown from where he started, he no longer sees good and evil as two separate entities, holding the idea that the ‘villains’ deserve to be saved too, and that they can be met with forgiveness as opposed to punishment. 

    Peter & Wendy says in the end childishness must be let go of. I reckon that it’s okay to have maturity, yet still hold the whimsy and joy of a child.

Belonging

     Pinocchio is a story that has been warped over time. In this case, I will base this off of the basic sanitized version most people know. It focuses on a wooden boy, the titular Pinocchio, who desires to become a boy of flesh and bone. Vyncent is someone who (as of the beginning) felt a lack of belonging in the world of Prime, and wanted to be accepted. What lies in both is a desire to change.

    Pinocchio starts out as a wooden boy crafted in a woodcarver’s shop, a fit for what he is made of, surrounded by similar things. Vyncent starts out in the world of Fauna, where magic is something everyone has, where people can just have pointy ears and no one questions it, where adventuring parties slaying dragons are usual, where he is normal. Where they belong and are accepted.

     Though, they both leave those places of comfort, intentionally or not. Pinocchio ventures out to become a ���real’ boy, and Vyncent falls through a portal. Soon after, he somehow ends up in jail, then gets recruited to join the Prime Defenders. He does not know the customs of Prime, but he goes with how things are, while using some of his knowledge from Fauna, to attempt to fit in. The heroes are beloved by many, they belong.

     Vyncent embarks on his journey with William and Dakota, forging friends and foes, and maybe, a home, along the way. He finds a place where he can belong. Vyncent goes to visit Fauna, and he is beckoned to stay, in the place where he is from. Yet, with how he would be separated from the Prime Defenders, and how The Greats’ power remains in his sword, he chooses to leave. The Blue Fairy fulfills her promise of acceptance to Pinocchio.

    Interpretations say Pinocchio holds the message of ‘disobedience is bad and being good will be rewarded’ which in some scenarios isn’t untrue. But, to me (and Guillermo Del Toro), it is an anecdote saying if you stay true to yourself, you can be loved, you were always what you wanted to be, realizing it or not.

Curiosity

    Alice in Wonderland is about a girl falling into a strange and foreign world. William Wisp is a boy that got thrown into a hectic journey nonconsensually. For Alice, it is Wonderland she journeys into, for William it is the side effects of dying and getting revived.

     It begins with being out in nature, seeing something strange, and deciding to follow it, then falling, be it being out on the river bank, seeing a white rabbit running late diving into its rabbit hole, or going on a late night hike in the woods, and spotting a will-o-wisp, and chasing it off a cliff. Then, Alice is in Wonderland, and William is falling with strange sights surrounding him. He looks around, seeing bright colorful lights, floating islands, be they holding fountains, a field of greenery with a mother and child walking together, a man on a throne of paperwork, you name it, all things to write home about.

   Both William and Alice leave their places of wonder, though they do return. (Admittedly I’m not sure how well the events of the sequel lines up with William’s character development.) William’s adventures outside of the spirit world do not halt, however I am not focusing on those. When the base burns down, Mallard Conway whisks William away to show him his domain, being an endless graveyard housing everyone he cares for, and himself. Wonderland is certainly described to be a weird place, meaning it is also likely not devoid of horrors.

    Both of the two are out of knowledge, attempting to solve the mysteries of these strange places they wound up in. They both can be mean at times, though are generally decent people, and they want a way out.

    William’s journey through the spirit world and as the Wisperer continues. Ranging from forcing Dakota to fight a smoke samurai, then being forced to eat the soul of aforementioned samurai, to dying again, to learning he is decaying and bloodless after punching a wall and seeing strange imagery, a lot of things, and not necessarily good ones. Like how Alice continues traversing Wonderland.

    Eventually, he dies a third time. He is faced with his final challenge, his trial. He stays with his old ways and runs, and runs, though eventually faces the fight head on, with all the growth he's gone through. The battle is simply happening when Clarence retrieves William to give the latter a second chance at being alive, though more in between alive and dead, as would Alice’s sister wake her up from the dream, and she leaves Wonderland.

    There isn’t really a clear moral to this one, though it may have various themes and interpretations. This is but a tale made up to amuse youth. Though Wonderland may be fun, it has its downsides and things can go south, but the only constant is change, so things will be okay.

Home

    The Wizard of Oz explores the narrative of Dorothy, a girl who lives in Kansas who’s life is turned upside down in a cyclone, Ashe Winters is someone who was just living in suburban New Haven, who’s life was turned upside down by the metaphorical cyclone that is the Prime Defenders (and eventually becomes one himself). 

   Dorothy soon becomes part of  a group, making a quartet, one with three others who doubt their possession of  certain characteristics.  A tinman who treats all life with the greatest of care. A scarecrow who doubts his wit and overanalyzes. A lion, one who houses bravery but chooses to run, until told otherwise. Though Dakota, Vyncent, and William might not be the best embodiment of their trait I assigned among the group, they all have it for certain. Then there’s Ashe, who desires the comfort of family, in these scenarios, not necessarily blood relation, more companionship, familiarity, and support.

    After many trials and tribulations, the Prime Defenders make it where they need to be, fighting Overlord. They won, however their victory came with a sacrifice, Ashe gave himself up to the Trickster so they’d win. Despite how little time they spent together, Vycnent, Dakota, and William are determined to get their friend back. They fight, and they fight, and they fight, until they’ve won.

    All Dorothy desired was to go home, and Ashe wanted connection. These two things are quite similar, Dorothy was not seeking a building, but her aunt and uncle, and home is people, the kind you can connect with. That is what the Prime Defenders are to Ashe. He is one of them. Dorothy and Ashe return to their places of comfort, Kansas, and the Prime Defenders. After all, at the end of the day, there’s no place like home.

[taevbears]

Magic Shop - 09

One day, when I wake up at 3:00AM, unable to sleep, I will look next to me and you will be there, Sleeping peacefully beside me. And suddenly, the world won't seem so lonely.

⤑ pairing: OT7 x witch!reader, Jimin/Yoongi focused ⤑ genre: magic au, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 6.5k ⤑ warnings: implied smut, interrupted foreplay, heavy angst, oppression against mages, jimin as a warning himself tbh ⤑ note: surprise!! i took a few months off from writing this story to pursue other story ideas, but i ended up wanting to come back to this one lol. i have another story in the works, but i do plan to start posting semi-regularly for this series again soon ^^ i hope you guys enjoy! this takes place right after the final of pt 1.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

From the distance, the haunting, sonorous tolls of church bells ring in the hour for the sleeping town of New Haven.

Once. Twice. Three times.

3:00AM. The witching hour.

Monsters and magic are most active at this time of night. Their connection to the Veil – a realm of dreams and demons – is at its strongest peak, opening a window of chaos and mayhem and spilling them into the living world.

For mortals like Park Jimin, the witching hour is dangerous. Humans become prey to these abominations. Kidnapped and sacrificed, they become targets of dark magic, tortured for a mage’s sadistic greed and pleasure.

By law, those cursed with magic are condemned to their high towers and impenetrable castles. But there are some who’ve managed to escape their confinements. Who’ve garnered sympathy from fools they’ve bewitched, and who’ve hidden their unnatural powers to inconspicuously blend in with human villagers.

That’s when the hunters come in.

While the wardens are busy keeping the monsters locked away, allowing them to practice tricks and spells deemed safe by the Devoted, and silently killing them through deadly trials like the Harrowing, it’s the hunters that protect the towns and villages from mages outside their gilded prisons. People who, without law or regulation, take matters into their own hands when facing the Wicked.

History speaks of the war between humans and mages. The human sacrifices, the stolen blood of innocents, the dark summonings, the ominous hauntings, the deals with devils. Magic, after all, is the root of all evil.

And the latest of these horrendous acts is what happened at Blackstone Castle.

Several apprentices rebelled against the teachings of the Devoted and performed a forbidden summoning. The mutiny caused mages to attack the wardens, unleash creatures beyond nightmares into the mortal realm, and escape the castle’s defenses. The leader of the apostate group is rumored to have transformed into a hideous beast that the Warden-Commander had successfully defeated, but by the time the monster was slain, it was too late. Many mages have fled from Blackstone and found refuge in nearby villages, causing fear and suspicion to strike within the communities.

Any mage, surrounded by the temptations of the mortal realm, is a dangerous threat.

Two months ago, when news of Blackstone Castle hit the capital, there was no doubt in his mind what he must do: he had to return to his hometown in New Haven, make sure there aren’t any mages infiltrating his town, and eliminate the ones he finds.

With the key to his grandmother’s floral shop and the blessings of his family from the capital, Jimin returned to town, surprised to see not much had changed since he was last there.

Except for one thing.

The unnamed shop across the street.

The one odd place in town, full of mystery and wonder. What once was ruins and a disarray of abandonment is now warm and cozy with whimsy and comfort. Colorful and mix-mashed, yet in a way that works together. Like it was made of magic. 

And, to his dismay, the cutest shop owner he’s ever seen works there. One that he’s hopelessly fallen head-over-heels with. 

Even though he highly suspects that you are, ironically, the very thing he hunts down.

Jimin reminds himself of that as he sits back on a chair and faces the bed. Under the gleam of moonlight, the dagger in his hand shines. Embedded in the blade are ancient symbols of the Devoted. Once penetrated, it will render even the strongest mage useless, temporarily paralyzing them from using their powers as the effects of the enchanted markings sink in.

An heirloom and a prized possession of the Park family. One that his father used when he became a hero of the town. One that his grandfather used to kill the mage that murdered his parents. And now, one that belongs to him.

He flips the nullifying weapon in his hand over and over. Keeping it close to him, just in case.

In case you suddenly wake – snapping your eyes wide open, the colors of your pupils turning into an eerie, bright gold – and lunge toward him in inhuman speed. In case you levitate off the bed and hurl things flying in his direction. In case the devil’s mark sears red on your skin during the witching hour and turns you into one of them.

Wicked.

Like those corrupted mages – easily trading their souls for wealth, beauty, power, and fame – that the Devoted has warned them about. Like the ones he’s seen attack humans with their unnatural strength and twisted powers. Like the ones who had surely killed his parents.

After all, magic is the root of all things evil.

And you, a mage, are a monster. A human vessel that will inevitably succumb to the darkness and unleash chaos into the world with your cursed power.

His eyebrows furrow together and a deep frown is set on his plush lips

You – the most evil, dangerous, wicked thing to ever exist – continue to sleep soundly on his bed, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil. The black dahlia – doused with potent lavender extract – is disposed of, but it’s already done its job. Keeping you unconscious. Keeping you vulnerable. Right where he wants you.

Time ticks on and Jimin tightens his grip on the dagger. He has to act, and he has to do it fast. He’s certain once the sleeping effect wears off, you’ll attack him.

One minute passes. Then, two. Then, three more.

Abruptly, Jimin stands with the dagger at hand. The chair legs scoot back against the wooden floorboards as he steps closer to you, blinking away the drowsiness from the potent side-effects of the flower.

Was he wrong?

No, he’s certain you’re one of them. He’s certain that one or more of them in that shop are like you as well. Mages and monsters.

Yet, there’s no trace of a golden glow in your eyes. No objects suddenly falling out of shelves, no picture frames or doorknobs rattling, no unexplained knocks or whispers. No faded bite mark that a demon left as a claim on your skin.

His fingers barely touch your neck when you make a sound.

A moan.

Of someone’s name.

Jimin freezes, eyes wide as he looks at your sleeping face. He can’t be certain if you said his name or—

A chuckle of disbelief comes from his lips and he runs his fingers through his hair. This should be easy. Insultingly so.

Yet, Jimin finds himself sitting back on the chair and facing his bed for the fourth time that night. He’s had that dagger in his hand since you fell asleep hours ago. He has every intent to kill you and the others in that shop.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he silently takes you in. The distinct features of your face that he likes, the way your lips part slightly as you sleep, the slow sound of your breath and the way your eyelashes touch the top of your cheeks. The way the moonlight is cast upon your bare skin, almost making you look ethereal in the night. 

He thinks about earlier that afternoon, when you came to his shop, picking flowers to lay out a message of apology and confession. He thinks about the genuine surprise in your face when he admits that he loves you too, that you already have his heart. He thinks about how he meant what he said too.

And as the shop closes and the afternoon rolls into evening, he thinks about his hand in yours as he leads you upstairs to his room. He thinks about your shy giggles when he kisses your neck, your collarbone, and the top of your breasts until you start to remove your clothes for him. And as Jimin takes in your body, he whispers that you’re beautiful without realizing the words came out of his mouth.

This should’ve been easy. If he had known you were a mage sooner, before he caught any feelings for you, perhaps this would have been different. 

But tonight, Jimin sheaths the enchanted dagger and lets you live for one more night.

Your dreams. They always start like this.

High walls of a strong, impenetrable fortress made of dark brick and stone. Willow trees in the courtyard, and a prism of sunlight peeking through the weeping, green leaves. Rows of old books stacked together on long shelves with worn bindings and stain-aged pages. Faceless apprentices in uniformed robes, passing through the candle-lit hallways from one lecture to another, their disembodied voices echoing down the long passageways. Plated armor and concealed weapons of guards that look down at you with disdain.

Blackstone Castle.

Once upon a time, that place was all you’ve ever known. An institution where you’ve excelled too well in the classroom lessons and teachings. Where your exposure to the outside world is limited through words on paper and stories from fellow apprentices of what they could remember before coming to the castle. A so-called home where you had the promising future of becoming one of the best enchanters among your peers.

You lean back against your chair in the lecture room. Notes in your handwriting are on the desk, detailed with whatever you thought is important to note. You tilt your head, frowning a bit in confusion as your hand continues to write.

You’re … actually not sure what you’re taking notes on. The longer you look at the scribbled words, the more ineligible they appear.

The sound of giggling catches your attention. When you glance at the source of the noise, you drop the quill in shock.

Mina?

At the back of the lecture room, Hoseok and your old roommate are snuggled together. Neither of them are paying attention to the lesson, shamelessly making out and touching each other through their clothes. You see her running her hand through his hair and tugging him closer as their tongues slip in each other’s mouths. Although they’re sitting a bit far, you could hear Hoseok as if he’s right next to you. You hear him tell her, “It should’ve been you that made it out of the Harrowing instead.”

“Hoseok?” you utter, your voice pathetically soft. Why would he say that?

When you finally force yourself to look away, Namjoon stands before you. No longer are you in a lecture room, but at the library. His face is completely neutral. Guarded. He asks you, “What is it that you want?”

“I just…” you begin, but before you could answer, he pushes you down on the table.

“I’m not your boyfriend. I couldn’t care less about what we are,” Namjoon tells you as he pins you down. His hand flips up the end of your dress. “There’s only one thing I want from you.”

When you exhale, it’s shaky. Like you’re trying not to sob.

Before anything happens, Namjoon is shoved away. When you turn around, you’re in the ritual room. Seokjin has his hands full, fighting beastly creatures from the Veil with a sword and shield. He shouts for your help, and it takes you a moment to process that you’re in the middle of a battle.

You need a weapon.

The tower rumbles and debris falls from the ceiling. Your heart races as you look through the rubble for a wand, a tome, anything to help Seokjin.

But you’re too late.

An anguish scream cuts you deeper than any blade. Panic and fear seizes your entire body as you watch him slump to the ground. The battlefield is deathly quiet, and you’re sitting there, alone, cradling his head on your lap and crying apologies for what feels like hours.

“Scary.”

Through your tears, you see one other person standing in the distance. You sniffle when you recognize who it is. “Jungkook?”

“You did that to him,” Jimin says from the other side of the room, opposite of where Jungkook is. “You couldn’t save him. This is your fault.”

“I know, but—”

“Scary,” Jungkook repeats, both of them looking at you like you’re something evil. Black smoke swallows them whole, thick as clouds. It takes over the room, Seokjin, and eventually, it takes over you as well.

But once it clears, you find yourself in a séance room. Taehyung sits across from you in a black and gold cloak and a crown on his head. He shuffles tarot cards and asks you the same thing Namjoon does. “What is it that you want?”

“Love,” you answer. Exhausted. Heartbroken.

You don’t want to be seen as a monster. You don’t want to have these doubts. These insecurities. This nightmare.

He sets down one card in front of you. The Reversed Hermit.

Betrayal. Isolation. Paranoia.

As it sinks in, you realize that Taehyung has disappeared. Vanished into thin air. Truly, you are alone again.

You’re not sure how long you sit there in the deafening silence. Wax melts from the candlesticks as the fire burns down the wick. The shadows in the room stretch longer, surrounding you in darkness. But the thoughts in your head are loud, calling you loveless, weak, incompetent, never enough.

Suddenly, you hear music playing. A soft, faint melody from a piano.

You don’t want to be here anymore, so you run toward the sound. A sense of déjà vu hits you as you exit the séance room and find yourself in a long, dimly-lit hallway full of identical doors. Just like your Harrowing, each door you enter leads you to the same hallway over and over and over and over. Despite how gentle the music sounds, you feel desperate to reach it. To see him.

Relief washes over you when you finally do.

In the domain where you first saw him, Yoongi stands behind a piano, dressed head to toe in all black with silver jewelry. One hand presses the black and white keys of the grand instrument, absently playing a tune you vaguely recognized. One he’s certain would bring you right to him.

He glances at you expectantly. A faint smile tugs on the corner of his lips.

Without hesitation, you run toward him, lost and then found. Grief, fear, doubt, and anxiety melt away the moment you’re in his arms. “Yoongi!”

Your familiar pulls you close, brushing his lips against your hair, just as a sharp sting claws into your inner thigh. You whimper and gasp from the pain, squirming in his arms, but Yoongi grabs your jaw and continues to kiss you like nothing is happening.

When the pain subsides, Yoongi finally lets you go. You back away from him, breathing hard, and finally, you notice the golden color in his eyes. He doesn’t move as he peers down on you, lips tugging a bit with an arrogant smirk.

Hesitantly, you lift the bottom of your dress to look at your thigh. A strange, red mark is visible on the skin.

Yoongi merely tilts his head and reminds you, “You’re mine.”

A loud wail is what wakes Jimin from his sleep. His body jerks in reaction, and before he realizes it, he’s tumbling off the chair and onto the wooden floor.

As clumsy as he is, this isn’t unusual for him. He is, however, surprised to see your black cat glowering down at him. Its tail swishes back and forth slowly as an annoyed grumble comes from its chest.

“Sorry,” you apologize, holding a blanket over your body with one hand and shutting the window with the other. “He was crying outside.”

Jimin blinks slowly at you, and then turns his attention back to the cat, who continues to glare down at him. He squints back and whispers, “Isn’t it too early in the morning to be a menace?”

Yoongi gives a grunt of a meow. As if Jimin should’ve known better than to question it.

“I should get going anyway,” you tell him, your voice soft and sad. If Jimin wasn’t wide awake before, he certainly is now. He pushes himself up and sees the redness in your eyes and face. You’ve been crying. “I didn’t mean to stay overnight.”

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Jimin gently asks, jumping to his feet. He starts to approach you, but stops himself. His eyes linger at the blanket you have loosely around you, and how, somehow, you’re even more beautiful to him in the daylight. 

You peek at him with wet eyes. Even now, there’s not a trace of wickedness in them at all. “I’m okay. Bad dream.”

Yoongi meows and rubs himself against your legs, trying to comfort you. A wry smile touches your lips as you bend down to pet him, quietly assuring him again that you’re okay. It feels like this is something that happens every now and then.

When the connection between you and the Veil are the strongest.

It’s subtle, but it’s still proof that Jimin isn’t wrong about what you are after all. He’s never been to a Harrowing, and he knows very little about the Veil itself, but mages leave their physical forms behind to enter that dream-like realm. In order to seek truths, gain knowledge, enhance their skills, and meet both good and evil spirits that reside in that world. It shouldn’t surprise him that mages that fall into a deep sleep during the witching hour could be affected by the Veil.

Jimin crouches down to meet your eye-level. There’s a pleasant smile on his lips as he reaches over to rub your back. “Why don’t you stay a little longer?”

You feel good after a long sleep, a good cry, and dipping into the warm water of a bath. The others at the shop are worried about you, even though you’re just across the street. Yoongi tells you as much as he helps you wash up.

“I know. I meant to go home last night.”

Your memory is a bit fuzzy, but that much, you know, is true. Sometimes, when it feels like you’re dreaming in the Veil, it’s hard to distinguish reality and dreams. You look at your thigh, where you envisioned the devil’s mark to be, and see nothing out of the ordinary on your skin.

He doesn’t say anything as he continues to rub soap on your back and shoulders. It feels nice. You start to lean in on his touch and sigh with content. Then, he asks, “Did anything happen?”

“Other than the obvious? No. I just fell asleep,” you answer, almost certain that there isn’t more to the story. Wake pulled you out of sleep as gently as the nightmare ended, and as you laid on Jimin’s bed, you were overwhelmed with emotion. Every detail, every word from your dream, you remember it. But through the tears in your eyes, you saw Jimin sleeping on a single, uncomfortable chair, facing you and dressed in his clothes from the night before. He had let you sleep on his bed throughout the night, watched over you, and kept you safe. And somehow, just seeing Jimin there with you after a terrible nightmare only reassured you that you were okay. That a dream was just a dream. “I really like him, Yoongi.”

“I know you do,” is all he says. You don’t need to face him to know that he isn’t entirely happy with it. “I just want you to be careful around him.”

“I will, Yoongi. You don’t need to worry about me.”

It isn’t long until you’re out of the bath and dressed up. The two of you are relatively silent as you face a mirror and use magic to fix your hair. Then, Yoongi asks, “Do you want to talk about your dream?”

You glance at him from the reflection. He’s dressed in black clothing and silver jewelry, just as you imagined him. His eyes, however, are normal. Dark, inquisitive, and gentle. Unlike the haunting yellow from your nightmare.

“No. Not yet,” you reply, your hand twitching as you try not to touch your thigh. There’s no pain and no strange mark, but it’s the first time you’ve dreamed of it. The mark that Yoongi mentioned once in passing to further strengthen a bond between a mage and their familiar. “Soon, though.”

You’d think those kinds of dreams would’ve stopped by now, especially after hearing from the boys themselves that they loved you. It feels silly to even question it when it’s obvious that they do. Yet, the same dreams keep occurring over and over, filling your mind with doubt and insecurity.

“Okay.” Yoongi stands next to you as you finish getting ready. “You look nice today.”

You grin at him, a little shy from the compliment, but tease, “Are you saying that I look bad other days?”

“You look nice every day,” he corrects with a shy kiss on your cheek. Then, before you could retort, he’s back into his cat form. You smile at him lovingly and hold him in your arms, feeling the rumble of his purrs vibrate from his body.

Downstairs, Jimin finds himself in a bit of a dilemma.

He has nothing to eat for breakfast.

Work has him traveling out of the shop often, delivering bouquets to customers, picking up new supplies and flowers, and even stopping by local guilds to pick up any magic-related reports to take up. It doesn’t occur to him that he’s rarely home to stock up on his personal pantry.

He’s still rummaging around for something when you finally come down with Yoongi in your arms. “Jimin?”

“I’m back here!” he shouts, grabbing pieces of stale bread and a half-empty jar of strawberry jam. This will have to do for now, he supposes, though it clearly isn’t enough for both of you. When you enter the back room, he tries to bite into the hard, jam-coated piece of bread and asks, “Breakfast?”

“I think I’m good,” you tell him, looking around. It’s notably empty, you realize, as you turn your attention back to his plate. “Is that all you’re having?”

“Maybe it’s a better idea that we eat out,” Jimin agrees, pushing the half-bitten bread aside. He isn’t hungry for that anyway. If it were up to him, he’d take you right back upstairs and have you stay with him a little longer.

He takes a quick glance at the cat in your arms, who seems to hold a steady glare at him. As if daring Jimin to make a move on you while he’s around.

You smile at him. “I know a place we can go.”

Across the street, the aroma of baked bread and brewed coffee welcomes you into the little shop. Seokjin is up bright and early, humming quietly to himself as he carefully puts pastries on a display case. Hoseok pours coffee into several mugs and adds cream and sugar to everyone’s preferred taste. Namjoon is doing an inventory check with Taehyung and Jungkook, writing down what he needs to shop for when he goes to the market later that morning. But as soon as the bell chimes from the front door and you step through the threshold, a sweeter welcome awaits you.

“You’re home!” Taehyung exclaims with a big, boxy smile and pulls you and Yoongi into a tight hug. The cat meows in protest in your arms, but it’s muffled when Jungkook giggles and joins in the group hug as well.

“We were worried about you, pretty girl,” Hoseok comments, holding two mugs for you and Yoongi in his hands, though he seems relieved to see you.

“Yeah, you didn’t come home last night,” Namjoon agrees as he and Seokjin come into the entrance together.

“Sorry, that’s my fault,” Jimin says from behind you. He steps into the shop with a sheepish smile on his face, seeing that he’s faced with the very over-protective men you live with.

Seokjin scoffs under his breath. “That explains a lot.”

“Is it okay if he stays for breakfast?” you ask them, hopeful. There’s a bit of hesitance, as if they’re not really sure what to make of you and Jimin still.

“Yeah, why not? The more the merrier,” Namjoon quotes with a shrug.

Your heart feels warm at their acceptance. Seeing the boys all together in one room, all seven of them, it feels right. It feels complete.

Both Hoseok and Namjoon look at you with so much care in their eyes, scolding you lightly for making them worry. Seokjin smiles at you, alive and well, before he takes Yoongi from your arms to help him in the kitchen. Taehyung and Jungkook refuse to leave your side, still keeping you in their hold until Seokjin bats them away.

If this is all a dream, it’s the cruelest one yet.

Hoseok hands you your coffee and smiles brightly at their guest. “I’ll get another mug. Do you like cream and sugar in your coffee, Jimin?”

Breakfast goes surprisingly well. Laid out on the table are sunny-side eggs, crispy pork belly, toasted bread with butter and jam, a bowl of fresh fruits, vegetable pancakes, and leftover stew from the night before. It’s a feast compared to what Jimin tried to eat at his own shop earlier that morning.

Everyone sits together on the long table, happily chatting and eating. Hoseok feeds Taehyung and Jungkook food from his plate before he eats himself. Seokjin tries to fish for compliments from you and Namjoon for working so hard in the kitchen. Even Yoongi – who strangely appears when the cat disappears – takes a seat beside you and immediately reaches into the fruit bowl for tangerines. 

It’s a little strange, but Jimin seems to fit in really well. Both Hoseok and Taehyung include him in their conversations, asking him what his opinions are about if tigers or bears are the superior animal or the types of cool dances that they’ve seen at the town square. Namjoon and Seokjin make him laugh at their witty banter, and how they bring out the goofiest sides of each other. Even Jungkook is excitedly clapping his hands and giggling at their antics before cutely asking Jimin if there’s any pork belly left on his side of the table. And while he’s certain that Yoongi hates him, he’s surprised when he is offered a piece of his peeled tangerine.

There’s a sense of belonging that Jimin can’t really describe when he’s around you guys. Something that he hasn’t really felt anywhere else.

It’s a stark difference to when he returns to his lonely flower shop afterwards.

Floral fragrances greet him as he walks in the door instead of the aroma of baked good and brewed coffee. There’s a notable silence that fills the room when there aren’t any customers around, unlike at the lively shop across the street, where there’s always music playing and people talking. It feels cold and empty, far from the warm and homey feelings of yours.

Running a shop by himself keeps him busy. It’s hard work and long days, but he likes the smile on people’s faces when they find exactly what they’re looking for, or when he delivers things he’s made to his customers.

Today isn’t any different. Except, it is.

Because just across the street, you’re there. He can see you welcoming curious people inside, checking on the plants outside the shop that Jimin helped you garden with a raven perched on your shoulder, going to the market as Namjoon holds your waist and Jungkook holds your hand, and coming back to the shop less than an hour later and being showered with affectionate greetings from the others upon your return.

Because Jimin can’t stop thinking about how you and the others across the street are supposed to be wicked, evil, vile creatures that feast on the blood of innocents and animal sacrifices instead of tangerines, coffee, and bread. That you must’ve bewitched humans to do your bidding, even though it clearly seems that Seokjin has a mind of his own and wants to be with you all. That you’d use your power to bring chaos and destruction to the world instead of love and comfort in your shop.

Because Jimin realizes that he can’t kill you because he loves you. Even though he shouldn’t. Even though it’s his job to eradicate people like you from his town. 

Yet, here he is, thinking about how concerned he was when you woke up crying. How troubled he felt when he wasn’t able to make breakfast for you. The way he felt a bit nervous entering your shop and facing your other lovers. How they all tried to make him feel welcomed anyway, even if there’s some uncertainty with how they feel toward him. How the morning after with you was nice until he had to return to his shop alone.

The enchanted dagger upstairs is locked away in his room, waiting to be used. Eager for that next opportunity when you’re alone with him. But Jimin, who watches you from his shop’s window with a forlorn sadness, wants to keep you with him a little longer.

And that, truly, is a problem.

“We need to talk.”

Your heart stutters nervously at the words. Silently, you exchange looks with Seokjin, who is washing dirty dishes next to you. But you know why Namjoon is suddenly summoning you all for a family meeting.

At the market, you noticed it. You’re certain Namjoon and Jungkook did too with the way they tightened their hold around you.

In the town square, they were there.

Hunters.

Many of them are talking about Blackstone Castle and the mages that have escaped. They’re asking townsfolk if they’ve noticed anything suspicious, advising people to stay indoors at night, taking notes of any clues they find through their investigations. The three of you manage to avoid them on the way to the market, but it’s clear that their very presence is a threat: the hunters are here, and they’re looking for you.

“It’s too dangerous now,” Seokjin whispers, worried. His thumb caresses the back of your hand as you sit beside him. “We’ll be safer if we get out of town.”

“Where would we go?” Namjoon questions, a bit frustrated. You can tell he’s trying not to raise his voice. “This is our home. We’ve just started to settle down.”

“All the rooms aren’t filled yet,” Taehyung points out as his eyes lock with yours. He’s been certain that Jimin is the last one. That the final room in the shop belongs to him.

Jungkook sighs heavily. “What do we do?”

Running away isn’t an option. You guys already did that, and you don’t want to leave this place behind. Fighting them would only bring more unwanted attention toward you and the shop. Even you’re a bit stumped with what to do next.

“More and more of those hunters are coming into the town,” Hoseok says with a frown. “We have to be careful. We have to look out for each other.”

Namjoon nods his head. “Just as we always do.”

Yoongi catches your eye this time. “Are you sure we can trust him?”

The others look at you as well. Yoongi doesn’t have to say his name for you to know who he’s talking about. You’re the one who knows Jimin the most. They trust your judgment, despite any divination readings Taehyung has on him.

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation. “I trust him.”

By the late afternoon, as things begin to wind down, you return to the flower shop with containers of food from your shop. “I don’t know if you ate your dinner already, but we made these for you.”

He smiles fondly at you, touched by the sweet gesture as he takes the containers from you. “Thank you, baby. I’ll eat it well.”

As he leaves to put the food away in the back for later, you take a walk around. His shop is empty of customers. Various flowers in full bloom sit prettily on display in arrangements and in pots. Everything is beautiful and pleasing to look at.

Though, you notice that there aren't really any personal touches in Jimin’s shop at all. No family pictures, despite his father being a hometown hero or that his grandmother had owned this shop prior. No food that he keeps in stock with favorite dishes and snacks. Even his bedroom feels minimalistic compared to what you’re used to at one of the boys’ rooms. 

If he ever decides to live with you, in that empty room on the second floor, what would his room look like? Would it be like this shop? Would it be something different?

As you lose yourself to your train of thoughts, you nearly trip over something.

A bucket of lavenders.

It sits innocently near a painted cart among other buckets of bouquets. Its calming fragrance is masked by the other floral scents in the shop. But it makes you back away from it as if you just saw something truly horrifying.

Arms suddenly wrap around your midsection and pull you into their chest. You nearly scream, wiggling to get free, until you hear Jimin’s infectious laughter behind you. “What’s wrong? Did I scare you?”

“Yes! How dare you!” you playfully shout, relieved it’s just him. He chuckles and starts to kiss your cheek and neck in apology. His lips feel soft against your skin, and your hand reaches back to touch his neck, turning a bit to kiss him back.

It’s easy to be swept up in him. To get lost in the heat of the moment and not think about anything or anyone else. To push your worries about bad dreams, hunters, and the other boys aside and just melt in his arms. You trust him. You know you can.

But something is bothering you. His mouth moves away from your lips to kiss your jaw and the spot just below your ear, and as you turn your head and sigh in content, you notice the bucket of lavenders again. 

“Stay tonight?” he asks against your skin, eyes hazy with lust. 

You’re tempted. But you answer, “I can’t, Jimin. Not tonight.”

With the hunters in town, you have to make sure that the shop is safe. Hoseok and Namjoon have prepared to sage the entire shop to ward off any harmful intentions to you and your family. And you need to cast added protection spells on the doors and windows so that your shop won’t be easy for them to find.

He hums but places another kiss on your face. “We got a bit carried away last night, didn’t we?”

You glance away from the lavenders and meet his gaze. Again, you remind yourself that you love this man. You can trust him.

“Jimin, about last night…” you begin. His smile fades a little as he arches an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. “Did something happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m having a hard time remembering how the night ended.”

No matter how hard you try, you can’t remember how you ended up falling asleep in Jimin’s room. The last thing you remember is telling him you had to go back home. That Yoongi would be upset, and Jimin said—

“You just fell asleep, babe. Nothing happened.”

“I see.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“It's not that,” you tell him, not sure how to state this without sounding accusatory. You glance over at the lavenders again and quietly admit, “I just feel like I’m missing something. I don’t know. Did… Did something more happen?”

His hands cup your face, warm and a bit calloused. They contract a bit with the cold, silver rings around his fingers.

“What makes you think I’d do something to hurt you?” he questions, trying to sound a bit offended. But for a split second, you could’ve sworn he almost looked amused.

“I don’t know.” Your eyes flutter close as he tilts your face up, greeting you with soft kisses again. His thumb gently caresses your cheeks, hands slowly gliding down your neck, fingers tracing your collarbone. Despite the light touches, your heart pounds hard in your chest, and you feel yourself chasing after his lips. 

“Should I remind you then? About last night?” he asks, nose bumping against yours and a hand against the back of your neck.

“I can’t stay,” you remind him, eyes fluttering close. But his lips feel so full and soft when he kisses you. Each kiss entices you for more, and he chuckles when he feels you tug on his bottom lip.

“Then should we stop?”

He pulls away from you a bit, teasing you, but you don’t allow him. Your arms wrap around his neck as you needily answer, “No. Don’t stop.”

“Good girl,” Jimin praises and rewards you with another heated kiss. You could only moan in agreement, far too distracted to pay attention to anything but the way his tongue slips into your mouth or the way his touch warms your skin, igniting memories of last night with the way his hands roam your body.

With Jimin, it feels easy to love. It feels easy to simply be. Whether as friends, lovers, or something else you can’t quite place, it feels easy to get caught up in the moment with him. Without overthinking of what this all means, without the worry of what you are to him, without caring when the dream ends.

Your back hits the counter, but it doesn’t break the kiss. He feels you over your clothes, and your hands tug him closer.

“Jimin…” you gasp, panting hard when he finally pulls away. He spins you around so your back is against his chest again. Vaguely, through the lust-filled haze, you’re reminded of the night before.

Visiting the flower shop, an apology and a confession, a night spent together. You were trying to get home. Yoongi was upset. The tattoo on Jimin’s chest. A black dahlia.

“Don’t think about it,” Jimin whispers against your skin. He starts to push you down over the counter. Had you been able to see his face, a chill would’ve run down your spine from the way he looks at you in that very moment – like a predator to prey. “Just trust me.”

The chime of a bell snaps both of you out of it.

“What the hell?” a last-minute customer exclaims, unable to open the door all the way to get through. As if, somehow, the door got stuck. “Jimin? Are you there?”

Immediately, Jimin backs off and clears his throat.

“Yes, I’ll be right with you!” he answers, running his fingers through his hair. He stands over you for a moment, protectively shielding you from anyone coming in. When he glances over at you, however, you’re already smoothing over the front of your clothes. Your face is a bit flustered, but not a single hair is out of place. “Are you okay, love?”

“I’m fine, Jimin. I should get going anyway,” you tell him bashfully. He kisses you one last time before he finally lets you go.

With ease, you pull open the front door as the customer nearly stumbles inside. 

When you look back at Jimin, he seems to be staring at you and the door curiously. Then, his eyes lock with yours, and he gives you that same, knowing smile from last night.

The kind of smile where he knows something you don’t. A secret he isn’t meant to find out.

And it dawns to you, just then, that his smile was the last thing you saw yesterday before your world turned black.

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reviews are greatly appreciated!

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

[lunarscaled]

Lord Dullanathri the Season Keeper requests the pleasure of your presence at the turning of the season in the city of Baldur’s Gate for a party of great splendor in celebration of the arriving fall season and Autumn Equinox. Guests are expected to arrive Saturday, the 9th or fashionably late.

Formal partywear will be provided. Further details are enclosed.

>Check the envelope contents?

A Dungeons & Dragons / Baldur's Gate RPC Event ( crafted w/ assistance from @charmsperson and @heincus ! )

Essentials:

THE SETUP

Hi Hello Hallo Bonjour Ciao! This section will contain a rudimentary breakdown of this event in plainspeak for muns, as I understand the google doc might seem intimidating at first glance.

Essentially: this is a big excuse for dnd + bg3 muses to be dressed in fancy formalwear and interact! I saw a lot of people on dash saying they wish there was a DA: I Winter Palace equivalent event in BG3, and several people seemed interested in having a form of open-fandom event taking place that gave them a reason to do that. That is the main goal of this event---to let muses have fun in fancy clothes.

Lord Dullanathri the Season Keeper is an Archfey who has brought his Domain of Delight to Baldur's Gate for his annual festivities celebrating the ushering in of Fall, which it is his duty to oversee. All of Baldur's Gate, including the Outer City areas and Duskhawk Hill, are encompassed by his domain at this time and subject to its rules and aesthetics to some degree. Namely: fall leaves and colors, Feywild plants, lots of fall harvests ( plants such as corn, kale, pumpkin, turnips, beets, etc. ), music, large feasts, and a good dose of fey whimsy. Dullanathri's presence, for those who are aware of him, is considered to be a blessing as his domain's arrival will ensure the successful harvest of all crops and forgeables in the surrounding area, leaving plenty to preserve for the upcoming Winter. Baldur's Gate also loves a good party, and though there is typical Fey mischief afoot, Dullanathri is a neutral party and will not intentionally harm others personally. While the party is going on, all individuals inside the domain will be automatically dressed in formal gala attire; feel free to choose any outfit you would like that you feel is suitable for your character and share it with others! Draw it! Make an image collage of references! Dress your character up in appropriately fancy clothes from the game! Write a drabble about it, Cinderella style! Approach this however you like, before or during the event.

🍂FAQ🍁

What is an RPC / Dash Event ?: Consider this the dashboard equivalent of an in-game event, such as the Lantern Rite Festival in Genshin Impact or special 7⭐ Tera Raids in Pokemon Scarlet+Violet, where many people can come together to participate.

Who is Playing the NPCs?: You are! Or your writing partner is. Feel free to fill in the gaps of the personalities of other party attendants and citizens of Baldur's Gate in a way that is interesting to you and use the skill checks as a guide for your interactions (if you wish). This includes any battle segments, such as Flower Wars---you are free to play this as true-to-form of a real campaign battle as you want, or to plot out things with your partner in advance. Do what suits you.

Is this Mutuals Exclusive?: No! Anyone is free to take the event information / set-up and post opens or write while also respecting the rules of individuals

( ie. you do not have to be mutuals with me to participate in this event, but you must still respect the rules of other writers ( such as being mutuals-exclusive ) unless they state otherwise. )

Do Characters Have to do Side Quests?: No! The Side Quests are merely additional scenario prompts to help flesh out the party, and to give various types and personalities of characters a reason to attend and interact. Not every muse is an extrovert but some are heroic, or power motivated, or curious. These quests exist to give writers material to interact with the party in a way beyond just attending, and to write with others. If you aren't interested, you don't need to focus on them.

TLDR;

If you have questions, feel free to send me an ask, and I'll do my best to answer them!

I hope this can be an event people have fun with, so I've left a large timeframe open to give people more of a chance to participate, as I know people have busy lives and different timezones.

When?: Saturday, September 9th, 2023 - Sunday, September 24th, 2023

Where (in game)?: Baldur’s Gate ( all city districts ); Dusthawk Hill

Who?: Dungeons & Dragons / Baldur’s Gate muses + OCs. ( mutual status is not required to participate. Anyone interested or with an affiliated verse may use this content to interact, write threads, create art, etc. )

Tags?: #EquinoxEvent_2023

please use this tag to track opens, prompt lists, interact with others, and so that non-fandom blogs make blacklist it if necessary (for those who are multi-fandom)

[crownedclownprince]

Happy Birthday!

There is a parade marching down the center of Gotham City, with music loud enough to rattle windows an startle car alarms into screeching wakefulness.

The media clamor is vicious and immediate, with the GCPD racing to quarantine the event as fast as possible.

Every channel is overtaken by frantic news casters urging everyone to get inside and stay inside until it's safe.

But really, is there such a thing as "safety" in Gotham city?

The parade marches on through bullets and barricades, leaving bloody smears across asphalt and concrete. The music swells, the pulsating downbeat in rhythm with the boom and thump of confetti cannons that spray the streets with pretty little paper stars. The wind blows most of them away, sure, but a horrible amount ends up stuck in the puddles of gore that used to be policemen making a mockery of their deaths in a way only the Joker knows best.

Speaking of... where is he?

At the head of the parade are several Clowns dressed in their best holding back feral beasts on massive chains. Hyenas with brightly painted faces yip and yowl, lunging at the ends of their leashes with maws splattered red red red. White tigers lope ever onwards with heavy saddles on their backs, and smaller Clowns astride them throwing candy here and there. There are lions too, lips pulled back into unnaturally smiles full of flat human teeth, their eyes brightly glowing green to match their fluffy manes

There's a fellow dressed like Beethoven sitting at an American Fotoplayer on a float dragged by two tremendous Strong Men playing the silliest tune known to man.

A great many other Clowns follow behind, marching in a band, handing out balloons or candy or shirts to any unlucky passerby commemorating this momentous occasion. There are jugglers, tumblers, a moving trapeze and high wire act.

Several troupes of Chuckle Scouts march with them, handing out free boxes of cookies and proudly displaying sashes full of brightly colored badges.

There are onlookers, lined up along the parade route with guns to their backs and tears in their eyes. They take the gifts they're offered, they smile for the cameras, they laugh when performers take prat falls or slip on banana peels. This is a jovial jubilous occasion and people must witness it, or else.

At the tail of the parade is a cake at least a story or two high covered in exactly 85 candles and gratuitous amounts of icing. When the parade stops at the end of its route, the music shifts from manic madcap whimsy to an almost wholesome rendition of 'happy birthday'. The cake and the parade are surrounded by the surviving members of the GCPD pointing guns at everyone that isn't a civilian. The Clowns seem unbothered by this and sing along to the music, pulling wrapped gifts out of nowhere in particular and offering them to the towering confection the way worshipers leave sacrifices at an altar.

The top of the cake trembles and wiggles and writhes before exploding into icing, the Clowns clap and cheer as their God appears at the top of the cake with his famous grin across his face. He's wearing a crown, holding a scepter, and wearing a sash that reads 'BIRTHDAY BOY' in big cursive letters. One of the cops fires on the Joker without hesitation, he gets his head blown off with a confetti cannon. The Joker doesn't seem to notice this disturbance and takes a bow, drinking in the attention of his audience.

"Thank you! Thank you! Y'know it's not every day I turn 85, so I plan to make tonight the best birthday bash I've ever had." Says Joker, dabbing at a tearful eye with a brightly colored hankie. The Clowns applaud him again. "This parade was a great start, but I have so much more in store for all of Gotham, and that lowlife cape wearing deadbeat who missed this whole thing." He looks dead into the nearest camera, eyes angry and wild his smile strained and sharp.

"Anywhoozles! I better wrap this up, this cake isn't going to eat itself after all and I have a gift for a certain someone that needs to be delivered."

The Clowns turn on cue to face the audience and the GCPD, the each take their gifts in one hand and pull the ribbons off with the other. The boxes explode into smoke and confetti that completely obscures the parade in a cloud of purple and green laughing gas that brings anyone not wearing a mask to their knees.

And when the smoke clears, the parade is gone.

[antisolararc]

i just know he sits 5 inches from the tv with the volume on 80

bio + etc under the cut

PERSONALITY & BACKGROUND:

A prototype of an artificial spirit left in the ruins of the Temple of the Astral Eye, Tjong was found and restored by Puri. He is unaware that ██████████ ██████████ ████ ███ ███ ██ █ ███████ ███ ███ ██████ ███ ██ █ █████ ███████ ███████ █ █ █████████ ████ ███ ███ ████ ████ █ instead, he believes that he was created to be a powerful temple guardian. With the terrestrial society that created him long gone, he was raised in isolation in the Astral Reaml. His knowledge on human history and civilization comes from historical myths, heroes’ tales, and... the leftover recordings of ancient soap operas. His recollection of his own life is disjointed, and he is even unsure of his own age. As a result, he has a uniquely poor perception of time. For example, he strugged to understand the day/night cycle when he first arrived in the Terrestrial Realm. Tjong naturally assumes that most of his eccentricities (or at least what others would call eccentricities) are attributable to the differences between humans and spirits. However, most of these traits are actually a result of ██████ █████████ ████████ ██ ███ ████████. Tjong is more humanlike than he realizes... man creates in his own image, after all.

Rarely thinking to question what he is told, Tjong often doesn’t know what to do with himself without some sort of preordained task. At the same time, he struggles to see things from others’ perspectives and can be very difficult to reason with. His dedication comes with vigor befitting such a fearsome spirit, and he will plow down everything that stands in his way. Even though he is a follower by nature, Tjong is arrogant and self-important, considering himself a heroic warrior and assuming that he must be the most capable person for any task he is given. He remains rather ignorant towards his colleagues’ complex schemes, but he probably wouldn’t care what his friends did, as long as they remained so. His "little brother's" scheme, on the other hand... well, he can't do anything to stop it now, and he's not going anywhere, so I guess he just has to be disgruntled over it. Speaking of Tjong seems to know more about Meridian than anyone else -- more than Meridian does -- and, uncharacteristically, he's not talking.

While Tjong would never describe himself as emotional, considering it ill-fitting for his role, he undeniably is. Like everything he does, his feelings tend to be delivered with the subtlety and gentleness of a metal bat to the face. Luckily, he is upbeat by default; even in the heat of battle, he is usually smiling. True, genuine rage from him is a rare, frightening display. Anyone who isn’t terrified of him will probably consider him a completely ridiculous individual. He has a formal, theatrical way of speaking and takes every absurdity dead seriously. To his credit, though, Tjong readily admits when he does not understand things. He has poor social intelligence, but his nature as a spirit allows him to understand complex systems with relative ease. He has an innate understanding of how spirits, relics, and the Astral Realm function. Tjong is incredibly passionate about anything that interests him. Although he is not particularly astute, he is curious by default and approaches new things with a sort of naive whimsy.

ABILITIES:

As a simulacra, he is contained within a physical relic. In this case, a sheathed blade. When you attempt to pull it from its sheath, it instead becomes Tjong as a humanoid spirit. If he is banished, his humanoid form will disappear. When his dagger is sheathed, he is not aware of his surroundings or "awake" in the Terrestrial Realm. In order to summon him again, he must have accumulated enough essence, and, more importantly, be willing.

His summon is a hammer (of whatever size he pleases, but usually comically large). He rarely fights with this hammer, instead using it to craft new weapons from the essence of spirits he slays. The appearance of these weapons usually suggests which creature they once were. His weapons will disappear if he is no longer touching them. He can change which ones he is holding on a whim, and ability that he utilizes heavily. Regardless of what weapon he's using, he'll be the tank, though. Although his carapace appears like fine porcelain, it is stronger than steel. He is very strong – strong enough to pitch cannonballs like baseballs and regularly rip doors from their hinges on accident.