#magic-of-AP-by-Night

[waterparkwetnjoy]

Experience the Magic of AP by Night at Wet'nJoy Amusement Park, Lonavala

If you're looking for a unique way to experience the thrills of Wet'nJoy Amusement Park, Lonavala, then AP by Night is a must-visit event that promises an unforgettable evening. Wet'nJoy, a top-tier amusement park located amidst the lush hills of Lonavala, has long been a favorite destination for families and adventure lovers alike. Known for its exciting water rides, adventurous attractions, and a vibrant atmosphere, the park takes on a completely magical transformation when the sun sets.

What is AP by Night?

"AP" stands for "Amusement Park," but at night, Wet'nJoy Amusement Park becomes an entirely different experience. Imagine the thrill of the water park and amusement rides lit up under a starry sky. The lights sparkle, creating a mesmerizing visual effect against the natural beauty of Lonavala’s landscape. The cool evening breeze, combined with the glow of the park's lights, gives a completely enchanting atmosphere, turning your regular visit into a captivating experience.

Magical Atmosphere and Stunning Lights

As night falls, Wet'nJoy’s many attractions come to life with colorful lights and dynamic soundscapes that immerse you in a whole new world. The rides are not only thrilling but also visually striking when they glow with vibrant hues, making the park feel like a magical realm after dark. Whether you are splashing down a water slide or spinning through the air on one of the many rides, the nighttime ambiance enhances every moment, giving it a fantastical touch.

Thrilling Water Rides and More

Wet'nJoy is famous for its water rides, including exhilarating slides, wave pools, and lazy rivers, all of which are just as fun and refreshing under the night sky. Feel the rush of adrenaline as you glide down water slides lit by neon colors, or relax in the warm pools with ambient music setting the mood. The coolness of the evening air adds to the excitement, making this a perfect escape from the hustle and bustle of the day.

In addition to water-based rides, the park also features other attractions such as roller coasters, go-karting, and games that come alive with exciting lights at night. The thrill of the rides feels even more intense when the surroundings are illuminated in dazzling hues, creating an electric atmosphere.

Live Entertainment and Dining Options

One of the highlights of AP by Night is the live entertainment that keeps the energy levels high. You can enjoy music performances, dance shows, and more, making it a fun-filled night for all ages. Whether you're a thrill-seeker or just want to soak in the lively ambiance, there's something for everyone.

For those who wish to indulge in a bit of local flavor, Wet'nJoy offers various dining options that allow you to relax and savor delicious food, from quick bites to hearty meals. Enjoy a meal while taking in the spectacular views of the park, adding to the festive vibes of your evening.

Perfect for Families and Groups

AP by Night is ideal for everyone—from families with young children to groups of friends looking for an unforgettable night out. The park's wide variety of rides and entertainment ensures that there is something for all ages to enjoy, whether you're looking for thrills or a more laid-back experience. The peaceful yet vibrant setting makes it an excellent place to make lasting memories with your loved ones.

Conclusion

If you haven’t yet experienced Wet'nJoy Amusement Park at night, then AP by Night is an adventure you won't want to miss. The combination of thrilling rides, dazzling lights, live entertainment, and magical atmosphere creates a nighttime experience like no other. So, pack your bags, head to Lonavala, and let the magic of Wet'nJoy Amusement Park sweep you off your feet as you embrace the excitement of AP by Night!

[saydesole]

Movie Date Night

[rrcraft-and-lore]

Armies of the Dead/heaven in myths and epic fantasy - and the magic horns behind them!

One of the most famous armies of dead soldiers? The Men of Dunharrow, the army of the dead from Lord of the Rings who broke their oaths and renewed them finally under Aragorn.

Let's do this!

If you're a younger fantasy reader, or more modern, perhaps your introduction to this idea is in Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time with his magical horn that summons an army and legendary heroes to the field.

Some fans have said this is inspired by the Norse horn Gjallarhorn. 

This is the horn trusted to Heimdallr to be blown to announce the beginning of Ragnarok and summon the Norse gods to the "thing" (thing is used in this case legitimately to mean - meeting, assembly, folkmoot) - in a moment like NORSE AVENGERS, ASSEMBLE! 

This includes the Einherjar, the spirits of Norse warriors of honored dead who fell in battle and reside in Valhalla. But was there another possible influence?

Well, we know RJ was a Tolkien fan, and honestly who wouldn't be back in the days of early fantasy? 

So, what of Tolkien's ghostly army of dead warriors? Well, if you haven't read the books, you might not know that Aragorn too summons his army of the dead with a magical horn (cut from the films). That's right. 

You see, Elrohir (one of the sons of Elrond, also cut from the films) entrusts Aragorn with a silver horn to summon the dead with at the Stone of Erech to deal with them. Tolkien was a Norse buff and loved the old epics as well as poems. 

So he was likely familiar with the stories just like with Gjallarhorn as well. But also, quite possibly the Song of Roland (a French epic poem) in where Roland and his forces are ambushed at Roncesvalles and are going to lose. In final desperation, Roland blows the horn, and the emperor hears the call. But the aid will not arrive in time (unlike the films and more modern stories where the heroes do arrive to save the day - this is cuz we like the just in the nick of time trope) so Roland dies blowing it one last time to hard in vengeance his temples burst (and he ascends to heaven), but...Charlemagne's army arrives in the aftermath and scatters the enemy. But, are there other armies of the dead? In fact, yes. 

The Night Marchers of Hawaii who come with a warm wind, & the smell of sulfur, and the call of a conch shell to herald them. If you come upon this procession with torches in the night, and you are an enemy...time to RUN! Because if you watch them your eyes might be incinerated.

Then there is the Wild Hunt - a shared myth motif present through eastern, northern, and western European cultures. A ghostly army of the souls of dead men (and creatures) usually united under a leader (though this figure changes), Herne, Odin/Woden, Gwyn ap Nudd, Sigurd or Siegfried the Dragon Slayer, Theodoric the Great, onward. Now, they're not summoned by a horn, but in some tales their coming is announced by one.

Now, an Indian cognate of the Wild Hunt and warriors in the service of heavens The Maruts.

The number of them vary from 20+ to over 180, to even more (yay conflicting mythological sources and arguments in ancient texts and interpretations).

But who are they? Companions and servants to Lord Indra, Slayer of the First Born of Dragons, and lord of the heavens and storms! So, fittingly, these warriors are very...storm themed. Violent, aggressive, expert combatants armed with lightning weaponary, and golden chariots to fly through the clouds on. Their war crys and battle sounds are like thunder. Their blows would split clouds (sounding thunder) and would hunt the enemies of Lord Indra and slaughter demons/monsters.

Interestingly they are often associated as the sons (children) of Rudra (the Rig Vedic storm and wind god). However, there is another group that often gets that association (obviously so), the Rudras.

The Rudras are similar in (some) regards to the Maruts but not all. They aid Vishnu in his battles against demons and are clad in lion-skins, and wear serpents around their necks. A crescent moon adorns their foreheads, and they wield golden tridents and carry a skull in one hand they wear necklaces of lightning illuminated clouds (how's that for bling bling?), and are monstrously feral in battle. Lord Shiva can call them with a blow of a conch shell/horn. 

Their overlap, association with the Maruts is because of some etymology and shared functions as they too are a divine/spiritual/demigod group of heavenly warriors to aid the good and destroy evil - demons/adversaries, and the root word in their name means the roarers, thunderers, or the shouters - and this is also mentioned of the Maruts.

Are these all there are for legendary armies of the dead, of gods/heaven to be summoned to the field or aid? No. But, it's rainy, I'm a little messed up (mental health and meds), and tired. 

So I'm going to bow out and read and study for Tremaine 3 and leave this minor comparative thread here for folks into this stuff.

[erotetica]

‘the old guard’ is the name of a lil queer opera company tho.

They do Shakespeare in the park-type stuff. Nicky is a basso profondo & baritone Yusuf is marked down as annoyed and horny. The Plot is that Andy is a dramatic contralto & she takes the male/butch leads in drag, opposite quynh’s soprano (iirc contralto is the deepest register for women on a scale similar to the male tenor. whom also iirc usually get leading-man roles. Anyway it’s SUPER fascinating 2 me 2 swap them.) When quynh leaves, booker, a high tenor, does her bits in drag. There’s not as much vocal contrast between Booker and Andy tho, so after some faffing he goes back to his usual, supporting female roles, & enter Nile as prima donna soprano. Coolgirl career prima donna at Big Opera Houses, joining the guard to do queer shit. I think she’s a coloratura/whereas quynh was more of a Wagnerian soprano, & she fills the void quynh left with her own, brighter vocal style (themes & metaphors etc)

[vinescreens]

Stardew Valley

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧' 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧・l.m

—there were two things in the world that challenged your intellectual ability one: AP US History and two: lee minho. what are you going to do when he catches you cheating, and grabs your thigh, forcing you to give him the answers too.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・minho x reader // 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・academic rivals to lovers, sexual tension // 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・1.5k // 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・thigh touching, squeezing, and kissing, very slight bruising, cheating on tests, slight language, he gets on his knees, this is lowkey freaky, no actually Minho gets on his knees and kisses your thigh.

𝐚/𝐧・guys i'm kinda shy about this bc it was not supposed to be this freaky, but I had this thought like four months ago and it just kind of...unraveled 🙈 idk how I feel about this I like the idea of it but I feel like it flows weird idk might just be a me problem plus I needed to get it out of my drafts so 😗

If you really think about it—it isn't your fault that the curriculum was impossible to learn, the school board was practically begging you to cheat.

Besides, the whole testing system was pointless anyway. You couldn’t accurately quantify knowledge with a few bubbled answers. And if your teacher hadn’t made this test 40% of your grade, you might’ve actually been able to understand. But no— the stress alone had made sure of that.

For a second, you naively convince yourself you actually have a chance. Then you read the first question—and realize you're royally fucked.

It isn’t just one thing; no, the universe spreads a thick layer of icing all over your 'I’m fucked' cake, because not only is the test 100 questions of pure agony, but you’re sitting next to none other than Lee Minho—Yale's wet dream and your life long rival.

He shifts beside you, bubbling in the answers with infuriating ease. It was enraging—how calm he was, how even though his eyes were trained on the paper in front of him, it still felt like he was making calculated moves against you.

You grind your teeth, reading and rereading the questions until you go cross-eyed. It just didn't make sense. Why were there so many dates? Who were all these people? Why couldn't you seem to remember anything? The ink on your thigh screams at you, itching to pull up your skirt and color all the correct answers.

It was stupid, completely idiotic to even consider giving in to the temptation, but you had no other choice. You couldn't fail this test. You steal a glance at Minho, making sure he’s still peacefully, obnoxiously distracted with being perfect, before sliding your skirt up to reveal the answer key you wrote last night. With a deep breath, you fill in the correct answers, stealing paranoid glances at the teacher every other question.

You're almost done. Just a few more. But then—a tingle runs down your spine.

You could practically taste the smirk on his face the minute his gaze lands on your thighs. You stiffen, holding your breath as if that might magically make you disappear. Unfortunately, your efforts are to no avail.

Minho must have been waiting for a moment like this for years—a classic got'ya moment. It was perfect, practically presented to him on a silver platter. You clench your eyelids and except the worst, for him to stand up and announce to the class your humiliating defeat, to strut up to the teacher and flush your entire life away.

And yet, the moment passes by. His gaze never wavers, instead it gets heavier—needier, fire licking up your spine. You can feel the heat of his breath fanning across your cheek as he leans in—so close, too close.

"Is that what I think it is?" That cocky little bend in his lips grows as he watches you fumble to yank the skirt back down, shooting him a nasty side-eye.

"No," you say steadily—almost convincing yourself.

"No?" His voice is low, laced with amusement, but there's something else there, something strained. "Then let me see."

"No." You scoff, pulling your leg away from him. He presses his tongue against his cheek, both frustrated and annoyed.

"So fuckin’ stubborn." His voice drops, and suddenly, the space between you vanishes. His fingers capture your thigh, prying them apart with a hot, deliberate pressure. Your breath hitches—the heat of his palm seeping into your flesh, spreading up, up, up.

You want to gasp, to smack his hand away, and scream bloody murder; but the other part of you, the other small microscopic part of you relishes in his touch—leaving you dizzy and breathless.

His hand never moves, even as he copies the answers down—his fingers a steady pressure against your soft flesh. You hate the way your pulse betrays you, hammering against your ribs like thunder.

You twitch—just enough for him to notice, just enough for him to squeeze hard. You fight not to gasp, your stomach twisting with something you don’t dare name. He doesn’t say another word. He doesn’t have to. You feel it.

Don’t you dare move.

You don't breathe—not until he's already finished the work, releasing your thigh and walking up to the teacher; sliding his test into the professor's hands with an infuriatingly perfect smile. The teacher returns his smile ten times brighter, both pleased and impressed, bowing politely to dismiss him back.

It takes five seconds before your brain catches up with your body, jaw dropping in utter disbelief—Minho was the first one to turn in his test, making him the first to get a perfect score, therefore putting him slightly above your soon-to-be perfect score—which means he beat you.

"What the hell was that?" you spit. Minho doesn’t spare you a glance as he slips back into his seat, swiveling around with a smirk on his face and his tongue in his cheek.

"What, 'that,' are we talking about? My undeniable victory, or how slow this class is?" Minho muses, throwing his feet onto the desk, and tipping his chair back as if the whole scheme was a piece of cake. You were ready to punch him square in his freakishly perfect jaw.

"You are unbelievable—" You don’t get to finish your scornful sentence before the bell rings. The class erupts from their seats, filing to the front. There was so much you wanted to do, but you couldn’t—your hands were tied, tight, painfully behind your back. So instead, you do the only thing you can: turn in that stupid test.

When you get back to your desk, you find Minho leaning against his, a cocky smirk still playing on his pretty pink lips.

"Oh, you're just loving this, aren't you?" you spit venomously, stuffing supplies back into your bag with a little extra vigor. Minho cocks his head, standing up a little straighter. "Loving beating you? Yeah, you could say that."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "You couldn’t have done it without the answers I wrote on my thigh." At the mention of your thigh, Minho’s gaze tilts downward. His entire demeanor transforms—once cocky and proud, now washed away in an instant—something softer taking its place, something you couldn’t quite place.

Gently, disarmingly, Minho brings his palm to your waist, guiding you to sit on one of the desks behind you. "What—" you begin, but he beats you to it, asking, "Did I do this?" Confused, you look down at the mark in question—darkened fingerprints ghosting over your skin where his fingers had pressed a little too hard.

You swallow. "I didn't notice it."

"Does it hurt?" he frowns, gingerly brushing the bruise forming on your thigh. His voice is uncharacteristically soft, almost as if he's actually concerned about your well-being.

"Yeah, kind of," you wince, but you don't move from his soft touch. His lips press into a thin line, the slight furrow of his brows deepening with guilt.

"What, you wanna kiss it, make it feel better?" you joke, a weak attempt to ease the tension. He pauses for a moment, then, in one swift motion, drops to his knees before you.

You gasp, a quick, trembling breath that melts the words in your throat. His eyes stay locked on yours, the weight of his gaze heavy as he inches closer, mouth nearing your thigh. You hold your breath, heart hammering against your ribs. He takes his time—two agonizing seconds stretching into hours. His breath is hot against your skin, before his lips finally brush the bruise, leaving a gentle kiss in its wake.

"There, all better," he says, standing back up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder, nonchalantly. He doesn't say another word, simply waltzing out the door like he didn't just leave you a spaghetti noodle, all slippery thoughts and wobbly limbs.

You stand there, jaw in the center of the earth, gripping the edge of the desk so hard it threatened to crack. The class had filed out ages ago, leaving you to regather your thoughts in sweet silence.

You still feel his lips, hot and gentle, against the flesh of your thigh—reliving the moment over and over and over again. You couldn't bear to look at him, weeks into the future, still dizzy and disoriented, struggling to focus with him so close beside you. Minho knew, no matter how much you hated that thought. Minho knew, he saw how your grades started slipping, how slowly your comebacks started getting shorter, sweeter, a little bit more flirtatious.

That was his plan the entire time; because, even on his knees—Minho held all the pieces.

cookie owns this. thank you.

RAAAA its been a hot minute since I've posted something but I hope you liked this (if you did seriously consider reblogging with tags it helps my motivation and self-esteem so so soooo much.

[bunnyclawzz]

Opposites!

Mohawk Mark x Hyperfem!Reader

A/N: veryvery self indulgent, but I do think this variant specifically would love a girly girl!

He has no idea how he got into this situation. He’s never cared that much for getting into a relationship. It's just too much to deal with! Finishing school, training his powers, reading and rereading Seance Dog comics..he does not want to deal with some girlfriend on top of all of that. A girlfriend would be too demanding of him; forcing him away from his reading to do what she wants, just another person he'd get into arguments with. That was what he thought, what he thought before you sprouted into his dull life.

You two first got to know one another from being paired together for some AP Bio project, and since then...you just sort of didn't leave him alone, and for once, he wasn't annoyed with somebody bothering him at school. He swore to himself that you were temporary. Just a little something to entertain him and a person he could actually talk to instead of keeping all his thoughts in his head.

And yet here he is paying for your nails every three weeks, spending hours inside of a mall to carry your bags, and having to give his input on outfits, hairstyles, jewelry, perfume, ect. All for you. He only did it for you. Anyone else asking for all that is an instant hell no. For you? You don’t even have to ask, he’s the one asking when your next nail appointment is and the next time you’ll need his help carrying bags around the mall.

“Maark! You gotta help me, I dunno which gloss to get, you gotta help me pick one!” You whined softly while staring down to the two choices in each hand with a pout. “..I thought I got you new glosses last week?” “Those were liners.” He pauses to think back on your little makeup lectures. The little rants he pretended not to listen to despite wanting to learn the differences. “Right, liners, whatever-does it really matter which one you get if I’m the one paying?” You look up at him with a irritated expression, as if it was the stupidest thing he’s ever said to you. “Which would you rather have staining your skin and clothes?”

…

“..the darker pink one.” who would've guessed the punk with a mohawk prefers hot pink on his girlfriend's lips

He never really believed in love before you. It all looked so fake-finding someone who's magically your other half? Called it all fake until he found himself with you in his thoughts every second of the day. Always thinking about you, whatever ruffled blouse you had worn with that tiny mini-skirt to school that day. Always texting you barely ten minutes after he had dropped you off at your house to tell you what time he'll be finished training so you could call him before he passed out in bed for the rest of the night. Always doing whatever you asked him despite acting like you asked the most of him daily.

And just thinking about it all makes him reconsider you being temporary.

[mahalachives]

Part 1: The Lady of Autumn

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Genre: angst, romcom, humor, fish out of water reader, canon (ish)

Summary: Murdered after a late-night study session in the modern world, you awaken in Prythian—still yourself, but with Fae features and the infamous title of Beron’s cold-hearted and ruthless daughter.

Then, fate snaps the mating bond into place between you and the shadowsinger, Azriel—who rejects it so fiercely, even the magic recoils.

You died a healer. You woke up a villain. Now fate’s mated you to who wants nothing to do with either—you’ll prove them all wrong, one heartbeat at a time.

Between Two Fires - Masterlist

The worst part about nursing school isn't the exams, the clinical rotations, or even the soul-crushing student debt.

It's the persistent feeling that you're being slowly murdered by sleep deprivation.

Which, ironically, is exactly what they're training you to prevent in others.

"Just four more blocks," you mutter, clutching your textbooks as you trudge home at 2 AM. Streetlights flicker ominously above, casting elongated shadows that seem to reach for you with hungry fingers. You make a mental note to report this to the city's Department of Overly Dramatic Lighting.

Your phone buzzes.

Your roommate: Did you die from studying? Should I eat your leftover pizza?

You respond: Still alive. Touch my pizza and you won't be. I've memorized 206 bones in the human body, which means I know exactly which ones to break.

The wind intensifies, scattering crimson and gold leaves in a spiraling dance reminiscent of flames.

That's when it hits you—the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

Cold fingers trace your spine despite your thick jacket. You quicken your pace, mentally cataloging potential weapons in your bag.

Trauma care textbook? Too unwieldy, but could give someone a concussion—and then you'd be ethically obligated to treat them. Pen? Requires close combat skills you definitely lack. The pepper spray is buried somewhere in the depths of your backpack—unreachable in time, like that one french fry that falls between car seats.

A shadow shifts to your left. A figure emerges from between two parked cars.

A man. Unmistakably dangerous.

"Wallet and phone," he demands, voice gravelly with impatience.

"Seriously?" Exhaustion momentarily eclipses fear. "I'm a nursing student. I have seventeen dollars and a maxed-out credit card. You'd make better money outside Starbucks.”

His expression hardens, something feral flickering behind his eyes. "I said, wallet and phone." Moonlight catches the blade in his hand—not the cheap switchblade you'd expect, but something with an almost ceremonial quality to its curved edge.

"Fine, fine," you say, reaching slowly for your bag. "No need for violence. The seventeen dollars is all yours.”

As you move, he lunges forward—startled by a passing car or simply impatient.

The knife slides between your ribs with disturbing ease.

"Oh," you say stupidly. "That's not good."

Pain erupts, sharp and searing, as your textbooks crash to the pavement. The man flees without even taking your wallet, his footsteps fading too quickly, as if he's vanishing rather than running.

You press against the wound, your training asserting itself through the shock.

Pressure. You need pressure.

But blood seeps between your fingers with alarming speed, warm and sticky against your increasingly cold skin. Iron and copper fill your nostrils—the unmistakable scent of your own mortality.

"Help," you try to call, but it emerges as a whisper.

As you slide down against cold brick, vision blurring, something inexplicable happens. The shadows around you deepen, moving with apparent purpose. The autumn leaves aren't merely wind-blown—they're circling you in a deliberate vortex, faster and faster until they blur into a wall of fire-colored light.

In your fading consciousness, you witness something impossible.

A tear—as if reality itself has been sliced open by the same blade that pierced your side. Through this aperture pours light unlike anything you've seen before, golden, warm, and impossibly ancient. It smells of cinnamon and woodsmoke and something else—something that reminds you of lightning striking earth.

As darkness encroaches, one final, absurd thought crosses your mind. I'm definitely going to miss that anatomy exam tomorrow. Dr. Phillips will never believe I died as an excuse.

Then nothing.

Until you wake to a ceiling painted with flames and falling leaves, each one rendered with such excruciating detail that they appear to be actually falling, burning, dancing above you.

You sit up cautiously, your muscles responding with unfamiliar grace. Your body feels simultaneously lighter and more powerful, as if gravity holds less sway over you. Your hand instinctively finds your side where the stab wound should be.

Nothing. Not even scar tissue.

Just smooth skin beneath unfamiliar silk nightclothes embroidered with flame-colored threads in patterns of leaves and fire. You realize you've never felt silk this nice before.

When you swing your legs over the bed, the room tilts strangely. Your balance is off, your center of gravity shifted. You nearly stumble, catching yourself on an ornately carved bedpost shaped like twisted branches. Your reflexes seem sharper, but your limbs are longer than you remember, more elegant.

The door opens, and a petite woman with auburn hair enters, carrying a silver tray. When she notices you're conscious, she startles violently, nearly spilling a glass of dark liquid. The smell reaches you—wine, but infused with unfamiliar spices and something that makes your nose tingle.

"My lady!" she exclaims, voice pitched high with unmistakable terror. But beneath the fear, you detect something else—a morbid curiosity, as if she's witnessing a predator that might choose another target instead of her. "You're—you're awake!"

You stare at her, bewildered by her fear. "Yes... How long was I asleep?" And why are you looking at me like I'm going to use your spleen as a hat?

She sets down the tray with trembling hands, maintaining maximum distance between you. "Three days, my lady. The High Lord has been most concerned."

High Lord.

The words should be meaningless, yet they resonate with peculiar familiarity, like a half-remembered dream. Images flash unbidden—a throne room with walls of amber, a crown of golden antlers, hands that can conjure fire with a snap of fingers.

"Where am I?" you ask gently, afraid she might bolt at any sudden movement. Your voice sounds strange to your ears—more musical, with an undercurrent of authority you've never possessed.

Her eyes widen further, pupils dilating with renewed fear. "The Autumn Court, my lady. Your home." She retreats toward the door, never breaking eye contact, as if you might attack without warning. "Shall I... inform Lord Eris of your awakening?"

"Yes, please," you reply, mystified by her reaction. "Thank you."

She curtsies deeply—too deeply, almost mockingly so, though terror doesn't resemble mockery—and hurries out, closing the door with a soft click that somehow conveys relief.

You slide from the bed, noticing an ornate mirror across the room. Approaching cautiously, you examine your reflection.

You look... different.

Not dramatically, but there's something otherworldly about your appearance now. Your features are still recognizable, but sharper, more refined. Your skin glows with a subtle luminescence, like late afternoon sunlight through amber. Your eyes now hold flecks of gold that shift and dance like embers in a dying fire. And most obviously, your ears now taper to delicate points. Fae ears. You touch them gently, half-expecting elaborate prosthetics.

But they're warm, sensitive—undeniably yours. When you touch them, a strange shiver runs down your spine, and the candles in the room flicker in response.

I can feel the magic, you realize with a jolt of both terror and exhilaration. It hums beneath your skin like an electrical current, responding to your emotions. The knowledge of how to use it feels tantalizingly close, like a word on the tip of your tongue.

The door opens without warning—no knock, no announcement—and a tall, imposing figure enters. He has auburn hair threaded with gold and eyes like smoldering embers. His face is all sharp angles and aristocratic contempt, beautiful but cold. Yet something flickers in those burning eyes when they meet yours—recognition, followed by confusion, followed by calculation so swift you almost miss it.

"Sister," he says, voice deceptively smooth, like honey concealing broken glass. "How... unexpected to see you awake." His fingers tap against his thigh in a pattern that seems deliberate rather than nervous—one-two-three, pause, one-two—as if counting or sending a signal.

Sister?

He approaches slowly, burning eyes assessing you with predatory intensity. When he passes the window, you notice how the late afternoon light bends toward him, as if drawn to his presence.

"The healers doubted your recovery. Father remains quite... displeased about the incident."

"Incident?" you echo, your voice sounding foreign even to yourself.

A flicker of something—suspicion?—crosses his features before vanishing behind indifference. He stops, studies you with his head tilted slightly, like a raptor sighting prey. "Yes. Your ill-conceived experiment." His smile never reaches his eyes, but a muscle twitches in his jaw—tension or suppressed emotion. "Three days unconscious is theatrical, even for you."

"I was trying to understand them," you say, surprised at the words rising unbidden from some deeper knowledge. "Mortals. Their bodies may be weak, but there's something... innovative about it."

He circles you deliberately, like a predator stalking prey. His movements are too fluid to be human, too predatory to be comforting. "You seem... different."

"Different how?" you ask carefully, fighting the urge to back away.

"I can't quite identify it." He stops uncomfortably close. You can smell autumn on him—fallen leaves, woodsmoke, the sharp tang of apples fermenting into cider. His smile turns cruel, but there's a guardedness to it now. "Is this your new strategy? Feigning amnesia for sympathy? It won't work on Father, I assure you."

"The spell may have had... unexpected effects," you admit, the half-truth forming easily. Something tells you revealing your true nature would be dangerous—possibly fatal. "I'm still... adjusting."

"Hmm." Skepticism radiates from him, but also a hint of curiosity. He examines your face as if searching for cracks in a mask. "Memory loss? Or something more interesting?"

You meet his gaze steadily, despite the instinctive fear his presence evokes. "Let's just say I'm seeing things from a new perspective."

A bark of laughter escapes him—genuine, if brief. "How delightfully cryptic. Perhaps you've finally developed an interesting personality to match your talent for cruelty." He steps back, and you resist the urge to sigh with relief. "Disoriented or not, Father expects you at dinner tonight. The Night Court delegation arrives tomorrow, and he won't tolerate any... incidents."

Night Court. Again, words that should mean nothing yet trigger faint recognition. Dark stone halls beneath a mountain. Political rivals. Ancient grudges. Assassination attempts thinly disguised as diplomatic overtures.

So basically Thanksgiving with extra stabbing.

"I'll be there," you promise, uncertain what else to say. "When should I present myself?"

"Sunset. Wear the red. Father will expect a demonstration of your control after your... mishap." Something almost like concern flashes across his features. "Don't disappoint him. The last time..." He gestures vaguely to a thin scar on his wrist. "Let's just say his temper hasn't improved with age."

"Thank you for the warning," you say, the words feeling strange in your mouth—genuine gratitude toward this dangerous, beautiful creature who is supposedly your brother.

His eyebrows rise slightly, that calculation returning to his gaze. "Now I know something is wrong. Expressing gratitude? Perhaps we should summon the healers again."

"Perhaps I'm simply in a generous mood." Or perhaps I'm not actually your psychotic sister, but just a nursing student who got stabbed and body-swapped into Fantasy Mean Girls.

"See that you are." He turns to leave, pausing at the threshold. "Oh, and sister? Try not to terrorize the servants so thoroughly. The last one you 'played with' still hasn't regained use of her hands. Even Father found that distasteful."

With that, he vanishes, leaving you alone with horrifying implications. And a newfound appreciation for your old life of student loans and instant ramen.

Whoever you now are—whoever's body you inhabit—is someone who tortures servants for amusement. Someone whose mere presence evokes terror. Someone even her brother approaches with caution.

You sink onto the bed's edge, heart racing. Your legs feel weak with the enormity of your situation. Magic. High Lord. Autumn Court. Pointed ears.

All impossible, yet undeniably real. And in a few hours, you must somehow convince a father you've never met that you are his daughter, a daughter renowned for cruelty and volatility. And you thought your nursing practical exams were stressful.

"This can't be happening," you whisper to the empty chamber.

As if in response, the flames in the fireplace leap higher, responding to your distress. On your bedside table, the wine in the glass ripples without being touched.

You stare at your reflection one final time, adjusting the crimson gown that drapes over your unfamiliar body like liquid fire. The fabric responds to your touch, rippling with actual embers that dance along the hemline without burning.

Magic. Your magic, apparently.

"You can do this," you mutter. "Just channel your inner Regina George with a sprinkle of sociopathy."

A knock at the door makes you jump. The same terrified servant enters, keeping her eyes downcast.

"My lady, Lord Eris asked me to remind you that dinner begins in ten minutes."

"Thank you," you say automatically.

The servant freezes, eyes widening in shock.

Right. Apparently psycho-sister doesn't say 'thank you.'

You clear your throat. "I mean... how dare you interrupt my preparations!" The attempt at menace falls embarrassingly flat, your voice rising into a question at the end.

The servant's expression shifts from terror to confusion. "My apologies, my lady. Shall I... help you with your hair?"

"No. Yes. I mean—" You attempt a haughty sneer. "Make it quick, or I'll... turn your fingers into twigs." Was that threatening enough? Too specific? Not specific enough?

The servant approaches cautiously, as if expecting a trap. When you don't immediately immolate her, she begins arranging your hair with trembling fingers.

"You seem... different, my lady," she ventures, immediately flinching as if expecting punishment.

"Do I? How fascinating that a lowly servant thinks she can analyze me," you reply, wincing internally at your awkward delivery.

"Of course not, my lady. Forgive me."

You catch her eye in the mirror, and genuine remorse floods you. "What's your name?" you ask softly.

She freezes mid-motion. "Briar, my lady. Though you've asked seven times this month."

"And I keep forgetting because you're so..." you search for something suitably cruel, "...insignificant."

Rather than appearing hurt, Briar looks relieved. This is familiar territory.

"That's more like you, my lady," she says, almost smiling.

Great. Even my attempts at cruelty are recognizable as fake.

"Tell me, Briar," you say as she pins a golden leaf-shaped comb into your hair. "What exactly is expected of me at dinner?"

Briar's hands pause. "The usual, my lady. Lord Beron will want a demonstration of your powers. You typically create those little fire animals that dance across the table." Her voice drops. "Though perhaps not the ones that tried to set Lord Eris's sleeve on fire last time."

"And what about the Night Court delegation?"

"They arrive tomorrow, my lady. The High Lord and his Inner Circle retinue from the Night Court." She hesitates. "Your father expects you to behave... diplomatically. After the incident with the wine at the Winter Court."

"Ah, yes. That incident."

"When you made Lord Kallias's wine freeze in his throat because he suggested your fire powers were less impressive than his lady's ice abilities? He nearly died."

Holy crap. Who AM I?

"A measured response," you manage to say.

Briar finishes your hair and steps back. "There. You look beautiful, my lady."

"Thank—" You catch yourself. "Obviously I do. Now get out before I decide to use your eyeballs as earrings."

Briar curtsies hurriedly and backs toward the door.

"Wait," you call, softening despite yourself. "Your hands. Are they... I mean, will they heal?"

Her expression shifts to pure confusion. "My hands, my lady?"

"My brother mentioned something about... never mind."

"Oh! You mean Lily's hands. After you made her hold burning coals." Briar's voice is matter-of-fact, but she subconsciously rubs her own palms. "The healer says she might regain partial use eventually."

The horror must show on your face because Briar adds hastily, "She spoke out of turn, my lady. Everyone agreed the punishment was... appropriate."

"Of course," you murmur, stomach churning.

When Briar leaves, you take several deep breaths. I'm inhabiting the body of a literal psychopath in a family of magical sadists. Cool. Cool cool cool.

The dining hall is breathtaking and terrifying in equal measure. The ceiling soars impossibly high, its fresco depicting scenes of battle and conquest. Flames dance in mid-air instead of candles, casting everything in flickering amber light.

At the head of the table sits a male who can only be your "father," Lord Beron. His power radiates from him like heat from a furnace, ancient and oppressive. His eyes—identical to Eris's—track your entrance with predatory assessment.

Eris sits at his right hand. Three other males who share your familial features occupy seats along the table—more brothers, you assume. Their conversation dies as you enter.

"Ah, the prodigal daughter awakens," Beron says, voice like gravel over silk. "How good of you to join us."

You dip into what you hope is an appropriate curtsy. "Father."

"We were taking bets on whether you'd grace us with your presence," says one brother, his tone suggesting he lost money on your arrival.

"Sorry to disappoint," you reply, taking the empty seat across from Eris.

Beron studies you with narrowed eyes. "I'm told your little... experiment left you somewhat altered."

"Nothing that affects my abilities, Father." You hope.

"We shall see." He gestures to your untouched goblet. "Show us."

Crap. Fire animals. How do I—

You stare at the goblet, willing something—anything—to happen. The magic inside you stirs sluggishly, like a reluctant student being forced to solve an equation at the board.

Come on. Fire. Animals. Dancing. How hard can it be?

To your relief, a tiny spark ignites above the wine. It grows, taking shape—limbs forming, a tail, ears—

"A... bunny?" one brother snorts. "How terrifying."

Indeed, a fire-rabbit now hops across the table, leaving no burns despite its flickering form. It looks less "creature of nightmare" and more "adorable woodland friend."

Beron's expression darkens. "Is this a jest?"

"I thought I'd try something... different," you manage.

"Different," Beron repeats flatly.

The rabbit multiplies, becoming two, then four, then eight tiny fire-bunnies hopping around the table. One nuzzles Eris's hand.

"Stop this foolishness," Beron commands.

You frantically try to extinguish them, but they only multiply faster, now nibbling at ghostly fire-carrots that materialize from nowhere.

Eris chokes on his wine, and you can't tell if it's suppressed rage or laughter.

"Perhaps she hit her head harder than we thought," suggests another brother, watching as a fire-bunny does a little dance by his plate.

"ENOUGH!" Beron roars, slamming his fist on the table.

The bunnies explode into shower of sparks that reform into—

"Butterflies?" Eris's voice cracks.

Dozens of fire-butterflies now flutter around the chandelier, casting warm, gentle light across the room.

The brothers exchange baffled glances.

"Who are you," Beron asks slowly, "and what have you done with my daughter?"

Oh no.

"I don't know what you mean, Father," you stammer. "I'm simply exploring... gentler forms of expression."

"Gentler," he repeats, as if you've suggested something obscene. "My daughter, who set her nursemaid on fire for brushing her hair too roughly, is exploring gentler forms of expression."

"Maybe it's a side effect of her spell," offers one brother. "Temporary insanity."

"I'm not insane," you protest. "I'm just..." A human nursing student trapped in a homicidal fairy's body. "...evolving as an artist."

Eris snorts into his wine, earning a glare from Beron.

"Control your creatures," Beron demands.

You concentrate, and the butterflies reluctantly merge into a single flame that hovers over the table before extinguishing itself.

An uncomfortable silence falls.

"Perhaps we should postpone the delegation," suggests the brother beside you. "If she's going to behave... oddly."

"No," Beron's voice is final. "The alliance is too important." His gaze fixes on you. "But you, daughter, will remain in your chambers tomorrow unless you can demonstrate appropriate behavior."

"What if..." you begin carefully, "...what if I promised not to harm anyone?"

The silence that follows is deafening.

"Not harm anyone?" Beron repeats incredulously. "That's the entire point of the delegation. To show strength. To remind them of the consequences of betrayal."

"Through diplomacy," you suggest weakly.

All five males stare at you as if you've sprouted a second head.

"I think," Eris says slowly, "that my sister is merely disoriented from her spell. She'll be herself by tomorrow." His eyes meet yours with unmistakable warning.

"Indeed," you grasp the lifeline. "Just a temporary... adjustment period."

Beron doesn't look convinced, but he returns to his meal with a dismissive gesture. "See that your 'adjustment' concludes before they arrive. The Night Court already thinks us weak after your mother's... display of mercy last solstice."

The brothers return to their previous conversations, though you catch them casting curious glances your way. Only Eris continues to study you openly, his expression calculating.

Later, as servants clear the plates, Eris corners you in the corridor.

"Whatever is happening with you, sister, fix it," he murmurs. "Father is already suspicious."

"I'm trying," you reply truthfully.

"Fire bunnies? Promises not to harm anyone?" He scoffs. "If I didn't know better, I'd think someone replaced you with a Spring Court weakling."

Your heart skips. "Don't be ridiculous."

"The sister I know would have turned that servant's hair to ash just for looking at her directly." He narrows his eyes. "Tomorrow, when they arrive, you will act like yourself. Feared. No more of whatever... this is." He gestures vaguely at all of you.

"Or what?"

A cold smile spreads across his face. "Or I'll tell Father exactly how your experiment failed. And what it might mean for the power dynamics within our court."

The threat hangs in the air between you.

"Fine," you manage. "I'll be more... myself."

"Good." Eris steps back. "I'll have the servants draw up a training schedule for you in the morning. Your magic is clearly... unstable." His eyes linger on yours, as if trying to peer through to the truth. "Sleep well, sister. Tomorrow will be... illuminating."

After he leaves, you hurry back to your chambers, heart pounding. The situation is worse than you thought. Not only are you trapped in a body that isn't yours, in a world of magic and cruelty, but now you have to pretend to be someone you're not—someone terrible.

The moment your door closes behind you, the tears come. Hot and desperate, they stream down your face as you slide to the floor, your back against the door. The elegant gown pools around you like congealing blood.

"I want to go home," you whisper, your voice breaking. "Please, I just want to go home."

Around you, the flames in the fireplace respond to your distress, flickering wildly before dimming to barely-glowing embers. Even the magic of this place seems to mourn with you.

For the first time since waking in this nightmare, you allow yourself to truly feel the loss. Your life. Your future. Your identity. All gone, replaced by this twisted fairy tale where your "family" measures love in scars and power in screams.

There, on the cold stone floor of a monster's bedroom, you cry until exhaustion claims you.

Tomorrow, you'll have to become the villain of someone else's story. But tonight—just for tonight—you allow yourself to be exactly who you are: lost, afraid, and desperately hoping for a way home.

Author's Note: Thanks for diving into this canon(ish) ACOTAR adventure where a nursing student with a "do no harm" oath is suddenly piloting the body of Autumn Court's resident psychopath—think "Florence Nightingale trapped in Bellatrix Lestrange" but with more awkward attempts at being evil.

There's something deliciously ironic about a healer having to pretend to be a torturer. More chapters coming soon! 🫡😶‍🌫️

[twistedpink]

Malleus with his skill with magic and a reader who’s good at technology! Both of you guys agree to help the other out with stuff that the other doesn’t understand/can’t do. Malleus needs help getting his phone off of silent? He asks you to help him! You can’t make the potion for your class? He’s at your side! It’s super cute the way that the two would make up for the other’s shortcomings. What are friends (or potential partners?) for?

EEEE

Malleus Draconia is your friend with benefits, but it’s not anything sexy.. The two of you are symbiotic! The best of pals! You use your history and convenient friendship to excuse just how close he’s gotten, but it can’t be what you think it is. No way you pulled a prince.

FWB!Malleus that haunts the halls of ignihyde whenever he comes over for “tech 4 dummies 101” (you say that “dummies” is affectionate), there have been SO MANY complaints of fireflies “housebreaking” the dorm at night. When Ortho comes sniffing around the lounge for ways to bugproof it, all you can do is giggle from the safety of your room <3

FWB!Malleus is the worst with personal space. After awhile of observing his habits you’ve learned that he’s not inconsiderate, just comfortable. Nobody else in class approaches him- much less spends this much time with him. If only they knew your “captor” is the only reason for your alchemy mark :) At this point it’d be better to gatekeep him more than anything you promise it’s just for grades, but he’s his own best firewall.

FWB!Malleus that’s so excitable when the prefect shows up, it kinda makes you.. jealous? NO. This can’t be!!! You’re supposed to use him for honor role (cheat code for ssr internships) and then ghost him during senior year! When did he become so important??

Your very best friend is comically bad at regulating his emotions, but you’re both messes, and it’s a whole lot easier sorting out the mess together. “A problem shared is a problem halved” And if a couple tamagotchi repairs or pooling AP homework questions is enough to keep your mostly-friends-kinda-married thing going, it’s well worth it. <3

Happy early birthday Malleus!! I gifted you a friend!

[beegomess]

Your Honeymoon || Slytherin Boys

Summary: A kind of Headcanon continuation of what your wedding would be like. Warnings: fluffy and slightly spicy.

Open orders!

Blaise Zabini Southern Italy

The honeymoon with Blaise looked like it was out of a movie, wrapped in a stunning setting in southern Italy. The isolated village, hidden between green hills and vineyards, exuded a timeless elegance, where the old and the modern met. The sky was starting to turn orange and gold when you arrived, and Blaise, with that enigmatic smile he always carried, took your hand and guided you to the interior of the village.

The days were calm, but loaded with a palpable tension. Blaise, with his aristocratic manners, was always impeccable and controlled, but there was a spark in the air, a growing desire that he let shine through in the deep looks he threw at you. On one of the afternoons, after a walk through the vineyards, the sun was already setting, he pulled her against him, involving her with a controlled force. His touch, initially soft, became firmer, and soon his lips were on his neck, causing goosebumps that ran through his entire body.

That night, the village seemed too small to contain the intensity of what you felt. Dinner was forgotten when Blaise lifted her from the chair and took her to the master bedroom, her fluid and precise movements as always. "You drive me crazy, you know?" He murmured, his voice deep and low, while his fingers ran over his skin with a touch that oscillated between the gentle and the possessive. The night unfolded with a silent intensity, where every touch, every kiss, carried the passion that had been growing since the moment you arrived

The following days became a dance of emotions. Every dawn, you explored the charms of the village, from the ancient stone alleys to the small trattorias that exhaled the aroma of the best of Italian cuisine. Conversations flowed naturally, between laughter and complicit glances, while the nights turned into moments of pure surrender. In each gentle breeze that blew from the sea, you felt that you were falling even more in love with Blaise, as if the two were in tune to a melody that only you could hear.

However, there was also a mystery involving Blaise that you couldn't ignore. Sometimes, he lost himself in deep thoughts, as if he were fighting against something inner. You wanted to understand, you wanted to unravel what was hidden behind that undisturbed facade. And while the passion involved them, a question began to form in his mind: what was the true self behind that enigmatic smile?

Thus, as the last day of honeymoon approached, the intensity of passion and uncertainty intertwined, creating a vibrant picture of emotions. At the end of that magical experience, you realized that it was not just a fleeting moment, but the beginning of a deep and transformative journey. And when you looked into Blaise's eyes, you felt that you were about to discover not only love, but also the secrets that would shape the future of you two. This honeymoon was not just an isolated chapter in their lives, but the promise of an even richer and more intriguing plot to come.

Draco Malfoy Venice, Italy

His honeymoon with Draco was a dream of elegance and luxury, perfectly set in the romantic city of Venice, Italy. The palace he had reserved was on the banks of a quiet canal, its ancient walls adorned by tapestries and works of art that exuded a subtle but undeniable richness. From the moment you arrived, Venice seemed to conspire in your favor, with its narrow streets and secret canals that created a perfect environment for passion and mystery.

Draco was more relaxed than you had ever seen him, but there was still that spark of intensity in his gray eyes. At night, after a gondola ride under the stars, he pulled her to the private terrace of the palace, where the city lights reflected gently in the waters below. He held his hand, his firm and warm touch, and, with a malicious smile on his lips, approached, his eyes shining with something deeper than simple desire.

"I've been waiting for this so long," Draco whispered as his hand slid down her waist, bringing her closer. The kiss was slow and deep, full of promises. When they finally entered the luxurious room, the grandeur of the space seemed to disappear, leaving only the intimacy between you. Draco's touch was a perfect mix of control and passion, his movements calculated to ensure you felt every detail. He liked to take his time, exploring every inch of his skin with an attention that made him almost reverent, but there were times when passion took over, and he pulled it to himself with a fierce intensity, as if he wanted to record every sensation deep in his memory.

The canopy bed, adorned with rich fabrics, became the stage for an unforgettable night. Draco, with his usual precision, took her to the limit several times, prolonging the moment until both were lost in each other. Every sigh, every touch seemed to vibrate in the air of the ancient city, and Venice, with its atmosphere of romance and mystery, became the perfect setting for the intensity of the passion you shared. At the end of the night, he held her firmly against himself, the heat of their bodies contrasting with the cool breeze that came in through the open windows, whispering promises of a future equally full of desire and devotion.

And so, as the last nights in Venice unfolded, you realized that the true essence of that honeymoon was in Draco's intriguing duality. On the one hand, he was the burning lover, capable of awakening in you a deep and overwhelming desire; on the other, the mysterious man, wrapped in secrets that made every moment even more fascinating. When leaving the city of canals, the certainty that there was much more to discover about him and about the love they were building made his heart race.

Lorenzo Berkshire Provence, France

Lorenzo was always the kind of man who valued beauty in everything, and his honeymoon in Provence was no exception. Surrounded by lavender fields and the intoxicating aroma of flowers dancing in the wind, the romance between you seemed more alive than ever. Lorenzo was delicate and attentive, but you knew that behind that gentle smile there was a flame ready to be lit.

One afternoon, as the sun began to set on the fields, he pulled her to himself during a walk, her lips meeting hers with a controlled passion. His touch, initially gentle, soon turned into something more urgent, and before you knew it, he was guiding her to the interior of the village. "I need you now," he murmured against his skin, his hot breath sending goosebumps through his body.

That night, the white sheets on the bed were the stage for a dance that, even if you were used to it, always looked new. Lorenzo adored her with meticulous care, his hands exploring every inch of her body, as if he wanted to memorize every detail. And when the two finally united, it was as if the world outside disappeared, leaving only the warmth of the bodies and the rhythmic rhythm of a night that seemed endless. Lorenzo, always careful and passionate, made sure that every moment was recorded in his memory.

And so, as the honeymoon in Provence came to an end, you realized that the true beauty of that experience was not only in the stunning landscapes, but in the deep and affectionate love that Lorenzo showed at every moment. In the midst of the lavender fields and the soft light of sunset, he became not only your lover, but also your safe haven, always attentive to your needs and desires.

When you left Provence, the future was drawn before you as a field of flowers in full bloom, vibrant and full of promises. Did you know that, next to Lorenzo, every day would be a new adventure, full of love and beauty.

Mattheo Riddle Scotland, High Mountains

Mattheo has always had an indomitable spirit, and his honeymoon in the Scottish High Mountains reflected this. The isolated cabin he chose seemed simple on the outside, but inside, every detail reflected the burning desire that existed between you. From the moment you arrived, the tension between you grew with every look, with every casual touch.

On the first night, after a simple candlelight dinner, Mattheo pulled her close, his dark eyes fixed on his own. "I love you," he murmured, before kissing you with a hunger that made his whole body respond. He lifted her in his arms and took her to the room, his hands already exploring her skin with a mixture of urgency and worship. The heat of the fireplace was overshadowed by the heat that emanated from their bodies while Mattheo, always somewhat wild, gave himself completely to the moment.

The following nights continued to be a parade of electrifying moments and deep tenderness, but there was a subtlety in their conversations that intrigued her. He spoke with a sparkle in his eyes about legacies and inheritances, as if he were already daydreaming about a life together, full of laughter and discoveries. And, in each touch, you felt that Mattheo not only wanted her, but that he also wanted to build something lasting, maybe even a family.

So, at the end of that magical honeymoon, as they prepared to leave the mountains, you looked at Mattheo and saw not only the man in love next to him, but a potential father in love.

Theodore Nott Santorini, Greece

The honeymoon with Theo was an explosion of romance and desire, wrapped in the stunning scenery of the white houses and the deep blue sea. Theodore, always observant and reserved, showed how much he was enchanted by you through small gestures, subtle touches and looks that spoke more than any word.

On the first night, lying on a lounger on the balcony under the starry sky, he pulled you to himself, his fingers sliding gently down your waist while his lips met yours in a deep kiss. "I can't take my eyes off you," he murmured against your skin, the intensity of his gaze burning you inside.

When you took courage to go to bed, Theodore made sure that the night was slow and engaging, his hands exploring his body as if it were the first time. His touch was both gentle and possessive, and when he finally surrendered to the moment, the passion he had held throughout the day manifested itself in a night of pure desire.

As the honeymoon approached the end, you decided it was time to break through the uncertainty that hung between you. When looking into Theo's eyes, he felt such a deep connection that it gave him courage to ask about what worried him. The answer, although wrapped in a slight mystery, brought a feeling of intimacy, as if they were finally starting to share the secrets that shaped their lives. And even with the shadows that could still exist, there was a vibrant feeling that together they could face any challenge.

The future seemed like an unknown ground, but the happiness that radiated between you illuminated this path. It was a delicious mixture of expectation and nervousness, as if each day was a new page in a story that was just beginning. Life next to Theo could be full of adventures, challenges and moments of intense joy. And as the sun set on the horizon, you knew that every step forward, with all its uncertainties, would be worth it, because the promise of a deep and true love was the greatest mystery of all.

Tom Riddle Castle in Eastern Europe

The honeymoon with Tom was anything but conventional, exactly as you imagined. He chose an isolated castle in Eastern Europe, its ancient towers and stone walls hidden between hills covered by dense forests. The air around the castle was mysterious, almost dark, perfectly reflecting Tom's enigmatic spirit. From the moment you arrived, the environment seemed to intensify every look and every touch you exchanged.

On the first night, the castle was illuminated only by torches and candles, creating dancing shadows on the stone walls. Tom, always a strategist, watched her with those penetrating eyes, as if he was planning her every move. He approached slowly, the air between you loaded with an almost palpable tension. When he finally approached, the touch was both firm and gentle, a promise of what was to come. "You have no idea what this means to me", he murmured, his voice low sending goosebumps through his body for the sincerity and presence of emotion and feeling, something restricted to you.

The castle's master bedroom was vast and imposing, with a canopy bed surrounded by dark curtains. Tom laid her on the bed with a calculated precision, her eyes never leaving hers. He was intense, every movement his measure, but full of a contained passion that finally freed himself. His hands explored your skin with a mixture of worship and possession, and you felt the tension increase with each touch.

Tom was controlling, but there were also times when he allowed you to take command, creating a balance of power and desire that left both completely immersed in each other. In that ancient castle, surrounded by secrets from past eras, the world seemed distant, leaving only you two and the electricity of your bodies intertwined. Tom insisted that every moment was marked by the intensity of his presence, and every touch, every sigh, seemed to record on the cold stone of the castle the burning desire they shared.

As the days passed in the castle, the atmosphere full of secrets and the intensity of the love between you and Tom made everything even more vivid. As the honeymoon approached the end, a new consciousness settled: the beauty of that connection was intrinsically linked to its complexity. You had created a bond that danced on the fine line between passion and mystery, and you knew that, when you left that place, you would take with you not only memories, but also the promise of a future full of challenges.

When you looked at Tom, you felt that the love they shared was like the walls of the castle - strong, but not without its cracks. There was a feeling that what was to come could bring shadows, but paradoxically, this only made the idea of the future more exciting. The uncertainty about what awaited them was not a reason for fear, but for expectation. You knew that, together, you could face any darkness, and the happiness they found in the shadows of the castle would be the light that would guide them.

___________________________

masterlist

xoxo, bee🫶🏼✨

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to The Light's Chapters 408-409

Brief summary: Cale gets the hidden records. Wind AP and Fire AP destroys Cale's plans. Sun God saintess arrives.

==========

I was wrong. There were 6 🚩flags planted last chapter. 😂

Fight the two wanderers

Fight the GoC cult

Appear in a user’s livestream (and become a great legend)

Use his Shield AP to protect the sacrifices

Faint and have Alberu take command

Meet the GoC pope

The pope mention was in the last chapter, some afterthought of Cale as he was thinking of the ritual. But today, the GoC saint confirmed that the pope would be coming to New World to witness GoC's descent... Yep, that was a flag there. 🤣🤣🤣 Dang it, Cale. 🤣🤣🤣

Cale (or the author) revealed his bias for HD again.

CH: *knocks people out* Cale: *is scared of CH* HD: *knocks people out* Cale: *is in awe of HD*

And what was this? HD smiling and looking proud because of all the people he knocked unconscious while Cale looked up at him in admiration? So sus... but also so cute... 😂🥰

The records of GoC made the Sword of the Sun react strongly, forcefully turning dark elf Alberu into his blonde hair and blue eyes self.

Alberu: *turns blonde* Cale: Oooh, you look like a hero! *gives a thumbs up* 👍 Alberu: *shuts eyes in annoyance at being teased*

Cale was having fun in teasing Hero Alberu. 😂😂😂

Alberu: *doing his best to stop the Sword of the Sun* Alberu: It wants to destroy everything related to GoC. Cale: You can do it! *cheers for Alberu* Alberu: This is driving me crazy.

Cale really having fun. 🤣🤣🤣

The hidden area had five records of GoC's power, namely, Fear, Purification, Pleasure, Contamination, and an unknown power. Cale took all of the records, and the Sword of the Sun eventually quieted down.

As for the divine item, Cale's treasure radar, aka Sound of the Wind, easily found it. Problem was, the divine item was right smack in the middle of the place where the ritual would be held. So if Cale wanted to steal it, he had to interfere with the ritual itself... Ah, the flags he planted are taking effect. 😂😂😂

It didn't help that the altar above the divine item was full of expensive magic stones and diamonds, making Fire AP drool in excitement. 🤣🤣🤣

Cale: Let's just steal everything and escape! HD: *smiles in excitement* Alberu: ...I knew it would end up like this.

The other participants of the stage had arrived. The twin wanderers were destroying the walls surrounding the Primordial Night. Above, the Sun God saintess and paladin had arrived too while the users had begun their streaming.

Crazy Attention Seeker was shocked to see the Sun God church NPCs. But he and his companion were even more shocked when they saw... Raon.

Raon was originally invisible, but he had to appear when the saintess and paladin arrived. After all, he couldn't leave it to the bad actor, CH. 😂😂😂 The paladin, Sir Boltien, recognized CH, and when he asked CH why he was stopping them, Raon had to step up and tell them that his human didn't want variables or passersby to be harmed.

Dragons were rare in the game world, so it was understandable why the users were dumbfounded. But Crazy Attention Seeker went crazy, dying from how cute the "baby dragon" was to how cute it spoke. 🤣🤣🤣 We readers understand you... Raon is indeed cute! 🥰

Ending Remarks With all the flags planted, Cale's plan of "watching his enemies fight while silently stealing stuff" went out the window. Next chapter would finally be the beginning of the ritual. A new legend of Cale begins again! 😂

[yannisdesk]

Caitlyn Kiramman - Name Symbolism

Looking at characters' names in anything is something I enjoy, and Arcane is no exception. Thought I would start with Caitlyn, because she has both the easiest and most complicated name depending on how you look at things.

I have no idea how League of Legends names their characters. I've only played a handful of times in the past, but I do know a fair bit of the lore. I'm looking at how they are in Arcane, and just gaging it from there because there wasn't much crossover until the recent season.

Caitlyn's first name comes the name Katherine which is derived from the Greek name Aikaterine; in modern Greek it's usually Romanized as Aikaterini or Ekterini. The roots and meaning of this name is actually a giant puzzle and it has several potential meanings, all of which can apply to Caitlyn.

1 - "Each of two."

Caitlyn is consistently a part of a duo throughout the series. Sibling duo with Jayce. Mentor and mentee with Grayson. Mystery solving duo + girlfriend of Vi. Mirrored with her enemy in Jinx, who's also her greatest foil. Master-apprentice with Ambessa. Combat duo with Mel.

2 - A reference to the Greek goddess Hecate.

Hecate was the goddess of magic, witchcraft, crossroads, ghosts, necromancy. She was also associated with night and the moon, as well as the Underworld. On the surface, Caitlyn has nothing to draw from here, she's one of the characters least-associated with Hextech and the arcane, but thinking for a moment, there's some things to connect.

For one, crossroads. Hecate was a triple-goddess, and was frequently depicted as having three different aspects of her body that were all attached to each other, meaning she could look down all different paths of a crossroad at once.

Caitlyn literally goes through three different stages throughout the show, from naive and compassionate, ruthless and violent, and then repentant and sober (in terms of bloodlust).

The next is ghosts. Not only is Caitlyn metaphorically haunted by the ghost of her mother, and of the phantom-like Jinx, butalso the legacy of House Kiramman looms over her. On the flip side, we see the memory of Caitlyn haunt Vi during her pit-fighter era to the point of appearing in hallucinations.

Lastly, the Underworld. What's the nickname for Zaun? The Undercity. Hecate was considered one of the Greek deities that was able to move between the Underworld (the land of the dead) and the land of the living with ease. Most people from Piltover never set foot in the Undercity, but Caitlyn does so several times, even going to deepest and most hopeless areas where no topsider had previously been.

Interestingly, she's guided through by Vi, who takes her through the milder areas like Jericho's and the main areas of the Lanes, the salacious ones like the brothel, and the pit of the tents where the completely forgotten live and - hold on, wait a minute... incoming tangent: call this a reach, but were the writers going for a Dante's Inferno type of reference, where Caitlyn is a stand-in for Dante and Vi is Virgil? Because now that has entered my head and I'm convinced it's true, I mean, I could see Vi writing the Aeneid. Caitlyn and Vi's excursions through the Undercity in S1 Act 2 now seem like such an obvious nod to Inferno that I find it kind of funny I didn't notice it on my first couple of watches.

This also means that come the end of season 2 act 2 Vi goes from being Caitlyn's Virgil, to being her Beatrice, which is kind of whimsically romantic.

Minor note, but Hecate's also associated with and sometimes depicted as a black dog. Caitlyn's girlfriend is Vi, daughter of a man nicknamed the Hound of the Underground, and her pit-fighter logo is two black hellhounds (Hecate's type of dogs). This was for several reasons, including dogs being considered protectors, a character trait both her and Vi have.

3 - "Torture"

...let's not forget...

...and the entirety of the "Paint the Town Blue" segment. Which, while is obviously about Jinx, also applies to Caitlyn. Her hair is dark blue, her eyes are sapphire. The Kiramman's in general are associated with the color blue. Zaun and Piltover are both being "painted blue" by two different people.

4 - "My consecration of your name"

Kind of reach-y but, I think Vi nicknaming her "Cupcake" and having specific times where she calls her "Caitlyn" or "Cait" (usually serious) and others where she calls her "Cupcake" (typically playful) applies here. She also calls Vi her full name at a very specific time, showing how close they've grown. This could also be to how she views her last name, Kiramman, as it and the legacy are treated as something sacred and of utmost importance.

5 - "Pure"

Season 1 Caitlyn was rather pure in that good-intentions way. She really never did anything with malicious intent until season 2, where we see her at her worst, and even then some of that previous "pure" Caitlyn is shown to be just bubbling underneath the surface, like in that scene where she asks Ambessa why violence is always justified in the name of peace.

Kiramman

Honestly, only Amanda Overton can answer for this. She gave Caitlyn a surname, but Kiramman as far as I was able to read, doesn't actually exist. "Kira" could mean several things including "young" or "humiliator of enemy" in Old Persian, or "lord" in Ancient Greek, or "black" in Old Irish, but I'm not sure if any of those were potential inspirations for the Kiramman name or not.

UPDATE: Because in the surname Kiramman, -man is the suffix that would make "Kiram-" the prefix. @sablesupergirl informed me that "Kiram" is an Arabic Muslim name that means "noble" and "generous." It's not to be confused with "Karim," which yes means "generous" and "noble" but also "honorable" and one of the 99 titles for G-d is Islam, "al-Karim" meaning "the generous one."

The Kirammans are clearly a noble house in the literal sense, that they are upper-class and one of the ruling families over Piltover, making them a sort of nobility. They're also slightly more generous than other houses, as Cassandra's the one who designed and implemented the air ventilation system for Zaun to get rid of the Grey, so, it's a very fitting name for the Kiramman family indeed.

I know what some of you are thinking: Caitlyn clearly has East Asian features, and people tend to not associate East Asian-looking people with Islam, but that's actually more common than you think. Plenty of people from Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Chinese Uyghurs, etc... are Muslim and have very similar features to Caitlyn. It could also be due to Arcane being a work of fantasy and fiction, and therefore Amanda just could've thought the meaning of "Kiram" fit Caitlyn's family and decided to create their surname around it.

That's all I've got for Caitlyn. Either Vi or Jinx will be next.

[dial-achos-gwenllian]

‘The Burial at the Giants’ Ring’ - Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae.

Like his brother Ambrosius, Uthr (anglicised as Uther) met his death after being poisoned, and both were buried within the Giants’ Ring near Salisbury. Geoffrey of Monmouth describes the removal of a ring of stones from Mount Killaraus in Ireland that had been placed there by giants to Salisbury to memorialise a massacre of Britons. Constantine, the king who follows Arthur after he is taken to Avalon after Camlann, was also buried here upon his death. I’ve only chosen to represent Ambrosius and Uthr here as I wanted to focus more on it as a location during what would have been Arthur’s lifetime. The editor of Geoffrey’s text, Lewis Thorpe, also notes that it is likely that Geoffrey could have been confusing Stonehenge and another stone circle at Avebury nearby, but I’ve chosen to use Stonehenge here.

I’ve always found him to be a complicated individual in the Welsh tradition as a modern person reading it. In Geoffrey’s depiction, he is both an incredibly successful warrior, it is prophesied that his son will have a great empire and his daughter’s descendants will retain the kingship of Britain, and he is the father of the greatest Welsh hero. But it is this last point which becomes a difficult part - his love for Arthur’s mother, Eigr (Ygerna or Igraine), and his decision and methodology when acting on it are, to a modern audience, quite obscene. He, with the help of Myrddin (Merlin), disguises himself as her husband, Gorlois, and they sleep together, conceiving Arthur that same night.

I think modern interpretations often follow this track of him being a complex (but generally quite a bad) person. In almost all the literature, he is heavily overshadowed by his son - my rather destroyed and heavily referenced copy of Geoffrey’s text sums his kingship up in around 9 pages. Although it wasn’t necessarily a long reign, it pales in comparison to the time given to Arthur, who takes up around 50 pages, around 20% of the text. Mentions of his beyond the Welsh tradition also leave out perhaps one of the coolest things about Uthr which is his ability to potentially shape-shift. The shapeshifting he does in Geoffrey’s text is magically induced by Merlin, but recent scholarship (including my own current research!) suggests that this is a run off from Uthr’s supernatural powers in other texts. The Trioedd Ynys Prydein records that Uthr taught a ‘great enchantment’ to Menw ap Teirgwaedd, likely the shapeshifting he performs in Culhwch ac Olwen when travelling to Esgair Oerfel. I would love to see this sort of stuff included in depictions of him, especially as they’re so absent in the English and Continental traditions!

Anyway, continuing with my inability to complete any artwork within the time limit given, this is again based on @mortiscausa ‘s #marchtocamelot, instead on the theme of ‘family’. Yet another information dump to go with it, but Lord knows doing two degrees in the subject means you have a lot to say in the long run!

[yumeaoka-chan]

A Witch & Her Spider

Pairing: Hobie Brown × Reader/ Demon! Hobie x Witch! Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: flirting, pining, clingy hobie, touchy hobie, lovesick reader, lovesick hobie, cursing, no physical description of reader(besides clothing), reader is AFAB, fighting(idk why I keep writing fighting scenes), blood, gore, death(it's really not as bad as it looks I promise)

Summary: And let it be known, no harm shall come to the Spider's witch, lest the culprit be webbed and eaten whole.

A/N: Credit for the lovely banners goes to @the-shroom-garden !!! Week 4 of Octobie @the-kr8tor , let's go!!! I promise the next thing will be a little more... wholesome😭🤚 Also, Hobie calls R starlight cuz her magic looks like stars💕

“Now where did I put that night orchid…?”

“...Still workin’, starlight?”

With wide eyes and a gasp, you turn around to level your intruder with a glare. A small huff leaves your lips and you place your hands on your hips, looking up at the smirking demon before you. He chuckles softly and leans down just so that your eyes are level with his, his multiple piercings glinting under the light. His long hair moves to frame his face, gold pieces adorning it like the most beautiful of jewels. You can practically feel his cool breath fanning your rapidly heating cheeks. Piercing gold eyes bore into yours as Hobie grins at you cheekily. It makes you scoff and you turn back to rummage through your cupboard of potion ingredients.

“Jumpy tonight, aren't we? Is it because it's a full moon?” You roll your eyes before handing him a a small glowing vial, a ghost of a smile on your lips. He takes it gladly, his grin turning genuine as he slips the sleeping potion into the pocket of his trousers. The demon barging into your cottage was nothing new, of course. You'd known him since you were twelve, after all. Just a young witchling who was tasked to summon a familiar during your studies. Only to accidentally summon a very powerful, very playfully annoying demon prince instead.

Hobie had been about the same age in demon years as you around the time yet, he still towered over you like it was nothing. As you had gaped at him in awe, all he did was take a look around your home and scrunch up his nose in apparent disgust.

“Not to be rude or anythin’, but it smells like a red cap had a party with a bloody ogre in here…” His words had snapped you out of your astounded daze and you let out a loud snort of laughter before pointing to your black cauldron. Black liquid bubbled inside, smoke from the brew wafting through the air.

“Tongue of wartfrogs and toenail clippings of ogre do tend to smell like shit.” His grin had been so wide that you could see the glistening pair of fangs in his mouth.

“Awful stuff, witchling. What poor bastard is gettin’ that?” After that day, you two were inseparable. He always took time out of his day to visit you, sometimes even crashing on your sofa just so he didn't have to leave. You never liked to admit it, but you enjoyed his company. Loved it, even. It was like something in your life just clicked in place when Hobie appeared and you truly wouldn't have it any other way. The feeling of arms wrapping around your middle pulls you out of your musings, a smile flitting across your face as he drapes himself over you.

You take a moment to lean back in his arms, closing your eyes as he rests his chin on your shoulder. Hobie's locs tickle your cheeks, his cool breath fanning your neck. Slowly, you turn in his arms to face him, tilting your head back as you look at him with a teasing smile. Gold eyes gazing into yours, warm and glittering and so very beautiful. It makes your breath hitch as you take time to admire his features. You've always thought Hobie looked ethereal and otherworldly, from his sharp chiseled jawline to the way his cheekbones sat high. Even his skin held this radiant glow that made it apparent that he belonged to another world entirely.

“You're awfully clingy tonight. Afraid you'll have to find someone else to cuddle though, Hobes.” You say teasingly as you pull back just a bit. He gives you a playful pout before chuckling softly, deep voice rich and warm in your ears. You hoped you didn't look as utterly taken with him as you felt. As you always have for quite a long time now. Hobie cocks his head to the side with a fond look shining in his eyes and you mentally curse the way your heart flutters in your chest.

“And why's that, starlight? Hm?” He's too gorgeous to be looking at you like that, you think as you force yourself to pull away from his embrace. Walking towards your bubbling cauldron, you wave your hand in the air, a black cloak magically appearing on your body in a shimmer of sparkles. Hobie follows you, eyebrow raised in question at the sudden summoning of your cloak. After whispering a quiet spell, the boiling liquid settles almost instantly, steam wafting through the air.

“Like you said earlier. It's a full moon. The perfect time to go foraging for ingredients.” Grabbing a wicker basket from off the shelf of your cupboard, you're surprised to turn around and find Hobie gazing down at you with an uneasy expression on his face. Brows furrowed and lips downturned into a slight frown, he crowds you until you're almost pressed against the shelf.

“Foraging? Tonight…? You don't really have to, right?” His words make you look up at him curiously. Hobie's easy going attitude is nowhere to be seen at the moment, just barely contained worry and something else. Something you couldn't quite find the name for. Giving him a smile, you press a hand softly against his cheek to ease his worries. You try not to dwell on how he instantly nuzzles his cheek against your palm when you do so.

“Afraid so. Night Orchids and certain mushrooms are only available during the night. And having a full moon means there's more in quantity.” As you move your hand back from his face, Hobie's hand is quick to gently bracelet your wrist, careful not to scratch you with his sharp nails. He places your hand right where his heart beats and you internally squeal when he leans down until your faces are inches apart.

“Why not stay here with me, yeah”, Hobie mumbles softly, gold eyes filled with warmth and shining as bright as the glittering stars. His other hand comes up to hold your chin, tilting your face up towards his more. A nervous chuckle escapes your lips and you turn your head away, pushing lightly at his chest as you try to calm the frantic beating of your heart.

“Something really is wrong with you tonight. What's with you? I'll be fine. Gone and back before you know it, promise.” You say hurriedly, voice a shaky mumble as you wriggle your way from off of the cupboard, moving so away from him and towards the door. Hobie's quick to grab you again before you can open it, his hand softly squeezing yours with something akin to urgency. You turn around to give him an exasperated look but falter when you see the pleading look in his eyes. He's serious about not letting you go out tonight. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, his eyes suddenly widen just a bit. He tilts his head to the side with a frustrated look on his face, eyes narrowed and a scowl on his lips. Moments pass before he lets out a long groan, releasing your hand so that he can scrub at his face in frustration.

“Stupid fuckers, I swear…”, he growls lowly under his breath and that's when you understand what has happened. There are times when Hobie gets mental messages from the Hells, some from his friends and others from his family, the latter he absolutely loathes. Hobie takes a deep breath before looking down at you again, his hands reaching out to gently rest on your shoulders.

“I've gotta go, starlight. I'll be gone for only a little while, then I'll come back. Please just… stay home and wait for me. Something about tonight just seems… off.” You want to laugh at his words, but the unreadable expression on his face makes you bite the chuckle back. Once you nod your head and reassure him that you won't leave, he's off with an annoyed scowl, slipping into the beckoning portal that he's suddenly opened on the floor. As soon as the portal closes over his head, you grip your basket and slip outside. The crisp night air makes you shiver just a bit and you pull up the hood on your cloak, humming a bit as you venture further into the woods behind your cottage.

Sure, Hobie might get upset that you left anyways, but he should know by now that you do what you want. Regardless of his very adamant warnings.

“He's such a worry wart. I'm a powerful and capable young witch! I can handle myself, dammit!” You huff as you kneel down to pick the patch of glowing blue mushrooms beneath a white oak tree. You spot a couple singing purple thistles a ways ahead, storing the mushrooms inside of your basket before trudging on. As you pick and search for ingredients, the one flower you've been searching for is nowhere to be found. After several minutes of looking, you let out a loud groan of exasperation. You frown as you contemplate searching deeper into the forest, glancing back at your lit cottage in the distance. Would it truly be a good idea to go so far away when Hobie said something was off around here?

As much as you trusted Hobie, you really did need more night orchids, especially for the batch of potions that your client was coming to pick up tomorrow. Steeling your resolve, you step deeper into the thick forest, the trees so tall that it seems like they're touching the moon. The stars are hard to see in such a dense part of the woods, so you utter a small spell, a pocket size ball of light magically flickering into existence. It floats in front of you, tiny shimmering sparkles trailing after it as it slowly moves in the air. It makes your foraging a bit easier.

While you travel deeper into the woods, a sudden feeling of unease creeps up your spine. It makes goosebumps appear on your arms and your heart thud loudly in your chest, so loud you can hear it in your ears. There's something like a thick aura settling around you, stifling the air and making it harder to keep calm. Your eyes dart to and fro as you start to pick up the pace, eager to find the night orchids and hurry on home. Spotting a bundle of the flowers, you quickly gather them and place them inside of your basket, clutching it to your chest as you turn to head back home. Hobie was surely waiting for you there by now, probably upset and pouting that you left despite his warnings. The idea of him waiting up for you eases the nervousness bubbling in your stomach just a bit and you speed walk towards the cottage.

The ball of light floats in front of you as you press on. It's then that you hear the rustling of leaves nearby, making you snap your head in the direction it had come from. Narrowing your eyes, you study the bush a few feet away from you, only for your stomach to drop at the sight of a pair of glowing yellow slits for eyes. Low rumbling growls surround you, the sound making sweat drip down your back, the barking the thing to make you break out into a sprint.

Werewolves, a pack of eight of them, froth at the mouth as they chase after you. Large dripping maws snapping at your heels and cloak, howls and growls ringing through the night. You can feel the saliva of one of them dripping onto your arm and you quickly flick your wrist in its direction, vines shooting up from the ground to grip its tail and yank it back away from you. Your chest heaves as you dash towards your cottage, wicker basket swinging wildly in your grip as you try to escape the pack of werewolves. Sweat beads on your forehead and the hood of your cloak falls off your head as you zoom past the trees. Glancing back, you can see another one lunging straight for your foot, quickly shouting out a spell to make it take a mouthful of flowers instead.

A yelp leaves your lips as you feel claws yank at your cloak, pulling you back. You quickly make it disappear into a pile of shimmers with a quick swipe of your hand, making the werewolf stumble and bark angrily. Just as you spot the lit cottage in the distance, sharp teeth imbed themselves into your ankle, making your scream pierce through the night sky. Gritting your teeth, you lift your hand and shoot small bolts of fire from your fingertips, hitting the werewolf in the eyes and burning its fur. It howls and rubs it's face in the dirt as you press on. Blood oozes down your ankle and makes your shoes soggy, pain flaring up every time you press down on it. You have to suck it up, have to keep going until you were home. Hobie was waiting for you, after all. You couldn't die here.

Just as you reach the yard of your home, claws sink deeply into your shoulder and teeth into your calf, and you cry out as you're thrown onto the ground. Dirt and sweat sticks to your cheeks as you groan with pain, your head having made an impact first. Crimson drips down from your shoulder onto your dress and you press a hand there to stop the bleeding. The pack of werewolves creep slowly upon you then, sharp teeth bared and claws on full display as they lick their chops. Panting from the flaring pain and the run to your home, you lift up a hand, your palm glowing a bright white as you ready yourself for their attack. Fear makes you shake and your lips tremble as you gaze at the pack of hungry creatures. You couldn't fight off this many alone, especially in your injured state. It was like you could feel Death kissing the back of your neck as you peered at your reflection in their glistening orbs.

The front door of the cottage suddenly slams open then, a thick and ominous mist spilling from inside. It makes both you and the werewolves look on with shock and anticipation. It's eerily quiet then, not a single one of you moves. Something darts out of the opened door moments later, so lightning quick that it's like a blur. There's a hiss and a sudden whimper before one of the creatures drop dead before you. Your eyes are wide with shock and disbelief as you look up. Hobie glowers at the pack menacingly, murder gleaming in his golden eyes, his pupils now thin slits. From his jaw there now sits a frightening pair of spider-like fangs, what he uses to viciously tear off the head of another werewolf. Crimson drips down his maw as the sound of bones snapping from his fangs sounds loud in your ears, and you can do nothing but watch as he spits the head into the dirt. His lower half is now that of a spider, eight legs long and black as night as he scurries over towards another. Using two legs and his claws, he tears through the creature, ripping it clean in half, blood and gore from its insides splattering his hair. Hobie mauls through the pack with ease, a fury you've never seen before marring his frightening expression.

Only one lone werewolf remains, shivering and whimpering as it watches its pack get decimated. Tail tucked between its legs and ears drooping, it turns to quickly escape, only to let out a terrified whimper when it comes face to face with the livid Spider. Hobie's hand shoots out to grip the creature by its neck, yanking it up until it's eye level with him. The werewolf whines, its feet high off of the ground now. Hobie tilts his head again, eyes cold and boring into the creature. His voice rumbles through the night and makes even your bones shiver.

“Touch her again and I'll eat you alive. You'll feel every agonizing moment of me gorging on your body. Understand me, dog…?” His threat isn't even that. It's a promise, one that you're sure he'll keep. Not even waiting for the creature to respond, he throws it away from him, his attention now on you as he slowly transforms back into his more human form. You can hear the creature howling and scampering off but you don't pay much attention to it.

All you can see is Hobie, whose frightening and menacing appearance has all but faded, his eyes once more those gold liquid pools of warmth you love so much. He's quick to bend down and scoop you up in his arms, holding you close to his chest as he walks inside of your cottage. The warmth of his arms makes you nuzzle closer to him and your eyes flutter shut as he presses a tender kiss on your forehead. There's no pain as he holds you safely in his arms, his every touch soft and delicate. You let yourself drift off to sleep as he cares for you, adrenaline wearing off and exhaustion settling in your bones. Hobie's whispered words are like the sweetest of honey, the most delectable of nectar as you slip into slumber.

“I've got you, starlight. I'm here.”

[colibrie]

Can. Can you please do #11 with the Fang AU?

11. "Just keep breathing. In and out. You're doing great." (Minor warning for blood and injury).

Hamato Leonardo knew himself to be a turtle of many enviable talents. Out-of-this-world charisma, rugged good looks, hilarious, a tactical mind, and a resourceful field medic. The whole package. Except, he was not a scientist. He'd never had the patience or the attention span for fiddly formulas, obsessive note-taking, and tedious repetition needed for an experiment to be successful. As the team’s leader and face man, Leo thrived in the gray, mixing information and spontaneity, tweaking and twisting to ensure the outcome he wanted came to pass. Science was Donnie's world. His egg-headed twin thrived in black and white; relying on repetition, craved clearly defined variables, delighting in percentiles and predictability. That was what balanced them in the end, what made them tick as twins. Brainiac and face man, street smarts and book smarts, innovation and invention.

And maybe that was why he was struggling now, sitting hunched over his secret pile of medical books, scowling as he compared them to the ones April had brought from the library. Squinting at tiny, cramped print as his head pounded, forcing eyes crusted from lack of sleep to open to absorb the paragraphs detailing anatomy, herpetology, and epidemiology, alongside pictures that were various degrees of uselessness. This was Donnie’s world, and maybe he would have enjoyed this torment. Maybe, his twin could make sense of these "viral counts" and "impact percentiles ". Maybe, if his twin weren't strapped to the bed behind him, delirious and writhing in pain, they could have already fixed whatever this thing was.

"Shell," Leo groaned, throwing down his pencil as one hand rose to rub his tired eyes.

He was going to get crow's feet and fine lines from glaring at these useless books, things he could (loudly) tolerate if they were to result in a solution to whatever plaguing their purple brother. But they hadn’t so far. Days of effort, nights of burning well past the midnight oil, and all he had to show for his efforts was a splitting headache and a massive collection of unwashed tea mugs. None of Donnie's symptoms matched with anything detailed in the textbooks, or CDC and WHO websites. Given the creepy level of the lab they'd wreaked, it wasn’t truly that surprising, even if it was frustrating. There was, shockingly, not a lot of published research on mutants, let alone their illnesses or immune systems. But, illnesses didn't just come out of nowhere! He didn't need a fancy piece of paper or a Donnie-level IQ to know that. Whatever was ailing Donnie had to be documented somewhere. But he was a field medic for pizza's sake! He knew how to set bones, sew up cuts, and head off infections. Not cellular biology!

Throwing his hands up in defeat, he slouched back into his desk chair. Maybe Mikey was right. Maybe it was time to call in Draxum, much as Leo would rather eat a bucket of nails or light fire to all his limited-edition JJ comics than say it out loud. Mad scientist psycho or not, the Yokai understood a lot more than Leo did, in this one area anyway. And while they were at it, maybe they’d been looking at things all wrong. If a science-based solution wasn’t available, maybe a mystic solution could help? It would be the most delicious kind of irony, given Donnie’s historic skepticism of anything mystical or magical. Maybe their father could take a trip to the mystic library, or they could send one of the Casey’s to Witch Town. So long as they didn't drop Donnie's name in any conversations it would probably be...

A pained snarl cut through his thoughts, and he whirled the chair around to find Donnie bucking against his restraints, head thrown back in a terrible arc as he gasped for air.

"Whoa! Easy D!" Leo exclaimed, jumping out of his seat to reach for the oxygen mask and tank that April and Casey Jr had kindly "liberated" from April's school following the Krang invasion. "Just keep breathing Dontron, in and out."

His twin hissed in response, pants deepening to a guttural growl as Leo approached and attempted to press the mask over Donnie's nose and mouth.

"Come on man, you're doing great. This is going to help you do even better, so chill out a little and I'll-"

Faster than lightning Donnie struck, neck muscles stretched and strained as he ducked around the mask and sunk his teeth deep into the flesh of Leo's forearm.

"OW!" Leo yelled, the oxygen mask slipping from his fingers as they spasmed open in shock. "Dee, let go!"

Donatello snarled in reply, sharp teeth sinking and shredding as his jaws clamped down on Leo's limb.

"Get OFF!" Leo bellowed, jamming the thumb of his free hand into the pressure point just behind the soft shell’s jaw. It took way longer than it should have for Donatello’s teeth to release him, too many long, painful seconds before Leo could pull his arm away and stumble back a step from the bed, cradling his injured limb close. Torn flesh burned against the open air, pain licking out from fingertip to elbow while small crimson streams braided into rivers as they raced across his skin to follow gravity to the floor.

“What the shell?!” Leo snapped, free hand clamping down over the injury as he stumbled towards the cabinet that held their stock of bandages.

Donnie hissed again in reply, and Leo had to fight the urge to cringe away from the way his blood smeared across his brothers lips and chin, the way it painted his sharp teeth when said lips peeled back in a snarl. Dark eyes followed every jerky move as he fumbled with trying to disinfect and wrap the wound with one hand, breaths hitching as the pain in his arm built, creeping like the most agonizing ivy towards his shoulder. Slitted predator pupils zeroed in one the…wait…Donnie didn’t have slitted pupils. None of them did. Their eyes had always been human…

“What the…”

He didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence. Between one breath and the next the pain exploded, lancing up his neck and spearing deep into his chest. His jaw snapped shut around a cry as every nerve in his body seemed to simultaneously go up in flames, numb and useless legs folding like a house of cards as he hit the concrete floor of the med bay. He tried to break his fall, but his body failed to respond to any desperate command his brain tried to send. He tried to call for help, or maybe just scream, but his lungs couldn’t pull in the air he needed. He was trapped, a silently writhing vessel slowly filling up with pain.

[glowettee]

// part 4: the ultimate guide to manifesting basics ✨

hey loves! mindy here~

as your resident manifestation bestie who's juggling 5 ap classes while manifesting her way to med school and future business empire, i want to share everything i know about making your dreams reality. i'm going to dive deep into the manifestation world in the most detailed (but still cute) way possible!

why manifestation works (the basics):

quantum physics tells us everything is energy

our thoughts create vibrations

like attracts like (it's literally science, besties!)

our subconscious mind is super powerful

belief creates reality

essential components of successful manifesting:

clear intention

be specific about what you want

write it down in present tense

include how it makes you feel

elevated emotions

practice gratitude daily

visualize with feeling

maintain high vibrational states

inspired action

take steps toward your goals

follow intuitive nudges

stay consistent

my personal manifesting routine (that got me straight a's):

morning ritual

gratitude journaling (3 things minimum)

positive affirmations while doing skincare

visualization during breakfast

throughout the day

mindful studying with intention

catching limiting beliefs

redirecting negative thoughts

evening practice

scripting for 10 minutes

reviewing vision board

setting intentions for tomorrow

common manifesting mistakes to avoid: × doubting the process × being too attached to outcomes × forgetting to take action × neglecting self-concept × rushing the process

pro tips from your girl mindy:

treat manifesting like a friendship with the universe

stay consistent but keep it fun and light

document your manifestation journey

celebrate small wins

trust divine timing

note: manifesting isn't just about getting what you want - it's about becoming the version of yourself who already has it. when i visualize my future doctor self, i embody that energy right now in how i study, dress, and carry myself.

quick starter exercise: write down your biggest dream as if it's already happened. include:

how you feel

what you see

who's around you

what you're wearing

what you're doing

the key is to make it feel real and present. i do this every night before bed and it's literally changed my life!

with love and manifestation magic, mindy xo